“My superiors came down hard on me about you,” Deanna said. “Getting a call from on high to let you go embarrassed them. So, they’re taking it out on me. Unless I can prove I had good cause to arrest you, my promotion is off, and I might even be demoted. I make another mistake, and I’m out.”
Stupid Bor Nargans. They trained their patrollers to be major pains in the ass, and then got mad at them for doing their jobs.
“Not your fault, sweetheart,” he said. “Shareem are shitheads. Everyone knows that.”
She shot him a wry smile. “I don’t think that will be good enough for my superior.”
Her voice, even agitated, was sexy. Maybe she really did have whipped cream in her stun gun.
“What do you want me to tell you? That I went there to climb through a woman’s bedroom window to ravish her senseless? So you can arrest me for real and make it stick?”
“I’m not going to arrest you at all. I only need to prove that you were let off because of favoritism, not incompetence on the part of the patrollers. Particularly incompetence on the part of Patroller First Class Deanna Surrell.”
Justin never thought he’d feel sorry for a patroller, but with his mind full of the dream, Deanna’s dismay aroused Justin’s sympathy.
In the three months Justin had been back on Bor Narga, the patrollers had followed him, carded him, harassed him, watched him. They’d done the same to his friends. They were a body of condescending, sneering bitches in coveralls.
Deanna’s uniform was tight on her body, and again she wore her dark hair in the severe bun all patrollers did. But with her eyes holding anger and worry, she looked almost human.
Justin gathered up clothes from the couch, dumped them in a corner, and gestured to the battered sofa. “Sit down.”
She sat but scooched to the end of the couch when Justin sat right next to her.
He laughed. “Are you afraid of me?”
“No.” Her eyes betrayed the lie. “I have my stun gun.”
Justin went hot. “Did you load it with whipped cream?”
“What?”
“I had a dream about you last night. You and furry handcuffs.”
Now panic warred with her interest. “You put me in handcuffs?”
“No.” Justin stretched his arm across the back of the couch, letting his fingers dangle an inch from her shoulder. “I was in the handcuffs. I guess deep down I wanted to play some games with you.”
“What does that mean, exactly?”
“In my dream, you locked my hands around my bedpost, and you bit my bare ass. Then you squirted whipped cream all over my cock and sucked it off.”
Deanna’s eyes went wide, and he sensed her body warming. “I could arrest you for even saying that to me.”
“Little tease. Did you bring real handcuffs? Maybe I could turn the tables and put the cuffs on you.”
“I’m warning you, Justin. I can throw your butt in jail just for talking to me like this.”
Justin leaned closer, his blood heating in a way it hadn’t in a long, long time. “Then my friends in high places will get me out again, and you’ll be back here in my apartment trying to save your job. Full circle.”
Her anger flashed. “That doesn’t mean you can get away with anything you want.”
“Sure as hell sounds like it to me, sweetheart.” Justin moved his fingers closer to her, letting them rest a fraction of an inch from her coverall. “If it makes you feel better, it’s programmed into Shareem that we can’t touch a lady until they give us permission. We can cajole and talk and promise, but until you say yes, we can’t do anything.”
Deanna let out a breath, warm on his hand. “That’s true.”
“So you’re safe from me, Patroller. Don’t worry.”
Justin didn’t mention that he’d learned to break that programming during his years on Sirius. He’d had no intention of forcing a woman, but Shela, a workaholic, had kept ignoring Justin’s blatant hints that she should start a sexual relationship with him.
Shela had been so good at playing hard to get that Justin had trained himself to make the first move. He’d spent nights of sweat and pain before he’d convinced his body to let him do it. And he’d done it, to Shela’s surprise and delight.
“So as soon as you want me to get the furry handcuffs, you tell me,” he said.
“No.” The answer was clipped.
“Damn, I hate when a woman is all business.”
“Live with it. And tell me why you went to the Vistara.”
Justin propped his elbow on the back of the sofa, head on his fist. Keeping your hands near your face distracted people, he’d learned. They didn’t watch your eyes.
