by Ivy Barrett
He moved up behind her and ran his hands down her sides. “There are no fastenings. How does this thing come off?”
Finally! She raised her arms and he lifted the dress off over her head. “Stand to one side or the other. Make sure they can see everything you do. This is a distraction, pretty boy. I’m not here for your amusement; well, not just for your amusement.”
Her cupless bra supported her breasts while displaying her nipples. A garter belt held up her sheer gold stockings. She had neglected to wear panties. He cupped one of her ass cheeks, his fingers venturing near but not touching her folds. Her core fluttered in response to his teasing touch. This could be more fun than she’d anticipated. His green eyes blazed with lust and an erection tented the front of his trousers. He certainly had no problem with her chosen means of distraction.
She licked her lips and lowered her lashes. “Aren’t you going to pat me down?”
“You’re playing with fire, Nehalem.” He cupped both her breasts, his gaze drilling into hers. His thumbs abraded her nipples and his fingers squeezed. “I can’t stop thinking about you. Picturing you. Picturing—us. I may never let you leave this office.”
He stood at an angle to the transmitter so it was doubtful the security team could see his face. His tone was hushed and rough. Was this more than a distraction to him? She studied his handsome face as he explored her full breasts. His brow furrowed and his pupils dilated.
An almost forgotten sensation stirred within her chest. He wanted her, really wanted her. Not General Bryson’s wife, not a source of information, Keller wanted her. Touching his face, she smiled into his eyes. “Kiss me. I want your tongue in my mouth.”
His hand descended to cup her mound as his mouth covered hers. He stood beside her as she’d instructed, his touch bold and questing. There was nothing hesitant in his kiss. His lips sealed over hers and his tongue delved deep, seeking out her taste and her moist softness. Easing his middle finger between her folds, he stroked her clit.
She reluctantly separated their mouths, pulling back just far enough so she could speak. “I need an accurate list of the people who survived the crash.”
He leaned against the desk and pulled her in front of him. Her head shielded his expression from the guards but they wouldn’t be entertained for long watching her bare behind. Keller stared into her eyes, a hint of suspicion hardening his expression. Still, it was as close as she’d come to seeing tenderness in any man’s eyes.
“Your husband made all the arrangements,” he said carefully. “Why do I need to be involved in this?”
“Keep touching me. Give them no reason to doubt why I’m here.” His fingers traced her spine, caressed her bottom then eased between her cheeks. “Better. Only two people know who was really on that ship.”
“Your husband and the chancellor.”
“Padric Bryson is not my anything,” she sneered.
With a pleased smile, he moved to the side and bent her over the desk, kicking her legs apart. He dipped his hand between her thighs and explored her damp folds. Keeping his face angled away from the transmitter, he asked, “Why would your employer need a list of the survivors? Rumor has it they ended up in his care.”
“Don’t believe everything you hear.” He pushed his slick finger up her ass and she gasped, not expecting the aggressive move.
“If they don’t have the test subjects, then who does?” With teasing deliberation, he slid his finger in and out.
She gripped the edge of the desk, her body ripe and ready to be filled. “It’s complicated,” she whispered. He slipped his other hand between her body and the desk, easily finding her swollen clit. The guards were sure as hell getting a show now! Cream seeped from her core and trickled down her inner thigh. She needed his cock inside her, not this teasing hint of penetration.
“You’re unbelievably wet.” The hand in front pushed deeper, two fingers finding her throbbing core.
She rocked her hips, trying to establish some sort of rhythm. He refused to cooperate. “Stop teasing me!”
With a wicked chuckle, he lifted her to his desk and spread her legs wide. “I’ve just begun to tease you. Lean back on your elbows and raise your chin.” He knelt in front of the desk and draped her legs over his shoulders. She arched her back and let her neck relax. All the guards could see was the underside of her jaw and her up-thrust breasts.
“Start talking,” Keller prompted.
