by Mikala Ash
He couldn't last. The sweet tension at the end of his cock engulfed him and the orgasm wrenched the come out of his cock and the breath from his lungs. He released his grip on her ankles and pulled her legs around his waist. Though panting with exhaustion, he began to fuck her again.
Behind him, the bedroom door slid open. Guessing it was Janga, he kept moving between Mischa's thighs, making sure his thrusts were long and deep. Mischa's juices glistened on the shaft of his cock, and he knew that from where she stood Janga could see. He glanced up to smile at Janga gazing down at them, her face an expression of pure anger. “She's outside,” she announced through gritted teeth.
Mischa laughed. “Leave her alone for a few minutes. My man here hasn't finished what he started."
Janga gave him a scowl and left the bedroom by the second door, obviously not wishing to see the reporter again. Mischa flicked up the sound on the holo-vid beside the bed. Holly Barberossa was continuing her running commentary on Mischa's past. He had to hand it to her, she never let up.
"Janga should lighten up,” Mischa purred, the comment edged with ice.
He sensed Mischa's profound displeasure with Janga's lack of subtlety. Though he owed the bitch no favors, he thought slaves should stick together whenever possible. “She's always done a good job,” he replied, his lips tight against her throat.
Mischa adjusted her position beneath him. “Perhaps because things usually go her way."
"It rarely goes any other."
"Maybe she has met her match.” She reached over and flicked off the holo-screen. “Shut up and fuck me."
* * * *
Holly panned her smartcam out the wide windows. “As you can see, the view from the penthouse suite goes on forever. The flotilla to the left belongs to Mischa herself. She travels in the heavily armed yacht in the centre of the dozen support ships, all of which are fast and lethal fighter craft. Her entourage is rumored to be over a hundred personnel, and she travels with her own detachment of mercenaries..."
Holly continued her discourse of Mischa's reported lifestyle as she wandered about the sumptuous room. She guessed she was being kept waiting as part of a silly power play. Two could engage in that game, and as she repeated some of the juicier stories, she wondered how long before Janga or Mischa herself would appear to shut her up.
She had to wait longer than she thought and had almost exhausted her library tape knowledge of the socialite when the double doors were flung open by a muscular slave, naked to the waist and wearing a pair of brief gym shorts over his impressive thighs.
Holly gasped at his imposing figure and her heart thudded in her chest. There was something disturbingly familiar about him. He was as tall as Maxim and he walked with the same languid grace. Apart from that he looked nothing like him and she wondered if he was another Dollavera clone, one she didn't know about, who had somehow gone astray and ended up in Mischa's clutches. She studied his face as he entered and blushed when she realized he was meeting her gaze, the gleam of attraction shining in them. A wave of heat swept over her as she searched for some sign of recognition, but there was none.
Unconsciously her fingers went to the Forget-Me-Not pendant which released a waft of pure Maxim into her nostrils.
A moment later the most glamorous woman Holly had ever seen swept into the room. She was far more beautiful than her publicity shots, which was saying something.
Iridescent blonde hair framed an oval pixie-like face. Her jade eyes shone bright from the alabaster complexion. Mischa was wearing an exquisite evening gown, a transparent silken web from the Spider House on Gaskolin IX, and the most expensive pumps Holly had seen, Jess Boscolon creations she guessed.
The socialite glided silently to the u-shaped lounge and gracefully lowered herself into it. Relaxed and smiling, she motioned for Holly to join her and sit opposite. The slave put down two cups of steaming caffee on the table between them. Holly settled herself and smiled as sweetly as she could.
"Mischa,” she said, sizing her up and feeling daunted by the task ahead. “My name is Holly Barberossa, of the Adana Observer."
"Pleased to meet you, Holly. I've been a fan of your show for ages."
"Really?” she said, trying her best to suppress her sarcasm. “I wasn't aware my show was broadcast to the central systems."
"Oh yes indeed. You're very popular. You should come visit me some time on Penhalicyon."
