Captive Desire

by Robin Lovett

  What I would do to her…

  Allowing my imagination to wander, I plan what I will do, how I will excite her, arouse her, and make her come. How I will use her and pound her body full of as much of me as she can take. How I will love hearing her scream and beg for more.

  The rage of desire flooding me is beyond any torture or pleasure I have felt—perhaps ever. The chemical-induced lust the desidre fills me with, combined with the physical Attachment I am experiencing, is lethal to my reason and reduces me to only the carnal need to mate. Which, in this moment, I no longer have to fight.

  I’m aware of every piece of myself. Blood courses through my veins, heated and thick. I am hard and can think of nothing but spreading her legs and tasting her.

  Darkness falls, and the light in the room fades. I can see only the outline of her body. And hear her.

  She moans in her sleep and murmurs, “Gahnin…” She is dreaming about me.

  My cock knows it, too. It swells, demanding to be within her, to give her what her voice tells me she needs. What I feel radiating off her like a live pulse on the air.

  Her breathing becomes ragged, and her hands begin to move over her body. First her breasts and her middle, then gliding down between her legs. She locates the zipper in her suit and slides it down.

  To see her finding pleasure in herself turns me on as much as the sound of her saying my name. I am torn between the desire to touch her and the need to watch her.

  She slides her hands inside the suit, between her thighs, and cries out the same sound she made yesterday when I touched her there. She must have found the spot that brings her so much pleasure.

  Her back arches off the bed. And she wakes.

  She stills, and her head turns to me.

  I cannot see her face in the darkness, but I can feel her stare on me. I move forward but force myself not to go to her without invitation. “Assura?”

  Her breath shudders, and she groans in frustration, pulls her limbs from her suit, and tosses it to the floor. “I need you to touch me.”

  I am beside her on her bed, my hands aching to be on her. I reach forward to caress the mound of her breasts, and she grips my forearms, encouraging me.

  “More,” she begs.

  Through force of will, I retract my fangs. It is agony, them pushing back inside my gums, and the buildup of the venom will be excruciating when this is over, but what I want more than to bite her is…

  To kiss her. Everywhere.

  Chapter Five

  Assura

  His lips meet mine, and…and…I never knew.

  What it felt like to be kissed like he’ll die if he can’t. To be kissed like his life and breath depend on my returning that kiss. Like the world could disintegrate, and he wouldn’t know it—that’s how much he needs to kiss me.

  My lips are helpless not to follow. I’m unable not to respond.

  In the darkness, the reasons to not do this don’t matter. That he is the last person I should ever touch this way, that for me to take pleasure in a Ssedez is a criminal irony in conjunction with my past is insignificant. There is only him, and my lust for his body, and his desire for mine.

  The softness of his lips combines with the hardness of his claiming. My mouth belongs to him, his mouth tells me, and I revel in the fierce pull of his sucking lips over mine. At the forceful thrust of his tongue into my mouth and…

  My gods.

  His tongue—the length of it, the dexterity of it.

  The long twin tips wrap around my tongue in a spiral—and massage mine. I never knew a tongue could be massaged, but he does. He squeezes it from the back to the tip. It pulls the tension from my throat and lengthens my tongue, until it’s between his lips and in his mouth.

  He frees it, untangles his tongue from mine, and moans as I return the caresses. I push my tongue as deep into his mouth as it will go, him sucking it deeper with his lips, coaxing me to explore him.

  The press of his mouth against mine…it’s like he’s delving inside of me, pulling me into him and begging to feel me want him.

  And I do, sweet gods, how I do.

  I grab his shoulders and grip his neck, pulling his mouth even harder against my own. How he wants me… I want more. I need more.

  The need to feed off him, his body and his desire, is like a force of nature inside me. There is no logic or train of thought or resistance. It’s all gone.

  There is only him.

  His mouth travels to my throat, and his lips and tongue stroke over the sensitive, vulnerable hollow there. He is thorough, as though needing to taste every inch of my skin.

