Captive of Pleasure; the Space Pirate's Woman (The LodeStar Series) (34 page)

“Joran,” she wailed, squirming. “Make it stop.”
 

He laughed, a low taunting sound that echoed through the partly open door of the lav. “Not yet, bunny. Now remember, don’t move. And don’t touch yourself. I get to do that.”

She lay there, body quivering as the vibrations made her aware of every inch of her body and how the fabric of her dress felt against her skin, the bed underneath her, even the press of her own flesh as she squeezed her thighs together again.
 

The showerdry splashed in the background, followed the puffs of the dryer. Then the stall door clicked open. She stared at the door of the lav, mesmerized as it opened to reveal Stark.
 

Clean, damp, his hair combed back sleekly from his angular face. And all he wore was a pair of snug underpants. He was so beautiful. His broad shoulders, muscled arms and legs, the broad plain of his chest with its dark triangle of hair arrowing down to lean hips with indentations that arrowed down into his low-slung underwear. His torso was bisected by a thin trail down over his flat belly that led the same direction.

And possibly the most impressive part of him, certainly the most frightening, was the long, hard shape outlined by his thin knit pants. His penis. She’d seen it, seen him using it on that blonde. The memory hurt, but it didn’t ease the needy ache inside her.

He reached the bed, and set his hands and knees on the end, his gaze locked on her. Then he crawled to her with a slow intent that froze the breath in her lungs and set every molecule of her being vibrating with the collar.
 

“I washed that bitch off of me,” he said, his voice a soft rumble. “Now you’re gonna help wash her off my soul.”

“I don’t know how to do that,” she said instantly. Her voice quavered like her belly as he loomed over her, his arms and legs bracketing her body.

He smiled slowly. “Yeah, you do, baby.Just lookin’ in those big blue eyes of yours, you’re doin’ it right now, and I’m gonna teach you the rest.”

She shook her head. “No. No. Not after you’ve been with
her.
”

He leaned back on his heels, and reached for the hem of her dress, lifting the light fabric up to bare her legs. “Baby, I didn’t fuck her, I swear—sooner laser myself than dip my cock in
that
.”

“You didn’t?” Zaë let him work the fabric up higher, baring her hips, and the tiny lace panties she’d purchased.
 

He shook his head once and then stilled, his gaze riveted on her mons. “If I’d known you had these on under there, I would’ve taken this dress off first thing.”
 

He let go the dress to touch her hip and trace his fingertips along the line of lace. His touch was warm, but still it sent a deep shiver through her.
 

“Stop,” she pleaded. “Turn it off.”

He looked up at her under his lashes, and smiled. “Oh, baby. That’s not the collar anymore, that’s all you. Reacting to my touch.” Watching her, he repeated the caress, his fingertips wandering off the lace onto the tender skin of her inner hip. His smile deepened. “Feel you shiver under my touch, like you’ve never felt that before. That’s sweet, my Zaë. So sweet.”

Bracing himself on one hand, he leaned over her, his long hair falling around their faces, a curtain hiding them from the world. He smelled of man and soap and temptation.

“I’m not your toy,” she managed, pressing one hand to his chest to hold him away. She was immediately distracted by the feel of him under her hand, hot and firm, satin skin and the intriguing dusting of hair that tickled her palm.
 

“But I’m in the mood to play,” he murmured. “And here you are, a soft little bunny in my bed. Perfect playmate.”

“I’m not a—” she began, but then he kissed her. His mouth closed over hers, his lips warm and firm. Once again she was surprised that a man’s lips would be so soft—especially his. They didn’t look this tender. Or so magical that when he nipped at hers with them, she wanted to open her mouth for him, part her own lips to let him tease her more, with soft brushes of his lips over hers, little nibbles as the corners of her mouth that enticed her hold very still, so that he would not stop.
 

