Claimed: The Warriors of Nur (19 page)

BOOK: Claimed: The Warriors of Nur
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TK laughed, the deep rumble of it escaping to be absorbed into the soundproof walls.  Gasping, he bent forward, his arms crossed over his chest.  He’d know, upon entering the large, heated training room on the quarantine deck that this would be worth seeing.  De’Lhila--dressed in her usual boy shorts and tank--had been about to run Aramis through her own special training exercises.

As Weapons Officer, it was her responsibility to make sure that every tool of defense--or attack--stayed sharp, primed, and ready.  In her opinion, there was no more important tool than your own body, and her military upbringing had equipped her with the knowledge and discipline necessary to hone just about anyone into a lethal, controlled weapon.  Anyone field-trained on the
Lost & Found
was required to demonstrate a certain level of knowledge before Avi’Nyla signed off on his or her fitness for completion of the program.  Part of the knowledge was how to kill, maim, and otherwise incapacitate any species of humanoid life encountered. 

From the looks of the last 30 minutes, ‘Missy’ here had a long way to go.

“Take it easy on him ‘Lhila…” he smiled, unable to hide his amusement, “he didn’t know he was blaspheming.”

De‘Lhila crouched beside the whimpering man.  At least he wasn’t crying.  She could understand a little whimpering; after all, he’d probably be peeing red until he could get to Med-Deck for her to repair the damage she’d done, but there was no coming back from tears.  Once you started leaking, you lost all hope of gaining any respect from her. 

Standing, she toed him onto his back.  “Oh for God’s sake!  It’s not
that
bad.  You didn’t even lose any teeth.”  This she said with pride, Avi’s previous admonishments ringing in her ears.

‘’Lhila, if I have to blender one more damned plate of food, you’re on meal rotation indefinitely!’

De’Lhila shuddered.  Cooking being one of her only non-accomplishments, she could imagine the stomach churning horror of having to eat her own cooking for the remainder of the mission.

“Go to Med-Deck.”  She turned, heading towards the chuckling Neanderthal in the corner. “I promise I’ll fix you,”  she threw over her shoulder.

 

“What are you laughing at?”  Irritably, she lifted her tank to wipe her sweat.  Unconcerned about exposing even more of her barely covered body, she twisted the material, tucking it between her breasts.  Sweat ran down her belly, to pool in the waistband of her shorts.

“I just always enjoy your lessons on the value of not underestimating the abilities of your opponent.”  He grinned again, handing her a towel.

She wiped off, grimacing at the over-sensitized feel of her skin.  She’d woken up on edge again, bowstrung by the dreams that were now beginning to make her short with everyone one around her, especially the always laughing, brotherly pain in her ass.

“Yeah well…I don’t hit like a girl.”

“Never said you did.”  He held up his hands in mock surrender.  “You done with warm up?  Or do you need to kick the shit out of
Missy
over there a little more.”

She glanced back, her lip twitching slightly at what would be her new favorite nickname.  Aramis--now forever Missy--crawled painfully towards the edge of the mat.

“Yeah, I think he’s learned the error of his ways.  Besides, there’s just no fun in kicking a guy when he’s down, and he’s pretty much as down as one can go.” 

Why?” she asked, eyebrow raised in challenge, “think you can last longer?”

“Than
Missy
over there?” he nodded towards the source of their mocking, “You insult me, D.  You really do.”

Moving to the center of the mat, she shifted her weight to the balls of her feet.  “Well come on then, big talker,” she beckoned, finger cocked in a ‘come hither’ gesture.  “I heard you hit like a girl.”

Laughing good naturedly, TK stripped down to the thin black training shorts he wore to work out.  He loved sparring with De’Lhila.  She was one of the most talented, deadliest females he’d ever met, so ‘exercising’ with her was like playing with a slightly deranged kangaroo.  She was springy, fast, and would kick the shit out of you if given the opportunity. 

Moving to the center mat, he mimicked her stance.

