Secrets Vol 2

by DeSalvo-Hamre-Knight-Paul

  Cut it out, you lecherous bastard.

  Disgusted with himself, he keyed his radio implant with a flex of his jaw muscles. "People, please be aware that we're in a very hazardous situation here. Captain Morrell has probably instructed her crew to disregard her safety. I'm assuming they'll be reluctant to endanger her once we parade her by in neurocuffs, but I could be wrong. Stay alert."

  He thought he heard her growl.

  Taking Elise's arm, Roarke guided her toward the hatch, his eyes sternly directed away from her lushly jutting breasts.

  The next three hours were some of the darkest in Elise's life as she marched through her own ship surrounded by armored invaders. She could only watch as Roarke deployed his troopers to herd

  ******************

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  her crew into their quarters and take control of the posts they were forced to leave. Despite her helpless rage, she focused on every move he made, every order he gave, hoping for a mistake, an overlooked opening she could use to free her ship.

  Nothing. Elise wanted to howl in frustration.

  But the worst moment was when Roarke strode onto the Raker's bridge and ordered his remaining troops to systemically search the bridge crew. When he was satisfied that no one had managed to stash away any weapons, he sent her staff off under guard. Until finally he and Elise were the only ones left on the bridge.

  She tensed, but Roarke ignored her, busy directing the boarding parties through the radio implant behind one ear. Elise had nothing to do but sit down in a bridge chair and hatch far-fetched escape plans.

  She was beginning to wish she'd blown up the ship.

  By the time Roarke stood up almost two hours later and reached for the seal of his boarding armor, she was actually relieved. Finally, a diversion from her own spiraling desperation, even if it meant fighting another losing battle with Roarke.

  He caught the expression in her eyes and paused. A wry grin twisted his mouth. "No, I'm not getting ready to attack you, I've just got to get out of this suit. I'm drowning in my own sweat."

  She shrugged. "Whatever you say."

  Roarke eyed her, his grin going wicked. "Ah, if only you meant that." With a flourish, he hit a button. The armor's chest plate split open with a pneumatic hiss, and he quickly wrestled his way out of it. The thin, sleeveless skinsuit he wore underneath was wet with sweat, and his short black hair was slicked tightly to his elegant skull; apparently the coolant systems in Rebellion armor worked as poorly as that in the Coalition's version.

  Unfortunately for Elise's peace of mind, the result of that poor design left the skinsuit practically transparent. The thin, damp fabric hugged Roarke's broad torso, displaying his body to her reluctantly enthralled gaze. Chest, arms, ribs, belly—it seemed every

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  inch of him was covered with rippled plates of muscle. Roarke looked armored even when practically naked.

  Throwing back his head, he sighed, the cords of his strong neck flaring. "God, that cool air feels good." Bending over, he went to work on the bottom half of his armor, his big hands brisk and competent on the catches. Hard muscle shifted in his tight, masculine rump, and his thighs bunched as he pulled his legs clear and turned toward her. Elise's eyes widened.

  The skinsuit cupped his genitals as though presenting them for her approval. And there was a lot to approve of. Elise swallowed, remembering how he'd felt in full erection, rocking seductively between her legs.

  She really had no business being intrigued.

  ******************

  It was going far more smoothly than Roarke had any right to expect. Evidently his ploy had worked; the knowledge that Elise was within his armored reach dampened her crew's interest in rebellion. At last report, they were all safely locked in their quarters and under guard.

  Which left him entirely too much time to think about the captive sitting bound and helpless a few feet away. His lovely enemy, defeated at last, looking like the recurring erotic fantasy he'd been having since Tyus—and playing merry hell with his self-control. The situation was just too damn tempting: a beautiful CSS captain at his mercy, just as he'd been a prisoner of the Coalition. Though, of course, he had no intention of mistreating her, the possibilities inherent in holding her captive were so lush and dark they'd been haunting his dreams for months.

  It didn't help that he'd had to work his ass off to capture her. In the two years since his escape from CSS custody, Roarke had defeated far more powerful ships than the Star Raker. When they'd begun this running war a year ago, he'd expected to make Elise Morrell his prisoner within the month.