His tongue stroked from her anus to her clit and Nehalem was lost. “There’s a fracture in the Underground. My employer’s enemy has the survivors. My bracelet contains a datacrystal. You have to imprint it with the list, no traceable transmissions.”
“That’s why you came in person.”
His mouth moved against her folds as he spoke and she shivered. He’d only been at it a couple of seconds. How could she be this close to orgasm already? He hadn’t really asked a question so she just nodded and rubbed herself against his mouth.
“Why does your employer want their names?”
“I’m not sure. I was just told to get them.”
He centered his mouth over her clit and pushed his fingers back into her pussy. He was far more skilled than she had expected. His tongue circled and flicked while his fingers swirled and thrust. Tension built, escalating right to the pulsing brink of release. Then he stopped.
“No!” She tossed her hips, desperate for the final touch that would send her over the edge.
“I have work to do.” His tone was dark and possessive, sending a shiver down her spine. “Can you find something to occupy yourself while I finish up?” Leaving her sprawled across his desk, he moved back to his chair. He paused for an upside-down kiss before he sat.
The bastard better not leave her aching like this or it would be the last thing he ever did. She panted, her breasts quivering with each breath.
“If you get up on your hands and knees, I’ll multitask.” He nipped her shoulder as he activated his workstation.
She wasn’t sure what he had in mind but she couldn’t leave without the names. Drawing her legs up as she turned over, she knelt on top of the desk facing him. He chuckled and made a twirling motion with his index finger.
“I want the other end.” He spun her around, the smooth desktop making the motion effortless. “Oh, yes. This view is much more interesting.”
His comment might have annoyed her if he hadn’t thrust his fingers back into her pussy as he spoke. She moaned and scooted her knees farther apart, giving him plenty of room to move. Her breasts swayed and she closed her eyes, imagining the guards crowded around the vidscreen enjoying the spectacle. Knowing she was being watched added an unexpected edge to her arousal.
Keller removed his fingers and she cried out. Not again! Was he ever going to let her come? As if to answer her silent question, he pressed his mouth against her folds and flicked his tongue across her clit. She arched and panted, determined not to be deprived again. His tongue stroked then lashed her with surprising strength. He reached beneath her and caught both her nipples, rolling the sensitive nubs with firm pressure.
Returning his fingers to her clit, he pushed his tongue into her sopping core. She trapped a scream in her throat as hard, deep pulses of sensation shook her entire body. He dragged her legs off the side of the desk and impaled her with his cock. His forceful entry detonated another burst of pleasure. She tossed her head and clenched her jaw, lost in the sensual onslaught.
He pounded into her hard and fast, rocking her with each thrust. His hands gripped her hips and the desk dug into her skin. Leaning farther forward, she clutched the opposite side of the desktop, providing leverage for his penetration.
“Yes! Oh, gods yes.”
His uninhibited cry thrilled her. He was always so calm and composed. She squeezed him tightly with her inner muscles, savoring the fullness of his shaft. Pleasure gathered and swirled, the intensity building with each forceful drive. He wrapped one arm around her hips, pulling her feet off the carpet as he bu
ried his full length inside her. The first hot spurt of his seed triggered her orgasm. She shuddered and moaned, her body echoing his pleasure.
“Your bracelet is imprinted,” he whispered the words against her ear and she went cold. For just a moment she’d forgotten this was a mission, that they weren’t really lovers desperate for each other’s touch. He pulled out and slapped her bottom hard enough to make her yelp. “If you want more, it will have to wait. I really do have work to do.”
She straightened with as much dignity as she could muster and manufactured a sexy smile. “I wait for no man, pretty boy. If work gets boring, you know where to find me.”
* * *
Three days passed in an exhausting rush of discovery and frustration. Roark explained that the third strand of DNA possessed by the Stilox was a protective redundancy as Andrea had surmised. The genetic characteristic allowed them to resist illness and disease as well as realize their physical potential.
