Forever's Not Enough (Galactic League of Planets)

by Roscoe James

  She kissed his chest and let her hands slide down his arms. Looking frantically to one side, she saw an elegant wardrobe before his mouth found hers again and insisted.

  “Yes, my love,” she managed before his lips stifled her words.

  When his big hands found her ass and pulled her against his body, his hard cock trapped against her stomach, she managed to look to the other side and saw only an ornately carved stone slab that stood a foot above the floor with an animal skin thrown on it.

  “The bed! Where’s the…” She sighed, grabbing his shoulders to climb up and get a peek at the rest of the room. A low guttural sound came out when she found no bed.

  Too late! His beautiful brown eyes fixed hers as, standing in the middle of the room, his hands cupped beneath her ass, her back-fall swishing around his knees, he dropped her onto his cock. Her feet locked behind his ass, and she squeezed while she pulled on his neck and floated on the feeling.

  He was like a mountain she could climb on, and she thought wickedly, fuck to my heart’s content. When her world spun she clung to him, when his knees hit the floor pushing his cock deeper she grunted and felt her chest explode in a fit of purring.

  She loved his strength, his power, the way he held her and searched her face with his mouth until he found hers. But most of all she loved his unbridled hunger.

  When he pushed her back on the floor and rode her hard, his cock seemingly possessed, all coherent thought melted into a burning glow that filled her mind with only one purpose.

  She grunted and pushed against his sweaty body, her hands sliding on his back, her existence numbing into the electric surge of her own climax while his eyes still searched for hers, never left hers, bore into her soul.

  His harsh grunts and groans were a symphony, his heavy breathing a director’s baton that she followed until her head filled with a mad rush, her breath caught, her purring stopped, and her cunt exploded, taking her with it.

  His form melted into an ethereal blur of color with eyes that never let her disappear and she willed him to join her, to find the edge and jump over.

  Then she felt a swelling against her contractions, a warm wet rush, and heard him grunt.

  “Yes, my love,” was all she managed.

  He froze, and the only movement she felt was another swelling of his cock and a spread of warmth through her womb.

  My tree, she thought, my mountain.

  There was no clear line between conscious thought and her dreams, only a warm glow and one word.

  Mate

  * * * *

  He smiled when her lids dropped on her slightly crossed eyes. He found no doubts or hesitation when the word love popped into his head, and laying his head between her breasts, enjoying her purr, he whispered it reverently like a penance. “Love.”

  She stirred and he found a brown nipple where he licked and said it again. “Love.”

  Taking in the room, he let her head drop gently to the floor and watched her curl into a ball, her knees pulled up around her chest and her chin tilted down. Her platinum hair was a halo around her head and her back-fall a fan around her ass.

  Standing, he surveyed the room. There has to be a bed somewhere. The only thing that came close was a low stone slab with an animal fur on it, but it looked entirely too hard and uninviting.

  Stepping to the edge, he leaned down to pat the fur and was surprised when his hand met a warm resistance a foot from the top of the slab. Pushing harder he felt his fingers dig in then stop. Like reaching into warm water. As hard as he tried he couldn’t reach the fur or the stone slab.

  “I’ll be damned.”

  Picking up his princess, he stepped back to the edge of the slab and lowered her until she freely floated above the stone slab. When he tried to push her, to move her to the middle of the stone slab, he felt resistance.

  Letting his knee fall beside her, he steadied himself and picked her up again, moving her where he wanted her. When he stepped away, she was still curled above the stone slab, her hair fanned out around her, and he said it once again, “Love.”

  It took him another minute to discover a bathroom, and he noted it looked and worked pretty much like any earth bathroom.

  A silver plate beside the door dimmed the ceiling when he touched it and he saw a candle he hadn’t noticed before glowing softly by the window.

  He felt a burning need and didn’t know for what until he looked down at his sleeping beauty. He crawled on nothing above the fur covered slab and curled around the center of his universe and whispered one last time before falling asleep, “Love.”