“See, Patroller, the reason ladies like Shareem is . . . we’re discreet.”
Deanna’s gaze sharpened, and Justin could almost feel the click of the cuffs. “You’d go to jail to protect this woman’s identity?”
“Why not? I already have once.”
“She must be some woman.”
“Must be, yeah.”
Was that envy in her eyes? He hoped so. His patroller wasn’t bad. Now if he could get her to take down that bun of steel and relax.
“So you did go up there to visit a woman,” Deanna said.
“I never said that.”
“She invited you?”
“Never said that either.”
Deanna folded her arms, which pushed up the cleavage that would show if she undid the coverall. “What you’re telling me, Justin, is that you violated two warnings to stay out of the district in order to meet an unknown woman at an undisclosed place. You should have explained to her that you weren’t allowed to go up there.”
Justin rubbed the wall next to his head. “See, the tricky thing is, if I tell you I went to ravish a Vistara woman, so yeah, you were right to arrest me—then I’ll be back in my boring cell. It’s not in my best interest to help you.”
“But I order you to help me.”
She sounded so desperate that Justin laughed.
“Tell you what. I’ll level with you.” I’ll sort of lie to you. “I went back up to the Vistara because the last two times I was there, I saw this patroller in the train station. She had pretty brown eyes and hair the color of midnight. I wish she’d let her hair down. I bet it would be beautiful.”
Deanna’s eyes softened for a fraction of a second. “Don’t bullshit me, Shareem.”
“No bullshit. I bet your hair really does look good.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
He let his smile go sensual. “Take your hair down. I dare you.”
“No.”
Justin leaned forward a little, looking straight into her eyes. “You take it down, and I’ll tell you who I went to see. Promise.”
*** *** ***
Deanna chewed her lip, very aware of Justin’s large, warm body inches from hers. No foot-thick plasti-glass to protect her now.
He was different from what she’d thought he would be—he was smart, with a sense of humor that was almost playful. But the blue filling his eyes as he watched her reminded Deanna that he’d been created in a factory, not born, not quite human.
Would it be worth it to do what he said? He wasn’t asking for anything sexual, only for her to release her hair. Deanna did that every day when she got home from work anyway. It might be worth it to get a straight answer from him.
She reached up and touched the clasp that held her bun in place. Justin leaned toward her, as though Deanna taking down her hair was the most important thing in the world to him.
Deanna slowly released the clasp and let her hair, fine and straight, tumble past her shoulders.
“Beautiful,” Justin said, voice low, gaze only for her. “Like the swaths of silk I see in the markets. Black silk.”
Deanna’s breath hitched. “It’s only hair.”
Justin stretched his arm across the back of the sofa, again stopping shy of touching her. She swore she could feel sparks between his fingers and h
er skin.
“It’s beauty,” Justin said. “Why do you hide it?”
“I can’t do my job with my hair in my face, can I?” Deanna meant to sound stern, but her voice cracked.
“You wouldn’t need your stun gun. All you’d have to do was smile, and the perps would drop at your feet.”
What was he talking about? All he had to do was smile, and he’d have women on their knees.
Justin was smiling now, the little twitch of lips that warmed his eyes and made Deanna’s temperature jump to scalding level. This was dangerous.
Justin reached out and wound his finger through a strand of her hair.
“Stop that,” she said.
Justin took his time about obeying. He smoothed the lock with his fingers, tugged it gently, and finally released it.
“It feels as beautiful as it looks,” he said.
Deanna shivered, a deep, soul-licking shiver. “All right, I did what you asked. Now, tell me who you went to the Vistara to see.”
“Okay, I lied about that part. I’m not going to tell you.”
“What?” Deanna shoved him aside and jumped to her feet. “But I did what you asked.”
He opened his hands. “I’m Shareem, sweetie. I seduce. It’s what I do. And I wanted to see what you looked like with your hair down.”
“Why?”
