Trapped: A SciFi Convict Romance (The Condemned Book 1) (4 page)

Her mouth opened on a tiny
o
.

Without the dirt, dark, thick hair shorn close to his scalp
was now visible along with olive skin, a wide forehead, low brows, firm lips,
and a square jaw. Tiny droplets left his long lashes
spikey
while rivulets of water tracked over chiseled cheekbones, down his sculpted
chest and abdomen, to a small trail of dark hair that snaked from his belly
button to disappear into the water. Scars of various length and width tracked across
miles of pure, hard muscle.

My
God
, mud man was
a flesh and blood man—an incredibly masculine one. If she’d met him at the
Academy or the barracks on Earth, she would have been unable to stop staring.
He was that beautiful.

Then his hand shot out and her daze shattered.

With a hiss, she stumbled back a step.

One dark eyebrow rose. “
Here.
”

She looked down to see a small white bar in his hand.

“It’s soap.” His tone was brusque. “The drones dump trash
from Earth. Use it.”

It was another long speech. This one seemed to come easier.
Like his vocal chords were warming up. Like he was remembering how to actually
talk to someone else. But beyond that, she had no idea what was going on here.
Why he was taking the time to give her soap. Clean her up.

She hated not being able to read him at all. She hated not
knowing if the brief flashes of humanity she’d seen in his gaze were real or
not.

“Thank you.” It took all her courage to reach out and take
the bar from his hand, the brush of her fingertips against his rough palm
sending adrenaline surging through her. But when he remained still, when he
allowed her to draw back her hand, soap clutched tight, her heartbeat slowed to
something just below painful. “I—I’ve never used one before. The Academy only
allows lasers for cleaning. The use of water was banned a long time ago.” She
stopped short.

Of course, he knew that. He wasn’t from some distant galaxy.
He was from Earth. He just wasn’t welcome there anymore.

His lips flat lined. “I’ve been here a while, but not as long
as that.”

Was that a joke? His expression offered no clue.

“Of course.” Hands shaking, she took the soap and rubbed it
against her arm. The blood stayed put. She rubbed harder.

She hadn’t expected this…this talking. Or the kindness of a
bath—with soap. It was confusing.

“You need the water to make it work.” Rough hands reached out
and took the soap, dunking it under the water, making that same foamy circle
she’d seen before.

“Turn around.” His voice had gone husky again.

That overworked heart of hers started up double time once
again. Her feet remained planted where they were.

He waited for longer than she would have expected before he
spoke again, his jaw locked tight. “Anything?” It was a reminder. A reproach. A
challenge.

And her last chance to change her mind.

Her eyes sunk shut.
I
can do this. I need to do this.

She whirled around, bracing for a grab. A strike. But the
deliberate slow glide of a calloused fingertip down the bumps of her spine
slammed through her with more force than any blow.

Chapter Four

“Pull your hair to one side.” 673’s voice was gruffer than
intended, but staying in control was taking all his effort. The creature he’d
become roared at him to throw her down and ram inside. To take what was his.
The Dragath25 way.

And he could. He could do whatever he wanted with her. His
strength gave him that right. Her defenselessness made her easy prey. There
were no rules here on Dragath25. No honor. Only violence and might.

But he didn’t throw her down. He didn’t ram inside. The feel
of soft silk beneath his fingertip too good to rush. Hazy memories of the man
he’d once been whispered that the smells and the
sighs
and the hot little mewling sounds of a woman on the edge were worth the wait.

That even a bit of the man he’d been still existed confused
him almost as much as it angered him. But all of that was secondary to the feel
of her smooth skin as he dragged his fingertip down her spine.

She’d stayed. He’d thought several times she wouldn’t. He’d
braced himself for the reversal. Lectured the man he’d once been to damn well
walk away before he became even more of a monster. But she’d surprised him. And
he wasn’t about to lose the chance to experience something he’d never thought
to feel again.

He leaned forward, skimming his nose just above the smooth
line of her shoulder. Holy hell. The scent of her…of woman. Of light. Of
softness. The faint hint of vanilla still clinging to her skin.

The soap cracked in his palm.

It was a good reminder. Control was essential. Control was
imperative or the fragile, trembling woman before him would turn to dust in his
hands. Like everything else he’d ever had.

He’d told her to turn around because the sight of her body—of
all that creamy white skin, full lush breasts tipped by perfect pink nipples,
hourglass curves, and bare, mouthwatering mound—had made going slow impossible.
But even with her back to him he was in trouble. That ass….it called to him
even now.

He leaned in close. “You smell…good.”

She started. Then seemed to force herself to relax. “That’s
hard to imagine, but thanks.” Her voice had a high-pitched forced nonchalance
he didn’t like as much as the one she used when bossing that bastard soldier
around. “I’m covered in soot and dirt and dust. Even my hair must stink.”

His gaze shifted to her hair. He hadn’t really paid attention
beyond noting it was long and wavy and feminine enough to check off each of his
boxes. But now he was curious. Finding a layer of control he hadn’t even known
he possessed, he shoved back at the lust riding him hard. “Go under.”

