Des didn't move, her gaze becoming a little uncertain. Her breathing picked up a little, her breasts rising and falling a little quicker.
"Des,” he began, his voice low. Gentle.
Fear flickered in her eyes, and she abruptly bolted up from the table. “I don't think I want to know!"
Five
Before she could move past him, Simon acted quickly. Slipping off the table, he caught her upper arms, halting her progress. “You said you could take it."
"I've changed my mind."
"Coward's way out?” He looked at her steadily.
"Prudent."
"And why would you have to be prudent, Des?"
"I just ... I didn't ... Will you let me go?” She glared up at him. “Don't make me force you to release me, trader."
"Are you going to run?"
"I'm going to kick your arse out of my door."
He couldn't stop the little grin that came to the fore. “'Tis my lass.” The words were out before he realized it. Hell, he didn't even know where it had come from!
Des and Simon stared at each other. His hands had loosened on her upper arms, but she didn't seem to notice, she was too busy opening and closing her mouth like a stunned fish out of water.
"Don't keep doing that,” he said huskily. “Or I'm just going to have to taste you."
Where the hell were these words coming from? Simon was having trouble keeping his thoughts in order. Her nearness was playing havoc with his senses—her scent, her warmth, her very being.
His heart was being tugged at, his libido almost blasted. Tenderness, self-awareness of what the tart-tongued wench was meaning to him, and a rising tide of desire were pulling him in every direction at once. It took every effort to focus himself and force his jumbled thoughts into a semblance of calmness.
"What did you just say?” she whispered.
"My lass."
"And just what do you mean by that?"
"I'm not entirely certain,” he replied just as truthfully, careful to keep his voice quiet, not wanting to incite her into anger.
Her lips tightened. “Are you playing with me, trader? Trying to make a fool of me?"
"Nay.” He took a deep breath, his fingertips unconsciously kneading the tense muscles in her upper arms. “'Tis caught me by surprise as well."
She stared at him a few seconds longer, and then her jaw started to clench. Recognizing that he was going to lose this last, vital chance, Simon said soberly, “I find, lass, that I have feelings for you."
"Feelings?"
"Aye."
A frown creased her forehead. “Simon—"
He held up one hand. “Before you say anything else, hear me out."
He could almost see her withdrawing behind the prickly façade, but at least she remained standing before him.
Dropping his hands from her arms, he kept his gaze locked with hers and spoke quietly. “I don't pretend to understand quite what is happening. Aye, I was attracted to you. Am attracted to you. I won't lie, I teased you deliberately. But I find that the attraction and desire to tease is turning into something more."
Impatience flickered in her eyes. “You're either lying or a moron."
"Nay."
"You either find me an enigma, a woman who doesn't fall at your feet, or a freak, a woman bigger than other women—who fights like a man and swears, who is the law but has a whore for a mother. I'm different. That's the attraction, and trust me, in a day or so, or once you've slaked whatever desire—or try, I should say—you'll suddenly realize that it's not a true attraction.” She started to turn away. “Go back to your ship, Simon."
She thought he might consider her a freak? That he was attracted to her because she was different? Annoyance flickered through Simon, and he moved up behind her. “Hold it right there, Des. ‘Tis not sorted yet."
"Is that right?” Turning to face him, hands on her hips, Des raised her brows mockingly. “Do tell."
"I'm telling you a lot, ‘tis just you're not listening.” He mimicked her posture, except for the mocking lift of brows. Instead, he frowned.
"Okay, I'm all ears. Convince me.” Feigned patience joined the mocking.
Life with this wench would never be dull.
"I want your word that you'll listen and hear, Des. That you won't turn away. That you'll give me that chance you promised."
"Fine. Fine.” She waved one hand before returning it to her hip. “Go ahead."
His gaze slid down her figure deliberately, but he took care not to linger on her curves. By the time his gaze met hers again, her annoyance was shining in her eyes. Good.
