Becca

by Mima

  Tentatively, her hands came down to rest on his head. She idly combed her fingers through his dark, silky long hair, so relaxed she could barely keep her eyes open, while he struggled with his memories. She must have drifted off to sleep, because she woke to him holding one of her hands, sucking and kissing along her fingers. Her whole arm tingled and her exposed breasts were swollen and tight.

  “Silas?” she mumbled.

  He looked up at her and said, “I love you, Becca.”

  His words pumped lightning into her body. Her heart scrambled around in her chest, chasing her stunned brain. She struggled to push herself up on her elbows to look down at where he lapped at her ribs.

  “You don’t believe me,” he said softly.

  “I—I—” Did she? He was a fascinating, strong, intelligent man with incredible charm and sex appeal. She didn’t even know his name. But she knew he was decent, knew he was rare. Did he love her? Or was it just her role in freeing him from the cryo, combined with their enforced closeness? Happiness swelled. She wanted to believe him . . . and that was another shock.

  The urge to say the words back started in her deepest core, bubbling up through her throat, filling her mouth. Did she love Silas? She thought it would be easy to love him, easy to tell him that. But perhaps not wise. He was fragile right now. Shouldn’t she remain silent and give him time?

  It was more dangerous to risk the com centers, but it was what she’d promised. Silas might be paranoid, but someone had gone to enormous effort to put the man in cryo, so she trusted the power of his enemies. Flicking her fingers in the water for fishy luck, she stood and slouched back into the darkest of the bars. Sometime soon she really wanted to be able to stand up straight and stretch to the sky.

  The guard at this com center was laughing, talking to a pretty redhead. Becca liked the look of this the best. She settled into the corner. She waited, and waited, and worried that Silas would be worrying, and waited. The guard accepted a drink from the lady, and she pulled up a stool. Then he pulled a stool over, and they leaned in, touching and flirting. He was a big ugly man with a scarred, flat face, and the woman was really cute. Becca didn’t understand, but she was grateful for fate.

  Eventually, someone came over to use the com. Not many people needed these anymore, since plax-pages could be refurbished and sold cheaply, but sometimes anonymity was still nice. The guy turned his back on the unit after checking the person’s ’dents. As Becca stared at the thin man using the terminal in his black jersey with the hood up, a daring idea came to her.

  She wiped her hands on her thighs and sidled around the room, without ever looking at the trio. Her heart jigged around, but by the time she was at the end of the bar closest to the com, Black Jersey was still talking to someone. She propped one arm on the bar and tried to fade into the woodwork. The bartender came over and she scowled, making the “cut” sign with her hand. He scowled back, and she had to admit, his scowl was better. But he didn’t make her leave, probably because there were still openings at the bar.

  The hoodie behind her tapped the com board and turned to go. She sidled over next to the console. She felt him look at her as she invaded his space, but he didn’t say anything, just turned to leave. She stepped into his spot and quickly typed in the call number. Her ploy worked. No one called attention to her, and the guard failed to notice the switch.

  Her pulse pounded so wildly behind her eyes she could hardly focus in the dim light. Her fingers shook and she had to hit the last numbers a few times. The guard was standing with his back to her, laughing with the redhead. If he glanced over his shoulder, he might still be fooled, but if he stood and turned, he’d notice she didn’t have a goatee.

  The number connected. She hit the privacy button and picked up the headset, grimacing when it turned out to be greasy. She pressed it to her ear as a tired, pale man came into focus.

  “Report,” he ordered tersely.

  She carefully typed in the code, taking more time, since her fingers were shaking even harder.

  He froze, then leaned in so that his face filled the entire screen. “Location.”

  She typed that as well. It was so simple. Cider Pot. Under lounge.

  She jumped when the signal flickered off. Looking wildly at the guard, she thought she’d been caught, but he was still talking nonstop. The man had disconnected without a response. It was all rather anticlimactic.

