“Don’t stop,” Gregor whispered, still breathless. “I’m fine.” He gave her a quick kiss, but most of his focus was on yanking open his belt and shoving his trousers to the floor. His straining cock finally sprang free, released from confinement.
Val chuckled and grasped him. “Yes, you are.”
He groaned at her touch, then leaned into her, pushing her back onto the bed. With his cock throbbing in her hand, his mouth found hers as his elbows came down on either side of her. Kisses that had been playful before were hard and demanding now, his tongue thrusting into her mouth. She sucked at it, taking him in, wanting him deeper, her own desire building again. As their kisses grew in intensity, she rubbed him with her hand, spreading her legs and guiding him to her, her core slick and ready for him. Her other hand came around his back, grasping the hard muscles of his shoulder, fingernails digging in, gripping him, afraid someone might interrupt them again and she wouldn’t get to pull him into her.
“I need you,” he rasped, the tip of him nudging her, ready.
“Me too,” she whispered, releasing him so she could link both arms around the back of his neck. He was hers now.
He slid into her, his muscles quivering as he forced himself to take it slow, testing her response. But she didn’t want slow. She wanted him in her, all of him in her. She grabbed his butt, pulling him down even as she rose up to meet him. He moaned as she engulfed him fully. They rocked together, and his restraint faded, his intensity unleashing itself. He kissed her as he drove deeper, their bodies clashing. She wrapped her legs around him, meeting his eagerness, pushing him until sweat bathed both of them, and their breaths came as rapid gulps for air. Pressure built, a bomb poised to burst. He panted her name, passion smoldering in his eyes, and she felt him on the edge. He buried his face in the side of her neck, his body straining with those final thrusts, beautiful friction sending spirals of pleasure through her. She squeezed with her legs, capturing him, tightening around him. He gasped, growling into her ear. Then his teeth grazed her throat, and that bomb exploded inside of her, waves of release shaking her body. He was there, too, giving one final thrust, then pouring himself into her. He groaned her name again, rubbing his lips against her damp throat, delicious bliss swallowing her as they melted together, spent muscles quivering.
Val dragged a hand up to the back of his head, pushing her fingers through his damp hair, twining them there and keeping him close to her. He patted around, then dragged one of the furs over them. Good, he wasn’t planning on going anywhere. Something clunked to the floor. The tablet.
“Guess we didn’t need the list.” She smiled, nuzzling the side of his throat.
Gregor shifted onto his elbows and kissed her gently, lovingly, then paused to gaze down at her. The reverence in his eyes filled her throat with emotion again. “I hope my performance was satisfactory without it.”
He was so earnest that she almost laughed, but she kissed him back instead, then pulled his head down so she could reach his ear. She licked a salty bead of sweat off his lobe and whispered, “Don’t let this go to your head, but you’re as good in bed as you are in a cockpit.”
“You were satisfied then?”
“Very satisfied.”
“Excellent. I was too.” His earnestness faded, and he smiled shyly, looking pleased with himself.
She laughed and kissed him again.
Epilogue
The shuttle soared out of the atmosphere without any alarming rattles or jolts, on course for the space station where the Albatross awaited its wayward children. The last Val heard, the bigger ship had successfully extricated itself from the war with mostly superficial damage and no personnel losses. Apparently, the other mercenary fleet had departed the planet too. It seemed the Orenkans had to pay for extensive earthquake damage and could no longer afford their hired help. The Death Rush ships were now docked on the other side of the station from the Albatross. Some of the formerly warring mercenaries might even be in a pub somewhere together, gambling over dice, darts, or holo-bowling.
It was a strange world Val had entered. At least she didn’t feel like she was alone in it anymore.
She and Gregor were flying together in their craft; the other shuttle trailed, carrying the crew that had come down for repairs. Knowing they were on their way back to work—and that her position was still up in the air—Val hadn’t made any suggestions that she and Gregor should program the autopilot and investigate the comfort level of the banks of passenger seats, but she was having a hard time not making I-can’t-help-myself-but-I-adore-you eyes at him. He still looked a little surprised and flattered when he caught her making them, and he smiled shyly back at her. Once, she wouldn’t have thought Gregor Thatcher knew how to smile, and yet here he was, making her stomach flutter.