  But I am impatient. The hunger from my very center—the clenching from deep within me starving to be filled by him—there is no stopping it or calming it.

  I grab at his waist, his back, pulling him against me.

  His breath not leaving my skin, he pushes his leathers off, then climbs over me, naked.

  I open my legs for him, so impatient to have him in me, pounding me, I have no need for more foreplay.

  But he disagrees. He kneels between my legs but does not rest on top of me.

  The tip of his distended cock drags across my belly, but when I reach for it, he pulls away and kisses down my chest. He grasps my breasts, and just the feel of his palms over my achingly hard nipples has me writhing. The tickle of his skin is a torture worse than any mouth or tongue—even his.

  “Please, Gahnin. I—need—” I seethe in agony, the need to orgasm like a storm racing through my body, threatening to burst with lightning at any moment.

  He caresses my cheek and whispers in my ear, “I will take care of you.”

  The certainty of his words, it’s almost a threat…or…a vow. Something that rings like far more than a commitment to make me come.

  He drags his hands down my waist, his mouth hovering over my belly as though he regrets not giving it more attention. But then, to my relief, his head drifts between my legs.

  It may not be his cock, but it’s the next best thing.

  He kisses my clit first, with just his lips, and sucks.

  I arch my hips toward his mouth and am helpless not to grasp his head. I tangle my hands in his hair and beg for him to give me more.

  Then he uses his tongue, the long flesh circling my clit in one flick, and he spins it.

  “Ah, ah, ah…” I cannot contain my sounds. I don’t know how this pleasure is possible, but I am so close to bursting in climax, the demand aches like a bomb fuse burning up my spine.

  He lowers his mouth, presses his thumb to my clit, massaging it with delectable pressure. His tongue strokes through my folds then licks inside me—deeper and deeper—until he’s reaching and licking as far into me as I go.

  It’s too much—my whole body too desperate to climax—the pleasure he’s filling me with too much to bear.

  I come, pumping my hips. Tension seizes me, and I am immobile as the excruciating ecstasy washes through me—covering me and consuming me.

  But it is not enough.

  The orgasm has barely finished me, and I’m reaching for his shoulders. “Your—cock—now.”

  I’m still empty. Aching for a need to have him filling me and coming in me.

  He sits up on his knees, the shadow of his massive body outlined in the glow from the hallway. He grasps my waist and pulls my thighs up onto his lap, widening my hips around his.

  There’s a delicious stretch through my abdomen, his thighs supporting my lower back, and a satisfying opening between my legs. He brushes against my sensitive wet folds, and a shudder rolls through his limbs.

  His hands shake as they grip my outer thighs, and the raggedness of his breathing has me a little worried for him.

  He notches his hard tip into me and freezes; even his breathing stops.

  I ache, reaching for his hands, wanting him to thrust into me in one hard drive. “Gahnin!”

  His breathing restarts, somehow both even and ragged at the same time. Then he does exactly as I hoped w
ith a jerk of my hips onto his.

  And thrusts full into me.

  “AH!” I clench around him. The stretching. The exquisite size of him. I am filled. Wide and deep, he touches everywhere inside me that can be touched.

  The harsh groan he makes sounds from so far within him, it’s as though he wants this even more than I do. Which I can’t imagine is possible.

  I hook my ankles around his back, pulling him as far into me as he can go. Though he’s already there.

  He presses his thumb to my clit again and continues his perfect circles. He rocks his hips into me, thrusting, rubbing me inside as he rubs me outside. It lights me up, my whole body climaxing without warning. I’m gripping him in a fierce pulse with keening, brutal cries.

  He answers me, driving into me harder, faster, making the orgasm seem to go on. I feed on him.

  He feeds me.

  The urgency of his thrusts slides the mattress across the floor, as though the very earth beneath me quakes with his carnal lust to have me.

  Then he starts to come.

  And it’s violent.