Andrea had never encountered a triploid species before and her fascination diverted her attention from the task at hand. Roark answered her myriad questions and patiently brought her back on track. Concentrating on the project did little to help her resist his appeal. He was brilliant, methodical, and utterly desirable.
Mal Ton kept his distance for the most part. He’d strolled into the lab twice with his characteristic swagger and asked how they were progressing. Roark shooed him away but Mal Ton’s gaze lingered on Andrea with obvious longing.
Nights were miserable. Andrea tossed and turned in her empty bunk, trying to convince herself she wanted to be alone. They had manipulated her in the most humiliating way. How could she feel anything but distrust and resentment for either of them? Still, her mind replayed their erotic encounters and her body burned for more. She’d never thought of herself as particularly passionate. Her life had been well-ordered and routine. Then Roark and Mal Ton released a part of her nature that refused to be suppressed again.
“Damn it,” Andrea muttered as the DNA strands deteriorated for the hundredth time. She sat beside Roark in the lab, a holoprojector simulating genetic transcription.
“Did you have this much trouble stabilizing the transcription on Earth?”
“Yes and no. Once we identified the backbone as the source of the instability, we were able to synthesize a substitute.”
“RENA?”
She nodded. “But RENA is designed to emulate the phosphate-sugar-phosphate backbone of human DNA. The silicone in yours is hindering RENA’s effectiveness.” She made another adjustment and restarted the simulation. “Has Mal Ton found out anything more about the test subjects? From which planet did Bryson recruit them?”
“They were all from Earth.” Roark sounded confused. “I thought you knew that.”
She pushed back from the workstation and faced Roark. “That makes absolutely no sense. I presumed Bryson located other races with triploid physiology. Humans are biologically inferior to the Stilox.”
“As Mal Ton is fond of pointing out.”
She scrambled for an explanation then realized the futility of her attempt. How could she hope to guess Bryson’s motivation when she didn’t know what he was trying to accomplish? “How many survived the crash?”
“Eleven, I think. You’ll have to ask Mal Ton.”
Eleven human women were now at the mercy of… She wasn’t sure who had the test subjects. Mal Ton had told her someone rescued the women before he got there but that was all he would say. She’d definitely have to delve more deeply into this subject the next time she saw the commander.
Andrea shivered. Despite the echo of pleasure tingling through her body, she attributed the reaction to fear and dread. The Stilox were ruthless and self-serving. They would stop at nothing to ensure their survival. How could she blame them for wanting to live? Wouldn’t any human do the same?
They had robbed her of her freedom and exploited her loneliness. So why did her compassion grow with each passing day? She’d demanded respect and they had extended her every courtesy. And still she was restless and discontent. With a frustrated sigh, she retraced her mental tangent.
“Speaking of Mal Ton,” she muttered as the simulation began a new cycle. “I was reading about the development of the inhibitor last night. The ‘source’ isn’t named, but you said Mal Ton is the only one you know who was alive when the war began.”
After a noticeable pause, Roark explained, “There were seven soldiers, all from the same unit. Mal Ton is one of them.”
“The documentation is vague at best. If they all belonged to the same military unit, then their resistance to the lentavirus couldn’t have been a natural anomaly.” Roark looked uncomfortable. He glanced at the door as if he expected Mal Ton to come storming in. “Is this classified or something? Why are you so nervous?”
“Mal Ton refuses to discuss exactly what was done to him, but it was done against his will and it was done by the Stilox government.”
She didn’t need to imagine what it felt like to be betrayed by her own government. No wonder Mal Ton could be difficult. “How does this relate to the inhibitor?”
“The Protarians have always outnumbered us, but we’re faster, stronger, and more technologically advanced. So they used a variety of biological weapons on our soldiers. In turn, our military developed soldiers who were resistant, even immune, to the weapons.”
“Mal Ton is one of these soldiers?”
“Mal Ton was part of a program designed to end the war.” Wistfulness crept into his tone. “They were engineered to be aggressive, ruthless, and physically superior.”