Oh, she's good. She's very good. “I'd like that,” Holly said coolly. “Mischa, your secret visit to Adana has left people wondering your true purpose here."
Mischa's sensuous lips curled into an innocent smile. “If people are talking about me, it seems my so-called attempts at secrecy have failed miserably. Let me allay any fears you may have, Holly, and of course your viewers too. There was no intention to covertly come to Adana. The purpose of my visit is entirely cultural."
"In what way cultural?"
"I have been mentoring artists from remote worlds for the last decade or so and I have brought an exhibition to Adana."
Holly was taken aback. Artistic affiliations had not been in any of the pirate's bios. “You have certainly kept this a close secret,” Holly said disingenuously. “I don't believe anyone is aware of your interest in the arts.” She resisted the urge to say legitimate arts. She had no doubt Mischa had a vast collection of stolen artwork.
"Oh yes, collecting art has been a passion of mine for many years."
I bet it has.
"It struck me,” Mischa continued with a hint of contriteness, “that being a consumer of art is one thing, but how much better would it be to be a producer? Unfortunately I have no talent myself, so the next best thing is to foster it in the young."
"How commendable."
"It's my way of giving something back."
It's the least you can do.
"It's the least I can do."
Holly saw no reason not to explore this farce to the end. “And where will the exhibition take place?"
"The Amalgamated Spaceport Guild of Scavengers has been kind enough to lease one of their showrooms to me. We will be setting the exhibit up over the next week, and then I'd like to invite you, Holly, and as many of your viewers as possible to come to the opening and then browse the exhibition until its conclusion."
"And when will that be?"
Mischa smiled. “It's open ended at this stage. I predict the show will be a great hit."
There was something ominous about the way she said that but Holly could see no obvious opening and floundered for another question. “You're a trader of some renown,” she began. “What do you think of the recent pirate attacks on passenger vessels?"
Mischa's expression morphed into one of dismay. “I deplore it, of course. I only hope that the navy can put an end to it as soon as possible. In fact, my vessels were involved in a pirate attack only recently."
You bitch! “Really?"
Mischa's eyes were cold and emotionless. “The one involving the poor Euripides. Surely you heard about it. Sadly we arrived too late to prevent the attack, but assisted the Scavenger Guild in rendering aid to the stricken vessel. It is how I made contact with the Guild in the first instance and commenced negotiations to lease the showroom I mentioned."
Holly's flesh had turned cold and blood thudded in her ears. Her gut had become a deep cold well of hatred. You fucking bitch. “You assisted the Guild?"
"Yes, unfortunately one of their brave members was killed by the pirates. My ships pursued them of course, but lost the scoundrels in sub-space."
I'll fucking kill you. Her anger was only suppressed by the inevitable questions. Felis had said ships had arrived too late to help, but he hadn't been able to name them or identify who they'd belong to. The military's account, only released following Holly's loud demands, wasn't able to name them either. Why had the fact that Mischa herself was at the scene been absent from the reports?
"Holly, are you all right?"
The question jolted her back into realit
y. Mischa's mock concern infuriated her. It was all she could do to control her anger and urge to strike out at the bitch. Her fists had unconsciously balled and her murderous thoughts were interrupted by the slave who picked up her untouched caffee. Holly's gaze was drawn to him. He was gazing at her with a concerned empathetic expression on his face. “Yes, I am,” she stuttered. “Thank you."
"Would you prefer something else, miss?” the slave asked.
His voice resonated in her ear. It was powerful and commanding. It was not the voice of a slave, nor was it quite Maxim's. Now so close, she studied his strikingly handsome face and searched for any feature that she recognized. “No, no thank you."
"Are you sure?” Mischa asked. “You look unwell."
Suddenly she felt she had to escape this room. “Thank you for your time, Mischa. I best leave you to your, your..."
Mischa glanced at her slave then returned her gaze to Holly, a condescending smile on her lips. “Please come back to speak with me, Holly. I'd like that very much. I want you to tell everyone on Adana about my exhibition!"
