by Mima
His hands stroked her back in long glorious passes. When it became clear she wasn’t going to stop, he settled his grip on her hips, subtly rocking her with his strength, pushing up from below. Ask, baby. Give me permission, damn it! Her fingers were on his nipples, rubbing in circles with tight jerking movements that made him remember how she touched herself. He could do that. She dropped down onto him, lying full out, rubbing her chest over the lumps of shirt between them. He couldn’t stop the moan that rose to his own throat. Her weight was glorious.
Gasping, she sat up, gripping her breasts in a full-fingered spread. “Sand!”
The demand was clear in her voice. Fine, he didn’t need permission. An order would also suit. That was it. That’s all he needed. He dragged her up over his belly, and shoved his hand deep between her legs, his thumb settling into the groove of her hood. His other arm wrestled the black shirt off and over her flinging head. She fought him briefly as he pulled it down over her shoulders, then cried out, swaying above him. He had to brace her from falling sideways.
Tightening his stomach, he sat up, gathering her close, using his pumping hand with all his strength, fluttering his fingers to widen her, adding more and pressing hard into her clit. His mouth closed on one breast, lips sealing, tongue gently soothing over that sweet berry. He smoothed the cotton over her back. When he had to breathe, he pulled back, licked up her salty throat. She came, howling, thrashing in his arms. His heart kicked. Her head was tossing so much her hair was fringe dancing on the air.
Amazingly, her chi sizzled in his palm as her soft tissue massaged his fingers. He shouldn’t have been able to feel it unless he was orgasming too. The circuits in his wrist heated, throbbing, as they did after hours of heavy use. “So perfect,” he breathed.
He withdrew from her burning, clasping core, trailing his fingers over her labia, and she came again, shaking. He stopped breathing. Her neck beckoned his tongue. Dancing up her throat, he lapped and pressed into her beating pulse. When he came to the hollow behind her ear, he swirled his tongue there, over and over. While he gathered her gently, he sucked. With a tiny cry, she came again. His gut knotted. Capturing her earlobe with his teeth, he bit hard. Under the edge of the shirt, his hands cupped her ass, pushing her mound into his stomach. She convulsed, shaking, sobbing slightly as she slumped onto his shoulder. He rocked with her through her finishing shudders, her breath settling into uneven hiccups. His body shook along with her.
“Off.”
He soothed her back under the drape of the loose shirt. “What, Shay-non?”
“Off. Cotton.”
He pulled away from her and dragged the shirt over her head to toss it carelessly on the ground near the altar. She was dead weight against him, and he lay back, draping her over his body. She jerked and moaned, pumping her hips against his, clutching at his arms. When she finished, he held her carefully, keeping his hands still on her oversensitized flesh.
“Finished?”
She grunted. He took that as a yes. Time drifted as he lay there. The rug was scratchy on his sweaty back. His crotch was damp. She was heavy and warm. The laxness of her body was a gift of trust, of reward. Her hair smelled of herbs, was soft against his jaw. He could feel her breasts pressing into his chest. The taste of her still lingered in his mouth.
When she stirred, he let her go. She sat up, straddling him. Her hair was no longer a smooth, shining cap with bangs to her brows and a swing along her jaw. It was tousled, sweaty. His dick stirred. She began the slightest rocking motion against his pelvis. He wasn’t sure if she even knew she was doing it.
“You want to tell me what that was all about?” he asked quietly. His voice was gritty.
“The initiation, as requested.”
He considered her. She was smart, and still pissed. Best not to underestimate her.
“The initiation need be nothing more than your unveiling, and a skin-on-skin touch. Your presentation far surpassed that.”
“I didn’t hear you arguing.” She pressed firmly down, grinding on his erection, which was painfully angled down by her stance. Then she commenced her gentle rocking.
“You are magnificent, as I already shared. The second time was a nice warm-up for tonight.”
Her brown eyes hardened to stone. “And then I want to see the oak again.”
