Escape Velocity (Off-World Series, Book 7): Sexy Science-Fiction Romance Novel

by Rebecca York

  “You need to tell me things.”

  “Like what?”

  “This is what men and women do together?”

  “Sometimes.”

  She had tried to talk to him a few minutes earlier, but she’d been incapable of listening to his answers.

  Now she pressed for context. “That was like mating?”

  “Not quite.”

  “Because you didn’t put your thing inside me the way a male animal would do with his mate.”

  “My penis. Or my cock, rod, joystick. Guys have a lot of words for it.”

  “Is sex called mating when people do it?”

  “Sexual intercourse.”

  “And not feking?”

  “Where did you hear that?”

  “I have heard men say it. I guessed what it might be . . .” She turned her palm up.

  “Feking is probably the least polite way you can say it. There are lots of other words. Screwing isn’t quite so bad. But you can have a climax without doing it, as you just found out.”

  She felt her cheeks redden, but she wanted more information. Clearing her throat, she asked, “And that place—the place where the sensation was greatest—what is that called?”

  “Your clitoris. Or your clit. It’s the center of a woman’s pleasure.”

  She nodded, then said in a whisper, “I think you had no pleasure.”

  ###

  “I’m fine,” Max said, hearing the strained quality of his own voice. He should get up and leave the damn bunk, but he was thinking he wasn’t going to be very steady on his feet.

  Amber rolled to her side and put her hand on his swollen cock. “I do not think you are fine.”

  “Don’t do that.”

  “Why not?”

  “I’m already charged up enough.”

  “I know what to do about that.”

  “How?”

  Instead of answering, she pushed him to his back and undid the zipper at the front of his pants.

  He caught his breath as she pulled out his throbbing cock and clasped him in her hand, squeezing and releasing with the skill of a Port City whore.

  “What . . .”

  Before he could get out the rest of the question, she leaned over, taking his swollen rod in her mouth, moving her mouth up and down his length while she sucked on him with shocking expertise.

  His hands dug into the sheet as she compressed her lips and took more of him in. He knew this was wrong, but she’d caught him by surprise, and now that she’d started pleasuring him, he was helpless to do anything besides go with the moment, feeling his supercharged body build toward orgasm. He was so hot from bringing her to climax that it didn’t take long. His hips jerked, and he groaned as he came in her mouth.

  He saw her lift her head, saw her swallow his semen with a little grimace. As he watched, he couldn’t help questioning everything she had told him.

  “You’ve done this before,” he said, his tone gritty.

  “Yes.”

  “You said no man would want you. But that was an excellent blow job”

  Her voice was low, but her gaze was steady. “No man would want to do it in the proper way. But some come to the slaves in the night and make them do what I just did for you. They clamp their hands on your head and force you to—service them. And if you do not do a good job, they . . . punish you.”

  He struggled to process her words. “They hate you, but they use you like that?”

  “You have not heard of men who use animals for their pleasure?”

  He’d been questioning her veracity. Now the matter-of-fact way she spoke about her status cut into his gut like a knife. He felt torn between rage and despair at the way she’d been forced to live.

  “You did not hold my head,” she said in a low voice.

  “I would never do that to a woman.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s not something a woman should be forced to do.” Just like a lot of things she had said, that idea made him sick. “Sex should be a choice—not forced on a woman. Or a man.”

  She flopped back onto the mattress beside him. “That is the first time I ever wanted to do it—or had a choice about it.”

  “Why did you want to?”

  “Because I could tell that touching me was making you need . . .” She stopped and lifted one shoulder. “What men need.”

  “I could have lived with it.”

  “I could not.”

  Really? The past few minutes had made him want to understand her better. Was she concerned about him? Or was she trying to make sure she stayed on his good side?

  He turned his head away as she sat up and put her clothing back together.

  As he zipped his fly, he wondered—what would he do if he were in her position? She was entirely at his mercy, yet at the same time, he sensed qualities in her that he admired. She was strong and resourceful. But was she telling the truth about her experiences as a slave? He guessed most of it was true—at least from her reactions during the short time she’d been on the ship. But was she trying to create an impression that would get her what she wanted?

  Which was what?

  Neither of them spoke for several moments.

  Finally, he cleared his throat. “Is there no hope for slaves on Naxion?”

  A guarded expression crossed her features.

  He closed his hand around her wrist. “What are you hiding from me?”

  He saw her swallow. “Some slaves escape.”

  “To where?”

  “I am not sure.”

  “How do you know they escape? Maybe they just got taken somewhere—by their masters.”

  “No. A slave would be missing, and the household would be in an uproar. You could tell something bad had happened. Something they didn’t plan. And after that, security would be tighter for a while, until they slipped back to their old ways.”

  “Okay.”

  “What did your friend want to do with me?” she suddenly asked, changing the subject.

  He had his suspicions, but there was no point in speculating. He said, “I don’t know.”