The slave showed her to the door. Holly was keenly aware of his nearness, his heat, his ... of all things, his scent. He touched her elbow. “I hope to see you again,” he whispered into her ear and before she had a chance to respond the door slid shut.
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter Six
"She's got him!” Holly exclaimed.
"How do you know?” Silas said as he sipped his caffee.
She was about to blurt out that Mischa's body slave was Maxim, but she hardly believed it herself. “I can tell,” she said instead. “She was lying through her teeth. She kidnapped Maxim."
"I saw your broadcast. I didn't get that impression."
"Don't tell me you believed her! What sort of detective are you?"
"The cautious kind. I don't believe in antagonizing people, especially rich, powerful and violent people."
"Well, did you believe her?"
"Not at all, but what bits are true and what's not, I don't know."
Holly got up abruptly.
"Where are you going?"
"The fucking Dollavera brothers are up to their fucking cloned eyebrows in this. I should've fucking known."
"Calm down,” he said, grasping her by the wrist. “What do you mean?"
She wrenched her arm free. “Don't you ever touch me again."
He backed away and held up his hands. “Hey, I'm one of the good guys, remember?"
She glared at him silently.
"Sorry,” he mumbled eventually. “Listen, are you okay?"
She took a deep breath to collect herself. “Forgive me. I'm just riled up by that bitch and the thought that K Dollavera and Zweep know more than they've been telling me."
"You honestly think they took part in Maxim's kidnapping? Why would they do that to their brother?"
"What other explanation is there?"
"Explanation of what?"
"Why they didn't mention Mischa's involvement in the Euripides. I bet they're tied up in some piracy themselves. Maxim got wind of it and they took him so he wouldn't stop them."
"Doesn't sound like Zweep at all. They trade with pirates, or at least their agents, but almost everyone does, that's how they survive, it's how the galaxy economy works, but actively take part in piracy? I doubt it."
"I don't. Zweep and K are slime. They'd do anything for a half credit."
"Even sell their brother into slavery? Come on. Isn't Zweep head of the Chamber of Commerce now? Isn't he standing for election on the Council itself? The last thing he'd want is..."
"Being revealed to be a pirate! Exactly my point."
He frowned at her in annoyance. “What I meant was, a man with political ambitions which Zweep has, by all accounts, held for such a long time, would not get mixed up with pirates in the first place. I think you're clutching at straws."
She shot him a baleful glare. “You believe Maxim is dead, don't you?"
"I haven't seen any evidence to the contrary. I'm sorry, Holly, I won't lie to you, but I might as well tell you what I really think."
"I don't care what you really think."
"I think you do, or at least you should. Listen, sit down for a second and hear me out."
She sat down heavily. “Well? Get on with it!"
"I think you should leave Adana."
"What?"
"I think your life is in danger. I think whoever was supporting Riz Gitto had Maxim killed. You're the other prime witness of the case, and so are some of Maxim's family, Maxim's sister in law, for instance, and the little girl."
Holly's heart stopped for a moment. Peridae and Lila in danger? He's right. I have to do something.
"Listen, I just think it would be a good idea if you made you and your friends scarce until the trial is over."
She took a deep breath to clear her panicked thoughts. “You think Mischa is the one financing Gitto's plot?"
"Why not? It makes more sense than Zweep organizing a killing ... I mean kidnapping to shut Maxim up. Gitto's friends have a much stronger motivation."
Holly was silent, staring into his eyes.
"What do you think?"
She stood up slowly. “I think as detectives go, you are incredibly stupid.” She left him sitting with his jaw hanging open and a stupefied expression on his face.
As she stormed her way down the corridors to Zweep's office, she considered that maybe Silas wasn't so stupid after all. Her wrist still burned where he had touched her. She tried to push the aroused thoughts away but failed. She rubbed the pendant and with Maxim's scent flooding her system she calmed herself and thought about what he'd said. She was hardly objective and Silas was. Maybe that's what she needed, some cautious objectivity.