“All right.”
“The oak that shouldn’t exist.”
“Yes.”
“Others must know.”
“Yes.”
“Who? Why? Your fortune is made.”
“If you really want to talk to me about how and why I’ve adopted the oak, or why I am keeping it secret, I’ll be happy to tell you. But once I tell you, you can’t undo the knowledge. You’ll have to live with it.”
“You mean, I’ll have to support you.”
“You’ll want to.”
“You’re annoying.”
His lips twitched. “I’ve done a full psych history on you, Shay-non. You’ll want to support our efforts with the oak if you know about it. I wouldn’t have approached you otherwise. But it’s dangerous.” He played her pride, her pique.
“You’ve already endangered me just by telling me about it.”
The one thing he was truly sorry for. They needed her. “Not like this. You have a choice not to know what I’m doing. Just say you were tricked into the contract, you sang and left.”
“You admit it! You’re like a mad conductor treating people’s lives like instruments in your own private song only you can hear.”
The truth of that statement unnerved him. Sometimes he felt the ache of the responsibility his gift gave him. He needed Spirit’s guidance more than most, to always understand he wasn’t a puppet master but working for the greater good. “You couldn’t have been seduced by the cotton if you weren’t about to snap from isolation. I stand by that belief.”
Otherwise he would have approached her years ago. But she hadn’t been ready. She’d needed to be weaker. Dammit. He’d had no choice but to ache, waiting for her. There could be no chance of her having the will to resist.
She frowned down at his chest, still rocking on him. Her wetness had soaked through the cotton to his lower belly. He didn’t feel so bad about messing the pants after all, now.
“I have news for you, Elite. People tend to resent coercion. If that wasn’t a generational oak, the only thing my brain would be focused on would be how to screw you for playing me like a fool.”
“I have never, will never, think you a fool. But this isn’t coercion, Shay. This is destiny. There’s no one else more suited to aiding me than you. The power in this relationship is definitely in your favor.”
Swooping low, she mouthed his collarbone, her breasts nestling on his chest. Her lips were soft and busy, her tongue hot and lashing. “Sand,” she whispered to his throat, “I don’t believe you.” She nipped him. “I don’t like you.” She kissed the sting gently. “I don’t trust you.” Leaning up, she hovered over his ear. “But for not taking advantage of me while I was out of my mind with the cotton, I’ll listen to what you have to say.”
Gooseflesh broke out in a wave down his arms. Her stomach growled. Now it was his turn to frown.
“Let’s eat.” He fit his hands into the dip of her waist and lifted.
She pulled away, resting against the lounge. Petting the high-end fabric that was one of the few man-made materials singers could tolerate, she murmured, “You thought of everything. You’ve been planning this for a long time.”
She had no idea. He stood and went to the eating cloth, poured their drinks. Glancing up at her movement, he froze, mesmerized.
She crawled. She slunk across the carpet in a movement that should have looked absurd in a grown woman, but only looked utterly confident. She was captivating. Her hips swayed as her knees slid forward, her small breasts with their tight tips making gentle points between her arms. She slid into a crouch across from him and proceeded to devour her food. He smiled, a full-lip spread. She was s
o fierce in her hunger, her face still frowning in concentration on the puzzle he’d placed her in.
When she finished, he summoned the droid to clear the mess.
She sprawled on the floor, limbs splayed, one hand caressing what was no doubt a full tummy. It was so far from the contained singer who’d glided toward him a few hours ago, safe in her glittering cone of a veil. Don’t get cocky, he warned himself.
“Why me?” Her voice was drowsy. The sex and the food were a relaxing combination. “Because I’m the strongest tree singer?”
“No. Because you truly worship the Spirit.”
Rolling her head, she blinked sleepily at him.
He wanted to curl around her and cuddle. Too soon. “And because of your temple project.”
“You tricked me into a contract, spent a fortune on collecting natural things to tempt me, because I’m trying to help the nulls have open access to faith.”