“Because I knew you’d be damned sexy.”
Deanna’s throat tightened. She could almost believe him when he said it like that. Sexy. No one had ever called her that. No one would ever dare.
But Shareem were masters of seduction, and seduction involved lies. Shareem weren’t supposed to be able to lie . . . but Justin had done it. He’d promised to tell her what she wanted to know and then reneged. Look at him, lounging on the sofa like a decadent god, daring her to take him down for being what he was.
Deanna started to wind her hair back into its bun, but she dropped the clasp, which clinked on the bare floor. She dove for it at the same time Justin came off the couch and reached for it.
Their shoulders collided, his a solid wall of muscle. He steadied her with hands that were incredibly gentle. “You all right?” he asked.
“Yes.” She gasped. “Don’t touch me.”
If he didn’t let go, she’d never get to her feet, never regain her balance.
Justin held on to her even more firmly as he helped her to stand. “You need to be touched, Deanna,” he said. “You’re crying out for it.”
Deanna stared at him a frozen moment, her body agreeing with him. Warmth tickled between her thighs, and she wanted him to hold on to her and never let go.
But he only released her and handed her the clip. The sudden absence of his warmth was like being doused in cold water.
Deanna wound up her hair and snapped the clasp. “I’ll be watching you, Shareem. I’ll find out what you’re up to. You won’t be able to walk outside without tripping over me.”
His smile flashed. “Promise?”
The smile made something raw boil up inside her. She had to get out of there.
Justin made it to the door before she did, slamming his hand to the doorframe. “Don’t be afraid of me, Deanna.” Again, his voice was gentle, coercing.
Deanna patted her stun gun with a shaking hand. “I’m not afraid. I’m armed.”
“Seriously. I’d never hurt you.” Justin’s gaze locked to hers. “And thank you.”
“For what? Coming here to question you?”
“For letting me see what you look like.”
Deanna’s answer died on her lips. His body was incredibly warm, his heat like a blanket, and he wasn’t even touching her.
Deanna punched the control to open the door. They looked at each other for another long moment, something passing between them that Deanna didn’t understand.
Then Deanna ducked under his arm and walked swiftly out of the apartment. The Bor Nargan sunshine blinded her, but weirdly it felt nowhere near as hot as Justin had.
Justin didn’t say good-bye. Deanna turned around to discover why not, but the door slammed, and she stood alone in the street, facing blank, rusting metal.
*** *** ***
Deanna dreamed about him that night.
In the dream, she entered a room to find Justin naked and tied to a chair. He sat casually, as he had on the sofa, but now his hands were fastened behind his back, his body stretched out for her to see. His cock was long and straight, fully erect, stretching upward from a cross of ropes.
“Deanna,” he said in his dark voice. “Let your hair down for me.”
Without hesitation, Deanna pulled the clasp from the bun. Her hair cascaded, thick and curly, all the way to her feet . . . Well, this is a dream.
“Thank you,” Justin said. “You’re beautiful. Now, come here.”
She moved to him, her bare feet sinking into soft carpet. Deanna was wearing little, only a silk sheath over bare skin.
Justin watched her as she stopped in front of him, his smile spreading. His body was rock hard with muscle, slick with perspiration, and that cock . . . It stood straight up, rising with every breath.
“Take off your dress,” he said.
Without argument, Deanna unclasped the silk sheath and let it slide to the floor.
Justin skimmed his gaze up and down her, eyes hot blue. “Untie me, sweetheart.”
“No.” Deanna smiled. This was her dream, and she was in charge.
“Please.” Perspiration wet his forehead. “I want to touch you.”
“No,” she whispered.
Her Shareem. Tied up for her. Wanting her.
Deanna went to him and daringly straddled his thighs, her legs on either side of his. His cock was so big, and dark with wanting, so close . . .
“Have a seat, baby,” Justin said.
Should she? She could feel the warmth of him, even in her dream. His breath was hot on her skin. Delectable.