The comm bleeped.
“Thatcher here,” Gregor said, still smiling at her. Val grinned, wondering if his tone sounded strange to those on the other end, dreamier than usual.
“It’s Sequoia, sir. The captain wants to know if you’ve been taking good care of his shuttles or if they’ll be needing repairs at the station before we can leave.”
“Sparks reports that both vessels are operating at 98% efficiency and won’t need further attention until their regular monthly maintenance.”
“Good news. I’ll let the captain know. We’ve got you down for a forty-seven minute ETA. Does that sound right?”
“Precisely, Lieutenant. Ah…” Gregor glanced at Val and bit his lip. Was he going to bring up what he’d been speaking of the day before? That he wanted Sequoia to decide whether she was qualified for the job? She had damned well better be qualified after all she had gone through, but she didn’t say anything. If he didn’t want to appear biased, she could understand that. Besides, Sequoia seemed fair, not like someone who would make her leap through the rings of Tindar IV or keep her in suspense for ages.
“Yes, sir?” Sequoia asked.
“Cadet Calendula and I have been through a lot on this mission, and I believe I may struggle to judge without bias whether she should be selected to join Mandrake Company.”
Val wondered if anyone besides Sequoia was listening in on the conversation, anyone who might read between the lines to realize that their proper and by-the-book Commander Thatcher was shagging the new recruit. She didn’t hear any sniggers over the comm. If people were listening, they probably couldn’t imagine the scenario. She never would have imagined it a week ago.
“I told her the decision would be in your hands, Lieutenant,” Gregor continued.
After a pause—a dumbfounded pause?—Sequoia asked, “You did?”
“Yes. I have faith in you, Lieutenant.”
This time, Sequoia’s dumbfounded pause stretched longer, into stunned silence.
“Lieutenant?” Gregor prompted.
Sequoia cleared his throat. “Yes. Good then. Let’s do it. Cadet Calendula, are you there?”
Gregor cocked his head curiously.
Val leaned forward. “I’m here, yes.”
“All right. Commander, has she demonstrated that she knows how to pilot a craft?” Sequoia asked.
“Several, yes.”
“And, Calendula, now that you’ve been with him for a few days, do you think you can put up with being under Thatcher’s command?”
Gregor met Val’s eyes. She almost laughed. It was true that when she had first seen him standing in that shuttle bay, she hadn’t been certain. When she didn’t answer immediately, Gregor’s expression grew alarmed.
“Yes,” Val hurried to say, laying her hand on his arm at the same time.
“Sounds like she’ll be a great fit then,” Sequoia said. “I’ll let the captain know.”
The comm light winked out, leaving Gregor with his mouth hanging open. “That was… brief.”
Val grinned. “I’m beginning to like that Lieutenant Sequoia.”
“I hope that you find all of your colleagues satisfactory.” Gregor rotated his chair, facing her mor
e squarely. “Before we get back, there’s something I wish to offer. I’m worried that I might offend you though, and I wouldn’t wish to do that.”
Val didn’t know what he had in mind, but the graveness on his face made her nervous. “You’re not going to critique my bedroom performance, are you?”
“No.” Gregor blinked. “That was marvelous. Thank you.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” And it amused her that someone who so rarely said thank you was using it in this context. Still, she didn’t relax all the way, not certain what offer he could have in mind. It wasn’t marriage, was it? Surely it was premature for that. She still had to find out if she minded sleeping in a room full of model spaceships. Though it would doubtlessly be better than sharing a room with Private Whatshername and her walls full of bladed weapons. At least if a model ship fell on her in the middle of the night, it wouldn’t impale her.
“When I was… eavesdropping on your conversation with Summers, I came in at the point where you were mentioning your brother’s financial difficulties.”