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  Unfortunately for his frustration level, Elise turned out to be an elusive opponent, staying one jump ahead of him no matter what he did. He had to admit she was better than any CSS dreadnought captain he'd ever fought; if she'd had a ship equal to his, she would have been a major threat. But luckily all she'd had was the underpowered, under-armed Star Raker, and now Elise sat on her own bridge in neurocuffs.

  And there wasn't a damn thing to stop Roarke from feeding the hunger that had tormented him for so long. The Raker's crew was safely locked away, and damage control parties were hard at work making sure he had nothing else to worry about. And he was alone with Elise.

  Elise, her slim body deliriously nude, stretched out and cuffed in his bunk.

  This is damned unprofessional.

  Elise on her hands and knees, ready to be mounted.

  He was getting hard.

  But a captain in the Rebellion Starforce did not sexually abuse his female prisoners, no matter how beautiful or how tempting. It was dishonorable.

  Now, if he'd been a Coalition captain, and she a captured rebel...

  He 'd go to her, and he 'd peel her out of that pretty dress uniform, and he‘d force her to her knees. He'd make her open that soft, beautiful mouth. She'd use her tongue as he commanded, licking slowly at the erection he could feel swelling his skinsuit.

  But he was a Rebellion captain, and he was supposed to treat his captives with mercy. Even Coalition captives.

  Even when the Coalition had been merciless to him.

  The memory of his captivity rose up in a dark, choking wave, as it so often did when he was tired or distracted. But this time, Roarke let himself remember it, knowing it would kill his arousal if anything could: Amin Nygaard's thick, wet smile as the little bastard used the neurowhip, creating agonizing sensory illusions with every touch of the device. Skin being flayed slowly away, bones shattering, muscle ripping, eyes torn from sockets; the injuries themselves may

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  have been illusion, but the pain was real. As real as his screams.

  As real as Nygaard's blood on his hands.

  Roarke realized he was staring at Elise again. She sat quietly in her seat, her arms pulled behind her in the cuffs, her high, round breasts thrust outward in that hated black uniform of hers.

  That Coalition uniform.

  She hadn't been there, he told himself. She'd had nothing to do with what Nygaard did to him on Elba.

  But she was one of them. By donning that uniform, Elise had announced her belief in CSS policies, her willingness to defend them with her life and her honor.

  Roarke started for her, intensely aware of his cock, of the cruel hunger roaring through him. He knew he shouldn't go anywhere near her when he was in the demon grip of Nygaard's memory.

  And he didn't give a damn.

  ******************

  Elise was intensely aware of Roarke's swift, silent approach, but she fought to ignore it. She was damned if she'd show him any fear.

  He stopped. The nape of her neck prickled. It took every bit of self control she had not to spin in her chair to face him.

  "How are your arms?" Roarke demanded, the question sounding almost reluctant. "You've been bound a long time."

  She shrugged. "Numb."

  He dropped to one knee behind her so suddenly sh
e jumped. "Don't give me that look, I'm just decreasing the setting," he told her gruffly as she shot him a wary backward glance.

  Elise eyed him, wondering if that really was a flicker of guilt on his face.

  He worked over the cuffs in silence for a moment. Finally she heard a click, and some of the tension left her muscles. Feeling raced back on a river of pins and needles. She tried to pull her wrists apart. They still wouldn't budge.

  Roarke's big hands closed over her arms and began to rub.

  What now? "Captain Roarke..."

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  "I once spent a very unpleasant twenty-four hours in neurocuffs. Believe me, you'll thank me for this later."

  "Somehow I doubt that, since you're the one who put me in the 'cuffs to begin with."

  He laughed softly. "You've got a point."

  "In any case," Elise continued firmly, wanting to get his hands off her, "I think I can withstand the pain."

  "True," Roarke said, his strong hands rubbing and pulling, "but there's no point. Your suffering is the last thing I've got in mind."

  She gritted her teeth. "Your hospitality is dazzling."

  "Oh, it's my pleasure," he purred.

