by Olivia Myers
The kiss was a surprise. She'd expected, as with so many men, a wildly aggressive thrust of his tongue. But there was nothing gag-worthy about anything he was doing, just sliding and exploration and subtle mingling of moisture and silky skin.
She heard herself whimper.
"Stop doing that, Natalie," he rumbled against her mouth.
She froze. Oh, no. What had she messed up now? "Stop doing what?"
Her arms were yanked and her hands pinned against the mattress. Her own clawed fingers brought retroactive awareness; she'd been clinging to his chest, threading through the hair coating his body.
"Don't you like to be touched?" she asked.
He pulled back, staring down at her. "Are you pretending? Deliberately trying to drive me mad? Nobody can be that innocent. Not even you."
She felt blood rush to her face. It made her angry, that he had done it again, embarrassed her.
"I'm not innocent. I'm not a prude. People always say that to me. I just wanted to know why you grabbed my hands. Maybe you don't like me, but I thought you wanted to, uh, f-fuck me. You said so. But if you don't like my touching you then you should just say so. I won't do it if you don't like it. I'm not a mean person, you know."
"You are that innocent. You're actually giving me a lesson in assertiveness." He seemed at a loss for words.
This was not going at all as she'd hoped. He was leaning over her, his magnificent chest so close she felt the heat emanating from it, his hips hovering tantalizingly between her widespread legs. Every part of her felt on fire and like she didn't have voluntary control of it. And he was criticizing her.
Tears seeped out of her eyes. She turned her face away so she didn't have to look at him insulting her or making fun of her or—
Her jaw was firmly brought around. "Natalie."
"Mm-hmm."
He shifted.
Suddenly a dart of excruciating pleasure hit her.
She glanced down and saw he'd taken her left nipple between his teeth, slurped it into his mouth and sucked on it hard.
Without being aware of having made a noise, Natalie heard the echo of her own shriek. It took several moments to realize the unbelievably delicious sensation was fading. He'd raised his head. She gaped at him.
"That's what I'm feeling," he said crisply. "What you just felt. Your nipples have been pleading for that all night. There's so much saliva in my mouth from anticipating what I could do to you that...Natalie, I've watched you eating me up with your eyes all night. Do you think that feels nice and pleasant? Or do you think it makes this whole thing torture?"
"But why? I don't understand. Just take what you want."
His grin was feral. "I'm going to come inside you so many times tonight we'll both be raw. But you're not a...first I have to...damn it."
Then she was released, and his palms were blazing and forceful on the insides of her thighs, spreading them wider. Without ceremony, one large, probing finger penetrated her exactly at the core of where she ached.
Her body arched and she exploded.
"See, Natalie? I'm that close. But you're too tight. I can't remember the last time I took a woman as a lover instead of as an escort. Damn, I knew you'd be adorable when you came. The sounds you make...." He slithered down and his mouth, that sinfully soft and skillful mouth, closed around her clitoris.
What precisely he did then, she really had no idea. She just knew the sensations were amazing, terrifying, and irresistible. She heard noises coming from her own throat. She knew she was wiggling a lot. But all she felt were the orgasms. One after the other.
And then she was panting, struggling for air.
So was he, apparently. She could hear the harsh, indrawn sounds of his breaths. Feel the scrape of his clothes and hear them rustle as he shoved his pants down. And then that hot, silken-covered body was heaving against hers all over, rubbing her everywhere so deliciously.
"I can't—you have to stop moving. Natalie. Stop moving."
Wasn't it he that was moving on her? "But you feel so good. Why not just come inside me? I want you there so much." It didn't feel naughty to say such things, lurid things she'd never imagined saying to a man. It just felt right.
"Idiot. You have a habit of changing your mind. And it's too easy to hurt you, in so many ways. I can't take you like the others. Fuck, I don't know. Just stop moving. Please."
"I can't. I'm sorry." Her hands found his penis and squeezed. It was huge, throbbing, so tender to the touch but so perfect, rampant and ready. Aware this time of what she did, she let herself writhe beneath him so that the furry mat of his chest scraped her aching nipples.
