by Rebecca York
She raised one hand and pressed it over his mouth. “Stop blaming yourself for something you couldn’t control. I’m the one who thought we should come to the Inheritors. If anyone is at fault, it’s me.”
He pried her hand away. “No.”
She glared at him. “I think you cannot see reason.”
He glared back, unwilling to give way. But she looked equally adamant. How could they possibly resolve the situation?
Her next words astonished him. “I think I must punish you.”
Had he heard her right? “What?” he choked out.
“You feel guilty.”
“Of course I do.”
“There is a remedy. Remember how much better I felt when you punished me for trying to kill Rafe?”
“Yes.”
“Perhaps I can . . . do the same for you.”
He dragged in a breath and let it out. She could be right. He couldn’t let go of the conviction that he had wronged her. And maybe she was the only one who could absolve him.
“Punish me how?” he asked in an uncertain voice.
Her voice was stern. “You will find out when I do it.”
###
Amber swallowed hard. The idea of punishment had leaped into her head as she’d taken in the distress on his face. But where was this leading—exactly? Well, she had better act like she knew what she was doing.
One thing was sure, she was an expert at punishment although until now she’d always been on the receiving end.
She met his eyes with a steady gaze. “Will you let me be the master over you now?”
He didn’t answer for long seconds, and she waited with every cell in her body vibrating.
When he finally answered, “yes,” she let out the breath she didn’t know she’d been holding.
Trying to sound bold, she raised her chin and said. “Then from now until I say so, I will be in total charge of your body.”
He tipped his head to one side, as he considered the implications. “Are you talking about tying me up?”
“I’m talking about obedience.”
“What . . . uh . . . does that mean?”
She stiffened her posture and made her voice hard. “It means I want you naked on your back on the bed. With your arms spread out to your sides. And I expect you to stay that way, until I say you can move.”
She finished by marching past him to the bed and yanking the embroidered spread and blanket to the floor so that only an expanse of soft fur was covering the mattress.
Whirling back to him, she ordered, “Now take off your clothes, and lie down. And fold everything neatly,” she added, remembering what he had required of her in the cargo bay.
With her breath frozen again, she waited to see what would happen.
When Max started to unbutton his shirt, she let the captive breath trickle out.
He turned away from her, intent on carrying out her orders. She had never stared at his body before, but as he folded his shirt onto the chair, she admired the taut muscles of his broad back and nicely shaped arms. When he pulled off his pants, she took in his very masculine butt. Seeing him naked was charging her up, but she made her voice hard and commanding in keeping with the role she had set herself to play.
“Lie down.”
He hesitated a moment, then did as she asked, and she was pleased to note that his cock was taut with arousal.
“Well, you’re hard as one of the staves in the fence out there. I see I’ll have something to work with,” she said in a conversational tone.
Ignoring his strangled exclamation, she moved toward the edge of the bed and looked down at him. “You are my slave now. Under my complete control. Put your arms out to the sides. The way I told you I wanted them.”
He did, but not to their full extension, as though he was afraid to trust her that far.
“I want your arms out all the way, like they’re tied in that position, she ordered,” and he slowly did her bidding until he looked like a sacrificial victim.
His eyes were wary. “What are you going to do?” he asked in a taut voice.
“You think I’m going to tell you?” She kept her gaze rigid. “Let’s use your rules. I don’t want you to speak unless I give you permission.”
He gave her a doubtful glance but pressed his lips together. He looked so vulnerable that her heart turned over, but she wasn’t going to stop this yet.
“I think we’re ready to begin.”
His gaze never left her, and she struggled to keep from smiling as she reached to the placket at the front of her dress and began releasing the buttons. Knowing she had his full attention, she opened the bodice just above her waist and pushed the fabric out of the way on either side, exposing her breasts with their tight, aroused tips. Arching her back, she lifted the mounds in her hands, then stroked them, hearing Max make a muffled moan as he watched.
Smiling again, she circled her taut nipples with her fingers, then squeezed and tugged at them, watching the avid expression on his face.
“You’re letting me know how much you like this,” she murmured. “But, of course, you can only watch.”
She stood there for another few moments, torturing herself and Max. But finally, the need for contact drew her to him. When she eased onto the bed, she heard him draw in a strangled breath.
“You aroused me in the cargo bay. And then you made me wait for satisfaction. How do you like it?” she whispered as she stroked his shoulders, then combed her fingers through the hair on his chest before finding his nipples and doing what she had done to herself, wringing a gasp from him.
Before he could enjoy that too much, she glided her hand lower, over his ribs, then his abdomen. His muscles jumped under her touch. When she bypassed his cock and ran her nails up one thigh, he made a pleading sound.