  But Amber was smart, and she had come to a logical conclusion. “I could not believe you threw those jewels on the ground. He paid a lot for me. I think he wanted to sell me.”

  “Too bad for him.”

  “You will not turn me over to him?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “As soon as I realized you were a commodity, I knew I wasn’t going to let you be sold.”

  She took that in and said, “And now what will you do?”

  Chapter Four

  Elgin Tudor leaned back in his contour chair, custom made to fit his five-foot-ten frame. Since becoming Deputy Director of Planetary resources on Danalon, he had taken full advantage of his position to surround himself with anything he needed—or wanted. Although the government job was heavy on prestige, it didn’t pay enough to support the lifestyle to which he’d become accustomed. Back in the projects, when his name had been Erno Dupar, he’d been dirt poor—with a father who came home drunk most nights and took out his frustrations on his son. Mom had known about it, but she had been too cowardly to confront her husband, lest she end up getting slammed against a wall. If she hadn’t been a coward, she would have taken her son and run away. But since she’d been too weak to be in charge of her own fate, she’d let her son be abused on a regular basis.

  But there had been something about the beatings that was sexually exciting to the young Erno. At first, he’d been ashamed of admit it—even to himself. Then he had stopped fighting his true self and jerked off while he could still feel the pain of his father’s blows. Solitary pleasure had given way to a more entrepreneurial bent.

  As a teen, he’d changed his name to Elgin and embraced the truth of his nature. He liked sex with men as well as women, and he liked encounters with an edge of pain and danger. Looking to score at some of the exotic clubs in Port City, he’d made himself available to the power br
okers who couldn’t risk having their S and M tastes known. And a club owner named Walder Cunningham had realized the young man’s talents could make them both a pile of credits.

  They’d formed a partnership in providing erotic favors for the rich and well-connected. Walder had provided him with a secret room at the back of the club where he could take special guests. Sometimes Elgin would play the role he had with his father but going further into forbidden pleasures like letting a client stop and fondle Elgin’s cock during a whipping—both knowing that the encounter was building to hot sex. And sometimes he’d be the slave master dishing out pain to men who craved punishment as part of their erotic play. After a wild and strenuous night, the men would be relaxed. And with a little encouragement, they would reveal confidential tidbits.

  Their pillow talk had given Elgin access to government secrets—which he’d used to secure himself a good job—in the planetary government, no less.

  He’d worked his way up to his current position, where his real money came from his under-the-table activities. The information he was able to sell to investors looking for the best return on their money was like a private catborn mine for him. Add to that the bribes he took for granting licenses, he had quickly amassed a small fortune, which in turn allowed him to pay for goods that were out of reach for ordinary citizens.

  He had luxury wines and spirits, the finest coban leather upholstery on his furniture, drugs that would give you an instant high—or an instant low—and not kill too many of your brain cells.

  And now he was awaiting one of his most enjoyable shipments. The smuggling process had worked smoothly for him for the past ten years. This was the first time he had encountered a problem.

  Annoyance flickered on his pudgy lips as he made another call to Rafe Cortez. Once again, he got the same robot voice asking for information.

  This was his third try to contact the importer he’d forced to take an illegal job, and he wasn’t pleased with the results. Because his name and location were blocked, he could leave a message.

  “This is your client,” he said in a voice that was hard as a lump of swagu crystals. “What is the ETA of my package?”

  There was no answer from the black and white pattern floating in front of his face.

  Swinging away from the comms unit, he picked up the wrist restraints he’d laid out in preparation for the arrival of his latest purchase and turned the padded cuffs in his hands. He knew there were men who viewed the stunning women illegally imported from Naxion in a different light. They liked being seen with a beautiful blond or brunette on their arm at social events. And some fools had even married a slave. He didn’t care about marriage—or showing off his trophies. His pleasures were private and having a woman who was a nonperson meant that he could enjoy her to the fullest. Since his childhood, his tastes had matured. Beatings still charged him up. But switching from bottom to top was even better.

  He’d asked for a new slave with spirit. He hated the wimps who just rolled over and let him do anything he wanted to them. The fighters were more of a challenge, but they always gave up in the end. Part of the fun was breaking them.

  He had been aroused for days, primed to have his new captive delivered for his sexual enjoyment. As a substitute, he could have arranged for a whore from one of the high-class establishments in the city. But he was damned if he was going to pay for a temporary companion when a slave was already on order.

  He clenched his fists in frustration. When he got hold of Rafe Cortez, he was going to make the bastard wish he’d never crossed Elgin Tudor.

  He considered his options. If he couldn’t contact Cortez, was there some way to get a line on the property he’d purchased?

  He’d been keeping track of Cortez—until the man had suddenly dropped off the radar. Which might mean he’d sent someone else to bring back his purchase. Or perhaps not. There was always the possibility that something had gone wrong on Naxion. It was a dangerous place. Either Rafe or a courier could be in trouble—or dead.