  Slinking off, she made her way to the ticket office and bought a third-class passage, leaving the next day. A long night of worrying about Silas and wandering through taverns trying not to look suspicious took the last of her energy. Finally, morning arrived and she boarded her cruiser under the hard stare of a tough-looking man scanning the passengers. Third-class passengers didn’t need trans-planet ’dents, which meant that the people strapped in on either side of Becca were very sketchy. At least she smelled as bad as they did. After being wired for danger so long, she fell asleep as soon as they were underway. The transport only took her to the next cruiser taking third-class cargo, and as soon as she was on that ship, she triggered her plax-page and messaged her brother for help. His aide, Laurent, answered and assured her a military courier would meet her in a few hours when she docked. She pressed the plax-page to her forehead and cried.

  Becca sat in a hard chair against the wall in a crowded common room. Nervous energy flitted through her now she’d performed all her tasks. Nothing now but waiting. She fingered the edge of the chair. Something about it was familiar. Staring across the room at a family of rumpy-humanoids who had long, feline tails, she suddenly placed the ugly chair. It was very much like the old broken one in Captain Fesner’s office. That interview seemed like a lifetime ago.

  She’d boarded the Cider Pot full of eagerness and pride. And now she was drowning in intrigue and lies, loneliness and danger. So much for her wonderful opportunity to discover deep space. Blinking back tears of self-pity, she turned through her plax-page. After being out of touch for a week, to hear the news of entertainers and sports, even politics, satisfied some social need deep in her bones.

  She hesitated over the search button after scanning recent headlines, and then typed in “cryo.” That brought up an absurd list of articles. She then typed in “cryo recovered found.” The very first article to appear showed Silas’s face, only as she’d never seen him. He wore a deep orange velvet jacket, which set off his black hair and green eyes. It also set off the high, stiff collar featuring the crest of the Royal family of Dhram. As in Silastran, Prince of Dhram.

  Blinking through tears, she read the story of his kidnapping six months ago, his torture at the hands of a rival royal family on a neighboring planet, and his “alleged” cryo ordeal. When the reporter prodded the royal family for more information regarding his escape, the family said forces loyal to Dhram had risked their lives to free him and would be rewarded. Becca snorted.

  Silas. Sweet Silas who had held her during her first planetswing. The one who’d laughed with her, drawing cartoons in that dismal undershaft. The one who’d kissed her body into his total control, bringing her an orgasm through nothing but his touch on her nipples. A prince had told her he loved her, and she’d used caution. Figured.

  When the cruiser docked at the next port, her brother’s best friend and aide, Laurent, waited for her. She was surprised, as he never left her brother’s side. She was also touched, as it was a wonderful measure of her brother’s care that he’d send Laurent to her.

  She hugged Laurent tight, and then he handed her a black plax-page. She looked at it. The message was simple. Prince Silastran offers his thanks and appreciation for Becca Sharpin’s heroism. Accept this token. The next document was a bank draft for one hundred thousand credits.

  She looked at Laurent, who already seemed to know about the message. He winked. “Your brother saves a battleship, you save a prince. I foresee a long future of Sharpin-upsmanship.”

 
; Shaking her head, laughing in relief that the drama was over, she climbed into the military courier ship with Laurent.

  WELL DONE. You have found the ending called A Penny Saved Is a Penny Earned. Click on this link to return to the Choice Index. Dare to decide again!

  “I love you, too!” The words burst out of her, a release he’d commanded from her the same way he played her body. She curled up to pull him closer, and he slid along her skin, his chest a glorious weight. Holding his head tightly, she kissed him, passionately and deeply.

  His hands ran over her hips in a flurry, shoving her flight suit and underwear off. Her fingers matched his lightning speed, tearing the cloth past his waist. His skin was so warm it melted her. His lean body, still too thin but lovely to her, pressed her down tight.

  Their hands stroked and grabbed. His thighs shoved hers wider, their mouths tangled. His erection notched between her legs, and with one thrusting lunge, he shoved inside her. He stared down at her, and the look of shock on his face was the nicest compliment she’d ever had. Gasping, she tightened her inner muscles around him and strained against his weight. Her feet twined around his thighs, and her mouth painted his throat.