That she would want to kiss him back, and reach up to hold on to his shoulders to hold him there for more. That when his tongue slipped in and touched hers, she would shiver with pleasure. Or that he would taste so good, that she would want more, want his tongue in her mouth, his lips sealed with hers, his big body settling on hers, pressing her into the bed, his hard hips cradled between her thighs.

He lifted his head at last and leaned his forehead on hers, taking a deep, uneven breath. “Fuck me,” he whispered, as if he were laughing at himself, and his own fallibility. “One thing you can do, my Zaë, is kiss.”

Pleasure curled through her, hot and sweet. Her toes curled, her fingers digging into his shoulders.

“Like to do more,” he went on. “A lot more. But I’m not goin’ to.”

“Why not?” she asked and then clamped her mouth shut, her cheeks hot.
 

He traced the curving line of her jaw. “Because, bunny, you’re a virgin. Not going there. Don’t need you getting the idea it’s more than fucking. And if you have someone, waiting for you somewhere, I don’t want you feeling dirty when you leave here.” He smiled slightly at the look on her face.“Some beings place a high value on only mating with their chosen partner. You could be one of them, have a man who’s one too.”

“Humph. You’re very certain of your prowess. Maybe I don’t want to do more with you.”

He lifted his head, and gave her a look. Then he simply smiled, a wealth of smug knowledge in his silver gaze. “Yeah,” he said. “You do.”

Now she was angry again. “Oh, and how do you know this, Storm? Using your Indigon powers again, are you?”

His brows flew up, and he stared at her. Then his eyes crinkled at the corners, his face creased into a beautiful, infuriating grin, and he burst out laughing.
 

Chapter 21

The bed shook with the force of The Storm’s deep, rollicking laughter. Zaë felt it all through her body, beguiling and as always, maddening.

He tipped his forehead down to hers on one last chuckle, his breath gusting on her chin. “Ah, bunny. My Indigon powers. I forgot there was such innocence in existence. You must’ve been living in cloisters of some kind.”

“Get off me,” she demanded, shoving at him. “I’ve had enough of your making fun of me. I repeat, I am
not
your toy
.”

He shook his head, grinning down at her, and moved to trap her between his arms, one of his knees planted between her thighs. “Not making fun of you, my Zaë. Well, maybe a little. Just finding it hard to believe you’ve so little experience with sex.”

He cupped her cheek in his hand and bent his head to brush a kiss over her lips. “A man knows when a woman is aroused, sweetheart. The way she looks at him, the way she holds her body, her head. And other changes. Your berry-hard little nipples, and the way you pressed your thighs together. There’s an ache there, between them, right? A kind of hollow wanting that can’t be eased except with the right touch.”

He kissed her again, and she let him, and then lay still as he went on, his voice like warm honey, his silver gaze holding hers mesmerized. “And I can smell you. Smell your sweet pussy, sending off pheromones like a homing beacon. And if I touch you here—” she flinched as his free hand cupped her mons over the thin lace and silk of her panties. “—you’re wet. Your body’s way of easing the way for me to come inside you, deep inside you, and soothe that ache.”

She didn’t realize she’d made a sound until a soft moan emerged from her throat. She closed her eyes tightly, but there was no hiding. His hand tightened, his fingers rubbing her panties into her. It felt so good she couldn’t stop herself from moving, arching up into his touch, offering herself to him.
 

He kissed her again, hard, his head tilting so he could take her mouth. His tongue slicked inside, taking possession of hers before withdrawing to sup on her lips. He groaned, flexing his hand on her.

“I have to touch you, baby. Swear I won’t fuck you until we know who you are, but I have to have just a taste.”

His fingers delved under the thin barrier of her panties, tracing the swollen seam of her labia. She cried out at the shock of sweetness, and he kissed her again, hard this time as he repeated the caress, his fingers slicking deeper.

She’d touched herself of course, but his fingers, much larger, rougher, male, felt so different. And they weren’t guided by her, but by a man who knew just what to do and did it, not quickly but with ruthless skill.
 

