Becca

by Mima

  “Two.”

  “How many of those have you failed?”

  “Smart lady.” He gently took her wrist, lifted her hand up to his mouth, and nibbled on her throbbing fingertip. “Two.” His eyes dared her.

  Breasts pulsing, thighs itching, fingers still dying to stroke his wings, Becca struggled to control her breathing. “I want you.”

  “Ah, but Becca, the reason I’m taking you on is because I see the potential for you to want, and appreciate, every person who comes before you. And that is the mark of a truly great concubine.” He took her fingers and folded them flat with one hand while holding her wrist.

  Pressing a kiss to the center of her palm, he scored his teeth along the rise of muscle at the base of her thumb. “A truly powerful concubine controls planets instead of mere ships.” He sucked her thumb into his scalding mouth. The wet heat and slick flesh shocked her, as though she’d penetrated something secret.

  Her head wobbled on her neck.

  “Will you take my test, Becca? If you pass, you’ll join the Fire Lily’s crew. My next assignment takes me to Xclesio-o.”

  She gasped. She’d always wanted to go to the matriarchal, sexually charged planet.

  He sucked her pinkie, and her spine slumped. “Try me. If you dare.” His words were light, coy, but she knew this offer was momentous.

  Sliding off the perch of her tall stool, she swung his seat out so that he faced her. She stepped up between his legs and stroked her hands up his thighs in their thin, silky pants. He bowed down to meet her upturned face.

  “Etienne.”

  He kissed her lightly, and she shivered in the breeze of his stirring wings. “Yes, Becca Sharpin?”

  “I’ll be your apprentice.”

  “Ah. So bold and vibrant. But there is the matter of an entrance portfolio.”

  She clenched his upper thighs, praying he’d extend the sexual moment. “Some sort of proof?”

  “Yes. As I said, being a concubine is a rare gift. One must be controlled, yet also open to receive any pleasure.” His hands rose to undo her hair. She held his gaze while he threaded his fingers into it, then cupped her nape. “You seem to know pleasure, but there is little challenge in that. To be my apprentice, you must withstand me.”

  Dear God. The horror. She swallowed with a dry throat. She was halfway to an orgasm and they’d barely touched. “You want me to hold back my orgasm.”

  He inclined his head, his lips circling her cheek. “Yes. Share my rooms tonight. And if you make it to ship’s morning, you will join the guild. It is an exciting life I think you’ll do well in.”

  “If I fail?”

  “I’ll send you home.”

  Her heart caught. After all she’d been through . . . to be sent home would be the ultimate failure. His wings spread wide, each as long as her body. Moisture gathered at her lower lips so thickly she could smell it. Almost, she could imagine having this man as a lover would be worth losing the opportunity to be his apprentice. Then again, if she kept it together, she could have him in the future. Again and again.

  “You really think I’ll be a good whore?”

  His lids lowered, shielding his eyes. “You’d be a poor whore. You’d piss off your johns when they failed to please you. A whore has no right to pleasure.”

  His big finger reached out to her side and slid down her seal, opening her dress. “A concubine joins with patrons of his choosing, in ways of his choosing, for durations of his choosing. The concubine controls the relationship, which is far from a transaction.”

  She slid the dress from her body, glad she wore her black underwear, which made her skin glow. “I will research the guild. I’m sorry, but I don’t know a thing about them.”

  He sighed into her mouth, his accent deepening. “Let’s see if you need to bother.”

  Wings enfolded her body. The feathers along her skin were cool and firm, their layers containing ridges of quills but also silky tips. The sensation was unlike anything she’d ever felt. One of his hands went straight into her panties, the other unclipped her bra, stripped it and dropped it, then returned to one erect and swollen nipple.

  By the time he thumbed it in a swirling pinch, two of the fingers on his lower hand were scissoring her clit.

  “Ungh.” It was a direct assault, skilled and masterful. She hadn’t expected it, after his earlier sophistication.

  His eyes glittered. Seeing how turned on he was strangely gave her strength to pull back. This was a blatant challenge, and one she could meet. Her hands slid up his waist and chest to curl around his neck. She pulled herself up to his mouth, lifting one leg up onto the high stool beside them, opening her hips to give him greater access.

  “My right side is more sensitive,” she purred, curling her tongue to flick at his teeth. “Make sure you rub it hard.”

