by Annalise
When she finished her routine, the counselor who’d frowned at her giggles came over. “You are to report to the medical center.”
“Why? I just had a disease check three days ago.” Evans mopped the sweat off the back of her neck.
“It is not my place to worry about that. I only know you have been summoned.”
She turned in her towel and workout garments for a robe at the checkout window, pulled it on and followed the counselor to the door, who told the guard, “Take her to the med center.”
It was like an out-of-body experience. Between the exercises and whatever drugs they’d given her, Evans had a hard time negotiating the hallway. They’d round a corner and the floor would pitch at an angle. The guard had to support her several times or she would have fallen. For some reason, giggles kept burbling out of her.
“Come on, sister. I’m not paid to haul you around,” the guard grumbled. “Give me a troublesome client over a slap happy whore any day.”
Evans did her best to straighten up, but the occasional giggle still slipped out. Inside, she was horrified. She’d never, even as a teenager, been a giggler.
They entered a corridor she’d not been in before. Following her mental map as she always did, and despite the drugs, she knew the moment they walked into unfamiliar territory.
They’d moved far outside what she had thought the boundaries were for that floor. They paused at a door to allow a counselor to pass. On Evans’s mental map, they stood deep in what had been a blank area. She adjusted and expanded the floor plan as they went. The door clicked open to a short hallway with five doors on one side and none on the other. The fifth door opened into a gleaming white exam room exactly like the one in which she’d had her last check-up.
The guard pushed her through and remained in the hall. The opposite door opened, and Evans sighed. It was Jennel again. Med-Aide Jennel. Evans took one look at her hard face and lost the persistent urge to giggle. Instead, she felt heat flushing her skin. Sweat broke on her forehead.
“Come along with you, up on the table.” Jennel’s smile didn’t reach her cold eyes.
“What am I here for?” Evans stood her ground, just inside the door. She tried not to sway.
“Blood work. You did service a client with live sperm, you know.” With efficient movements, the med-aide slid a tray out of the wall and put together a syringe.
“Oh.” Evens worked to pull herself together while she watched the preparations. No way could she think of Link as a client. Was it possible she’d conjured him up from some drug-induced dream and mentally superimposed his face on another man’s?
“Have you been eating well? Have you lost weight?” Jennel cupped Evans’s chin in her hand and twisted, tilting Evans’s face toward an overhead light. The woman examined her skin and had her open her mouth before releasing her.
“Why?”
“Just answer the question.”
“I’m fine.”
The sideways slide of the woman’s eyes told Evans she thought she was lying.
“Sit. Or not. If you don’t want to make yourself comfortable, that’s up to you.”
Evans sat, and the woman slid a tournicuff up her arm. She was more gentle with the syringe than Evans expected, which brought back the giggles. The med-aide gave her a sharp look as she sprayed sealant on the needle mark.
Back in her cell, Evans giggled again when the door clicked shut behind her, locking her in. What drug had they given her, and how? Had it been in her meal? Why hadn’t her exercises helped her metabolize it more quickly?
She didn’t believe they were checking to see if Link’s sperm was tainted with disease-causing microbes.
Was the blood work to check up on how her body reacted to the drugs? Shit. What if The Palace was conducting rogue clinical trials? What if The Palace was involved in developing illegal drugs?
If that was the case, she had to get Angel out before the place blew wide open. If some local force busted the place, Angel’s name and relationship to the top dog in Homeland Security would be the lead item on every infocast. Drug officers were notorious news hounds.
Angel’s father wanted this kept quiet. Homeland Security couldn’t afford blackmail, at any level.
Evans marshaled her thoughts, trying to pierce the mental fog and focus on the floor plan she’d been building in her head. She expanded it as often as she could, every time she peeked through a new doorway or was taken down a new hallway to serve a guest.
It was essentially a prison, this brothel. No one mentioned the locked doors, the punishments for any sign of disobedience, or that many of the attendants were criminals. They’d opted for doing their time in this “assignment” rather than a real prison. But not all of them were convicts. Some wanted the credits one could earn from selling sex. Others were reputedly street kids and runaways who’d been coerced into the life and hadn’t a hope of escaping once the doors locked behind them.
What had become of Angel Martinez? The thought sobered Evans, driving away any remaining impulse to giggle. According to Angel’s father, she’d been a troubled child and grown more troubled as she went through her teens. According to her friends, she’d been hanging out with a man known for “recruiting” young talent for The Palace. However, none of them knew his name, or else they were too frightened to admit it. The only other evidence they had indicating Angel was inside was a fleeting glimpse of her on a street cam located in front of The Palace’s outer doors.
The view screen on Evans’s wall blinked on, informing her she had a guest in one hour. Suddenly, the giggles were gone and the accelerated heart rate was back.
It’s only one task, she told herself. Only one.
And if it was a short one, she could get to the rec hall early enough to question a few more of the attendants about Angel. Her gaze shifted back to the screen. The assignment was a number seventeen on the menu of pleasures available to members. Number seventeen was a back massage.
Her heartbeat settled down to normal. Back massages were innocuous.