  * * * *

  He could feel her and see her smile beckoning. Her eyes had dilated from sky blue slits to pools of liquid black and he marveled when she laughed.

  “It will be okay, my darling, don’t worry.”

  When she faded beneath his touch and was gone, his heart roared and he felt empty.

  He cried.

  “Darling?”

  It hurt too much and he struck out in anger.

  “My love, I need you.”

  His tongue felt heavy and the room was dark, “What?”

  When he opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was her. Something was wrong. She looked harried, urgent.

  “What? What is it?”

  “Shhhhh.”

  Then he saw her mother, the queen, at the foot of the bed and reached for air to try and cover up.

  “What is it?” he whispered.

  “They’ve invaded Meline,” his princess whispered back while she scooted off the bed.

  The queen looked concerned but composed and even managed a maternal smile, which he didn’t really appreciate as he struggled to slide off the bed while cupping his cock and balls.

  “Who’s invaded Meline?” he said while searching the floor for his clothes.

  “The Zandill! It was all a trick! We don’t know how many, but thousands of them are killing people and trying to open the castle.”

  No, that didn’t sound right. “Wait,” he said and grabbed her arm, “Zandill? Zandill Death Warriors are on your planet?”

  “I knew it all along! He’s probably kidnapped all of us and now he’s taking our planet!” Then he saw the tears.

  When she pulled free, he chased her down and pulled her to him, “Stop it! That’s not true!”

  Her hand across his cheek didn’t really hurt but the idea that she had actually struck him in anger burned to his very soul.

  “You think we are idiots! You think we don’t know enough to tell who’s invading our own planet!”

  “But, Peenzan, princess, I know it’s not true!”

  He couldn’t read her expression at first. Something completely new masked her face. Then he saw it. Fear. Now she thinks I’m part of the plot.

  “Get away from me,” she said and shoved hard on his chest, then started speaking rapidly in Meline to her mother.

  He held her firm and glanced at the queen who looked terrified, “Peenzan! Wait!”

  He fought off her blows and struggled to pull her into his arms. Giving up, he finally let go and watched her skid to a stop four steps away and turn on him.

  “I don’t know how you did it, how you tricked me,” she raged and he thought she would spit. “But I hate you and I will always hate you! Forever!”

  Her words were like an ax that, had he been a lesser man, would have toppled him like a tree. His heart was a stone and he didn’t move, while in a rush, she gathered her things and nearly ran from the room, the queen at her heels.

  He had no idea love could hurt so much and fell to his knees in anguish.

  * * * *

  He found the premier sitting in front of the fire in the trophy room drinking brandy. The man looked up, but didn’t look surprised.

  In three long strides he was over him pulling him up by his collar, “We have to do something?”

  The man stared back and growled, “Let go of me!”

  When he came to sprawled on the fur rug in fron
t of the fire, his arm felt numb.

  The premier towered over him and quipped, “They don’t call us Death Warriors for nothing, son.”

  Hill’s eyes never left the man while he scooted to his feet and stood rubbing his arm. All trust was gone as he backed up to regroup.

  “So the princess left you as well,” he mused, a statement of fact and not a question.

  Hill looked around the room locating the nearest weapon. Before he could make his move, the premier dropped back to the couch and offered, “You have nothing to fear from me, Sergeant Hillsborough. That was just a lucky punch, something they teach us as kids. And before you ask, yes, they’ve all left. Including my Mantan.”

  Wanting to keep Zad engaged while he decided what to do, he asked, “Mantan?”

  “Peenzan’s aunt. The king’s sister.”

  He inched toward the table where Zad’s grandfather’s sword lay and threw another question out, “But what happened? Something about…”

  Zad was on his feet and standing in front of the fireplace in a heartbeat. The same ornate Zandill dagger he’d set on the table the day before was in his hand, “Look, son, I mean you no ill will. Here, I meant to give this to you before you left. If it will make you feel better, take it now.”