"You are no different body-wise to other wenches. You think my attraction is because you don't fall at my feet. ‘Tis wrong. I respect that. Having wenches attracted to me might be fun at first, but it doesn't fill an emptiness in here.” He touched his chest. “Nay. It might slake sexual desire, but ‘tisn't special. I respect all wenches, be they from taverns or not, but only one will hold a special place in my heart. And once I find that wench, there will be no other for me. Ever."
The annoyance faded from her eyes.
"Do I think you're a freak? Nay. I have close friends who are wenches, and are as tall and strong as you, even some as bad-tempered. But none of them has made me desire to know more about them, or spend intimate time with them."
A touch of color appeared in her high cheekbones, and she opened her mouth.
Reaching out, he lightly tapped her nose in admonishment. “Close that pretty mouth and listen, or I'll take advantage of that open temptation for a little deep kissing."
Her mouth shut like a trap, while her eyes flashed.
"Something about you is different, but only in that for some reason I am attracted to you. Deep inside, where it counts. You're more than just a pretty wench with a bad attitude. You have the uncanny knack of making me angry, something not easily done, and you make me laugh. At just the thought of seeing you, I feel anticipation. I want to spend time getting to know you more.” Stepping forward, he rested one hand on her waist. “Des, are you hearing me?"
She sighed and shook her head. “Lovely words, but how do I know you're speaking the truth? How—"
There was another way Simon knew of to show her. If she wasn't hearing, then mayhap she'd feel his sincerity. He slid his hand lightly around to rest in the small of her back.
Lowering his head swiftly, he cut off her words with his mouth. He felt her involuntary withdrawal, but his hand at her back stopped her. He made no effort to draw her up against him, allowing her to know there was space there, that he wasn't forcing her into close proximity.
He didn't force the kiss, instead keeping his lips light, caressing, and brushing across the fullness of her lips gently. Tenderly. Trying to make her feel what she couldn't seem to hear. When she didn't fight, he resisted the temptation to deepen the kiss, keeping it light. Always light, always gentle.
Simon had never done that with any wench in his life.
It might not have been a deep, hot kiss, but somehow in that moment, it meant a lot more to him. A sharing, a declaration of how he felt.
When her lips opened slightly, he didn't enter and kiss deeply. Still he maintained the lightest of kisses, and it was Des who initiated the kiss, becoming the one to demand more.
Even as she moved closer so that her breasts were pressing against his chest and her hands were sliding up his arms, he kept only one hand lightly on her back, refusing to give in to the temptation to pull her to him. Whatever happened now, ‘twas her decision.
It was her tongue that flicked across his lips, seeking entrance. Her tongue that slid into the warm, moist recesses of his mouth. Her tongue that tasted him, teased him, mastered him. And when she withdrew, her flavor stayed with him, sweet like honey and just as heady.
It was iron control that kept Simon from kissing her back hard, long and deep. He sipped at her lips, carefully, gently, just as he kept his hand light on her back.
He could feel h
er heart beating rapidly against his chest, she was pressed so tightly against him. No doubt she would be able to feel his own thundering heartbeat, because it sure as hell was going wild.
And no doubt she could feel his erection, too. He couldn't remember ever getting this hard so quick, his staff swelling in his pants, lifting up to nudge the apex of her thighs. When she shifted slightly, one arm curling around his neck, his staff fitted snugly in the little gap caused by her movements.
It didn't seem as though she noticed. Her soft moan was passion-filled, and Simon's heart leaped when her other hand slid beneath his vest to glide up the heated skin of his back. He half expected her to shove him away suddenly, but instead both of her hands drifted to his vest and pulled it down over his shoulders until it fell free. He shifted his hand from her back only enough to allow it to fall to the floor, then replaced his hand again on her.
Her fingers entangled in his hair and she tugged gently so that he bent over enough to allow her to glide her lips in a hot trail from his mouth to this throat, where she pressed hot, open-mouthed kisses, the tip of her tongue touching the pulse where it beat heavily in the side of his throat.