And she gave him a tremulous smile.
She heard him make a sound that was sort of like her name, but not really intelligible. And then—yes. His great, smothering weight pressing down on her and...ooh. He was inside her at last. Ouch. Ouch.
She bit her lip. Pain and pleasure warred inside her. Pain won.
"I knew it—it's been too damn long for you. Hold still. Don't move."
"Does it hurt you, too?" she wondered.
"Not…like it…hurts you."
She fixed her gaze on him. He did look pained, though. His golden eyes were bright, almost yellow. He didn't move, except inside, where she felt each involuntary jerk and jolt of his cock.
"It's getting better," she assured him. "There. I think that's fine now, so—"
He thrust deeply. Natalie cut off her scream just in time. Not of pain this time. It was pure elation. But she didn't want to alarm him, and from his expression, he was frantically trying not to hurt her.
"It's okay," she said hurriedly. "It feels good now. You can move whatever way you—oh!"
Soon she stopped worrying about him worrying about her. Her eyes drifted shut and her whole being centered on where they attached, where his cock pistoned inside her.
She found it bizarre, the way the fur across his chest, legs and arms feathered every nerve of her skin while he gave her that deep, visceral massage with each thrust of his hips.
A bolt of pain in her wrist jarred an intrusion into all this bliss. She glanced up and saw they'd managed to twist about on the bed, and her arm had flung itself against the wall. Roughly, he scooched them both further down the bed.
"This is insane," he muttered close to her ear. "I can't stop."
"Don't. Please. But I want..." She wrapped her arms around him and grabbed his smooth, taut ass to hold him where he was. She convulsed around him and sobbed with relief when he stayed there for a few moments, letting her delicate muscles pump him.
"You like that? You'll get more, sweetling, but not now. I'm sorry. I have to...it's for me now."
It wasn't quick, as she'd expected; he took her with the same kind of savoring gluttony with which she'd attacked her dinner earlier. Snug, quick thrusts lying this way. Long, lavish strokes on their sides. And short, sweet episodes of utter stillness in between. Wide-eyed, she watched his face throughout. Dear stars in space, he was relishing this! She had never seen anybody embrace self-indulgence so completely before. Sometimes he looked at her and she shared everything with him; other times, his eyes closed and he became self-absorbed.
When he rolled onto his back and pulled her on top of him, she wasn't sure what to do. He didn't offer any instructions. He wasn't speaking anymore. He just moved her hips until she was doing it on her own and he fell back with his arms locked behind his head, openly reveling in the cling of her flesh on his cock.
Before when he'd stripped her, she'd managed to suppress her self-conscious. But it wasn't so easy when his eyes slit open to look at her now. She knew what he was seeing; she could feel her nipples bobbing on her chest.
"Kirk? I know," she swallowed. Tried again. "I know you said this is for you now. But could you touch me? I need..."
He focused on what she was saying with visible effort. She saw comprehension dawn behind the carnal mask. He opened his mouth, but only managed a fierce set of teeth, not words. His hand did
touch her, but without any motor control. His fingers were awkward, fleeting on her breasts, before he flung out his arm to the side and arched his neck.
That was when she fell in love with him. The abandon with which he reveled in his own animalism fed her wantonness. Natalie reached up and pinched her own nipples, hard enough to send a pulsing reverberation through her. This seemed to electrify him. He grabbed her hips, swung her around, and then he was stabbing into her so fast she couldn't differentiate the thrusts.
Being tossed on her back like that felt surreal. Having her body used so licentiously felt even more surreal. But when he hesitated, thrust, pulled back again, and thrust harder, his whole body quivering, she was all there with him. She tried to press him even closer while she clenched around him furiously. His seed was hot. Her body acted on its own to pull it into her entirely.
For a long time afterward, there was only the sound of their breathing.
***
Eventually he grew hard inside her again. He nuzzled her throat and his hands slid up and down her arms, stroking the sensitive skin. He murmured something she couldn't hear. And just like that, Natalie was craving an orgasm again.
