Havoc

by Linda Gayle

  He took her hand and drew her fingers into his hot, wet mouth, sucking the sensitive spaces between them, then her palm and the pulse point in her wrist. He shoved the empty plate aside. Eyes closed, thick lashes crescented on his cheeks, he drew her arm from the covers and made his way down it with burning kisses. He rolled onto his back, pulling her with him so she half lay atop him, and she devoured his mouth like a desperate woman, slipping her tongue around his, rubbing her breasts against the short, coarse hair on his chest.

  With him at her seeming mercy, she took advantage, moving her hand down to find his cock again, still fully hard, the thick shaft twitching in her grasp, full of life and vigor. Slick, dripping moisture tickled her pussy lips. She shoved the blankets aside and straddled him, fully intending to impale herself. But then Kels lifted her by the waist and held her.

  “Not yet.”

  The commingling of their desire agitated the bond they shared, and she knit her brows in confusion. “Why not? Shouldn’t we, err, practice?”

  “We’re going in cold, m’dear.”

  “But why?” It seemed that every disappointed cell in her body cried out along with her.

  “If we wear ourselves out now, what’ll we have left for later?”

  She let her weight settle into his grip, hoping he’d let her slip just enough… “You’re a professional. I’m sure you can…you know…”

  He arched an eyebrow. “I’m sure I can too, but think of how much better it will be if we just hold off.”

  “Oh, Kels. Well, what time is it now?”

  “Must be half past nine-hour at least.”

  “By twelve-hour, I’ll have lost interest. I have a very short attention span, you know.”

  He laughed. “You’re not much for a man’s ego, luv.”

  She let slip his cock and braced her palms on his chest while his big hands spanned her waist. “You’ll have to get me going all over again.” She sulked.

  His voracious gaze roamed over her body, tightening her nipples into aching beads. “I will. No worries.”

  He had absolute confidence in his mastery of her body. Her pussy clenched hard around the emptiness where his cock should be. Fates, she practically drooled for him. Between him and Elion, she felt as if she’d been under a constant barrage of testosterone for almost two days, with only the small relief Kels’s fingers had afforded her the past afternoon.

  “Don’t be thinking of getting yourself off neither,” he said, as if reading her mind. “I want you on fire when we go into the Dome.”

  The Dome… The audience, all those eyes upon her, and it was only the first step. She’d have to master her fear, prove she could perform publicly, win her way to the high games, and then…then the real trouble began. He must have noticed her forming frown, for he let her slide down to sit upon him. His erection pressed against her pussy lips, but now nerves supplanted her desire.

  He nibbled on her fingertips, drawing her gaze to his. “Don’t you fret, princess. Put yourself in Captain Kels’s capable hands and let me do the drivin’.” He cocked a winning grin, coaxing a smile from her.

  “Elion said the same thing. That I should trust you to…uh, get me where I need to go, I think were his words.”

  Kels laughed. Nothing seemed to offend or astonish him, which was, of course, part of his charm. “Did he now? And how would he know?”

  She lifted a shoulder. “He said that’s what other women told him.”

  “Oh, fucking and telling. How unladylike.”

  She giggled as he rolled her over and covered her face and throat with butterfly kisses. “Isn’t it all a bit public anyhow?” she asked, pressing at his shoulders.

  “Only in the Dome.” He gazed down at her. “That’s not where I do all my loving, you know. That’d get a bit tedious.”

  Ah… How many women were privileged to come back here to his private quarters? Trapped comfortably beneath his big body, she wondered what it might be like to wake like this every morning, only not have to wait for the games to make love. To have him all to herself. To have Elion close at hand too. It took no more than that for her body to hum back to life.

  Then suddenly he rolled off her and took her by the hand to help her from the bed. They both stood naked, and the cool, contained air of the ship pressed on her skin. “Are we all alone here?” she asked.

  “Nah, I got a crew of twenty peeking in on the monitors.” When she gawked, he laughed. “‘Course we’re alone. C’mon. I’ll give you the grand tour.”

  She glanced around for her clothes or a shirt or something, but he towed her along across the room. “Need to use the cleanser?” he inquired politely.