When she nuzzled just below his ear, delicious goose bumps shivered across Simon's skin, and he couldn't stop the moan that slipped free. She laughed softly, her breath a hot puff against his skin, making him bite his lip as his eyes drifted shut.
Sparks were skittering under his skin, his groin heavy. The muscles in his stomach clenched when her fingertips trailed lightly over them. His breath caught when at the same time she fastened her lips over his pulse and sucked long and slow, she also moved her hand down to cup his erection through the material of his pants.
God above! He was going to go insane in a minute! But he had to hold on, a little voice in his head insisted, hold on. Hold on or lose her.
Des's hand slid back up and without hesitation she slid her fingers down the front of his pants, encountering the throbbing head of his staff almost immediately. Her hand slid down the hard, thickened length, and Simon just about saw stars when she wrapped him in her palm and gave his manhood a long, slow pull, firm but not hard, small but definite. He almost lost control right then and there, but then she did the unthinkable.
In one swift movement she dropped to her knees before him, her hands peeling his pants down as she did so.
Simon couldn't believe it. It had gone further than he'd ever expected. She'd gone further than he'd ever expected. The wench was kneeling before him, her eyes hotly looking up at him.
"Brace your hands on the table behind you,” she huskily ordered. “And lean back."
Oh God, aye! Whatever you order!
There was no subtleness about her, no false sense of hesitation or modesty. She watched him as she moved forward, her hands gripping his lean hips. The desire in her eyes was almost scorching, an unleashed passion that made her look hot, sultry, and seductive all at once.
Slipping one finger around the base of his manhood, she firmly pulled his staff back from where it rose against his stomach, her finger sliding up the length a little as it was drawn back until the tip of his penis was pointed directly at her mouth.
Simon could hear his own panting, his heart thundering in his ears. Every muscle in his body was tense with anticipation, hungry, his nerves stretched like fine wire about to snap with the lightest touch.
The slow lick of her lips was a hedonistic touch, and one she was fully aware of, going by the carnal smile that curved those full lips.
Simon gasped then gritted his teeth against the urge to wrap his hand in her hair and pull her teasing, pouting lips to his engorged staff. His fingers gripped the edge of the table so tightly that every knuckle was white. He wouldn't have been surprised if he left the indents of his fingers in the wood.
Keeping her hot gaze locked with his, Des moved forward and kissed the end of his staff.
Simon's knees nearly buckled when she blew on the tip, lightly, but in such a small motion that the whirl of air was unexpectedly sharp. Deliciously sharp. And then her tongue came out and played with the tip of his penis, flicking at the slit, and he threw his head back, unable to watch and remain sane. The muscles in his neck strained as he gritted his teeth, holding on as a wave of pure prurience crashed through him, threatening to overwhelm him.
"Keep control,” Des's voice sounded dimly, husky but authoritative.
Sucking in deep breaths of air, he tried to reign in the almost painful pleasure that ricocheted through him.
Then he felt an incredible sensation as the tip of her tongue entered the slit in the head of his staff and thrust in the minutest movement, withdrawing the tip before pushing it back in the tiny bit it would allow.
"Oh God. Oh God. Des!” His elbows bent as he arched further back.
"Hang on, Simon.” Her words were a puff of air that brushed the highly sensitized staff head. “There's more to come."
"Oh God, I don't think I can take much more. I don't—oh God!” It was the only thing he could gasp out as he felt a strong sucking right over the slit of his penis.
Sensation upon sensation crashed through him, a fever of eroticism that seemed to burn from his testes to the tip of his penis. He felt like she was drawing the very seed from him using her lips only.
Her fingers wrapped firmly around the base of his penis stopped the eruption, but he couldn't stop the eruption of his frustrated, carnal cry that shattered the quiet of the house.
He didn't hear the lycats’ startled hissing or their running from the room. The thunder that boomed from outside was almost deafening, the open sliding glass wall not muffling the fury of nature, but he wouldn't have noticed anyway, for he was battling his own fury of nature.