He had spanked her. Did he need physical punishment as well? Or was arousing him and then denying him release enough? She hoped so because she couldn’t bear to strike him.
She went up on her knees then, pulling the dress up to her waist, letting him see that she was naked underneath.
Gathering the skirt up with one hand, she used the other to play with the curly hair at the juncture of her legs, then slid her hand a little lower. But she stayed away from the throbbing place she wanted to touch, because she had vowed not to lose control.
She’d gotten into the spirit of this torture session. Lifting one shoulder, she said sweetly, “You know, all this fabric is in the way.” Then, very slowly she eased her arms out of the sleeves, pulled the dress over her head and tossed it onto the floor.
“Gods, this is making my body flame,” she said, arching her back and fanning herself with a flattened hand, knowing his gaze was following every tiny move she made.
His teeth were clenched, his hands dug into the fur under his fingers, and his breath sawed in and out of his lungs. She must be driving him mad—because she knew what she was doing to herself.
When she reached out and delicately glided one finger along the length of his red, swollen cock, she felt his whole body jerk. She kept her gaze downcast because looking into his pleading eyes would undo her.
With her teeth clenched, she continued to stroke him with two fingertips, before closing her fist around his rod, moving up and down the shaft in a way she was pretty sure would drive him insane with need.
But how much more of this could she take? Teasing him, touching him like this was almost more than she could stand.
Leaning over, she stroked him with her tongue, hearing his strangled exclamation. From the corner of her eye, she saw his hands jerk against the fur. When she took him into her mouth, he made a low animal sound.
She gave him only a few seconds of such pleasure before pulling back, looking down at him.
He was panting, and sweat had broken out on his skin.
When she laid a hand on his chest, she could feel his heart’s frantic pounding.
“Do you know what it is to suffer?” she asked in a low voice.
He answered with a tight nod.
“And what if I let you cool down a little, then start all over again?”
He made a sound of protest, deep in his throat.
Perhaps it was that pleading gasp that undid her. Raising up, she straddled him, so that she could bring his rock-hard cock inside her. For long moments, she held herself still, feeling his body quiver under hers.
Finally, she began to move. Raising her head, she took in his look of relief.
Seconds later, he came, his shout of satisfaction rocketing through the hut. She was almost as far gone as he. Leaning forward, she pressed her clit against him, moving frantically until she followed him over the edge, her own orgasm soaring through her.
She hadn’t given him permission to move. But he broke his slave’s bond, clasping her to him as he kissed her and stroked his hands over her back and hips. And as he did, she hoped that her punishment had worked. Closing her eyes, she allowed herself a little time to enjoy just being with him. Then she finally whispered, “Do you think we can stop blaming ourselves and just be glad we’re both alive—and both here?”
“I think you’ve made your point,” he answered, yet she couldn’t help feeling that everything between them was not settled.
Well, better to find out now than clinging to false hope.
She sat up so that she could meet his gaze. “I want to stay with you.”
A look of hope mixed with pain flashed across his features. “I live on my ship. I have no fixed home.”
“Do you think I care about that?”
“You should. You should want to make a life for yourself.”
“Yes, with you. Don’t you think we are good together?”
“I know we are,” he answered in a strangled voice.
“Then stop fighting the idea of finding happiness.” She lay down again, resting her head on his shoulder. “Give it a try. You might like it.”
“Fates, Amber, what am I going to do with you?”
“Love me—the way I love you.”
A look of shock crossed his face before he said, “I do. I didn’t want to. I tried to tell myself you would be better off without me.”
“You didn’t ask me what I wanted.”
“I think I was afraid to hear the answer.”
She reached for his hand and knitted his fingers with hers. She had come a long way from the slave girl she had been on Naxion, but he had also traveled far. He had made a life for himself, and he thought it had to be that way. Now he had let her past the shield he had built up around himself.
“Have faith that this will work out,” she murmured.
His answer filled her with joy. “If you have that faith, I do, too.”
###
The smell of food cooking coaxed them out of the hut a few hours later. They were still holding hands as they walked toward the main gathering area.
It was growing dark, but Amber could see many of the tribe watching them as they walked toward the clearing.
Gatroux stood up as he saw them approaching. “I wasn’t sure you would join us, but we saved you a place.”
“Thank you,” they both said as they sat down close together.
Rafe gave them a grin. “I have the feeling things have worked out okay.”
Amber flushed.
Max grunted his agreement.
To change the subject, Amber asked, “Did you take care of Tudor’s house?”
“It went into a sinkhole. You might know something used to be there. But you’d have to go far down in the muck to find it.”
“Good. Did you use the ship’s guns?”
“Yes.”