But there was a nagging problem. It became impossible to ignore as he slid a muscled, hairy leg over hers.
"Kirk?"
"Yes, love." It was ages since she'd heard him speak. His voice was huskier. The word "love" rang in her head in an echo; she told herself it was automatic on his part.
She wriggled away, causing him to slip out of her. "I have to pee."
"Ah. Would you like my help?"
He was grinning—not only could she see it, but she could hear it. She liked that he was happy. But...
"No, thank you. Hey, what are you doing?" she demanded as he palmed her below her navel.
"Just seeing how full your bladder is. Too full." He sounded regretful.
"Would you let me up, please?" Too full for what? She was afraid to ask.
"Soon."
"What are you doing now?" Her question ended in a squeak.
"Seeing how aroused your clitoris is. Quite, apparently."
"Kirk, please..."
"You know, I can picture how you must have looked growing up, back in—where did you say—Entcelary-28?" He kissed her forehead. "I can see you running wild there in some backcountry meadow. Now here you are, still skinny, but with those darling nipples and the plumpest, sweetest clit I've ever...what's wrong, sweetling?"
She made an inarticulate sound.
"Feeling raw? I'm afraid it's only going to get worse."
"Kirk, I need to go to the bathroom now."
"Mm. Soon." He thrust several fingers into her opening and widened them, while his thumb rubbed. Now she didn't know what to do. The pressure in her loins and the pressure in her bladder mingled together and tingled up and down her abdomen until she was almost frantic.
"Go," he said finally. "Before I say to rockets with it and take you like this anyway."
Relieved, Natalie scuttled off the bed and ran into the bathroom.
The night had only begun. As Kirk had warned he would, he took her repeatedly. She did, as promised, get raw.
They dirtied. They showered. They dirtied again.
It was hours later—almost dawn—before they fell asleep, replete, in a tangle of limbs.
And yet somehow Natalie was not surprised when she woke up late the next morning to no sign of her friends, no sign of Kirk, and no explanation.
It had all happened. It was no dream. But she'd always known what it was.
A fling. A casual fling with a professional escort, an escort with a conscience.
She rolled over, put her face in the pillow, and cried.
***
"Aw, c'mon, Natalie. It's our very last day on New Saigon. You've done everything else practically, right?" Moona cajoled.
"She certainly has," Jackie said, with a sly look. "You've gone dancing twice. You even gambled a few times and didn't lose too much cash. You tried that weird dish—what's it called? All those sea worms in the shells."
"Rojinesh," Natalie said dully.
They were sitting at an elaborately dressed table in the hotel's own luxury restaurant. "Right," said Jackie. "And don't forget, you had a fling with that hot Katarian escort that one night. What was his name?"
"Kirk," Moona answered Jackie when Natalie stayed silent. "That was great. Did we ever tell you how proud we were of you for going through with the date even after you realized we'd done a switcheroo with that lackluster who-ya-macallit?"
"He was hot." Jackie fanned herself. "The Katarian, I mean."
"I've asked around. Turns out he's the most popular escort in the agency," Moona confided. "He's usually impossible to book, especially during the Pleasure-Love Festival. And to get him to carry you to your room? Whew, Nat!"
Jackie nodded. "You should have ordered him up again, maybe had a few more massages, tried a sauna, taken a pleasure cruise. But you haven't done bad at all here, kiddo."
"So what harm could just one extrapotent Hot Squat Purple Sunset do?" Moona pouted. "Tart...warm...relaxing..."
"Last day...." Jackie said again.
Natalie began to answer. But she just shook her head. She didn't have the heart to explain about her response to liquor again.
"Look, Natalie," Jackie said bluntly. "It's great you're no longer stressed, but it's obvious to both of us something is wrong. Our ship leaves in the morning. It's a three-day trip. Are you going to be morose the whole time?"
"At least tell us why you're depressed," Moona demanded. "We deserve to know."
Natalie twirled her finger around her water glass. Sure, ladies. That's easy. I'm the newest victim of the Pleasure-Love Festival curse. I fell in love with a Katarian hunk who makes a living wining, dining, and bedding a new woman every night. Who thinks I'm a load of trouble. And did I mention he beds a new woman every night?
