Morgan Selwood 3: A Victory Celebration (3 page)

"You can explain on the way back to
Vidhvansaka
."
He grasped her wrist in a none-too-gentle grip and towed her towards the
stairs.

Outside the club the young man who had been
dancing with Morgan waited next to the skimmer, tense and nervous. Spectators
had gathered, surrounding the vehicle at a respectful distance. Curious
club-goers who had followed them up the stairs swelled the ranks.

Ravindra released his grip on Morgan and, arms
folded, stared down at the youth. He wasn't much more than a kid, round-eyed, his
chest rising and falling rapidly, lips parted, his eyes shifting from time to
time to the assault rifle in the guard's hands. She could prefer this stripling
to him?

"So. She’s with you is she?"

"Look, I just danced with her. I only
just met her. I don’t even know her name." He babbled the words.

"Oh, for pity’s sake. He’s not
involved in this." Morgan's fingers gripped his arm. "I was just
dancing with him. Let him go. Please."

"Dancing… and then what? A victory
party?" The very thought bubbled in his gut, bitter as bile. Morgan with
this. With anybody.

"Oh, you don’t think…" She
gasped. "You do. You think I’d…" Her brows lowered, her back
straightened and the ice fire blazed in her silver eyes.

She leaned towards him, her voice lowered. "You
think I’d, I’d… have it off with this… this kid." She was as furious as he
was now. "This is between you and me. It’s got nothing to do with him."

She jabbed her finger at the young man. "Let
him go and deal with me!" She pointed her finger back at herself.

"Oh, I’ll deal with you."

She was right. He was venting his fury on a
victim of circumstance.

"Get in the skimmer," he snapped
at Morgan.

Her nostrils flared, her lips a straight
line. She didn’t move, her eyes fixed on his, a picture of insolence.

"Now."

Still scowling, she slipped into the back
seat.

Now for this young pup, shaking in his
boots. "You have his details?" he asked the lieutenant, jerking his
head at the young man.

"
Srimana
."

"Release him."

The lad scurried off, walking as fast as he
could and almost running around the nearest corner.

"Lieutenant, we return to
Vidhvansaka
."
Ravindra followed Morgan into the back of the vehicle.

She sat stony faced, arms folded.

Ravindra made sure the privacy screen was
turned on. "Well?"

"Well what? Can’t I go out and have
dinner with the girls?"

"
Not
without telling me.
Not
after you’d told me you were staying on the ship and
certainly not
without
taking your comunit with you."

She just glared at him, her jaw set.

"And it wasn’t just dinner with the
girls. How was this dancing party meant to end? Hmm?"

"I can’t believe you’d seriously think
that I’d have a casual fuck with that… kid. I’m hardly desperate."

"How should I know? We haven't had
much time together lately, have we?" It was low. He could hardly believe
he'd said the words.

Her nostrils flared. "And whose fault
is that?"

"There was a war on. Don't change the
subject. You sell me a story about not liking crowds and there you are in the
middle of a crowd denser than the market place at Hrkensa on a fair day."

"I was dancing. That's all. After a
lovely dinner with a bunch of
your
female officers. I do not see your
problem." She rasped the words out between gritted teeth.

Recalcitrant,
contrary, obstinate, unreasonable bitch.

"Do you have any notion what I’ve been
through in the last hour? Do you remember what happened at Electra when you
took a little unscheduled visit to a planet without permission? Do you? I sure
as hell do. It was months before I got you back. Months. Do you think that
because Asbarthi is dead that
Bunyada
is finished? I’ve been sick with
worry and you come out with some half-assed rubbish about a night with the
girls."

"But it's all right for you to enjoy
yourself with a couple of grateful virgins young enough to be your daughter?"
She sneered. "I've heard about these things."

He leaned back. "I asked you to come
with me. I wanted you to come with me."

She tossed her head. "Oh, sure. I knew
better than to get in your way."

"What do you mean get in my way?"

"You know. The male bonding thing. The
victory celebration. Boys being boys. Allowing the ladies to show their
gratitude."

She stared straight ahead, her lips a
straight line.