Deanna could do anything she wanted in this vision, and no one would ever know. It would be her secret passion, her fantasy.
“Down,” he whispered.
This was insane. He was the one tied to the chair—Deanna should have all the power. His beautiful body was bound, his muscles tight as he strained against the ropes.
But Deanna felt compelled to obey him. She sat gingerly down on him, gasping when his cock slid up into her very wet opening.
Yes.
Deanna whimpered, but it was a sob of joy.
Justin lifted his hips, pushing all the way up inside her. Deanna knew it was a dream, but she still felt him, big and hard, reaching into her. Wonderful. She burned, but her sheath was wet and slick.
Justin watched her, his eyes so blue, the same way he’d watched her when they’d been on his couch. The simple act of him touching her hair had melted every part of her. Hence the dream.
This hot, fabulous, wicked dream.
The mad friction drove her on, the sinful look in Justin’s eyes driving her as wild.
The image began to dissolve, Justin drifting away from her. Deanna was waking up. No.
She moaned his name as wildness poured over her in waves. She’d never felt anything like it before—darkness, and nothing but one point of feeling.
Deanna gasped and opened her eyes. She lay in the middle of her bed, alone, the sheets shoved aside. One of her hands pressed between her legs, her first two fingers solidly inside her.
She froze, habitual shame dashing over her. She’d touched herself, brought herself to orgasm. Taboo. Shameful.
Why? the rebellious part of her demanded. It’s heaven.
She moved her fingers inside her sheath. The crazy wildness had faded, but the pressure inside her was still hot and satisfying.
Deanna stroked herself a little longer, calming down, comforting herself. But she knew that her own hands would be nowhere near as comforting as Justin’s.
Gods, she wanted him. Deanna groaned again, cupping hard between her legs.
She’d have to live without him.
Part of Deanna’s job was to protect other women from Shareem, to make sure the walking sex machines didn’t step out of line. She couldn’t bring Justin to her bed and do her job.
She’d get over it. She’d make sure Justin stayed off the Vistara, and then she’d move on to other matters and forget about him.
Forget about him. Sure.
If she was so determined to forget, why did she imagine Justin’s large, workworn hand pressing hard into her pussy as she drifted back into a troubled sleep?
*** *** ***
“Anything?” Justin asked Elisa.
He stood with her in a small back room of a Pas City library, with Elisa peering at a terminal screen and Braden lounging against the desk. This library didn’t have much in the way of resources, but if anyone could wrest information from the Bor Nargan databases, it was Elisa n’Arell.
“I’m sorry,” Elisa said at last. “There’s no record anywhere of the woman called Lillian. The last mention of her is of her quitting DNAmo and moving back home, where she obviously is not now. She lived in the apartment with her parents until their death, but after that, I can’t find her.”
“Sybellie’s birth was recorded,” Justin said. “And her adoption. Lillian sent me a message about it.”
He pulled out a plastic strip and held it up, the imprint of the precious message he’d saved. He thanked the gods he hadn’t had it with him when cute little Patroller First Class Deanna Surrell had arrested him.
“The birth is recorded in a free clinic in the lower end of Pas City,” Elisa said, reading her screen. “The mother didn’t give a name.”
Braden asked, “Isn’t that illegal on Bor Narga?”
“Technically, yes,” Elisa said. “But the attending medic might have not pressed the issue. Some lower-class women can’t afford to raise a child, so they have them anonymously and give them up. That must have been very hard for Lillian to do.”
“Yeah. It was.”
And damn hard for Justin. He’d known that Lillian had been pregnant—she’d told him, and he’d advised her to quit DNAmo before they found out—but he’d been sent off before Lillian had given birth.
“May I see the message?” Elisa asked. “There might be something in it, if you don’t mind.”
Justin rubbed the plastic strip with his thumb. “It’s encrypted. We’d figured out a way to send word to each other while she was at DNAmo. Lillian used that code.”
Tales of the Shareem, Volume 2 Page 36