  Then he saw it. Zad was holding the deadly weapon by its blade, hand extended, waiting for him to take it. He ignored the offer and picked up the brandy decanter instead.

  “I know it’s not the Zandill on Meline,” he offered while he picked up Zad’s goblet and poured some amber liquid into it.

  The knife arced through the air with a casual, offhanded toss, and landed, point first, on the wooden table beside the sword where it stuck up, the jeweled hilt glistening in the firelight.

  “I thought you might.”

  “But do you know who it is?”

  Zad accepted the goblet and settled back on the couch, “I do now.”

  “Wait! I’m not part…”

  “I know. I didn’t mean it that way. I have, well, another source.”

  This time when he spoke, it was with urgency, “Why are you just sitting there? What’re we going to do?”

  Zad regarded him as if taking measure and weighing his worthiness before saying, “I’ve already called my general. He’s gathering my warriors, what few I have left, and will meet us at the main barracks transport shortly.”

  Hill paced, his heart pounding, thinking of Peenzan. Why did I let her go? Damn! His hand came to his chest.

  “Yes,” Zad said, downing the last of his brandy, “I feel it too.”

  * * * *

  Peenzan crept along the hall flanked by two Meline fighters, weapons at the ready. They’d jumped to Hangdon then, using a special code, to the main castle transporter chamber deep below the great hall and found most the staff huddled in a storage room.

  The great walls of the keep shook as laser canons pounded the thick stone above ground. She knew Meline fighters were on the roof and that conventional climbing or penetrating the highly polished hardened stone walls would be next to impossible. But she also knew the most vulnerable point was the roof. If they tried to drop in, or using a troop transport, hover in, she didn’t know how long the castle guard could hold them off.

  Her mother and aunt had gone deeper into the maze of tunnels and chambers that ran below the castle and fanned out below the surrounding meadows. Her father had headed for the war room to confer and direct.

  In the bustle she’d managed to slip away. She didn’t plan on skulking in the dark when most all that was happening had been brought upon the Meline people because she’d been duped.

  As they passed through the great hall she heard another loud boom come from the north wall and braced herself for the sonic pressure wave that would follow. With a roar it rushed through the great hall and nearly knocked them off their feet.

  Then it started. She cringed and willed it into submission but nothing worked. Her chest rattled with a different kind of purr. One she’d experienced only once before and it served two purposes. It made her curse sergeant Hillsborough and the Zandill Premier for trapping her in their intricately woven plot of deceit and lies and she boiled with anger.

  At the same time she was overcome with fear and dread because the purr that rattled her chest was her one true love’s heart, wherever he was, telling her he was in danger. Just as it had when he’d nearly died fighting a Zandill Death Warrior alongside Meline fighters less than six nights ago.

  She tried to tell herself it was a trick. Her reaction chemically induced. That as quickly as it came it would be flushed from her system and she would be free of him. At last.

  Another loud boom and the three of them crouched low waiting for the rush that followed. When it passed they ran for the central stairway and sprinted to the next floor.

  At the second floor armory, she grabbed a light wand and a handful of fizzle balls and followed the other two fighters up the next flight of stairs to the roof.

  The first thing she saw was two slain Zandill Death Warriors, the next was a wounded Meline fighter and the last thing she saw before her world went black was a hairless face, not unlike the premier’s, inches from hers and twisted in rage yelling in English, “Here she is, I’ve got her!”

  * * * *

  Hill fell to his knees, the cut on his arm bleeding, and spit blood on the cold gray floor of the UC base on the Meline moon—The Queen. When the heavy boot swung toward his face a second time he brought his hands up and with one swift twist, broke the Marine’s ankle with a satisfying snap.

  As he staggered to his feet, the second Marine wrapped an arm around his back and fell backwards, pulling Hill with him. Bringing his elbow down hard he heard bones break and felt the arm loosen, but not before a searing pain shot through his right side below his ribs.