Ah, so that was what he had in mind. Normally, Val would have found it cute that he had used the word eavesdropping—did he not know it had a social stigma, or did he simply not believe in being anything except honest?—but she got caught up in wondering what he was going to say.
“The captain will be responsible for assigning your combat pay this week and deciding which rank to give you, so I couldn’t calculate what you can expect for your first deposit, but I would like you to know that if you would wish to have some money to ensure your brother is not being subjugated to unpleasant experiences while he waits, I would be pleased to give it to you. I have few expenses, and my savings are sufficient.”
Give? She might have considered a loan, knowing she could pay it back within a few months, but she didn’t want him to simply give her that kind of money. Or any kind of money. “That’s kind of you to offer, Gregor, but when you want to demonstrate that you enjoyed a night with a woman, chocolates, sexy lingerie, or cute stuffed animals one hangs in the cockpit are sufficient. You know, gifts that cost less than five aurums.”
He gazed steadily into her eyes. “But I enjoyed our whole week.”
“We spent most of the week getting shot at.”
“Yes, but that happens to me often. I enjoyed this week because I was with you.”
Val had never considered herself the type of girl to melt into a gooey puddle at a man’s professions of love—or enjoyment—but damned if his straightforward earnestness didn’t make her throat tighten up with emotion. It took a moment before she managed to say, “I had no idea the average mercenary week was so eventful. I should have lots of opportunities to receive combat pay. No need for you to pay my brother’s debt for me.”
Gregor’s brow crinkled, as if he were contemplating some navigational math problem. Although this, she suspected, was more difficult for him to grasp. “You wish to remain financially independent. Or you wish not to be beholden to me. Or both.”
A good effort. She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. He still looked faintly perplexed.
“Of the items I mentioned, I think the lingerie would be most appreciated by both of us,” she offered, though she wondered what Gregor might pick out if he were left to his own devices on that front. Something sexy? Or something… practical? If they were headed to any more glacial planets, she might receive long wool underwear, complete with footies. “Or chocolates,” she revised. “Chocolates do get a girl in the mood. Sweetness of all kinds does.” She kissed him again, this time on the lips.
“This is good to know.” He cupped the side of her face, his thumb brushing her cheek.
“What’s the ETA for our arrival now?” Val pressed the tab to release her harness and eyed the bank of seats again.
“Forty minutes.” Gregor followed her gaze, though his brow crinkled. “Are you suggesting we do something that would require removing our safety harnesses? The GalCon Military Pilots’ Handbook advises against that, especially for the lead pilot.”
“Good thing we’re rule-breaking mercenaries, isn’t it?” She stood up, leaned over, unfastened his harness, and waited, curious and amused, to see what he would do. Anyone else would say to hell with the rules, but this was Gregor.
After gazing thoughtfully down at his slack harness for a few seconds, he refastened it. Before Val could sigh with disappointment, he wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her onto his lap.
“There are many things that can be done with the lead pilot in a safety harness,” he announced.
“Oh?” Val draped her arms over his shoulders. “It’s not a problem that I’m not in my harness?”
“You’re not the lead pilot.”
“I’m glad we found a solution that doesn’t breach the rules too badly.”
“Yes,” Gregor said, his smile pleased and contented.
Val kissed him, wriggling to find a suitable spot on his lap, and within a few seconds was reasonably certain safety was no longer the primary thing on his mind.
THE END
The Assassin’s Salvation
1
The shuttlecraft was pink. Sergei Zharkov scratched his jaw as he crouched twenty feet atop stacked shipping crates, hugging the shadows, so the freighter crews wouldn’t notice him. It was a combat shuttle, the same model Captain Mandrake had owned the last time Sergei had worked for him, but no self-respecting mercenary would possess a pink spaceship. He knew he hadn’t gotten the dock number wrong, but maybe Mandrake Company had been delayed and some opportunist had taken the open slot?