  “Becca!” He sounded frantic, almost panicked.

  “I’m here. It’s all right, Silas.”

  He rolled and she squeaked, suddenly draped over him. He punched his hips up, sliding his cock inside her with quick, driving tucks. Her breasts were squashed by how tightly he held her, but she didn’t mind at all. She moaned, loving the burning fullness.

  “You fill me up,” she whispered.

  He rolled again, and holding her hips in both hands, slammed himself into her in a flurry of staccato strokes. They didn’t need to be too quiet, but they couldn’t be loud, and the scream growing in her chest was part of the torture. Her muted wail stretched higher and higher, but then he stopped it, his mouth kissing her into silence. Rolling again, once more he shifted inside her, and this time, he lifted her by virtue of his grip on her hips, moving her up and down his length with short, wet jerks.

  No sooner had she tensed into a rise than he rolled again, coming on top of her with more pressure, grinding his hips deep, pulling on her shoulders to drive himself so far inside her body she felt things shift and compact. Bliss sizzled out from her crushed clit, but then he rolled again, bracing his hands above his head, defining lean strips of muscle in his stretched arms. His hips thrust hard, tossing her whole body like she rode a wild animal. His eyes glittered, narrow with passion. She sobbed, bouncing down, but as soon as she took him rhythmically, he rolled again.

  This time he shoved his thighs under hers, bent over on his knees, with her lower half draped across his lap. The arch of her body crushed him inside her. The sensations accumulated, gathered, spiraled. It went on and on. The pleasure was so sharp, but over too quickly, as he kept breaking any pattern, rolling them back and forth, trying every variation of movement the low space allowed them. He explored her breasts with rough grips followed by a whispering caress, squeezed her ass, pinched her clit, and made her generally insane.

  When he paused yet again, both of them were soaked with sweat, trembling from exhaustion, and still they hadn’t come. She was desperate, her body locked tight with need.

  “Silas, please . . .” It was a refrain he’d ignored for the last hour.

  But this time, he whispered hoarsely, “Tell me again.”

  She wrapped her arms around his head and pulled his ear down to her lips. “I love you,” she breathed. His body against hers, their hips sealed in the most intimate of bonds, those words passing between them with the energy they’d built alive in the air . . . it was all she needed.

  She came, clenching, shaking, head rolling back, every muscle stretching in rapture. He came, sucking wildly on her neck, moaning intensely. His touch, and the sound of him, sent her spiraling higher. His arms tightened around her, and he began to shiver. It went on and on, each of them extending the other’s moment.

  When they finished, she could barely breathe past the beauty of him. Her throat welled with tears, and she held him as he kept his face buried in her neck.

  “I love you, Silas.”

  He stroked her hair. “I love you, Becca.” He swallowed. “My name is Silastran.” He held his breath.

  Was he afraid she’d be angry he hadn’t told her his true name? Or did he expect her to recognize it? “It’s a very classy-sounding name. Do you mind if I keep calling you Silas?”

  “No.” He breathed out. “Not at all.”

  Three sex-soaked days later, after hours of passionately whispered dreams, Becca stood with Silas in a pod bathroom near the exit. “You’re too tall.” She twitched the jersey hood this way and that, but no matter how he slouched, he still looked big and strong. Not even the pillows tied around his waist made him look less interesting.

  “You’re too beautiful.” He tweaked her own navy hood low over her face.

  She rolled her eyes, even though he couldn’t see them. “When we get in line, eat this apple, and be really sloppy and gross about it, too. People will avoid you.”

  He nodded. They’d gone over the plan a dozen times today. Get off the ship, get to a com center, and contact his people. When she’d pointed out it would be easier for her to do this alone, and that he was the one who was notable, he’d adamantly refused.