  She did, and when she was through and came out to see him again, he stood barefoot in black pants and a black short-sleeved shirt, and he held out a white robe for her. As she tightened the belt around her waist, she asked, “Kels… What exactly are we going to do in the Dome? Shouldn’t we have an act or something? Choreograph our…our movements?” The vocabulary escaped her. “I only watched that one afternoon, but it seemed as if most people knew what they were doing.”

  “You’ll know what I’m doing, lovey. Don’t doubt it.”

  She gave a small, worried sigh, and he kissed her nose, then slid down to press open her mouth with his and twine their tongues together. He slipped his hand inside the robe to find her breast, and he squeezed her nipple into a sharp point of pleasure between his knuckles while his thumb flirted over the tip. Sayal pressed her tit into his hand, moaning. He bit the side of her neck where it met her shoulder, raising prickles deliciously over her skin.

  He dragged his rough cheek against hers, and his breath came hot against her ear. “When I fuck your sweet body, Sayal, and my cock is buried deep inside you, it won’t matter if the saints themselves are watching. It’ll be you and me and no one else, burning like stars together. Understand?”

  “Yes.” She gasped as he gave her nipple a particularly sharp pinch that jetted to her swollen clit. “I do, Kels.”

  “Good.” He soothed the tight peak with a brush of his fingers and placed a last kiss on her lips before he said, “Now, let me introduce you to my own true love.”

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  Chapter Eight

  Elion walked the perimeter of the station most of the night, dragging on cigs, watching the constant flow of life swirl around the station. Not that there really was anything like night on Aleut, but he knew he’d been awake a long time. He’d gone back to his cube after leaving Kels and packed up, then gone to the captain’s cube and gathered the few things there. The cube, as predicted, was a mess, smelling of liquor and cigs, scattered with dirty disposable plates. Kels fell into slovenly habits if he was off his ship. It was almost as if he threw a little subconscious tantrum the few times he got separated from his beloved Nova.

  Elion hired two Quitzae to bring the duffel bags and lockers to the loading dock, then, not knowing what else to do with himself, started his lonely stroll. His head was a mess since Sayal had entered the picture, and even he couldn’t sort out exactly why. Maybe because she wasn’t turning out to be what he’d expected. Kels had chickies waiting in every port, and they were always brassy, bold, unapologetically shallow party girls. Perfect for a quick fuck on the fly.

  Sayal wasn’t like those other birds. She had a brain in her head. She had emotions that reached beyond sex, and that meant she had enough depth to be hurt if handled roughly. It wasn’t so much that Elion wanted her for himself. He just wanted to say, Wait, slow down. Let’s take a deep breath and think this through and see if there’s some other way around this problem. But of course it was his indecision that annoyed Kels, and of course he’d risen to Kels’s bait and acted the complete ass. He didn’t care if Kels fucked her one moment, and then he didn’t want Kels to fuck her the next.

  But once Kels made up his mind about something, it was nearly impossible to sway him from the course, and in the captain’s head, Keeva dangled on the horizon
, so he barreled toward her, dragging Elion and Sayal along in his wake.

  How could he think of scraggin’ Keeva when he had the wonder of Sayal there at his fingertips?

  Elion would be cracked before he figured out his friend. He snubbed out his cig and checked his chrono again. Thank the saints it was time to meet their latest client at the ship. He flicked a button on his belt com and signaled the captain. “Havoc.” Kels’s simple greeting came over.

  “I’m coming to the ship now. Just wanted to give you a heads-up.” In case he and Sayal were screwing. He stared down at the black com, trying to stifle any stray emotions. It was none of his concern.

  “All right. I’ll meet you at the ramp.”

  He hooked the com back on his belt and headed toward the boarding zone. Ah, but it was good to see the Ash Nova where he’d set her down. She would always be Kels’s lady, but Elion loved her too. He saw their duffels and lockers by one of the landing struts, but no sign of their Drolik client, M’Tal, nor was the ramp descending.