  His body trembles. Any restraint disappears. His grip on both my hips so hard, it bruises me deliciously. I need his desperation as much as I crave his come.

  The growl that tears from him is like something from his soul, from the very root of the animal he is, and he climaxes inside me.

  I gasp, feeling his fluid flow within me.

  It soaks me, a flood of his virility so strong, it fills me wholly until it pours out of me. And he keeps going. His come slickens me, so he speeds his thrusts, jerking me against him in a pounding faster and faster until I’m orgasming from the sheer force of him quaking into my body.

  He slows, but the weight of his grip on me does not lessen. The shudder of his body speeds to an almost shiver, and his voice sounds harsh and desperate. “Can I—give you—more?”

  The stun in me—that after that he can do more—I search myself. He’s drenching my thighs, his pounding spreading his come all over my skin. It’s not enough, though. I do want more. Forever and ever more.

  “Y-y-yes.” I hiss, incapable of more than a whisper.

  He groans, a deep rumble of a sound, one of territorial need. He flips me onto my knees, pulls my ass into the air, his fingers squeezing my hips back against his.

  And surges inside me again.

  I keen with gratitude and, free to move in this pose, I rise onto my arms and meet his drives with all the force of every muscle in my body.

  I lose myself to him, my mind fading and drifting away with the tide of sex—with him.

  He becomes everything. Him and his cock.

  I am made for this. This is how it should always be. Him fucking me. Me taking it and loving it.

  He does it again and again, until we’re both so wasted with exhaustion and spent with erotic sensation, we can no longer move.

  And we sleep.

  Chapter Six

  Gahnin

  I did not mean for it to happen. Or I did, but I did not know how thick the dam was inside me and how much it was holding back. Now I have let it out…

  It is not enough. It feels as though it will never be enough.

  As though fucking her once only made me want more.

  The sensation of unquenchable need is so similar to the Attachment mating frenzy, I lie awake, unable to sleep, the dread and confusion beating through my blood, scourging everything I thought I knew about myself.

  All that sex did not help. Pvotton was wrong. I was wrong. The beginning of the Attachment is not abated. It is not satisfiable. My fangs seem perma-extended, my cock no less so, and the only thing keeping me from reaching for her again is her need for sleep.

  She is not Ssedez. She is not built genetically for the Attachment-related mating frenzy as a female Ssedez would be. Assura is still healing. Hopefully, feeding her desidre so well will help.

  Oh gods. I dig my fingers in my hair and stand, getting away from her. I do not care about her healing. I have no concern for her well-being. It matters to me only that she is well enough to travel to the human crash site.

  That is the only reason I care. It is not because she means anything to me emotionally. I care nothing for her. It’s impossible. My heart is rioting, screaming that I feel something for her, but it is a cruel, cruel liar. It wants me to look back at her, to stare at her naked body, to listen to her breathe. It wants me to not leave her side.

  Unthinkable.

  I pace. It is the only option. I stare out the glass wall into the hall, standing vigil for when someone, anyone, will come to us with the dawn. Our dosage of topuy has not yet worn off. This sexcapade was caused only by the natural need to feed the beginnings of desidre. The fever, the pain-inducing fire, has not even overtaken us yet. It is going to get worse.

  I breathe a silent yell, huffing through my clenched teeth. I would make a sound loud enough to wake the whole town, but I do not want to wake her. I do not want to speak to her. I do not want to see her eyes when she looks at me.

  I regret bitterly not taking Pvotton up on his offer of removing me from this cell. The sex was too good, Assura too much of what I craved, too perfectly suited to meeting my every sexual need and feeding my every desire, stoking it hotter than it already was. Her passion is a force I want to experience again, while bringing her to such pleasure, she can think of mating with no other than me.

  My fangs throb in my gums with agony. Their sweet, syrupy venom pools inside my mouth, intended for bonding her with ecstasy to me. This is not happening.

  This is not happening!

  This. Is. Not. Happening.