“The war is still going on, so what went wrong?”
“Instead of ending the war, it prolonged it.” Roark shook his head, obviously uncomfortable with the topic. “The Protarians realized we had a superior fighting force so they concentrated on long-range weapons. They struck from farther and farther away until our planet was decimated. And when we still refused to surrender, they attempted genocide.”
“But your unique physiology allowed you to survive?”
“The redundant strand in our DNA makes us damn hard to kill, but it was the soldiers who saved us. Their nano-immunites robbed the Protarians of their victory.” He didn’t sound smug or even pleased, just resigned to a past he couldn’t change.
“You said the inhibitor only slows the mutation. Aren’t we searching for a cure?”
“We’re talking about two different formulas. Both were derived from the nanotechnology used on the soldiers, but they do different things. The first augmented our immune system and helped us combat the onset illness. It was this formula that eventually became the vaccine you were given. The other compound is the inhibitor, which slows mutation.”
She rubbed her temples as she absorbed the details. “If the weapon was only used on Stilox, how did the mutation end up on Protaria?”
“Desperate refugees flocked to Protaria, inadvertently returning the plague to its maker.”
The door slid open and Mal Ton strode into the lab, followed by a beautiful auburn-haired woman. Roark stepped in front of Andrea as if to shield her with his body.
“What the hell is she doing here?” Roark asked.
“She risked her life to bring us the information Andrea requested,” Mal Ton replied. “My men tend to shoot first and ask questions later.”
Andrea moved to Roark’s side and extended her hand toward the redhead. “I’m Andrea Raynier, and you are?”
“Nehalem.” She cautiously took Andrea’s hand, obviously unsure what was expected of her.
“Nehalem Bryson, first lesser wife of General Padric Bryson, esteemed member of the Protarian nobility.” Roark made no attempt to conceal his suspicion or his bitterness.
“First lesser wife?” Andrea released Nehalem’s hand, unable to conceal a smile. It was obviously not the fact Roark had meant to draw her attention to, but the phrase jumped out at her. “How many does he have?” Bryson had made such a stink about the Stilox sharing their wo
men and all along he’d had his own harem. What a hypocrite!
“Bryson is irrelevant to this situation,” Mal Ton insisted.
“I disagree,” Roark said. “The source of the information must be taken into consideration.”
“You haven’t even heard what she has to say.”
“Mal Ton only learned about Andrea because he was in a better position to intercept her than we were.” Nehalem’s tone cut with just as sharp an edge as Roark’s. “I represent the Mutant Underground, not General Bryson.” As she made the distinction, her light brown eyes erupted with amber fire.
Tension melted from Roark’s posture. “How far has your transformation progressed?”
“The inhibitor has kept my mutation virtually dormant for a year.”
Bryson could be using his wife’s affliction to garner their trust. Everyone Andrea had come in contact with since leaving Earth had deceived her. Was it any wonder she remained suspicious? “What did you learn?”
Nehalem moved toward the workstation. “Can you pause… whatever this is?”
“Pause simulation,” Roark said and the holoprojection blinked off.
Unfastening her bracelet, Nehalem inserted one end into the dataport and waited for an image to appear. “These are the survivors Max snatched from the crash site. Fane is still trying to find them, but no one seems to know why Bryson wanted them. Fane thought Andrea might know.”
Andrea read down the list, her shock growing with each name she recognized. “I treated all of these women. Their ailments were different, but all of them went through the RENA program.”
“What is the significance of that?” Mal Ton asked.
“Bryson led me to believe I held the winning recipe. What if that was misdirection?” Andrea pressed her hand to her throat, her mouth so dry she could hardly speak. “Maybe I’m not the chef at all. Maybe I’m one of the ingredients.”
Chapter Eight
Roark looked from the list of names to Andrea’s flushed face, trying to conceal his confusion. “I understand the cooking analogy, but what makes you think there’s another chef?”