His arms were locked, his knees locked, his muscular legs braced apart, trousers around his knees, his body arched back in submission for Des's pleasure.
A bead of sweat slid down his spine, followed by another, as the unfulfilled waves of an orgasm were stopped, leaving him groaning and panting, staring up at the ceiling, stomach muscles quivering with tension. His swollen staff throbbed angrily.
But he couldn't recover, didn't have time, because just when he started making sense of what had happened, hot lips slid up from the tip of his penis, opening slowly as the thickened length of his manhood was slowly, agonizingly, engulfed.
Then she sucked, but kept her fingers around the base of his manhood, stopping any eruption of seed.
"Oh God! Des! Please! Please! Oh God! Please!” Dimly he heard himself begging her, his voice hoarse with passion, guttural with need, and full of a pleading he would never have suspected possible.
And his penis was engulfed further, her lips recommencing their slow, torturous slide. There was a tightness, a heat all around him, and some shocked part of himself realized he was sliding down the tightness of her throat.
No wench had ever taken him so deep. Ever.
Helplessly his hips bucked but an arm was suddenly across his hips, pressing him back. Keeping him under control, something his position allowed.
He couldn't think. Could hardly breathe. His heart thundered, his blood sizzled, his scrotum was so tight, so hard, coiling up inside. His staff was rock hard and deep down a tight, wet throat.
He felt the withdrawal of her mouth just as he was about to erupt, and again her fingers encircled the base of his shaft, again stopping him from ejaculating.
Now he was almost sobbing for relief. Pleasure bordered on pain, lust raged, and he flung back his head and shouted out hoarsely. Was he raging? He didn't know. Everything was centered on the erotic acts being performed on him in a way never done before in his entire life. The thunder crashing outside was fitting, the lightening that lit up the garden almost echoing the lightening of desire that tore relentlessly through him.
Then she deep throated him again, this time with no stopping, and her lips came up hard against the base of him. He didn't know what she did, but he felt a sudden wet tightening, a vibration tha
t shuddered through him, and when she pulled back she didn't stop the orgasm that rolled through him.
His hips bucked helplessly, strongly, against her hands, and she let him. And she sucked hard.
Simon shattered, his seed shooting forth, pouring out in a hot stream that felt as though every bit of seed he had was coming all at once. His staff swelled unbelievably, and still she sucked, swallowing easily. Taking everything.
His roar of burning heat was lost in the thunder.
When he finally came to, he was lying back on the table, his trembling legs still braced apart. His muscles were quivering, and his hands actually shook when he pushed upright, bent and drew his pants back up his legs.
He could barely comprehend what had happened, but the delicious lethargy that gripped him, and even the slight soreness of his much-used manhood, made him know it hadn't been an exceedingly erotic dream.
Des had given him the most voracious oral sex he'd ever imagined possible. A Daamen might dream of it, but to be deep throated was not something that they stumbled across every day. Their manhood matched their build, and while wenches could give them great oral sex, he'd never personally experienced what he'd just been gifted with.
A grin spread across his face. Mayhap he should return the gift.
"Des?” He called, relieved that his voice was a little steadier than the rest of him felt.
Silence met him, and slowly he padded through the house, a sense of foreboding filling him as he found each room empty except for furniture. The only living things the bedroom had were Fuzz and Chels, who blinked sleepily at him and went back to sleep.
"Des!” He looked out into the garden.
Rain still fell, but not as hard. Going back down the corridor, he opened the door in the side and found himself looking into a empty holding bay. The door was shut, but the single-seater pilot vehicle he'd seen her fly was gone.
The wench had literally sucked him dry and fled.
* * * *
"Oh no. Oh no. Oh God.” Elbows on the desk, the heels of her hands pressed against her eyes, Des moaned. “Oh no. Oh suns."
Heart of a Peacekeeper Page 12