Natalie shrugged. She blinked when a broad, steaming mug appeared before her. She peered inside. Purple and orange swirls.
"Just try it," Moona wheedled. "Our treat. One sip won't hurt you."
Natalie began to shake her head automatically.
"You know," mused Jackie, "If Natalie doesn't want to book that Katarian escort tonight, I just might. I really love how dominant he is." Jackie winked at Moona.
Natalie stared at her. Was Jackie serious? Would she really try to reserve Kirk, after Natalie had already...
Her face reddened. She sat up straight and barely noticed what she was doing when she picked up the mug and took a swig. The hot liquid didn't exactly scorch its way down her throat, but a few moments later, her belly was engulfed in flames. She burst into a fit of coughing.
"Good, isn't it?" Moona said brightly.
Cautiously, Natalie took another sip. And another. The more she sipped, the less reason she saw to stop.
Moona and Jackie exchanged glances. "Uh, Natalie? I'm glad you like it, but are you sure...."
Natalie put down the mug. She glared at Jackie. "You can't order up Kirk."
Her friend's elegant brows rose. "No? Why not? Isn't he available tonight?"
"I have no idea, but—”
"Let's just see, shall we?" Moona whipped up a schedule. Her cheerful smile faded. "Hmm, that's strange."
"What?" Jackie leaned forward.
"He's not on the roster at all. Not a single booking."
Maybe he was fired for refunding a client, Natalie thought hopefully. Then felt horribly guilty. If so, she was the one who'd lost him his job.
Suddenly, Moona gasped and her eyes went big. She glanced at Jackie, her face stunned. "Look at this."
Jackie leaned toward her and they huddled together over the air schedule. Across the table, Natalie tried to see what they were looking at, but she couldn't. Her eyes weren't focusing properly. And her head was feeling distinctly sick.
"Hey, Natalie, are you okay?"
She realized she was swaying in her chair. She put down th
e Hot Squat Purple Sunset and held her head between her palms. "I think so. Maybe."
"There. It's done." Jackie sounded satisfied. "We did it. Booked him."
Natalie flinched. "Booked Kirk?"
"Your sexy Katarian, yes. Full six hours."
"I thought he was no longer working at the escort agency."
"No, he's still there. Turns out his slot was a conditional. He's only accepting..." Jackie's voice drifted off.
"Certain kinds of clients," Moona finished for her.
"Yessir," Jackie said, sounding annoyingly smug. "One escort booked for tonight. Eight o’clock sharp. Right in the hotel suite."
"But...but...it's almost that time now," Natalie breathed. Just a few minutes. A few minutes more, and Jackie and Kirk would be in their hotel suite together...
"Well, there's no point wasting time, is there? I mean, we're leaving tomorrow morning. The slot's still open. So...." She stood up.
Natalie's heart plunged. She stared bleakly at Jackie. Tears clouded her vision.
Her stomach heaved.
"Natalie?" Moona sounded alarmed.
"I don't feel so good," Natalie managed.
"Come on. Let's get you to a bathroom."
But the restaurant bathroom, though elegant and vast, was occupied, and Natalie knew she couldn't bear strangers to witness what was coming.
"Just get me up to the room," she choked out.
"Right."
By the time they got up there, she was having second thoughts. She should have vomited in the restaurant bathroom, not come up here. Kirk was going to be here any second to provide escort services with Jackie, and she couldn’t bear seeing them together. She'd have to get out of there fast, before...
Just the thought made her stomach cramp. She burst through the door as soon as Moona got it open and rushed to the bathroom.
She walked out again a few minutes later, face washed and teeth brushed. Despite her empty belly, she still felt queasy.
A few steps into the room, she froze.
Kirk was standing by the window. There was no sign of Jackie. Or Moona, for that matter.
He looked the same, but different. Same golden eyes. His features seemed more angular, if anything. He was wearing casual clothes, though—and not just pants, but a black shirt.