She stopped in her tracks and considered turning back and apologizing, but decided she wouldn't give him the benefit. First she had to find out what Zweep and K Dollavera knew about their brother's disappearance. Then she had to make sure Lila and Peridae left Adana for their own safety.
But before any of that she needed a caffee. She had to reorganize her thoughts and prepare what she was going to say to Zweep. And after a caffee, she thought, she'd have a second, figuring her thoughts needed quite a bit of reorganizing.
* * * *
With firm broad strokes Murukan spread aromatic Loreanian oil across Mischa's firm shoulders. The scars she'd received in her slave days had turned a livid red, a sure sign she was perturbed about Holly Barberossa.
Mischa had cursed the beautiful reporter seven ways to hell after the door had closed. Murukan's growing hatred for Barberossa, threat that she was to his mistress, was tempered by great respect. By pricking Mischa's veneer of respectability Holly Barberossa had played a not so subtle and very dangerous game. Not that Mischa cared what people thought of her, it was just bad for business, and the business they were currently engaged in was a matter of life and death.
Barberossa's reaction when the Euripides was mentioned and her hurried departure had startled him. He wondered what it could mean. Had she intended to leave Mischa unsettled and uncertain about what she knew? If that was her aim she had certainly succeeded. Mischa was beside herself, a state he had never seen before.
"She's a threat,” Mischa groaned as his fingers found a hot spot.
"What purpose could she have?” Murukan said doubtfully. “She's a reporter just fumbling around looking for a story."
Janga was massaging Mischa's feet, rubbing the soles vigorously. “Shall I terminate her?"
Mischa's only response was to mumble, “Barberossa knows, somehow she knows."
Murukan located a knot and kneaded it with deep pressure. “If she does know something, we should discover her sources before Janga kills her."
"Fancy the bitch, do you, slave?” Janga said derisively.
"Unlike you, slave,” he retorted, “I think things through. Perhaps she should be kept alive till the last moment, that way whoever is controlling h
er won't be alerted."
Mischa rolled over and gazed up at him. “That is wise counsel, my Murukan. How would you suggest we do that and keep her silent at the same time?"
His superior reasoning had deserted him. “That would be difficult."
"She needs a distraction,” Mischa said pointedly.
"I don't understand."
Mischa reached into his robe and grasped the shaft of his cock. “Oh, I think you do."
She urged him up onto the bed and between her open legs. Her pussy was, as always, glistening wet. She was perpetually horny, the result, she'd told him, of her days as a sex slave. Her master had all his slaves genetically altered to ensure they would always be receptive to him. It was an attribute she hadn't appreciated till she was free, and recommended it to every woman she met as the means to achieving sexual nirvana.
Her pink lips were open and inside the moisture had gathered, welcoming him. Murukan held himself poised above her as she fed the head of his cock into her body.
Taking control, he hoisted her by the ankles, lifting her butt off the bed, and drove deep, sinking the entire length of his shaft into her willing sex. The walls of her cunt closed hungrily around him, forming a tight sheath into which he repeatedly plunged. As he fucked her he stared into those deep jade eyes that gazed adoringly up at him.
She loves me. The thought drove him on to more furious thrusting, wanting to give her the same pleasure as her loving gaze deserved.
Her full breasts jiggled delightfully as her body absorbed each thrust and she grunted in appreciation. Not to be left out of the action, Janga suckled on one breast, drawing the erect nipple between her teeth and biting it. Mischa liked her pain, another consequence of her slave days. Mischa closed her eyes in ecstasy. The sight aroused him even more, and he intensified his fucking, grunting with effort at each mighty thrust.
Mischa moaned deep as her first orgasm claimed her. He felt the muscles of her thighs tense and in her excitement she returned his thrusts, pushing her butt against his balls. Then the climax overtook her and she shuddered and surrendered herself to him.
Murukan smacked Janga's ass for good measure and the amazon moaned as well. It was the first time he had touched the bitch's body and the thrill of inflicting her pain, however slight, spurred him on and he slapped her again and drove into his love's body all the deeper.