Chapter 4
Evans eased the door closed on the massage room. Her guest was already stretched out nude on the bed, a length of heat cloth drawn up so it didn’t quite cover the cleft of his buttocks. The intention was that she could better tease him a bit below the waist. When the overseer offered an upgrade to a full body massage, the guest would be that much better motivated. Upgrades were supposedly, along with undefined treats, a way for attendants to earn more time in the rec hall.
Cloud9 had spoken of tips from clients, but Evans had never seen any evidence of monetary rewards. She suspected all of the rewards were empty promises, but she didn’t know for sure. She’d yet to have a guest even agree to an upgrade.
The room was warm and suffused with her usual yellow glow. Music played and the scent of a pine forest filled the chamber. A small table filled with bottles of fragrant oils and lotions and a few sex toys stood near the head of the table. When she neared the bed, a jolt of awareness passed through her.
Link.
His head was propped on his folded arms, his face turned away. What the hell was he doing here? Why had he chosen her again?
An unaccountable fury swept over her and the unmistakable burn of tears filled her eyes. Anger because he complicated her mission and tears that he must think she was what she looked to be—a whore.
The chamber overseer informed Link that the attendant was required to test his skin for sensitivity to the various oils and creams used during the massage. His patience was requested during the process.
She picked up the allergy cloth and ran it over his skin. When the cloth turned orange, the overseer informed Link the lubrications she used would be tailored to his sensitivities. He was also informed that if he ejaculated during the massage, he must tell his attendant so she could offer him the appropriate cleansing cloths before he left.
At the word ejaculation, Link clenched his buttocks and shifted his hips. Evans strove for a mind block, but t
he drugs in her system made concentration almost impossible. She found she couldn’t turn her attention inward the way she’d like to; she had no choice but to pay attention to what she was doing.
Link’s body was superb. He had two scars along his ribcage from heat weapons. She remembered his eagerness to get into the corporate wars. She wondered how and where he’d been wounded.
He showed no evidence of allergies. Gently, she oiled her fingertips and worked her way along his shoulders, keeping her attention on her hands.
Warmth filled her as she explored the strong, honed shape of his upper body. She trailed her fingertips down the deep indentation of his spine, edged with hard muscle. In truth, there was nothing therapeutic about the massage. Its purpose was arousal, pure and simple, and its goal orgasm. The guest was the one who was supposed to respond, but she found herself becoming aroused.
She poured a line of warm oil into the valley of his spine and spread it to left and right in gentle sweeps of her flattened palms. His muscles bunched. Evans shook as heat flared in her belly. Her eyes were drawn to the rise of his buttocks. She remembered anchoring her hands on them to ride out the incredible orgasms he’d drawn from her. The memory made her hunger for his touch. She struggled to keep her hands moving smoothly and shifted her hips. Her fingertips skimmed lower.
He turned his head from left to right, burying his face in the crook of his elbow. No face-down hole to stare through here. No real pretense that this wasn’t a bed either, when the usual male voice spoke.
“If you wish to upgrade your pleasure, there are various options available today.” Evans kept her hands moving in the prescribed languid sweeps. “We are offering a special full-body massage for an additional five hundred ninety credits. Or take advantage of your position and select from an array of insertion devices for the same price. Your attendant is fully versed in their use.”
Link said nothing, but his back muscles tightened under her hands.
She kept up the exploration of his body at his waist, coming closer each time to the edge of the sheet. Her unimproved breasts brushed against the inside of her robe with each movement she made. The material, soft as it was, rasped across her sensitive nipples. How much longer could she go on without revealing her own desire? She struggled to control her breathing, to keep it even and steady.
“Please remember that it is not permitted for back-only massage guests to turn over without increasing their credit total. There’s a keypad on the massage table so you will not need to change position should you wish to make an upgrade. All attendants are well versed in the art of fellatio. Just eight hundred more credits today.”
Link’s whole body tensed. She imagined his cock was rock hard against the table. Sweet Sol, she wanted him to turn over, pull her up and fill her the way he had when they were escaping the drudgery of their first year at the Academy.
She threw herself into her work, putting all the hunger she felt into each touch, willing him to feel the longing that racked her. His ribcage reacted as she slid her hands along his sides, skimming far enough under to tease his nipples with her fingertips. He made a guttural sound in his throat.
But he didn’t upgrade.
He fisted his hands and remained almost frozen on the table, his eyes closed. She increased the pressure and tempo of the massage, and fought a growing desire to lean down and kiss his scars. He shifted under her hands. His skin, reacting to the oils, was hot and running with sweat. Her fingers left visible paths across his skin as she stroked and teased him.
Evans knew Link’s time was almost over. Her insides were liquid hot, her nipples so swollen they were chafed from shifting against her robe. How could she face the aftermath of this massage? She dragged her fingers down the center of his spine, to the cleft of his buttocks. He shuddered and moaned.
Her upgrade buddy spoke up right on cue. “Your time is up. Thank you for choosing a therapeutic back massage. We hope you’ve enjoyed your attendant’s services. The table sensors indicate you need a cleansing, which is offered at no additional charge.”
