Creed of Pleasure; the Space Miner's Concubine (The LodeStar Series) (13 page)

But this was about him. She was here for seduction, not her own pleasure. And if she was successful now, he’d let her stay here. Daanel’s survival and her own were more important than sexual satisfaction no matter how her Serpentian side was hissing in disagreement.

She straddled him, kneeling over him. He put his hands on her bare thighs, holding her and watching as she reached down to encircle him with her hand. He groaned, his eyes closing to mere slits as she stroked his length. He was hot and silken over twitching muscle, male rampant in her grasp.
 

She would have liked to go on stroking him, just to watch him quiver and strain under her touch. But she sensed it wouldn’t take much more for him to spill in her hand.
 

For one sec tears pricked at the back of her eyes as she wished that they were here because they’d met somewhere and liked each other. That he would call her by her name and ask what he could do for her, what she liked.
 

Then she drew a deep breath and cast that aside. The galaxy was cruel, and rewarded only those who did what they must.
 

So she touched herself with her other hand, parting the wet petals of her labia and guiding the bulbous head of his penis between them. His head came up, his gaze arrowing to where their bodies met. His hands tightened on her thighs, his fingers digging into her flesh.

She sank down on him, rocking her hips to ease the way, slicking him with her moisture.
 

With a low growl that started in his chest and rolled up through him, Creed Forth took over, his powerful body flexing under her, his hands holding her down as he drove his cock up into her with short, hard movements.

Planting her hands on his abs, Taara gritted her teeth, wincing at the stretch of flesh unused to such girth and then the solid jab of his cock against her as he drove home, as deep as he could go. Goddess, he was big. Later, that would bring her ecstasy, but for now she hovered on the knife edge between mere discomfort and pain.

“So tight,” he muttered, his eyes nearly closed, face a mask of tortured rapture. “So soft and warm and slick.”

Searching for ease, Taara flexed her strong thighs, rising up a little. With the motion, he groaned and went rigid in her grasp. She felt heat and wetness flood her pussy as he came.

And that, she supposed, was that. She waited, scarcely breathing, until he had relaxed beneath her, only his chest moving with his deep breaths.

Then she eased off of him, with a small shudder of her own as aroused, sensitized flesh released his. Her pussy felt empty, needy. She wanted to hiss her frustration, wanted to grab him and demand he pleasure her with hands or mouth to make up for the loss of his cock.

He opened his eyes and she caught her breath at the look there. Wonder. This sent a warm squeeze of pleasure through her. The corner of his mouth tipped up, and he huffed a laugh that was half groan.
 

“That was … good,” he said, his voice husky.
 

Then his face tightened, and he eyed her warily, as if he’d given away too much. Time to back off. He seemed as wild as that mawwr creature in his way.

 
Taara managed a smile, touching his chest before slipping away. “Rest,” she said. “Relax.”

Then she grabbed her clothes from the bed and hurried away into the lav. But when the door closed behind her, she did not give in to the tumult of emotion roiling inside her. Instead, she went to the shower dry, cleaned herself up and then slipped back into her tunic. It hit her at mid thigh, although the high slits left her hips bare. But at least she wasn’t naked.

She scowled at herself in the mirror. She was flushed, her mouth tight. She hadn’t had sex in months. An orgasm would be a welcome release of the tension she’d been living with, but no—she had to be tortured with a beautiful man whose needs were met so rapidly she hadn’t even had time to get close to climax.
 

“Not here for your own pleasure, Taara,” she whispered to her reflection.
 

She finger-combed her hair and went back to wait on the pleasure of the man who now owned her body, at least for the next lunar month, or until he tired of her, whichever came first. That had been the deal she made with Logan Stark.

* * *

Creed lay on the bed, his body lax with satisfaction, his mind as clear as the vast blue sky over his valley. Clinging heat and incredible softness. She was ... perfect.
 

He stroked a hand down over his chest, his abs and groin and let his eyelids drift shut, enjoying the loose, pliant feeling of his body, inside and out. He was wet, not just from his own seed, but from her. He lifted his hand, and inhaled the musky scent of their joining. His seed and her pussy tinged with that perfume he’d smelled on her.
 

His cock twitched as he imagined dropping to one knee before her and putting his face there, between her strong, rounded thighs. Sniffing her, even using his tongue to taste her there. Men did that. Women did that for men, too.

The bed dipped and he knifed up, eyes open, ripped from his sensual reverie. Quark, she’d caught him mooning over her, smelling his fingers like a boy with his hand in a jar of treats.
 

She faced him, one knee on the edge of the bed. She wore her top again, her shoulder bared, the top dipping down between her breasts as she bent forward, her leg bared to the hip.
 

She smiled hesitantly, hunching her shoulder so her top slid further down, baring one pert breast nearly to her nipple. He hadn’t gotten his hands on those yet. He wanted to fondle them, taste them.
 

“I thought you might—”

Her words, her voice galvanized him. What the hell was he thinking, lolling around in bed?

“Thanks, but no time,” he cut in, already swinging his legs over the other side of the bed. “Got things to do. I’d better get back to the mine, now that the danger’s past.”
 

That was the truth. He had to get moving, before he let her draw him back down on the bed for more. He wanted to smell her, taste her, wallow in her scented softness. Lose himself in her.
 

He could do this, but in measured doses.
 

He bent to grab his pants from the floor and step into them, yanking them up without bothering to fasten them. Boots and shirt in hand, he turned back to her. She swiveled to watch him go, those green eyes big. Worried, as if she thought she’d done something wrong. He didn’t want her worrying.