  When he rolled off the Marine he saw another shoe. A different kind of shoe. A shiny red stiletto heel and a very feminine foot with red painted toenails.

  “You must be Hillsborough,” a woman’s voice said as if she were ordering a salad.

  He found the foot connected to a very shapely leg that disappeared beneath the edge of a very short black leather skirt that was followed by another expanse of bare flesh. A black leather halter that seemed to struggle to accomplish its task was next, and an altogether lovely, if harsh, face was looking down at him.

  “You must be Lucy Lighton.”

  Once he struggled to his feet she said simply, “Come with me.”

  Leaving a trail of blood, he followed her through a maze of Corporation gray hallways and almost smiled when he found a naked Blake Crenshaw bound face down on his bed with a bright red butt plug sticking out of his ass.

  When the man, eyes as big as saucers, tried to speak, it only came out as an unintelligible mumble around the bright red ball gag that was strapped into his mouth.

  Lucy ignored Crenshaw and waved him into the kitchen. “Let me look at those wounds.”

  * * * *

  When she came to, she could hear fierce fighting and struggled to move her arms. She discovered they were cuffed behind her back and shackled to her ankles, and she rolled on the dirt like a fish out of water. She moaned around an improvised gag that tasted like sweat and dirt.

  A Zandill Death Warrior was only ten feet away in a fierce struggle with, of all things, another Zandill Death Warrior. One warrior fell and two more took its place.

  She rolled away when one of those fell with a heavy thud in her direction, and managed to avoid the third one as he was run through with a sword and staggered toward her.

  Four more Death Warriors followed the first three, and were all left dead and dying at one warrior’s feet. Then there was calm and she struggled in fear as the last warrior pulled on her arms and turned her over.

  The gag fell away and she struggled to catch her breath. When her wrists came free she rolled onto her back to fight. When the Death Warrior smiled and walked away she jumped to her feet and ran after him. By the time she ca
ught up, he’d killed three more Death Warriors and was walking through the meadow in front of the castle as if taking a leisurely stroll.

  She yelled in Zandill, “Who are you?” only to be ignored as the Death Warrior slew another pair of Zandill.

  Rubbing her wrists, she looked around the meadow and saw a carpet of dead Death Warriors with a few walking among them or fighting. Then she saw it. Half the Death Warriors walking or fighting had a blue and orange band around their right upper arm. A rag dyed the colors of the Meline flag.

  Looking behind her, she saw many more Death Warriors charging down the gentle slope that didn’t have the armband, and was amazed when a handful of the banded warriors fisted the sky and yelled, “Hilo jayyee!”

  With power and grace they ran through the litter of bodies directly into the oncoming warriors that outnumbered them ten to one. Within a minute, the odds had improved at five to one. Five minutes later only banded Death Warriors were left standing.

  Tripping over bodies, she found one and asked, “Where’s your leader?”

  When the warrior fisted the sky and yelled, “Hilo jayyee!” she didn’t understand at first. Then she remembered that all Zandill Death Warriors had only one leader and that was Quant, the Zandill god of war and honor. She tried again, “Your commander.”

  The warrior scanned the meadow and pointed at a stand of trees, and grunted before heading off to another rushing horde of un-banded warriors.

  It seemed to take forever to wade through the dead bodies and make her way to the stand of trees. Every time un-banded Death Warriors would appear a banded one would slay them and move on.

  “Princess! You’re alive!”

  “Premier?” she was dumbfounded, “But…”

  “There is no time, Princess. I need help with these maps. They don’t seem to be complete. I need to locate all the transporters within a hundred quadrants.”

  Slapping dirt and dust off her hands on her thighs and brushing her tangled hair out of her face, she leaned over the makeshift table and started pointing.

  The premier spoke to a second at his side and someone else barked orders into a communicator in their palm.