  Finally he released her arms and stood. Before Elise could relax, he reached into the neat bun on top of her head.

  "What are you doing now?"

  "I want to see it down." Roarke found the clasp and opened it with easy skill. Her hair collapsed around her face in a cascade of cool blonde silk. He caught it in both hands with a rumbling croon of delight. Slowly, he drew his fingers through it, stroking, still making that guttural male sound in the depths of his throat.

  Taking his pleasure the way he always did, Elise thought—without asking. Yet somehow she couldn't bring herself to protest. Each time Roarke's fingers moved, they brushed against her body, her neck, her head, the side of her face, in a constant, sensuous caress. The prickle returned to her nape, but this time from pleasure rather than fear.

  "It's so soft. So fine." His tone deepened into a rumble. "Like the down between your thighs."

  "Captain..." She winced as her voice cracked.

  "Surely you were expecting this."

  "Barbaric behavior? I suppose I certainly should have."

  "No—defeat." Lazily, Roarke caught up a handful of her hair and bent close to inhale the scent. His cheek brushed hers. She tensed. 'You must have realized how thoroughly I had you outgunned."

  Elise twisted her head, trying to draw her hair free from his grasp.

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  He tightened his grip, not cruelly, but leaving her no doubt that he was in control. Slipping his free hand past her hair, he stroked the vulnerable length of her neck, the line of her jaw. His fingers felt warm, slightly rough. "Once I cornered you," Roarke continued softly, "it was a simple matter to strip away your defenses and render you helpless." Putting his mouth against her ear, he whispered, menace lacing his tone, 'Then it was easy to...penetrate."

  To Elise's horror, she felt arousal tighten low in her belly. Ignoring it, she demanded bluntly, "Are you planning to rape me, Captain Roarke?"

  "Why, no, Captain Morrell. What I'm planning..." His hot tongue flicked out and swirled around her earlobe, "is a ruthless..." Roarke closed his teeth over the sensitive flesh in a gentle bite, "seduction."

  His hand dropped smoothly to brush the tip of her breast. Even through the tough fabric of her uniform, she felt the sensuous temptation. Her nipple drew tight and eager.

  "You're splitting verbal hairs, Roarke. You may get a response out of my body, but I'm still saying no. And that makes this rape." Her breasts were aching.

  "Hmmmm. You have a point." He lifted his hand to touch the center of her throat at the top of her high uniform collar, then slowly ran his fingers downward between her breasts, along her tensed abdomen, right to the top of her pubic bone. As he triggered the invisible closure, her uniform split open with a whisper. "I suppose," Roarke purred, his hot gaze directed down at the arrow of naked white skin, "I'll just have to get used to being a rapist."

  "If you think I'm just going to submit, you're greatly mistaken." Elise hoped he missed the husky note in her voice.

  "No, you're hardly submissive, are you?" Moving in front of her, he took her shoulders in his powerful hands and lifted her straight up off the chair, then turned her around and gently, relentlessly forced her to kneel in the seat, half bending over the back. "In fact, I'm waiting for you to kick me in the teeth at any moment."

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  "What the hell are you doing now?" She wet her lips.

  To her outrage, his teeth nipped her bottom. "Worshiping your magnificent ass." Taking it between his hands, he squeezed her cheeks, caressed the firm, muscled flesh with strong, possessive circular strokes.

  "And I'm going to report your magnificent ass," Elise gritted. "I suspect the Rebellion high command would frown on this." She kicked back at him, but he grabbed her ankle in an iron clasp before her foot could connect.

  "No doubt," he said coolly, releasing her leg, "But considering the length of time I spent being tortured by the CSS, I think they'll be more understanding than usual. And if not, I really don't give a damn."

  "Is that what this is about? Vengeance?" Warily, Elise looked back over her shoulder at him.

  "Wondering what nasty perversion I have in mind?" He dragged her back until his erection pressed against her bottom. "Don't bother. I've already had my revenge; I killed that sadistic CSSIntel bastard when I escaped. No, this is about pleasure. Mine," he rolled his hips, "and yours."