  Too many hours of waiting, of begging the sun to rise, of desperation for someone, anyone, to come so I can get away from her.

  But as the first rays of dawn trickle through the windows, before anyone else appears, she wakes. Her eyes open on me, hazy at first, and then there’s a flash of memory, of the pleasure from last night, along with a longing for more.

  She looks around the cell, at where we are, and recognition widens her eyes. Her gaze wanders back to me, and bitter revulsion curls her lip, as though, if she could, she would run from the room to get away from me.

  Her hatred of me is undiminished. I share the sentiment. She grabs her suit, which I folded next to her, and clothes herself.

  I resume my pacing, determined to avoid staring at her.

  “Did they give us the topuy or something?” she mutters. “I don’t feel the desidre fever.”

  “We are still on yesterday’s dose.”

  She scoffs. “Great. Something to look forward to.”

  “Koviye said the punishment is for only a day. It may get unbearable for a few hours at the end, but then it will be over.”

  “An hour is too long,” she snaps. “You haven’t experienced the hell of it.” I glance at her and shouldn’t. I catch her staring at my groin.

  There is only one comfort, which is not a comfort at all: she still wants me.

  Must not think about it. “I remember how you were when you came in from the jungle. I have no desire to experience that.”

  She leans her head back against the wall. “Which means either more marathon sex with you to fend off the desidre, or more of the worst pain imaginable. Neither option is attractive.”

  Something in me snaps. It is part of the Attachment, the possessive part, the drive to keep her for myself and ensure no other male will touch her.

  She is lying. But she needs to know it.

  “The sex was so terrible?” I mock, knowing it’s not true. She loved every minute. She was so hungry for more of me, the only reason she stopped was because of fatigue.

  She avoids looking at me and stares at the ceiling. “It was so bad, I can’t even talk about it.” But as I watch, her nipples pebble beneath the tight material covering her chest, and she stretches her legs in front of her—her thighs rubbing together in discomfort.

  I should not care. Her comfort, her desire, is no business of m
ine. The only business I should be in right now is getting away from her. But as much as I loathe myself for it, the need to make sure she desires me, and only me, is a physiological imperative.

  I sit back against the wall. She may be two meters across the cell, but I can smell her arousal. “It was so bad, you crave more.” This is not a question. I know it is true.

  She tightens her fists and does not answer.

  I want to hear her say it. “You want it. To be the sex-crazed animal you were with me. But it scares you.”

  “Shut up,” she snaps through her teeth.

  “You liked it—how badly I wanted you. How much I could not get enough of you, and how I made you come again and again.” How badly I still want to. How much I shouldn’t. But how much it makes me want to torture her even more.

  She whimpers and pinches her lips together, but her legs open, almost like she wants me to look.

  I do. I know what it feels like now—between her thighs. “Your cunt is so sweet. Hot and slick. Perfect for sex. Lots of it. Hard and rough.” My breath is speeding, wanting it, wanting her. Her eyes close and her lips part, like she’s imagining it. “Gods, sinking my cock in you—fucking you while you tighten around me like a fist every time I make you come. I could do it all day. And I will, when the antidote wears off. If you can take it.”

  Her hand slips between her legs, and I watch her rub herself where she aches.

  I lower my voice, speaking as much to myself now as her. “You know you should not. But it does not stop you from wanting me.”

  “Yes,” she whispers without looking at me.

  “It is only because of the desidre.” Saying it has me rethinking my obsession with getting away from her. “It is the only thing that could get us to fuck again.”

  Her hand stills, and she meets my eyes. She knows I’m right.

  I sneer, not hiding my revulsion. “I hate you. You hate me. Sex between us is only about necessity.” But I let free my guttural need to be inside her again and growl, “We can agree that beyond feeding the desidre, this goes nowhere.”

  She nods, and some tension leaves her shoulders. “Agreed.” Her gaze drops to my cock again, visibly erect under my leather uniform, and she licks her lips.