  “I’m not asking the woman I love to risk her life while I cower in the walls,” he’d insisted with maddening pride.

  Nor had he agreed to the option of calling in her brother’s military might to help. So despite her many arguments, he made his way out into the line of disembarking crew while she held back until a dozen people separated them. When the line started to flow a bit faster, she joined it, knees bent, shoulders slumped, and chattered to the woman she’d targeted, like they were together.

  Stepping through the hatch into the white halls of the station made her shaky. Half the battle won. It was more difficult to follow him when the crew began to disperse in the main hall containing several taverns. But he strode into one of the glowing blue doorways, still slurping on his apple core, and she followed behind a few steps later. He went to the bar and she went to a table. He ordered a drink instead of approaching the com, and she saw what he’d noticed. There was a guard near the com center. He stood like a sentry next to it, scanning the room. He looked hard at Silas, who slumped over his whiskey.

  He looked too suspicious! She stood, about to do something desperate to draw the guard’s attention, when Silas growled at the bartender to put meteor ball on the vid screen. The bartender replied meteor ball was for idiot cargo crew too stupid to work at proper ports. Silas laughed and began to heckle the bartender, and the guard relaxed and went back to scanning.

  Becca bit her lip and followed the waitress into the kitchen.

  The woman turned from picking up a sandwich out of the chiller and gave a startled and indignant “Hey!”

  Becca said, “I’ll give you five hundred credits to place a message for me.”

  And just like that, it ended simply.

  The blonde delightedly sent the message and then sold Becca her waitress uniform, a form-fitting latex-and-gingham nightmare. Becca bought a port-maintenance work suit for Silas. The two of them strolled arm and arm, him dragging a solar-wiper with one hand, her swinging a plax-page decked out in hot-pink sparkles. He pulled her down to sit on the ledge of a fountain at the junction of several hallways. They were just two port workers sharing a romantic moment between jobs. Silas’s people were on the way.

  “Come with me.” Silas ran his thumb around the hollow of her palm.

  She nodded. “I’m a little stranded. Thanks for the ride.” Her hair was pulled up in a set of six mini-tails around her face. The newest style, it made her feel exposed and also a bit like an octopus. As she nodded, the six protruding locks swung cheerfully.

&nb
sp; The hat he wore looked awful on him, giving his head a bulbous look, and sitting so low on his eyebrows she could barely see his eyes. “I mean really come with me. Marry me.”

  She stared at him. Shock pinged around the hollow of her ribs. A surge of excitement thrilled to life but she squashed it. “Silas . . .”

  “I love you.”

  She’d heard the term and exchanged it with him several times in the last days. It gave her the same rush of happiness it always did. She’d never cared for someone so fast or deeply before. But this time, the words sounded more forced, more desperate. Final.

  She frowned. “Marriage is permanent.” If people wanted to marry, they’d better be damn sure, because they were legally bound to dwell in the same home for the rest of their lives, as well as to attempt to acquire a license to procreate within five years. There had once been a practice called “divorce,” where a marriage could dissolve, but that didn’t exist anymore. “I don’t want kids yet.”

  “Becca, you’re the woman I want.”

  Her eyebrows wrinkled, and a headache bloomed from the stupid sets of mini-tails pulling at her forehead. “I think our mutual want is clear, Silas.” Very clear. Images of their bodies moving together surged through her. He made her feel beautiful. “But marriage is different.” She had a sudden image of her mother chattering around the breakfast table, aflutter in pretty dresses and cute heels, while her father grunted responses and stared at his plax-page. “I haven’t even begun my career.”

  “Getting married has no effect on your ability to work.” His eyes slid away from hers. “You could work.”

  She leaned away from him, confused. What was going on? “We’re getting out of here, Silas. We made it. You have a lot to deal with regarding your enemies and your family. I want to see you, I want to get to know you more. But I’m not ready for marriage. I haven’t even finished my internship. For that matter, who are you?” Despite the intimacy of the last days, she still knew nothing important about what he did or where he was from.