The Pleasure Bot (Planet Desire Book 4) (11 page)

She shrugged and looked away. “I don’t have time for men.”

“Your job’s so demanding?”

“Sure. Mostly.” She sighed heavily and traced a finger along his shaft. “I don’t make the time, I guess. Then again, I haven’t met the man who would tempt me to loll around in bed all day.”

“Loll?” He pumped upward. “You haven’t done much of that.”

Her grin stretched her lovely, pink mouth, and he relaxed, glad she’d shed her somber mood.

His gaze drifted to the saddle. “You know you’re going to have to show me how that thing works. Is it enough?”

“Enough?”

“To take the place of a real man in your life?”

“What’s with this obsession with
real
men?” She rolled her eyes. “First Agnes, now you.”

“A sore spot, is it?”

“I don’t want a real man—I want…” Her gaze settled on him, and he read dismay in her features. “Shit.”

He yawned, his mouth opening so wide his jaws popped. He was surprised he could think of sleep when his cock was pleasurably aroused. “I’m sure you’ll find what you’re looking for, love. In the meantime, we have another day to scratch an itch. All I need are a few hours rest.” He pulled her hand from his cock. He could see the grumpiness returning. The minx needed more rest as well.

He pulled her closer to his side. “Sleep,” he commanded. His eyes drifted closed.

“Shit!”

‡

“I
like the
new look,” Agnes’s amused voice shattered the silence.

Declan jerked, nearly dropping the bottle of juice he’d been drinking. “Can you give a man a bit of warning when you sneak up on him?” He settled the bottle back on the refrigerator shelf.

“Pink does wonders for your complexion.”

He cursed under his breath, irritated that anyone, even a bloody computer, should witness his present state of dress. “Not another bloody word out of you.” With another curse, he adjusted the knot of the drapery he’d filched from Priss’s closet. “I couldn’t find my clothes.” He’d searched for his clothing without success before resorting to the square of flower-covered fabric.

“The valet’s just following my orders.”

“You want me wagging me ballocks for the entire weekend?”

“I’ve studied up some on human sexuality. Nudity breaks down barriers. You’ve only got the weekend to seduce her. I’m just trying to hurry things along.”

“But for what? It’s just a weekend of shagging,” he growled, not knowing why the thought disturbed him.

Agnes sighed. “You still believe that?”

Declan ignored her cryptic comment. Instead, he girded himself to ask the question that had kept him awake. “So, she really has no man in her life?”

“Nope. It’s just her and me.”

“But why? There’s nothing wrong with her—other than her rotten temper, and the fact she has to be in charge. The men around here must be fools. There must be at least one who wants to be led around by his cock.”

“She hasn’t found
The One
. She’s a romantic. Not that she’d admit it to anyone. But she wants to be swept away. Dominated, even. The men around here want business partners.”

“Bloody fools. She has so much more than a healthy bank account.” Like gold dust freckles across a cute, tip-tilted nose and nipples softer than velvet.

“Perhaps she’s alone because she doesn’t know what she wants. I think she needs a little help discovering what makes her happy.”

“You’re not thinking I can help her with that, are you?” She expected him to prepare Priss for another man? “I haven’t a clue how to show a woman what she wants.”

“But you’ve traveled. Seen a lot, I’m sure. You could help her see that there’s more to life than work. Then maybe she’d be willing to take a chance and spread her wings a bit.”

“That’s not part of the bargain. I’m not the man to show her what she’s made of. I’m just the weekend shagger,” he said, bitterness creeping into his voice. He headed to the door.

“If that’s what you think, then I guess I had you figured wrong.”

He paused, angry with himself that he cared to know what she thought. “What did you think?”

“That maybe you might want something more from this weekend. That maybe you might want to help someone other than yourself.”

“You had me figured wrong. I’m only looking out for me and my crew. You get them released, and I’ll take care of my end of the bargain.” He continued toward the doorway, but rather than shoving it open, his hand spread out on the surface. “Besides, I’m the last person you should want Priss to pattern herself after. I’m no great example.”

“You’re right.” Agnes agreed too quickly, which only raised his suspicions that she was up to something. “Forget I said anything.”

“Agnes?”

“Yes, smuggler?”

“I can’t keep her in bed all weekend long.”

“Why not? No stamina?”

“There’s nothing wrong with my libido,” he said, while imagining clenching his fingers around her scrawny neck. “What else might she enjoy doing?”

“Why don’t you ask her?”

“You mean, talk to her?” Inwardly he cringed. Conversing with women about personal issues and long-term plans was one of his least developed skills.

“What would it cost you? She’s not always so—strident. Just when she wants something really bad.”

That was an interesting observation.

“Priss likes to rise early.”

He looked out the window, past the brick wall that divided Priss’s lawn from the next-door neighbor’s property. The edge of the horizon glowed yellow-orange. “It’s almost morning.”

“Yup. If you’re going to call your friend, you better do it quick.”

He didn’t question how she knew about Reiver. “He’s not expecting a call any sooner than Sunday.”

“Better tell him a security guard is sniffing around the garage. He might want to try 2233 Briarwood. The owners are on vacation for the next month.”

“I’ll tell him.” Agnes was amazing. He bet nothing happened in this neighborhood that she didn’t have a pulse on. “I’ll need my comm pack. It was in my duster.”

“Look on the lower shelf of the pantry.”

Declan nodded. Maybe she wasn’t such a bad old bat.