So that was it. The anger drained away,
just a little. "If you weren’t here, I probably would have joined in with
the rest, yes."

"There you are. That’s what I mean. I
have no hold over you. There’s no reason why you shouldn’t. And there’s no
reason why I shouldn’t have a night out with the girls." She looked away,
the fingers of her right hand clenching and unclenching on her left arm. He
took a deep breath. Anger wasn’t going to work, not with her.

"Yes, you can have a night with the
girls. But tell me, Morgan. Or better still, next time come with me. We could
have been having our own dance party in a hotel room by now. You think I’d
rather screw some nameless whore than make love with you?"

The skimmer drifted to a halt outside the
entrance to the space port and the doors slid apart with a soft sigh. The
waiting guards slammed to attention.

She hesitated, pulling at her lip with her
teeth. "You didn't? You didn't even want to?"

He sighed. "I love you. Why do you
find that so hard to understand? I know I don't always tell you. I'm a man. But
believe me, it's true."

She nodded, a half smile curving her lips. "Looks
like I owe you an apology." She slid out of the car.

Ravindra alighted from his side and joined
her, putting a possessive arm around her waist. This was sounding a little
better.

"Be assured, my dear," he said,
leaning close over her, "you’ll be apologizing more than once."

***

"Give me ten minutes?" Morgan
asked when they arrived at the door of his quarters.

"What for?"

"I just want to freshen up, change."

"Why?"

"Well, I thought maybe, since you were
interrupted while the girls were dancing, you might like me to dance for you."
A hint of a smile lurked around her lips, a glint lit her silver eyes.

"You can dance? Like that?"

She nodded. "I learnt how. Just for
fun. Some of my, er… boyfriends enjoyed the show. You might, too."

Oh, my word. He could imagine her doing
something like that. She certainly had the body, lithe and athletic. But to
dance like the girls at the Presidential Palace, light and fluttery? Somehow he
didn’t think so. A sensual shiver slithered down into his groin. This could be
interesting.

"Ten minutes. I’ll be counting."

He watched her until the door closed behind
her before he entered his own quarters. Ten minutes. He kicked off his boots,
hung up his jacket and poured himself a brandy, stiff with anticipation. Glass
in hand, he settled on the couch in his shirt sleeves. He was looking forward
to this.

She stepped inside two minutes late.

She wore a robe over the dress and when she
took it off he could see why. It was translucent and clung to her body,
sculpting it and softening the outlines although she was quite obviously naked
beneath it. He squirmed in his seat. Right now all he wanted was sex.

"You don’t have to dance."

She smiled at him, her eyes sultry and
seductive. "I want to. It’ll be worth it."

The music began. Tribal, primeval, its
rhythm the double beat of a heart, steady and repetitive: da dum… da dum… da
dum, the tempo slow.

Standing on her toes she arched her back, ran
her hands up and through her hair, and let it fall through her fingers in a
heavy cascade. She swayed, her body becoming an instrument for the music, fluid
and graceful. The tempo built up, a sensual, erotic melody overlay the heart
beat beneath. She flowed with the phrasing, sensual and seductive, weaving a
pattern around herself with hands and hips, belly and thighs and breasts. The
dance promised and whispered, beckoned and teased. Her hands slid down her
thighs or up the back of her neck, where she pushed her hair up, to let it flow
down around her shoulders. Her fingers wove their own tapestry.

The garment was open at the front, held in
place only by a silver belt at the waist. He could see the curve of her
breasts, her nipples taut against the translucent material, a tantalizing flash
of bare thigh as she moved, silk on tawny skin. The soft mound between her
thighs beckoned.

He swallowed and stirred in his seat, his
breath shortening. His cock was so hard it hurt, shoving against his trousers.
Much more of this and he’d come in his pants.
Oh, gods, Morgan, enough
.
He stood, ripped his shirt off and reached out for her.  He’d fuck her here,
here on the couch, fuck her senseless.

She danced on, aware of his presence but
ignoring him.