She didn’t want to waste more time on Tudor or his house. Max sensed that and told her how they’d tracked LaTour. She winced when Dubois related the story of how Max had climbed up the tree after him. She understood that he’d had to do it—for his own sense of self-worth, even when she didn’t agree with his reasoning.
She was glad when the meal was over. She gave Rafe a questioning look when he pulled them aside.
“I guess I take the two of you back to your ship in the morning,” he said to Max.
“Yeah.”
Amber spoke up. “And maybe we can give the rest of the clothing to these people, to pay them back for helping us out of a nasty situation.
“Good idea,” Rafe agreed. He cleared his throat as he looked at Amber. “You saved my life. I figure I owe you something for that.”
She started to say it wasn’t true but stopped herself. “There is something you could do for me. But it’s dangerous.” She kept her voice steady. “My friend, Esme, helped me escape from the slave camp on Naxion.”
“How?”
“She helped me plan. And she . . . caused a disturbance. The most senior guard had his hands full with her, and he sent a man to meet Max who was less experienced. If Harner had been there, maybe Max wouldn’t have been able to get away with me.”
“And what do you want me to do?” Rafe asked.
“Rescue her.”
He considered for a moment, then nodded. “I’m up for it, but I don’t think I can do it by myself. I’ll need help from you and Max.”
She looked at him, waiting to find out if he was willing to go back to a planet where he had almost gotten killed.
Instead of answering, he asked a question. “You would go back there? When you’re risking falling into slavery again.”
“Yes.”
“If you’re willing to take that chance, then I won’t let you do it alone.”
Her eyes were shining as she looked at him. And once again she thanked the gods that she had stumbled into his embrace. He was a man of honor. A man of courage. And she knew now that he would always be by her side—no matter the dangers they might face.
THE END
AFTERWORD
Thank you for purchasing Escape Velocity. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I loved writing it.
If you enjoy my books, do me a huge favor. Please go back to your favorite online bookstore, and leave an honest review. Authors live and die by their reviews. The few extra seconds it takes are really appreciated. Thank you!
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
A New York Times and USA Today Best-Selling Author, Rebecca York is a 2011 recipient of the Romance Writers of America Centennial Award. Her career has focused on romantic suspense, often with paranormal elements.
Her 16 Berkley books and novellas include her nine-book werewolf “Moon” series. KILLING MOON was a launch book for the Berkley Sensation imprint. She has written for Harlequin, Berkley, Dell, Tor, Carina Press, Silhouette, Kensington, Running Press, Tudor, Pageant Books, and Scholastic.
Her many awards include two Rita finalist books. She has two Career Achievement awards from Romantic Times: for Series Romantic Suspense and for Series Romantic Mystery. And her Peregrine Connection series won a Lifetime Achievement Award for Romantic Suspense Series.
Many of her novels have been nominated for or won RT Reviewers Choice awards. In addition, she has won a Prism Award, several New Jersey Romance Writers Golden Leaf awards and numerous other awards, and she is on the Romance Writers of America Honor Roll.
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COPYRIGHT
Published by Light Street Press
Copyright © 2020 by Ruth Glick
Cover design by Michele Hauf
All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, scanning, or other—excep
t for brief quotations in critical reviews or articles, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
ISBN: 978-1-943191-23-9
Excerpt of Fire on the Moon, by Rebecca York
Chapter One
Had she leaped into the middle of a family feud? Or was this her chance to heal a twenty-year-old rift between two brothers? Francesca Turner wasn’t sure, but she knew that her dying father kept saying he wished he could see his older brother, Angelo, one more time.
She ached to grant that wish. But she wasn’t foolish enough to break the rules and simply invite her uncle to visit. She wanted to see what he was like first, and so she’d done a little research and called him on the phone.
The call coming out of the blue must have startled him.
“This is little Francesca?” he asked, his voice skeptical and at the same time hopeful.
“Yes. But I’m not a little girl anymore.”
“It’s been so long.” His tone took on a note of urgency. “Where are you? Is your dad okay? Can I come and see you?”
“You know it’s complicated. Why don’t I come down there, and we’ll talk first?”
“Of course. Wonderful. I’ll send you the air fare. Just give me a few days to finish some important business.”
She’d agreed, and now here she was pulling into the driveway of his place in Naples, Florida—in what looked like a very plush neighborhood.
She hadn’t told Dad about the trip. It was a secret—until she could be sure everything was okay.
There was a fence around the property. And when she pressed the buzzer on a post beside the high gate, she could see a camera inspecting her through the side window of her rental. Then a disembodied voice asked her to state her name and date of birth.
She blinked. That was what they always asked when you were calling to make a doctor’s appointment—to double-check it was really you. The request from her uncle was like a little jolt from a stun gun, and she wondered if she’d made a serious mistake coming down here.