“SO,” he lunged forward, fist aimed towards her jaw.

“SO,” she mimicked, side stepping the blow.

They circled, each looking for weakness to exploit. 

De’Lhila launched a side kick, her aim his ribs.  TK turned into it, his muscles tensed to take the hit.  Tucking his arm, he caught her foot between his body and elbow.  His arm snaked her calf, his circling motion keeping her off balance while he jabbed her twice in the nose.

She let her body drop, his grip on her leg pulling him down with her until she was able to plant both feet firmly in his chest, catapulting him over her head.  Hopping up, she turned, barely avoiding a kicked aimed at the back of her head.

That’s what she loved about TK.  He didn’t pull any punches.  He’d kick her brains out if she let him.  He’d help her collect and reorganize them later, but he was all for her belief that since an enemy will do anything necessary to kill you, a friend should do nothing less.

“So, what’s eating you, D?” he spit blood onto the mat.

“Nothing.  Why do you ask?”  She panted, sweat leaking into her eyes.  She blinking, clearing the grainy burn.

“Don’t give me that shit, D.  You’re about as high strung as I’ve ever seen you.” He powered forward, pounding her kidney before she was able to move.

She crouched low, her stance allowing her to tuck inside his wider trunk.  She pounded him, blow after blow to the kidney, ribs and abdomen. 

TK took it, muscles tightening to minimize the potential damage.

They sprung apart, two evenly matched fighters.  They panted, both covered in rivers of sweat.  Another minute of circling left them collapsing to lie side by side.

“What gives, D?”  TK panted, one arm beneath his head, the other resting across bruised ribs.  “Just spill it.”

De’Lhila panted, equally out of breath.  She lay on her back, arms and legs spread eagle.  “Frustration…” she calmed her heart rate, pulling deep breaths in through her nose, “it’s just frustration.”

TK nodded, sweat dripping to make the mat squishy beneath his head.  “Yeah, this mission was a long shot from the gate, but not finding
any
sign of Leo has catapulted it right into crap-shoot alley.”

They’d been gridding off the quadrant, methodically tracking for the signal from Leo’s wrist unit.  So far, nothing.  They had one more left to go, and if that one turned up nothing, they’d have no choice but to accept the reality that they weren’t going to find her.

“There’s that, but…” she hesitated, shaking her head.

“But?”  He turned his head, focusing on her flushed profile.

“It’s these damned dreams!” It exploded from her. “I keep having these damned dreams!”  She didn’t want to say it, but lately they’d been not just nocturnal, but waking as well.

“What kind of dreams?”

She sighed.  “There’s a female”

“Girl on girl action,” he interrupted. “Oh how I would so love to be in your head…just for one night.  Please?” he begged.

“No, TK…”  She rolled her eyes at his eagerness. “You cannot play ‘peepshow’ in my head.  Now be a good boy, or momma won’t tell you a story.”

“Never pegged you for the selfish type, D…” he rolled to his side, propping his elbow to support his head “…but I’ll take what I can get.”

“So there’s this female…”  De’Lhila recounted every moment of the dream, up to and including the part where she woke up bowstrung and achy.

“Ouch.”  He whistled low. “No wonder you’re all stretched thin; you
so
need to get laid.”

“Your insight is overwhelming, all-knowing one.”

“No, seriously.  Think about it.”  Standing, he pulled her to her feet.  “I can’t remember the last time you got laid.” His hand came up to silence her response.  “Yes, I keep track.  While I have long since come to grips with the fact that you and I will never make sweet, sweet sweaty sex,  I’m still a dude, and the thought of two fine-ass females layin’ down the lickin’ does something to me.”

She laughed, shaking her head “You’re such a perv sometimes, TK.”

“You wouldn’t love me the same if I changed.”

“Sad, but true.”  She toweled off, snagged TK’s to toss in the laundry.  “Well if that’s what I need, then I need it bad, ‘cause these dreams are fuckin’ with my concentration.”