No. His chest heaved as he sucked air into
his lungs. No, this wasn’t about a casual fuck, however passionate. It wasn’t
what he wanted from her. She was no houri dancing for any man’s whim; she
danced for him, giving herself to him to do with as he willed. This dance was
an apology and a surrender, woven into an erotic fantasy. He would make her
quiver, make her ache with lust just as she had done to him.

His hands on her thighs, he drew her
against him so that her back was to his chest, and slid his hands slowly up her
body, pushing the dress aside, her silk smooth skin beneath his fingers. Her
body tightened at his touch. When he cupped her breasts she gasped and leant
her head back against his shoulder. Fondling her erect nipples, he buried his
mouth against her neck underneath the thick, dark hair. Lust raged through him
as he rubbed himself against her. Careful. Too much of this and he’d be
finished.

He turned her to face him and lifted her up
from the waist, holding her so that his lips could touch her belly, then
lowered her, tasting the salt tang of her skin all the way, until his mouth
closed over her nipple, sucking and flicking with his tongue. She groaned in
response, murmured his name, fingers clutching his hair.  He let her slip a
little lower until, clutching her tightly against his hips, he could kiss her.
She clung to him, legs, arms, lips. They swayed together, the music throbbing
in his brain.

He carried her to the bedroom, where he
slipped the dress off her body and shrugged off the rest of his clothes. He
knelt on the bed, buttocks on his heels and pulled her towards him. Facing him,
knees on each side of his thighs, she lowered herself onto him. Delicious. Warm
and slippery wet. He fought the urge to thrust. Not yet; not yet.

She whispered something in her own language
and then his mouth closed over hers. The music continued its rhythm, sensual
and erotic and he let it flow through him as it had flowed through her, moving
them both in an ancient dance with intricate steps and delicious harmonies, her
arms wrapped around him, her voice sighing her pleasure, her fingers tracing
his body.

He owned her, he possessed her, she was
his. The music changed and he leaned her backwards until she lay on the bed
looking up at him. The rhythm became faster, deeper, her fingers gripping
tighter, her body arching harder. Now he thrust deep, as deep as he could. She
raised her knees, gripped his body with her thighs. Oh, yes. Deeper. The blood
pounded in his brain, matching the music. She gasped, moaned, writhed beneath
him as the flood gates of passion burst for them both.

It was a long time before either of them
stirred.

"That’s not what I expected," she
murmured at last.

"Is that a complaint?" He rolled
onto his side, supporting his head on an elbow.

"No. That was very, very beautiful."

He stroked her face with his fingers and
she moved her head to brush his fingertips with her lips. This certainly beat a
quick fuck with a dancing girl. But then… she’d danced before, she said. He
didn’t like that notion. Not at all.

"How many times have you done this
dance?"

"Once. But it wasn’t like this. This
was very special. With Coreb it was nice but…" she shook her head.

"Coreb." He almost snarled the
word.

She smiled. "His name is Coreb Jenson
and he’s ten years younger than me. He’s quite tall, but not as tall as you,
black skin, broad nose, thick lips, black, curly hair, not a bad body and he’s
pretty good at sex. Apart from that we had absolutely nothing in common. I didn't
love him, he didn't love me."

His stomach squirmed with jealousy. Morgan
doing something like this with another man. "How could you do this dance
for a man you didn't love?"

Morgan was silent for a moment. "Oh,
you can. The dance is different every time you do it. You try to discern what your
man wants and you give it to him. Coreb wanted fast fun."

"And what did I want?"

She smiled, looking deep into his eyes. "You
wanted to dominate me, own me. And I guess I was apologizing…" she paused,
searching for words. "I was wrong about a number of things. To be honest, I
expected it to be out there on the sofa, fast and furious."

"It did cross my mind," he
admitted.  "But I wanted rather more than a quick release." He wanted
to own her. He wanted for her never, ever to countenance dancing for anyone but
him.

"So I gathered. I love you, Ashkar. But
you’ll never own me. What I give you, I give willingly."

He nodded. "So you'll marry me?"

She half sat up, staring at him. "Marry
you?"

"Yes. It's a Manesai custom. A man and
a woman bind themselves to each other in front of family and friends." He
couldn't keep the irony out of his voice.