Her disbelieving tone wasn’t questioning, but he confirmed her words anyway. “Yes. Of course I had to make sure you had a sense of duty and justice, and the fact that you are powerful and gorgeous didn’t hurt either.”
Looking up at the ceiling, she heaved a huge put-upon sigh that made him want to smile. He let his lips move only a bit. Her lids were drooping heavily.
“Why don’t you rest up on one of the lounges?”
“Too far,” she muttered.
He dragged a lounge over next to her, knelt and lifted her up onto it. His grip bit hard into her thigh as he shifted her. He couldn’t help but notice her delicious little nipples were hard when he moved away from her. She was probably cold. Picking up the cotton shirt, he smoothed it, then laid it down over her torso.
She sighed softly, happily. “Mmmmm.”
Now he did smile. The best four hundred decos he’d ever spent. Rising, he went to the altar. His altar. The dried white smudge in the middle was more precious than any of the natural things he’d honored in the past. Placing his hands flat against the wood on either side of it, he closed his eyes. He prayed. That she’d be the one they needed. That he’d be able to keep her and his tree safe. That this was the beginning of a revolution.
A thousand years ago, religion had brought about the Cataclysm. The government that had formed from the ashes several hundred years ago had made open worship illegal. Only private worship was allowed. But it was people’s nature to band together. The whole point of society was to live peacefully, furthering humanity with lawfulness and art.
The old religions of orders and swords were gone. Now people sought out chi and fostered it, for they had learned the lessons of the Cataclysm well. The symbols of the old ways were still remembered—the book, the cross, the moon, the star. All of those symbols were now banned. But now there was no symbol for the new Spirit that had emerged. Without an organized temple for people to turn to, those that still lived selfishly continued to spawn bitter greed and hate like a virus. They fell easily to violence and disorder, dragging more down with them. He believed that the nulls would not live in such danger and the government would not struggle with violence if there was just something for the people to touch, to believe in. To protect. They needed more than a symbol. They needed physical proof of the Spirit’s miraculous reality. Proof that humanity was thriving once again, not still hanging by their fingernails in a cycle of despair. What was more perfect a creation of balanced chi than a tree?
He turned from his altar and looked at the sleeping singer. She held more chi in her body than ten elite, or two dozen humans, who weren’t really entirely null. Her ability to connect to the chi of trees was innate. His ability to survive the integration of technological enhancements was innate. They were the privileged, the educated, the protected. They had no reason to bother with the nulls beyond keeping them away or using them as drones. Indeed, most of their people didn’t bother with them. Unless they needed workers, the elite ignored the masses of people who lived outside their gleaming private compounds.
But his friends had formed a pact after a mystical evening under an ancestral tree. For twelve years he’d strategized for the pact, for the dream of three traumatized and dazzled boys. For the last eight years, he’d known they needed her. It was with joy he’d learned that another who thought like them was agitating for the same idea. She was going about it in entirely the wrong way, of course, but her existence and her efforts were a glowing beacon to keep him strong when he despaired of the time passing on the pact. Sand had spent eight years tracking Shay-non, monitoring her. Imagining the role she’d play in this daring coup.
And now she was here, sleeping within reach. She’d pleasured herself on his altar. She’d fallen in love with his tree. She’d taken the bait of his cotton shirt, and she was the sexiest thing he’d ever seen. It was all following his strategy. But better than that, she was his own dream come true.
Chapter Three
Shay woke to a warm softness enveloping her front. The static feel of velvet was beneath her. Her arms were folded behind her head. Her legs were splayed, her feet resting on a scratchy floor. And her cunt was soaking wet. Someone was between her legs, their presence strong, but without the vitality of a singer. An elite. Everything came rushing back.
She opened her eyes. The curve of the lounge lifted her so that she could easily see the dark head mere inches from her crotch. He was blowing on her steadily. He looked up. Those green eyes made her gut clench.