“Maybe you can get the good doctor to take the edge off.”  He commented playfully.

“No.  She’s not into females--not that I asked--but there’s something about her that screams penis.”

“Well, you can always go gospel and do a dude.”  He sidestepped a slap to the head. “I know…I know…EWWW, but if you’re jonesin’, I’m sure
Missy
would volunteer.”

“If only you were funny, TK.” Following him out, she keyed in the lock code, dimming the lights and activating the bio-haz program to clean and disinfect everything.  “If only you were funny.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

 

“So…are we pretending that you didn’t turn into a yellow-scaled, red-eyed, sharp-fanged, claw-footed…ummm, whatever you wanna call it?”  Leo propped her hip against the entrance, crossing her arms.  “Because I just wanna know before I bring it up.”

Erol tensed, his back to the room while he reformed dough to replace the bread burned during his little ‘freak out’.  Yeah, that’s about the only way to look at it.  He had freaked out!  Phasing had taken him as much by surprise as it had her, and he’d barely gotten a growled warning out before lunging for her.  He’d wanted to delay her formal introduction to the harsher, predatory side of him--that was a moot point now.  It had taken him several hours to calm enough to trust himself around her.  Now, with her scent beginning to permeate the air again, it was like not time had elapsed at all.  Almost.  He still hung thick and heavy beneath his furs, but his predator was buried a little deeper than before.  She’d have to get used to his phased form, but he didn’t want her to fear it, and in the state he was in, he’d relinquish all control if he allowed it to surface again.  He’d almost attacked her.  It wouldn’t happen again. He wouldn’t allow it.

“So, I guess that’s a yes.  I mean on the pretending thing.”  She sat at the table, elbows propped, chin resting on her folded hands.  “Not that I’ve ever been any good at the whole gloss over thing.”

She took in the wide back, and jerky movement as he continued to roll and flatten the dough.  She was unable to read his expressions or body language and wasn’t sure of his mood.

“Eat,” he ordered, completely ignoring her question. His tone--short and irritated--ignited her temper.

How dare he be angry with her!  She was the one dealing with the new information.  Did
she
chase
him
down and pin
him
to a tree?  NO.  Did
she
rip
his
clothes to shreds and then leave
him
naked and confused?  NO.  As far as she could remember, she was the one entitled to a ‘what in the holy hell?’ moment.  So, if anyone had the right to be short or irritated, it was her.

“You know, you could be a little more hospitable.  I mean it’s not like I asked to be here.”  Crossing her arms, she glared at the back of his head.  “As a matter of fact, I remember asking you to leave me where I was.  I was perfectly content to just stay put and wait for my sister to get here, but nooooooooo.”  Angrily, she wiped at tears.  How dare he treat her this way?  How dare he!

“You know what?” Standing, she rounded the table, her destination anywhere but there.  “You can save your…” her throat clogged, the constricting lump too large for words to squeeze around.  Her head was about to explode, and there was no way she was staying here so he could watch her pop.  Tracking Unit or no, she needed to get out of here before she made a completely humiliating fool of herself.  She’d go back to her EP; if nothing else, R&R would be able to track that signal.  Fuck Erol and his attitude. She wasn’t staying where she wasn’t wanted. 

She never made it to the entrance, but found herself shoved into the cool stone wall beside it, her body pressed flat from breast to knee, her cheek absorbing the cold smoothness.

 

Erol panted roughly.  He’d moved before realizing his body’s intention, pure instinct forcing him to prevent her from leaving.  He pressed forward, his body flush against her.  He knew he was crowding her, was probably crushing her since he pinned her to the wall, but he hadn’t the control to make himself ease up.  He held her immobile, one hand trapping her wrists above her head, his height bringing her to her toes, her body stretched to accommodate the difference.  He bent, his nosed pressed behind her ear, his thigh wedged between her legs.