Link shifted to his side and sat up, drawing the heat sheet across his loins as he did so. She kept her gaze on his feet. Feet she recognized all too well. Big feet she’d played toe games with in the aftermath of sex, usually when they lay tangled together and talked of their future and dreams.
Where had Link gotten the credits for his visits to The Palace? Was he on the take? She rejected the idea as absurd as soon as it occurred to her. Not Link. Anyone but him. But then, he was the last man she’d expected to see walk into The Palace as a guest.
She didn’t need another mystery to solve. Her mission centered around a missing AOA, one whose life might be in danger.
A panel slid open in the wall, revealing several of the cleansing cloths she’d used on him the last time. They lay on top of a large disposal pouch.
With hands that were not quite steady, she approached Link’s lap.
This was not a task. This was torture, she decided as she worked to wipe away the evidence of his climax. She desperately wished to look up and see how he was handling this.
Would she see the same blank look on his face as the other day? Or would she see disgust?
“Look at me,” he said softly, as if he read her mind.
The magic words that allowed her a punishment-free look at him had been said. She lifted her gaze.
His eyes were still the shade of an old pewter tankard from one of the museums he used to love to haunt. His brows were dark straight slashes over his eyes. He looked hard.
Link Taylor was a hard man.
He examined her face, but without the flush she knew must be so evident on hers. He watched her with a cool, detached expression. He might have been any client, one who had chosen her at random, for no particular reason.
His hand fell to the bed, and she returned her gaze to his lap. His cock stirred as she swept the soft cloth over him and the longer she took, the harder he grew. She longed to stroke him with a real caress, but he’d not upgraded, so she kept to the required cleansing.
She held up the heat cloth when the job was done. He wrapped it around his hips as he slid from the bed and headed for the door. She took her time wiping down the massage table for the next client, willing the tumult within her to subside and ignoring the cold-sounding click as he left without a word.
Questions about what had happened to him in the intervening years of their separation swirled in her head. Why had he come to The Palace? How could he possibly afford it?
Once she had finished with the table, she packed all of the cloths into the pouch then put it, the oils, and the unused toys into the little cupboard. When she slid it closed, another click, for her door, signaled to her that her task here was done.
She followed the guard back along the corridor. A soft chime startled her. What concerned Evans more was the guard’s reaction. The beefy woman jerked open a door and thrust her through it into an empty guest chamber. In the instant before the door closed, Evans saw two guards rush past. They pushed a gurney carrying a draped form. A limp arm hung out from under the sheet. In the brief glimpse she had, she couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman.
Evans stood in the dark, wondering what had happened. She plotted the gurney’s course in her head. It had come from an area she’d never entered. Were they headed for the infirmary? Had a fetish scenario gone horribly wrong? Or had some out of shape client gone too far for his health and stamina? Was it a guest or an attendant who lay under the sheet?
When the guard opened the door again, and beckoned her out, the hallway was clear.
Back in her cell, Evans pondered the gravity of her situation. She still had no idea where Angel might be. Because of the ticking clock on Angel’s age and the lengthy application process for volunteers, Evans had come in as a convict, but she now knew that severely limited her movements. There were far fewer opportunities to make contacts than Intel had told her to expect, and she had no backup, no support. She wa
s entirely on her own.
And now Link Taylor had discovered her.
She could deal with the mission stalling. She wasn’t sure she could deal with Link Taylor.
She glanced at the view screen, blank at this time of night, and not for the first time wondered if it was also a view cam. Just in case, she rolled herself up in her blankets and buried her head under the sheets.
And cried.
Chapter 5
Link woke up remembering the touch of Evans’s hands on his back. And on his cock as she wiped away his semen. Despite that ejaculation, he’d left her with a hard-on and lacked the credits to do anything about it. He’d tamed his erection in the dressing rooms adjacent to the massage chamber.
Shit. He had to talk to her.
What the hell had happened to the most promising cadet at the academy that she now gave blowjobs for a living? He punched the mattress. He wanted to know what had pushed her out of the service and set her on that course. Her family was dirt poor, but those circumstances had not been the impetus for her to join the PeaceKeepers. Zeal, honor, duty had.
And Link knew it. The same ideals had brought him in, and they’d talked about old-fashioned principles for hours—and rued the cynicism that tainted the patriotism that had recruited them.
What the fuck had happened to his idealistic cadet?
How long had she been in that place, catering to the desires of the needy wealthy?
Who was he kidding? He was neither needy nor wealthy and he wanted her services.
Badly.
He tried the card after his cold shower and was directed to add to his balance. He didn’t have enough credits left on it to allow him even one drink at The Palace’s lounge.
Reviewing his personal assets gave him a stomachache. He had little in the way of liquidity. That was no surprise—who on the Mars Station needed pocket credits? Right after the war, he’d invested in long-term vehicles, set up to mature at his retirement. His investment in a shipping partnership supplying the off-planet stations wouldn’t come up for confirmation for another five years.