He made a show of smelling her, lifting his head as he inhaled, baring his pale throat. He was following every letter of a contract. No touching unless she initiated it. She remembered looking down at him in the strong light, the heat of it on her bare head. Her knees and shins cupped by the wide curved altar, the chi in the old wood faint, throbbing gently. The power she’d felt touching herself in front of him, for him. Touching him, so warm, so different from her.
Then he’d pressed her against the cotton, and it had all erupted. Before she’d fallen asleep, he’d dared her to hear some grand, dangerous plan.
He opened those green eyes and blew on her again. The warm breath on her wide, open center was gentle. Too gentle. Maddening. Her clit throbbed.
“Have a good nap?” She loved how his face and tone showed no emotion, but his voice betrayed him. The husky rasp of it washed over her belly.
Surprisingly, yes. She watched as he swallowed, his tongue moving thickly between his open lips as if he restrained himself from tasting her. His face slack with awe as he lifted a gleaming finger to his lips…
“Sand?”
“Yes, Shay-non?” He blew softly, steadily on her.
“Shay. Just Shay.”
His tormenting breath stopped, more torment. He smiled slowly at her. Those eyes of his didn’t look real.
“Are your eyes enhanced?”
“No. The left one was lasered for precision sight when I was a teen, but they are not rebuilt.”
“You have really nice eyes.”
“Thanks. I like yours too.” He blew on her again.
Hers were nothing special, just an even brown. “Sand?”
“Shay?”
“Will you please me?”
He stopped. He swallowed again, this time without the show. “I swear I will, Shay. I have the skills. I’m good enough to take care of you.”
“That’s not what I meant. I want you. Touch me.”
He held her gaze as she held her breath. With one lunge his face was between her thighs, his hands clamped on each hip. Biting her lip, she arched to drive herself harder against his open mouth. His teeth cut a bit as he pressed himself as wide as he could, his tongue slapping at her hole in long licks.
He shifted, gasping sloppily in her juices, canting his head as he licked up along her lips, swiped each side of her clit, making her hips shiver as they jerked in his grip. His fingers turned in, spreading her, and he really set to work, moving his whole head to get full sweeps over her ass, her thighs, the crease of her legs, her baby-smooth mound and finally her clit.
Then he pulled back, despite her fisted grip on his head, and blew gently across her. She moaned, and he did it again. “Touch me.”
He blew once more, then leaned in again. She almost sobbed with relief. His tongue ever so softly touched the tip of her. She shoved her hips up as much as his grip would allow, burning. He flicked the tip of her again. She growled.
He wouldn’t give in. She wound tighter and tighter with each feathery brush of his tongue on just that tiny spot. Her flesh cooled around him so that it felt like a brand each time it came. Touch. Pause. Tap. Pause. Flick. Pause. She was drawn so tight she felt like she would shatter.
Then he closed his teeth around her and she did. She heaved with her whole body when his mouth suckled her clit, tongue and lips working her hard, dragging her pleasure on and on.
“Look at me.” His voice was right over her face.
Opening dazed eyes, she swirled into his greenscape.
“The next time you come, I’m going to be inside you. And you’re going to open the door on your chi, Shay.”
“I don’t respond well to demands from sneaky strategists.” Her voice was hoarse. Had she been screaming? Possibly. Her ears were still ringing.
He smiled, his lips and jaw shining with her juices. “I’ve noticed. But you also don’t like surprises. So I’m giving you fair warning. Last time I did that, it worked pretty spectacularly.”
He was so handsome when he smiled. His eyes had long black lashes. She wanted to nibble them.
“Don’t think of it as a demand. Think of it as inevitable.” His eyes flared, and she could tell he wanted her.
She reached out a hand and curled it around the wet cloth at his hips, gripping the hot, hard ridge of him. The cotton wasn’t as seductive wet, but it was still fascinating enough for her to experiment with. Especially when he was inside it. His jaw grew tighter.