There was a momentary hesitation and then, on a deep breath,
she sank under. Instantly, her hair fanned out in all directions, tangled silk.
Fumbling—his hands seeming too big and awkward for the first time—he grabbed
for the strands as gently as possible, letting the soap skim through them and
over her pink scalp. Inky grey clouds slid from her hair, revealing a golden
brown he was pretty sure would turn to yellow gold when dry. His fighter girl
was a blonde.

For some reason, it brought relief. His wife had been a
brunette.

He gave the woman’s hair a gentle tug. Understanding, she
emerged from the water, wiping her eyes.

Done with waiting, he kept his fist wrapped around her hair,
walking backwards until they were standing only up to her thighs in the shallow
water, guiding her closer and closer, ignoring her little gasp of dismay and
the stiffness of her posture, until her perfect backside pressed against his
front.

A groan strangled in his throat. The warm press of her soft,
wet skin, and the feel of his throbbing cock nestling in the crease of her ass was
better than anything he could have imagined.

Except for that first touch….the heat of her small palm
pressed against his, her fingers voluntarily lacing with his….God, that had
almost brought him to his knees.

After the first few years on Dragath25, pain hadn’t been as
big a part of his day. Life had settled into one numb, bleak cycle after
another. But pleasure…he’d thought that sensation gone for good.

Until she offered him anything.

Her body trembled as he slid his hands across the silk of her
creamy shoulders, down her arms, the foam from the soap leaving streaks of
white. Tracing the softness of her warm flesh ecstasy and hell.

He sucked down a shuddering breath, scrambling for an anchor,
drowning in sensation. After eight years of a bleak void, the awakening of
every nerve ending was almost painful. The shocking riot of another’s scent and
touch and sound almost too acute to bear. And still he couldn’t make himself
stop.

She was so tiny his palms easily spanned her back. Yet she’d
taken on soldier bastard and him. And done whatever was necessary to save her
friends. Maybe she had the kind of strength necessary to survive Dragath25. At
least longer than most females.

“Do you want to know my name?”

His hands stilled. He should have known his fighter girl
wouldn’t go down quietly.

Her voice was part whisper, part reproach. “It’s Cadet
Annabella
West. Bella, for short.”

“It suits.”
But I
prefer fighter girl.

His hands glided to her full tits, rolling her sweet pink
nipples between thumb and forefinger. So smooth. So stiff. Her sharp gasp only
made his dick throb harder.

“I came here on a mission.” Her voice was growing less
steady, more breathy with every second he played with her breasts. “I came to
find a way to save Earth. To—”

He splayed his hand down her flat belly and cupped her mound.
“Fighter girl?”

“Yes?” Her word was an unsteady hiss.

“Shut up.” He nipped at her throat, his fingers ghosting over
the soft folds of her pussy. Getting her used to his touch. Reminding her what
was to come. She wasn’t wet. He hadn’t expected her to be. There were things
that needed to be established first. Things her mind needed to accept before
her body followed.

“What was doesn’t matter. The past is over.” Another inmate
had told him the same thing early in his arrival. When he’d still been clinging
to the man he was. To the life and the rules and the norms he’d known on Earth.
The lesson had saved his life. “Life on Dragath25 is short. Ugly. Brutal. Every
day you survive is a miracle.”

He paused, letting the words sink in. “Do you understand what
I’m saying, female?” She nodded, but he pushed himself to continue anyway. He’d
been out of the habit of talking for a while, but this was important. He needed
her to understand. “This is about pleasure. Not pain. I don’t get off on pain.”

She stilled, and he thought he heard a small sob. It caused
an odd tightness in his chest. He should have mentioned no pain before. He was
definitely out of practice.

“I won’t hurt you.” His thumb skimmed over her clit, gently,
barely there. “On Dragath25, you take your pleasure where you can, when you
can. Because tomorrow you might not be alive to feel anything at all.”

There was a moment of silence, the only sound the rasp of her
too fast breaths, and then, to his immense satisfaction, she relaxed a fraction
against him, her legs widening ever so slightly to accommodate his touch. “No
pain is good. I…I can do that.”

Her courage hit him like a sucker punch. Stealing his breath,
sending his limbs twitching, his blood roaring in his veins, his body demanding
its due, while his mind screamed at him to get the hell out of this cave before
it was too late. To turn tail and run before her fearlessness turned this into
something he’d never intended.

For eight years, he hadn’t given a damn about another soul.
It had kept him sane. It had kept him alive. Feeling something for this woman
besides lust wasn’t a part of the plan.

But before he could make good on his thoughts, her hand
closed over his, anchoring him to her, her fingers lacing with his just as she
had the first time he’d touched her. “It’s okay.”

Fuck
. She was
comforting him. Soothing him like she might a wild animal, which proved just
how insightful she was.

He wanted to shake off her touch. To tell her he didn’t need
a damn thing from anyone, but there was no way. Not when his breath was
shuddering in and out. Not when he couldn’t have moved his hand even if 225’s
entire pack suddenly descended.