“Thanks,” he repeated. “You’re welcome to swim or whatever you like. I’ll be back by dinner time.”

He strode from the room, closing her out of his sight.
 

But although he sluiced off under the hot spray of his showerdry, the memory of his first taste of a woman’s body was indelible. That, he’d carry with him the rest of the day. For a long, long time.

As he dried off, his face heated with embarrassment. He shook his head at himself. Hells, he’d cut and run like a guilty kid. Why had he been so worried about letting her take care of his lust? He had never shied away from any kind of physical danger, why was he so afraid of one little female? It wasn’t as if she wanted anything from him, besides credit. It was transaction, open and honest.

She was a professional; she offered this to other men too. She made them feel good, they paid her. Clearly didn’t let her own emotions get involved as she moved from man to man—and maybe women, for all he knew. Others who managed to enjoy her physical attentions while keeping their emotions out of it.

He could do the same.

* * *

“You’re welcome, your highness,” Taara muttered as he stalked away. “If you’re finished with me, I’ll just go. No need to stick around, or ... anything.” Anything such as talk for a moment.
 

She slapped her hands on her thighs. She’d just relieved the man of his virginity, for goddess’ sake, and all he did was thank her and tell her he had to get back to work?

Taara blew out a hard breath, trying to push out her tension and nerves with it. So, had he enjoyed what they’d done? He’d certainly climaxed in a hurry. Did that mean she’d done a good job, or just that he was unfortunately one of those men who ejaculated prematurely?

Well, he’d told her to go, so fine. She would not sit and moon over him. The big sand lizard—a quick fuck and then he was gone, back to chasing insects. No thought in his petrified reptile brain for the female he’d left wanting.
 

“Man fuck woman, then go hunt,” she muttered to herself. “No talk.”

She slipped off the bed, and stalked into the big closet, her anger and sexual frustration rising to a boil. She hated Logan Stark and at the moment she wasn’t so sure about his brother.

No matter how handsome he was, Creed increasingly seemed to be cut from just the same cloth, not fine lii silk but tough ceramesh body armor—impenetrable by most cutters and small lasers and abrasive to anyone who rubbed up against it, like lizard scales.
 

There was a pool here somewhere. She was going to go and use it. She was going to enjoy the beauty and simple luxury while she was here—swim in his fancy pool, eat his fabulous food and explore outdoors in the fresh air and wild landscape. If he wanted her again, he could quarking well come and find her.

Taara slipped on a robe of blush lii silk with embroidery of pale green and opened her comlink. “Pool,” she snapped.

Her comlink chimed. “Pool,” agreed a quiet voice. Figured that he’d have a male voice in his home’s interface. “Follow the passageway to your right.”

She walked along the wide passageway that she’d traveled earlier with him at a run, on the way to take shelter in Creed’s office while he and the pilot went off to fight. This time she had leisure to note the fine woods and cerametal fitments, also the carvings inlaid in the walls. They were abstract, long panels with flowing designs that resembled trees, although none that she’d ever seen.

“Turn right,” the voice instructed.

A wide door opened at her approach, emitting the sound of running water, and a rush of warm, damp air scented with plants. Taara walked through the doors. They closed softly behind her, but she scarcely noticed, lost in awe.

She was in a grotto, a place of water and plants and mist. She had a vague urge to step back through the doors and see if she was still in Creed Forth’s home, or if she’d entered an alternate reality.
 

She stood on a flat ledge of flagstones that marched around the sides of the big room as far as she could see. Below lay a pool, with a shallow bottom that gradually deepened into darker blue at the far end. The water was clear, but mist rose to cloud the air, thickly enough she could barely see the far end of the grotto. A place of secrets, like the man who’d built it.
 

Large plants, brought from some tropical region, judging by the size of their glossy leaves, hung over the pool, clustering thicker at the far end. And nearby, on the lip of the pool, a thin, square mat had been laid out. It was not the kind of comfy cushion one would lounge on after a swim. She padded along the rim of the pool and looked down at the mat. It was crafted of finely woven grasses, with an intricate border of contrasting weave. In the center of the mat were shallow indentations, as if someone sat on it in the same position each time.

For meditation, she realized. And it must belong to the owner of the house. So part of Creed Forth’s isolation included a focused inner life. More secrets.

Did his older brother hope to force him out of his solitude by sending her here? If so, it had worked, on the physical level at least. And she wouldn’t be sentient if she didn’t feel a glow of pride that he found her alluring enough.

She unfastened her robe, let it fall near the mat and walked down the steps into the pool, sighing with pleasure as the warm water lapped around her ankles, and then her legs.
 

Creed might live simply, but he lived in beauty such as she’d never thought to experience. She’d seen resorts on holovid travel channels and heard the customers at Maitresse chatting languidly about water spas they’d visited, but now she was here in reality.

She waded deeper, the warm water rising around her naked body until she was shoulder deep. This far into the pool, she could see a low waterfall at the far end, splashing down into a deeper pool with plants hanging over the dark water.

Mysterious and inviting, it sent a shiver through her. It looked as if some creature should be lurking there, beautiful and dangerous as the owner of this place. Her fingers twitched, imagining the creature she would sketch hiding in the undergrowth, with jeweled hues that were a reflection of its environment. It would fill the back of a lii silk robe, and twine around one side to the front. Or perhaps fill a wall tapestry.

Shaking her head at her foolishness, Taara lay back in the water and floated, letting the water hold her in its cradle while she moved her arms and legs desultorily to stay afloat. The ceiling had skylights built in, of translucent green that muted the light, as if it filtered down through tall vegetation.