  Despite herself, she felt a tingle of building arousal, a shameful, reluctant anticipation. He felt so...thick. She had a sudden, intense memory of his powerful body pinning her, his mouth suckling at her nipples as his fingers dipped into her wet core.

  This time he wouldn't stop.

  This time she'd get to have it all.

  But she shouldn't want it.

  He leaned closer, draping himself over her so he could reach into her open uniform. Tugging back one edge of her tunic, he liberated her right breast. She felt it thrust out into the cool bridge air, its nipple hard, shamelessly eager for his fingers. And he gave them to her, cupping her in delicious warmth before catching the stiff tip to pull and roll until Elise could no longer hold back a moan.

  "You see?" Roarke murmured. "Pleasure. And you can blame it all on me. You're neurocuffed and defenseless, and I'm the nasty, dishon-

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  orable son-of-a-bitch rebel captain taking advantage of the situation to feed his own lusts. You can let yourself enjoy every luscious second."

  She licked her lips. "What makes you think I'm enjoying this?"

  Letting his back rest on hers, his strong thighs snuggling against hers, he reached one hand down her uniform and between her legs. A finger slipped easily into her in a long, slick glide. "Why, nothing, captain. It's obvious you don't care for my advances." The finger withdrew, then slid deep again. It was all she could do not to moan. "You're completely...cold to me."

  A second finger joined the first, and he burrowed in and out of her until she shuddered. At the same time, his other hand resumed its torment of her breast. 'Cuffed, Elise could only rest her chin on the back of the chair and try not to moan as Roarke rolled his hips against her bottom.

  "God, you're making me hot," he rumbled in her ear, using his thumb to stroke her erect clit. "Bound and bent over, ready to be mounted. And so creamy. This arouses you as much as it does me, you're just too stubborn to admit it. You'd rather deny both of us because I had the gall to defeat you in battle."

  Elise sucked in a deep breath that almost became a whimper before she could stop it. She did desire him. Humiliating, but there it was. And why shouldn't she? His body was big and powerfully built, with strong, broad hands. He had a face as handsome as an ancient god's and wicked black eyes that knew entirely too much and promised even more, and a mouth that wove spells of sin
and carnal pleasure. He was every dark fantasy she'd ever had.

  But he'd blown the Star Raker halfway to hell, and he was going to put her and her crew in a Rebellion prison camp.

  And he was not, damn him, going to win this one too.

  She turned to give him a chill glare over her shoulder despite the pleasure he was wringing from her wet, ready flesh. "If you're going to rape me, do it and get it over with."

  "Oh, I want to rape you, Elise. I want to strip you out of that ugly

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  black uniform, bend you over your own captain's chair, and make you come so hard my engineering crew will hear you scream six decks down." Roarke's eyes narrowed. "And why not? Hell, if you want to play martyr, who am I to refuse?" With a quick pass of his fingers, he resealed her uniform, straightened off her, and padded toward his armor.

  She twisted away from the seat back and struggled awkwardly to her feet, though her hands were 'cuffed behind her. Hoping her treacherously weak knees wouldn't dump her to the floor, Elise demanded, "What are you doing now?"

  "Getting dressed." He shot her a nasty grin as he reached for the

  chest plate, "It's a tempting idea, but I suppose it would be tacky to

  actually screw you on your own bridge."

  She set her teeth. "You suppose right."

  "And your being paraded through the corridors by a half-naked rebel captain would make the situation a little too obvious to the crew. After all, we wouldn't want to set a bad example." Flexing his his broad shoulders, Roarke picked up the heavy torso armor and shrugged into it like a coat. "But since you're so determined to„be victimized, I'll just have to cooperate—discreetly."

  “Do you think this is some kind of kinky game to me?" Elise demanded, trying to ignore the play of tempting muscle as he suited up. "Yes, I'll admit you arouse me. You're a skjlled lover. You could probably wring a response out of a neutronium bulkhead. But no matter what you do to my body, I won't willingly sleep with you. And if you force me, I will fight. I may not win, but you won't get any enjoyment out of it."