“I still think you look really hot in pink, smuggler.”

He grinned. “Bite me, Agnes.”

She sighed. “Wish I could. I’d give you a run for your money.”

“I bet you would, you hussy. Thanks, Agnes.”

Agnes sighed and
closed the circuit, leaving Declan to call his First Mate. While she had a little time to herself, she decided to run a profile on Declan. The smuggler just might do.

And maybe Tonio might want to combine his processor with hers…

*

Declan held a
hot cup of coffee under Priss’s nose.

In sleep, the woman was a soft and winsome temptation. Her nose wrinkled, and she sniffed. Then she pried one eyelid open to peer up at him.

“Good morning,” he said, a little loud and definitely too jovial.

Her eyebrows drew together in annoyance. “Mornin’,” her voice was slightly raspy—no doubt hoarse from her lusty cries the night before.

He’d tried to leave her be and let her get a decent night’s rest, but his body found it impossible to ignore her womanly curves for very long. He’d had her every way he could imagine, and surprisingly, her ardor had matched his—and he’d had months of abstinence to whet up a mighty appetite.

Priscilla stretched under the covers, and then sat up, bunching pillows behind her back before she reached for the cup. She was careful to tuck the sheet beneath her arms, denying him a glimpse of her fair flesh. “Aren’t you having any?” she asked, giving him a quick glance before her gaze darted away.

Could she be suffering from a little morning-after shyness? He shook his head. The woman who’d bellowed her wants in the wee morning wasn’t the least bit shy. Perhaps she was sore. “Are you feeling all right?”

A blush painted her cheeks. “I’m fine. And you?”

“I’m a little chafed to tell you the truth,” he said, hiding a grin.

She choked on her coffee and held it away. “I’m not going to ask.” Her gaze fell to the fabric around his hips. “I see you found something to your liking in my closet.”

He grunted. “I was chilled.”

“What exactly would that keep warm? It’s chiffon.”

He was in too mellow a mood to take offense to her jibe. “Between you and Agnes, my masculinity has taken a bashing,” he said cheerfully. Nothing could blight his good mood this morning—his crew was free, and they were working on a plan to liberate his ship. His call to Reiver had been interrupted with the good news that all charges had been dropped. Unfortunately, his ship couldn’t be found in the impound lot.

Agnes was working on it for him. Bless her.

“You might try losing the silk—it would go a long way toward improving your image.” Her gaze was fixed on the pole that tented the front of the frilly shawl. “Your ruffles have ridges.”

Was she asking for a little morning tussle in her roundabout way? He unknotted the fabric and let it drift to the floor. He sat on the edge of the bed beside her as though he hadn’t a hard-on that could hammer nails. “Your pantry is poorly stocked. I couldn’t find a rasher or a packet of dried eggs anywhere, or I would have made your breakfast.”

She took another sip of her coffee, her gaze never leaving his cock. “I’ll have cock…er, cook, rustle something up for us. The stores are in his stock.”

He fell back on the mattress and gave an exaggerated yawn. “I don’t even have that sort of convenience on my star cruiser. Cookie makes our meals the old-fashioned way—rehydration. Was your cook a gift from your parents, too?”

She nodded above the rim of her cup. “I was wondering…”

He closed his eyes and scratched his chest like he didn’t care she lay naked beneath the covers within arm’s reach. “Yes, love?”

“Were you serious about that riding lesson?”

His heart thumped loudly in his chest. He opened his eyes to stare at her.

A smile curved the edges of her lips, and there was a wicked glint in her eyes. “I like to work out before breakfast.” She raised her eyebrows and gave him a hopeful look.

He’d help her work up one helluva an appetite. “Sure you’re not feeling a little…raw?” he asked, not wanting to appear too eager, although the poker between his legs couldn’t be misinterpreted.

“Not a bit.” She licked her lips. “I’m wet. Drenched, really.”

His mood shifted from mildy horny and amused to full-on, pile-driver hard. “Saddle up, little filly” He waved his hand at his cock. “Your steed awaits.”

“My stud, don’t you mean?” She giggled and set her coffee on the nightstand. Then she pushed down the sheets and scrambled across the bed toward him.

“Stud, steed—bloody hell!” He groaned as her thighs parted over his hips, and she lowered herself onto his rigid shaft.

She
was
drenched—and hot and snug. A perfect fit for his raging hard-on.

With his hands on her hips, he helped her find a rhythm that soon had them both wearing a light sheen of sweat.

Declan reached to cup her round breasts, and Priscilla leaned into his hands, her face growing determined as her breaths shortened to ragged gasps. Her cunt ground against his groin. The crisp hairs scraping her clit made a raspy sound.

Her hands clasped his to her breasts, and she moved her hips in slow circles over his cock, driving all thought from his sex-hazed brain.

“Declan!” She jounced, her eyes tightly closed. Her face strained with exertion and her building climax.

He wet his fingertips and dug between her legs for her clitoris. The small, hard kernel was engorged. He rubbed it hard, vigorously vibrating his fingers on it, until she cried out, and her movements grew jerky.

Her face reddened, and her mouth opened around a keening wail that flattered his male pride. When her orgasm passed, she crumpled forward onto his chest.

Declan smiled whimsically and rubbed her back while she struggled for breath. His cock was still rock-hard and buried inside her body. He wondered how soon she’d realize he was just getting started.

“It’s not polite to gloat,” she said, her breath still shuddering. She turned her face on his shoulder to glare.