  He pushed himself out of the chair and went to the door of the playroom he’d gotten ready for his new purchase.

  Inside he surveyed the restraint table, the wall rings, the racks of whips and implements he might use.

  Sagan’s balls. Looking at them was making him hard as a Palamar pump handle.

  He reached down to press his hand against his fly, rocking his palm against his swollen cock. Maybe he should reconsider using a prostitute. If he was out of his mind with frustration when his purchase arrived, he’d be too impatient to enjoy her properly. Maybe he needed a quick orgasm now to calm himself down. Yes, quick by his standards. He was powerful, but he couldn’t kill a prostitute from the city—or damage her too badly.

  ###

  Max considered Amber’s question. What was he going to do now? It might be possible to sneak her onto Danalon, but then what? Someone was expecting her arrival, and they’d be on the lookout for her, which meant he couldn’t take her to Port City or anywhere else the authorities would be checking the credentials of newcomers.

  There was another option, of course. When Danalon had first been settled, it quickly divided into two factions. Most colonists had come there fully committed to living within a space-age society. A secret minority wanted no part of the Confederation and its laws. Because they’d studied the geography of the planet, they’d known it would be a good place to form their own community. The rebels had defected soon after arrival, fleeing into the swamps that lay to the east of Port City. Away from the main group, they formed their own culture. By modern standards, they lived a hardscrabble existence, getting their food from the land and trading with the city for some of the things they needed—like tools and weapons.

  Were they more primitive than the people who lived on Naxion? Maybe. And from what Max knew of their society, men ran the show, and women were second-class citizens. He could leave Amber there, but it would be a life with few options. Of course, she’d had no options on Naxion, but he hadn’t plucked her out of that hellhole to leave her in a swamp rat’s camp.

  But thinking about the defectors gave him an idea. Some swamp dwellers did leave that community for modern life, and if she said she’d come from there, the authorities would probably not be able to prove she was lying because nobody was issuing birth certificates out in the backcountry.

  He heard himself saying, “We need to get you a forged identity.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “You have no legal status on Danalon. If we get you into the system, you could go to one of the other planets and pretend that you’re a Danalon resident who’s changing locations.”

  “And then what?”

  “Then I forget I ever met you.”

  The words sounded harsh, even to his own ears. He was going to get rid of her, just like that? Was that really his plan? Well, he wasn’t exactly set up to drag along a woman on his trips around the planets.

  She lifted her chin and asked, “What happens when your friend—Rafe—wants the merchandise he purchased?”

  “I tell him the truth—with a slightly different ending. The men who met me stole the jewels and planned to kill me. I got away. But you didn’t.”

  “How did all that happen?”

  “I have time think about my story.”

  “Are you good at telling stories?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Where do I get a forged identity?”

  There was really only one option. And on balance, he figured the benefits outweighed the risks.

  “On the Freedom One Space Station.”

  “You don’t look certain.”

  Annoyed that his expression had betrayed him, he said, “I’m talking about the station that operates outside of Confederation control. We’ll have to be careful if we go there.”

  Even as he spoke, he was wondering if arriving at Freedom One with contraband from Naxion was a good idea. He wished he could dock and leave her on board. But that was impossible if he wanted to
get her credentials—and stupid to boot. He couldn’t give her the run of his ship—unchaperoned—where she could get into a lot of trouble in a few hours. Just a little of her poking around could cost him a boatload of credits for repairs.

  “Careful of what?” she asked, bringing him back to his previous comment.

  “Men who think they can take advantage of you—or of me.”

  ###

  The observation sent a shiver traveling down Amber’s spine. She could tell Max didn’t love the idea of going to the station. Did that make it an opportunity or a disaster for her?

  There was no way to tell—yet. And she had to take Max’s word that he was trying to do his best for her. As he saw it.

  “Before we get there, we have to set some ground rules,” he was saying, his voice turning hard.

  “Like what?”

  “You will stay beside me at all times. You will not make eye contact with anyone.”

  “It is not safer to leave me on the ship?”

  “Actually, you have to be there so they can record your biometrics.”

  “What are those?”

  “Physical characteristics that are unique to you—that prove your identity.”

  “And then what?”

  “Like I said, you make a new life for yourself.”

  Instead of objection, she asked, “If the station is outside Confederation control, who built it? How did it get here?”

  “It was constructed about fifty years ago as part of a Federation plan to monitor Danalon communications. But the workers took it over, kicked the Feds out, and renamed it the SS Freedom.”

  Amber tapped her knuckle against her lips. “Didn’t the . . . soldiers from the Federation have more firepower than a bunch of workmen?”

  “Of course, but using it could have destroyed the station. They let it go, and maybe they decided that it could draw off bad actors.”

  “Bad actors?”

  “Criminals.”

  She did not understand it all, but she got the idea.

  “We need to talk about your story.”

  “My story?”

  “Yes. Why are you here and why do you need a new identity?”