Marinth was one of the smaller cloud cities, and it didn’t claim a huge loading area. Freighters occupied all of the other docking spots, their crews out loading or unloading cargo, assisted by hover cranes. There was only one person working outside of the shuttle, a woman who seemed… not particularly suited to a pink spacecraft.
Perhaps it was the tools that clanked in the pockets of her coveralls as she moved about, poking into the vessel’s exterior panels, or maybe it was the grease smudge on her cheek and the matching one streaked across the back of one hand. This was not to say the woman wasn’t feminine. No, Sergei had been admiring the sway of her hips for the last five minutes. She was tall, with a pair of thick blonde braids that swung about her shoulders as she worked, and she had an appealing face with a cute, button nose and gray-blue eyes. A young and innocent face, he reminded himself, having already dismissed her as someone who shouldn’t have to be bothered by a man with as much blood on his hands and baggage in his mind as he.
Sergei snorted softly. Who did appreciate his blood and baggage? Captain Mandrake possibly. At the least, Mandrake knew about Sergei’s occupation and his past and wasn’t bothered by it.
Thunder rumbled in the gray clouds lurking overhead. Marinth might be a city that floated in the sky, but that didn’t keep it from being rained on, as the large puddles dotting the loading dock attested.
Sergei stood, intending to go inside and call Mandrake before the clouds soaked him. But two men from the grungy, ill-maintained freighter next to the shuttle were ambling toward the blonde woman. She wasn’t armed with anything other than tools; he had noticed that immediately. He always noticed people’s weapons. The men wore daggers on their belts, as well as laser pistols, though from the way they swaggered and smirked at each other, Sergei doubted they had robbery on their minds.
He crouched again, this time on the edge of his perch. He could jump to a ledge provided by a shipping container sticking out a couple of inches further than his current one, then leap the rest of the way to the ground without hurting himself. He could do so in a second, if need be.
Mandrake would have laughed at the notion of him running to some woman’s rescue. Of all the people who might play the role of chivalrous knight in shining armor from Old Earth, Sergei was surely not on the list. Or maybe Mandrake would have understood. Despite a fearsome reputation, one Sergei knew was well deserved, the Crimson Ops soldier
-turned-mercenary had been known to offer assistance even when pay wasn’t on the line.
“You look lonely over here, girl,” one of the men said.
The blonde woman had been watching them approach out of the corner of her eye, and she put her back to the shuttle to face them, an electric multitool in her hand. She didn’t stand in the bent-kneed ready stance of someone with combat experience, but she had the sense to know there might be trouble here.
“Do I?” she asked, swinging the tool casually, vapidly one might have thought, but her thumb was fiddling with some setting on the control panel. Sergei couldn’t imagine what; it wasn’t as if a screwdriver could be turned into a laser rifle. “You’re mistaken. I enjoy my own company very much.”
“Aw, but we’d enjoy your company very much too. Why don’t you come on over and we’ll give you a tour of our ship? We’ve got a full bar. Happy to make you a drink, whatever you fancy.”
“No, thanks. I’m on the clock. My employer is just inside.” She gestured toward the shuttle with the tool, her thumb shifting again. Was she disabling something? Sergei was too far away to tell.
“Yeah, we saw her earlier, and some other woman that went inside there. Been speculating on what sort of business you’re running here, as you don’t seem to be loading any cargo.” The speaker nudged his buddy, who snickered back at him. Sergei could guess where their speculation had run. They were spending more time staring at her chest than at her face.
“We run a medical clinic and perform services for clients,” the woman said. “I can get you a card if you’re interested.”
“Medical clinic, sure.”
The men sniggered.
The bigger of the two stepped closer. “Why don’t you come over here, and we’ll show you what services we offer?”
“Yeah,” his buddy said. “We can show you our manly services.”
“I’m not interested, thank you.” Had her voice been harder, colder, her rejection less polite, they might have left her alone, but she came across as sweet, as one who might be taken advantage of without repercussions.
Mandrake Company- The Complete Series Page 50