  An image of Kels and Sayal rolling about in the sheets flashed through his mind. He swiped his hand over his tired eyes. Ah, now, Kels hadn’t sounded like he was screwing when he’d answered the com. Elion was obsessing, and it wasn’t healthy. He really needed to burn it off in the ship’s exercise room. He walked faster across the vast hangar.

  The huge loading zone sprawled over a quarter of the station. Various ships spread across the interior: swiftcraft like the Nova, hefty long-haulers that sometimes flew unmanned for their years-long journeys, a few low-class passenger liners. No richers or luxury liners of course. The Dregs were pretty much the armpit of the SenVerse, a stewpot of vice and cheap transport. Perhaps it was this thought that drew Elion’s eye to a particularly well-dressed traveler, standing alone beside a scarred swiftcraft two ships down from the Nova. The being’s garb looked out of place, at least for the Dregs. The tall traveler wore an ankle-length black coat of some nonreflective material. Its face hidden inside a deep hood, it gave an impression of patient waiting. Though he couldn’t see the eyes, Elion felt sure the being stared at the Nova.

  Something about the silent figure stirred the hairs at his nape. He stopped where he could observe the being but not look conspicuous, toasted a cig, and leaned back against the side of the small craft as if he belonged there and waited for someone. In a matter of minutes, the Nova’s ramp began to descend, and when it had declined halfway, Kels, tucking his shirt in as he came, thumped down it.

  The being stepped back into the shadows, and Elion’s pulse picked up. Sayal appeared a fraction later. As if stung, the being startled back farther; then Elion saw its shadowy form striding behind the parked ships, away from the Nova. He clicked on his com, even though he was certainly close enough to shout over to Kels. “Kels,” he said quietly into the com, “I’m running late.”

  He’d already begun to move parallel to the being when Kels answered. “No worries. I’ll meet M’Tal and smooth the deal.”

  He clicked off the com, not wanting any noise to alert the being. It seemed focused on reaching some destination. Passing through the entryway to the docking area, it strode into living traffic, easy to pick out because of its height. Elion lipped his cig to the corner of his mouth and brushed his hand over the butt of his disruptor, the strongest handweapon allowed in the station. His breath began to come shorter with anticipation as he threaded his way through the foot traffic several meters behind his quarry.

  Now somehow he hadn’t even turned a corner or passed an alleyway, and suddenly he lost sight of the dark hood in the crowd. Slowing, Elion shifted his gaze left to right, sweeping the constantly moving life forms. Crack and ruin, how could it be? One moment there, the next—gone like a mirage. He came to a stop, earning some muttered curses as beings had to bump around him.

  What the hells? Where had it got to? Well… A mystery, indeed.

  By the time he had walked back to the Nova, the Drolik had appeared, and he and Kels were chatting as three Quitzae loaded crates into the cargo hold. It really wasn’t much of a haul, hardly worth the worry, but as Kels had figured, it would pay for half their fuel, and it was an easy run. Kels glanced up as Elion approached. “Here’s my mate now.”

  M’Tal, three meters high, gray skinned, and horse faced, greeted him with a slight bow. “Morning, Darsa M’Tal, Captain,” Elion said, using the proper honorific for the midlien. “All’s well with the cargo?”

  “Yeah.” Kels nodded and crossed his arms over his chest. “Darsa M’Tal was just telling me he’s moving his operation to Obaiah Station in the Rim. Says the small-arms business is fading here in the Dregs.”

  “The conflicts are shifting toward the Ordinals.” The Drolik wheezed. “Your human armies are driving the Pakkat aggressors back, away from the habitable zones. Your species is to be commended.”

  Yeah, for shouldering the responsibility of the rest of the SenVerse, Elion thought but didn’t say, and of course that only meant the riffraff had to follow them in order to continue profiting in their illicit trades. A soldier at heart, he never liked to think of how he’d become part of that cycle, but there it was.

  “That’s good news, I suppose.” He glanced at Kels, allowing himself a moment to appreciate how good the man managed to look in the morning, his hair rumpled, his face unshaven. Sayal was nowhere in sight. Perhaps she’d gone back into the ship. To M’Tal, he said, “If you’re going to be on the move, are you sure there’s nothing else you need discreetly transported?”