He explored her, sliding one long finger deep inside her, stroking it in and out several times. Zaë moaned again, hanging onto him as the strangeness of the sensation sent her shivering and arching under him. The succulent sound made her eyes fly open. She was that wet?

“That’s it,” he crooned into her mouth, his slitted silver gaze watching her. “Fuck, you love it, don’t you, baby? So responsive. See how you like this.”

His finger still inside her, he slicked his thumb in the moisture of her folds, and set it gently on the swollen bud nestled in her damp curls. Zaë lost control, bucking under him, rubbing herself on his hand.

“Oh, yes, please,” she gasped, then kissed him, begging wordlessly for what she craved.

“Mm-m,” he approved. “Is this what you did to yourself last night?”

She nodded. “Yes, but I…oh!” It hadn’t felt like
this
.

He gave it to her, circling his thumb around her clitoris, massaging it in a light and practiced rhythm. Then he hooked his finger inside her, pressing on a magical spot on her vaginal wall. Sweetness imploded inside her, and she clung to him, a high, thin moan bursting from her throat. Her orgasm was so much stronger with something inside her.

He groaned, a deep rumble in his chest. “Fuck me, that’s the sweetest thing I’ve seen in a long time,” he muttered.
 

Zaë’s tension released, she fell back on the pillows. Amazing. She shivered as he moved his finger inside her, and little aftershocks rippled through her.
 

“Open your eyes, baby,” Stark said. His voice was soft with amusement. “Look at me.”

Slowly she lifted her gaze to meet his, and blushed even more hotly as the knowledge of what had just happened, what was still happening seared between them.
 

“That was sweet,” he murmured. “Want more of that. Take off your dress.”

“But you said you wouldn’t...”
 

“I’m not going to. But that doesn’t mean we can’t play. Now take
off
your dress
.
”
 

She didn’t know where to look, not when he was touching her like that, and awakening those feelings all over again. The intimacy of the moment was too much, and yet not enough.
 

“Well, you—you must let go of me first.”

He grinned at her. “No I mustn’t. Got my fingers in the sweetest place known to man, not lettin’ go.”

And he didn’t. Not while she stared at him, dumb-founded. Not while she fumbled for the hem of her gown, then realized it was trapped underneath her. Not while she lifted her hips and worked the silk up to the small of her back, and not while she sat up enough to pull the dress up, and lift her arms to pull it over her head.
 

These movements around his hand caused so many nuances of sensation that Zaë had the mad urge to continue to move, to use his hand to pleasure herself all over again.
 

She leaned back on her elbow, the dress discarded like a husk on the bed beside her.
 

His gaze was riveted on the thin, stretchy lace of her bra. “I like that,” he said, although it was more of a growl, his voice thick and raspy. “You have perfect breasts. Fill a man’s hands or his mouth.”

He looked down over her, and Zaë couldn’t help but do so as well, torn between fascination and utter embarrassment. Her body was small and feminine next to his, curves and indentations next to the brawny muscle and tanned flesh of his male form. And the sight of his thick, corded forearm, his hand cupping her mons while she felt his finger deep inside her, made her tremble with pleasure even as she wanted to melt from sheer embarrassment.
 

“Now, take off your panties,” he ordered.

She gaped at him. He expected her to work her panties off while he continued to hold her like this? Then she gulped at the adamant gleam in his eyes. It seemed he did.

“What do you say, my Zaë?” He stroked her, in and out, watching her as he did so.

Zaë’s heart thudded in a slow, hard rhythm as she pushed her thumbs under the lace straps of her panties.
 

“Yes,” she whispered. After all, she wanted it too.

He gave her a little squeeze. “Good girl. Hurry now, cause the next time you come is gonna be on my tongue.”

She froze, half sitting, and her thighs locked on his arm as her gaze locked on his mouth. His beautiful masculine mouth, with those firm lips that worked such magic on hers. She stared, spellbound, as he slicked the tip of his tongue along his lower lip.