“You want my hospitality?” he growled, the rumble shivering her spine.  “My hospitality would see you spread wide and mounted.” 

He pressed deeper, the thick evidence of his declaration pressing into her hip.  “Seeded thick.  Wet with me deep inside.”  He ground into her, shifting for skin-to-skin contact.  “You wanted me to leave you where I found you?  Do you think no one else would track you?”

Burying his face, he inhaled the rich fragrance of her.  “Would not have taken what they found?  You are mine Leo; mistake me not.”

Licking a slow sweep of his tongue across her nape and shoulder, he melted more deeply, pressing her more firmly into the warming stone, her heat bleeding into the smooth surface. 

With each growled word, his chest rumbled, the tremors vibrating along her already stretched, over strung nerves, a reminder of how good he’d felt between her legs.  She shifted, her toes barely touching the floor, and pressed her legs together--or tried to--the thick muscle wedged between spreading her wide enough to make it almost uncomfortable in her increasing sensitivity.  Every twitch rode her against him, the combined vibrations of his rumbling growl electrifying what should have been a fight or flight reaction.  Her clit twitched, the memory of his attentions too fresh to allow anything but need to pool there.

What the hell?
  She wasn't into the rough shit, and definitely not bondage, anything necessitating the relinquishment of control was a turn off for her--at least it
had
never turned her on, but there was no denying the rush of blood she felt at her own helplessness.  This was a sensation wholly new to her. 

A life of necessary control gave no opportunity for …well, this!  Forced helplessness.

She shook, unsure if it was lust, anticipation, or fear that held her.  Her nipples pearled, the sensitive buds almost painful.  Lust.  Her body throbbed, one big nerve, the tension building with every low grumble in her ear.

"You can’t make me stay here.”  The declaration lacked heat in its breathy whisper.  “Even if I have to wait…I’ll leave the moment I get the chance.”

“An intention already stated,
Duša
.”  Gently, he nipped the sensitive lobe of her ear, causing her skin to prickle. 

He inhaled, his nose running the length of her shoulder, the thick scent of her lending truth to the wetness on his thigh.  “You need me…” easing, he allowed enough space to slide his hand between the wall, stroking down, until he cupped her wetness “…here.” 

His thumb stroked through her curls, its target the pulsing jewel between.  He circled her, the weight of his touch just enough to register, the continuous motion winding her, a jack ready to pop.

"Let me sate you,
Duša
." His thumb eased away, the heel of his palm replacing it to press firmly, two fingers dipping to stoke from the inside.

Head resting languid against his shoulder, her hair cascaded to lie heavily along his back.

His hands were a noose, the only thing holding her up were the wrists he held suspended above her head.  Each slide of his fingers brought her closer to exploding. 
Yes!
  This is what she wanted.  What she'd been wanting the last three days. 

Abruptly, he stopped, his hand sliding from her with a wet slurp. 

She watched their glistening wetness travel to his lips, before he sucked it into his mouth.  His eyes closed, his expression that of a male satisfied with his work.

In an instant, she was no longer suspended, her hands now propped before her as he pressed her over the rounded surface of the table.  Again she was reminded that this man—no,
male
--wasn’t human.  Not even in the loosest most far-reaching definition of the word. 

He grabbed her thighs with a jerk, widening them until she was forced to climb—on hands and knees--onto the rounded surface.  She felt exposed, her ass presented to him, the tail of her ‘skirt’ covering absolutely nothing in this position.  She glanced around, her gaze arrested by the raw hunger presented in his every tensed muscle.

Erol stared, transfixed at what he’d exposed.  He swept the fur up, the material bunching at the dip of her waist, seated himself with her sweet center at face level, and stared--a ravenous beast presented with a feast.  Leaning forward, he pressed his nose to her aromatic folds, her citrus spice thickening him to a state of painful arousal.  Anchoring her, elbows propped, his arms between her thighs to wrap her waist, he fisted her ass, pulling until the back of her bent knees rested at his underarms, her vulnerable sex within striking distance.  His head shifting from side to side, he delved his nose, again drawing deeply. 