  “Most of my personal effects are already on their way aboard my private liner. This is the last shipment outside the Rim I intend to make until my tribe is settled. I am pleased, however, that I am able to entrust this small delivery into your capable hands.” He spread his own broad paws, and Elion tipped his head, still distracted by the disappearance of the mysterious alien. Probably his imagination had blown it out of all proportion. The station crawled with nonhumans after all.

  “I must warn you,” the Drolik continued, “because of the turbulence in the Conflict Zone, travel has become more dangerous than ever. I fret over your captain’s insistence on going so far beyond the Rim.” They’d done business with the Drolik many times before, but Elion didn’t fool himself into thinking the alien worried for their well-being other than that their deaths might rob him of a reliable means of smuggling his illegal goods.

  “We’ll be all right, Darsa M’Tal. We’re not going far into the Zone.”

  “Yes, only to the high games.” M’Tal stroked his paw over his snout and huffed out what might have been a laugh, might have been a greedy sigh. He produced a fifty spot from the pocket of his embroidered robe and handed it to Elion. “Would you be kind enough to wager this on your captain and his new gamespartner for me? Captain Havoc wouldn’t take it, as he feared we might not meet again for many cycles, and he wouldn’t be able to give me my winnings.” The being’s glowing eyes swirled with amusement. “I trust you to keep it for me, though, and I have full confidence that your captain will win. His new partner is exceptional.”

  “Certainly.” Elion couldn’t help smirking at Kels, who rolled his eyes.

  The old Drolik huffed again and rubbed his palms together. “Well, a safe journey to you, then.”

  Kels said, “An honor to carry your trade, as always, Darsa M’Tal.”

  “You honor me by conveying it,” came the formal reply. They all touched palms, and the tall midlien and his gang of squeaking Quitzae departed back toward the station hub.

  Elion was careful not to ask about Sayal.

  “She’s getting her shit from her cube,” Kels said.

  “What, did I ask?”

  “No, but I saw you looking for her.”

  “I wasn’t, honestly.” Irritation crept into his tone. He’d been quite mindful. Kels made assumptions. Elion pulled in a breath. “I’ve thought about what you said, and I’ve been up all hours trying to figure out why this bird’s got under my skin. I’m at a loss except
to say that she’s different from our usual fare. She doesn’t seem to belong in this grimy part of the SenVerse. I like her as a person,” he said simply, shrugging. “I don’t want to see her hurt.”

  Kels studied him, no judgment in his eyes. “She is different, isn’t she? I have to admit, she’s got me twisted too. Brings out the protective instincts, you know?”

  “Yes, exactly. Like she’s a little lost kitten or something.”

  “A beautiful kitten,” Kels ruminated, and Elion flinched at all the puns between kitten and pussy Kels could make if he cared to, which he normally would have. He had a bawdy sense of humor to go along with his flamboyant nature, but for once Kels remained thoughtfully silent. Then he headed up the ramp, and Elion followed.

  Once they were inside, Kels pulled the ramp up halfway and turned to him. “El, I think our kitten has a larger agenda.”

  That threw him. “What do you mean? Beyond the high games?”

  “Mm.” Kels crossed over to his chair and sat. He slung his crossed legs over one arm and rubbed his forehead. “I haven’t put all the pieces together yet, but a few things have stood out. Did she tell you she was raised on a liner?”

  Elion sat in his chair and swiveled it to face the captain. “Yeah, when we were in the observatory. She mentioned a childhood in space, being tutored.”

  “Same story she gave me. That would explain why there are odd gaps in her knowledge.”

  “Such as?”

  “Spit darts.”

  “What are spit darts?”

  “Exactly. That first night when she ambushed me in my cube, I told her I had to search her for spit darts, and she let me. She had no clue they didn’t exist. Also, she carried that Asaki blade I showed you, but I truly feel she wouldn’t know one end from the other in a pinch. And there’ve been other little details she’s lied about or bungled.”

  Elion shook his head, puzzling. “But she has been honest about some things. The patch for instance.”