No! This was about
scratching an itch. Seizing the moment. Nothing else.

Determined, he forced his body to stillness. Moved his palms
down her legs, noting the way she shivered, noting the small catch in the back
of her throat as he brushed behind her knees, the back of her thighs. The way
her breath shuddered when he ran his fingertips along the crease of her ass.
How her body quivered when his hand cupped her throat, his mouth sucking on the
vulnerable tendon he’d exposed. His lust ramping higher with every touch.

He got the distinct sense his fighter girl liked things on
the edge.

Just a little longer
came the pained chant in his mind as his hands glided over her soft skin,
learning her, relearning himself, sweat beading on his back and every muscle
tightening to the point of pain as he forced himself to go slow.

Then, finally, thankfully, her muscles lost the last of their
tenseness, her thighs parting in surrender as his fingers worked her
pussy—sliding through hot-as-hell wetness that only made him harder. She was
wet. And hot. And a million times more erotic than any dream he’d had these
last lonely years.

He needed more. More sensation. More touch. More her.

“Hold on.” Without warning, he turned her in his arms. Lifted
her up so she had no choice but to lock her ankles behind his ass. And waded
toward the bank.

Hands no longer shaking, he laid her on the soft moss. Her
legs slipped from his waist. He stepped between them, forcing them wide. The
sight of her spread beneath him made him groan.

Her eyes grew three sizes, trepidation and uncertainty—but no
longer terror—flitting through their gorgeous green depths. Emerald green. Like
the plants around him. He hadn’t noticed that before.

“What are you planning to—”

He swooped in and latched onto her pretty pink pussy before
she could finish her question. His action was answer enough. He’d forgotten the
mouthwatering tangy taste, the exotic scent, the unbelievable feel. And his fighter
girl….she tasted better than anything he remembered. Especially when she gave a
little mewling cry and opened her legs wider, letting him in. Taking pleasure
where she could. Proving herself a true survivor.

The last of his control snapped.

On a roar, he reared up, his hands wrapping around her
thighs, lifting her lower body off the ground and lining her up with his dick.
Their gazes locked as he rubbed against her once, twice, using her juice as
lubrication. “I’m coming inside.” It was a declaration.

“I know.”
 
She panted
beneath him, her gaze clear. Steady. A clear sign she wasn’t as lost in her
pleasure as she should be, but there was a flush on her cheeks and her pretty
pink slit was swollen and wet. It would have to be enough.

“Touch yourself. Make it good.” He shook his head, fighting
for control.

She was still for an instant and then understanding and
determination settled in her gaze, outweighing shame or embarrassment or fear.
Watching her fingers slide into her soft folds almost drove him back to his
knees.

Shaking with need, his gaze locked on her hand, he worked
himself inside, one slow fucking inch at a time. Her tight hole making it
impossible for him to do more than thrust slowly. Her growing moans of pleasure
whipping his desire into a greater frenzy. Until he was buried completely. So
deep, his balls smacked against her ass. And, oh holy fuck, the feel of her was
unbelievable.

He pumped harder. Faster. His hips moving at near desperate
speed, chasing the kind of satisfaction he’d never thought to feel again.
Driven to the brink by the hot as hell movement of her fingers circling her
clit harder and faster, frantic now as her gaze grew heavy lidded and he rammed
deep inside her.

Connected. With another human being. As he’d never expected
to be again.

“Anything. You remember, female?” His words were a near
growl. “You said anything and I want it. I want you to come for me.”

As if waiting for his command, she broke apart, her body
shuddering as her fingers went wild and her cunt clenched down on his dick,
milking him so hard and deep it threw him into his own orgasm, his back bowing
as wave after wave of pleasure slammed through him, making it damn near
impossible to stand—and still he kept thrusting, never wanting it to end—until
every last bit of satisfaction was wrung from him.

Holy shit.
He
almost felt…at peace.

Until he remembered this was Dragath25. And here, after the
pleasure, there was always pain.

*****

The man’s sudden tensing nudged Bella from her breathless
stupor. The aftershocks of her orgasm were still coursing through her body, his
thick cock deep inside her, her legs spread wide, her bottom still lifted off
the ground.

Their gazes fused. He looked almost wary. Wasn’t that supposed
to be her role?

Maybe he couldn’t see it, but the strongest emotions pulsing
through her right then were gratitude and pride…and the ache of a woman well
pleasured.

The way he’d looked at her…the way he’d handled her…as if she
were something precious….as if simply touching her was something
extraordinary…it wasn’t something she’d experienced before.

She’d seen people look at faded pictures of the lost forests
like that, but other people? In a world where people like her—people without
parents or Council influence—were forced to sleep stacked atop one another and
crammed shoulder to shoulder in crowded eating halls for a few synthetic,
flavorless scraps of condensed food, touch was taken for granted, viewed more
as a necessity to be suffered than a pleasure. But with him, it hadn’t felt
like that at all.
She
hadn’t felt
like just another burden. She’d felt…she’d felt like she mattered.