Leo wanted to scream.  Enough with the sniffing already!  Get on with it!  She got the scent thing.  She did.  But if he didn’t get on with the main event, she was going to get started without him. 

Reaching down, she slid her fingers through her curls--finger combing the sensitive nest.  She was so damn lit, even those slight tugs knotted her stomach.  Pressing slightly, she stroked once over her clit, her pussy lips throbbing with her racing pulse.  Her fingers slid with ease, the tips circling lightly.  She spread her hand, palming the descending curve of her sex, her fingers searching for entrance.

“Don’t.” Erol commanded, anchoring her more forcefully to the table.  He pushed, weighting her hips until she had no option than to obey. 

One arm trapped beneath her, she bent the other elbow to press both shoulders to the table, her face pressed--in profile--to the polished surface.

He tasted her, the flat of his tongue swiping from the curved crease of her lips to the clenched pout of her opening.  He sucked, his mouth sealing wide around her, and feasted, the extent of his appetites demonstrated in his attentions.  Her flavor was intoxicating, her deep guttural groans an aphrodisiac.  It wasn’t enough.  He wanted inside her, craved the wet caressing cradle of her body.  He stood, one forward thrust rooting him deep. 

“Ahhhh…” he groaned, her fit almost unbearable.  He moved, his strokes slow and controlled, concentrated to draw out her pleasure.  Covering her, he wound his arm beneath to pull her flush--her back to his front--his hand at her throat, forcing her submission.

She wrapped both hands around his wrist, their petite width barely spanning the circumference, and held on.

He assumed complete control, her kneeling angle leaving her unbalanced and open.  He didn’t choke her; his grip was just tight enough to demonstrate his domination –too firm to escape, but not in the least painful. 

She detonated, her body erupting in unending waves, his roars of encouragement like fuel to fire, spiraling her into a brutal release.

Erol roared, his cock clenched tight within her.  With her body seizing around him, the primal hunger to mark her--coat her thick with his seed—she rode him hard.  With supreme effort, he wrenched himself from her, his hips shifting to nestle in the wet curls of her mound. 

Leo softened, her head falling back to rest against his shoulder, her sole support, the hand still wrapped at her throat.

Freeing her hip, his hand traveled the sweat-slicked whorl of her belly, his palm curling to cup their interposed sexes.  His cock--sandwiched between her swollen lips--pulsed, his self-denial excruciating. 

He thrust forward, his palm pressing her folds more tightly around him, the mushroom head peeking through chocolate curls with each ascending stroke, and groaned, the renewed trembling of her body adding vibration to his inflamed senses.

Leo squeezed and closed her thighs, each swivel of his hips grinding him across her clit.  She could only wait, her body already coiling in anticipation of the approaching storm.  Her orgasm hit with the sudden violence of a lightning strike, her every nerve spiked, a vibration pitched to shatter.  Her hands settled to cover his, his satisfaction echoing as he emptied into her soaked crease.

She drifted, the pressure easing to a warm, dull throb.

“Fine,” she sighed, her body sagging bonelessly, “I’ll stay…”

“For now,”
she added silently before drifting away.

*****

Leo floated, the hot water soaking into her sore muscles.  She watched smoky spice-laced wisps of steam curl into the cool air, the chill unable to penetrate the water that settled just below her chin.  She softened into a granite chest, her head tilting back to peer up at its owner. 

Erol relaxed, eyes closed, his head resting on the beveled rim of the enormous basin, his shoulders rising above the water to pillow her head.  Steam rose, a scented cloud before him to paint softness where chiseled cheeks and an unyielding jaw resided.  In this moment, it was almost difficult to imagine the unrelenting, determined, and--no other word for it--frightening lover he had shown himself to be.

BOOK: Claimed: The Warriors of Nur
11.35Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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