  With a chuckle he slid away from her command and thrust one long finger straight into her ass. She went up on her toes, arching at the icy heat that flared across her belly. “Oh!”

  “I will give you nothing, woman. At this moment, I take.” His hand jammed against her wet core as he pumped inside of her, then his upper hand flattened to her chest and slid down to join his touch in her underwear. Three fingers arrowed into her channel, stretching, wiggling, straining to spread her.

  “Do I get,” she moaned into his throat, “anything if I can make you come?”

  “Who said anything about me being unable to release? I’ll release all night long. In fact, I feel my first rising now.” His wings clamped closer, shockingly strong. Another finger joined the group in her core, so that he was nearly fisting her. It burned, and it thrilled. His free thumb found her clit and settled, then began to scrape in long flicks with his nail. At her ass, another finger worked to stretch its way inside, and the fullness thrilled her.

  Her breasts mashed to his hard body, her nipples throbbing where his powerfully pistoning hands lifted her into a surging rhythm. Her palms clutching his shoulders were all that kept her upright, her feet sliding loosely on the floor.

  His thighs were braced, and soon his hips joined the dance, rocking her body in counterpoint to his hands. His wings shifted, drawing up and down in a caress along her shoulders and ass and thighs. He hissed, growing rigid, and a faint tremble shook their increasingly damp skin.

  He was coming. Beautiful Etienne was coming, rubbing his body against hers, in hers, his wingtips flicking at her calves. Sensations drummed at her. Her hair snagging on her sweaty shoulders, her cream dripping down her inner thigh, his cream soaking her belly, their scent like a DNA-queued drug perfect for her. Perfectly deadly to her.

  “Come.”

  His command tolled in her body like a gong in the innermost reaches of her ribs. Her whole body clenched. And yet . . . there was more. So much more, if she could just hold. And she wanted more. More of this, more tricks, more dares, more challenge. With the precision she’d used to control a wild plummet into roiling seas, she held her breath and focused her mind. Her clit roared, her vagina rippled, her ass clamped. Her lungs burned, her heart shuddered, and she sobbed out the loss of the moment.

  “Come. Now, bella. With me. Come!” He twisted his wrists, pressed his thumb flat to her button, sealed his mouth to her pulse and sucked, drawing the pleasure of the moment into pain so sweet darkness flickered at the edge of her vision. All she saw were strands of gleaming cream feathers. But she wanted more. She wanted this man’s whole journey. He’d told her not to come, and she would not disappoint him. Her body wilted against his strength, but her words came from her own powerful soul. “Not yet, Etienne. Not tonight.”

  His muscles seemed to settle and relax. His fingers slid from her, and his palms gripped her hips, kneading her. He licked up to her ear. “Excellent. Well done.”

  She shivered as his wings folded away, his hot breath seeping into her skull. He stepped back,
summoned another goblet of wine, and held it to her lips. “Drink.”

  She sipped at it gratefully, tremors of need still shaking her hard enough that she doubted her knees.

  He cupped her chin, studying her eyes. “You surprise me.”

  She blinked against the sudden sting of tears, hurt by his doubt. “You didn’t really expect me to do it.”

  He shook his head slowly, his mane of hair silkily shifting. “No. I did not.” His gorgeous lips thinned. “Hear me, Becca. I want you as my apprentice. Use every trick you know to maintain control, and success beyond your ability to dream will come to you. You will be a magnificent concubine. I see it in you.”

  His thumb stroked her cheek and she could smell herself. It made her clit pulse. “Many people approach me, greedy for my connections, hoping to ride my success. Yet you know nothing of the world I promise you. You barely believe my offer, have little understanding of the worlds I can open. Why did you withhold from the pleasure? Is it just the challenge I’ve thrown down? Is it pride?”

  A sting of anger threaded into the pulsing heat still hungrily searching her blood. He wanted to glimpse her soul, and she wasn’t convinced he deserved it. She shook her head, trying to throw off the dizziness of lust. “A bit, yes. I’m competitive. Some of it is feeling that this opportunity is rare and I must rise to meet it or hate myself. I can always back out of something later, but right now I want to gain entrance to see if it matches me like you think it will.”

  She lifted her gaze from his fascinating cliff of a chest. His eyes . . . those purple eyes were extraordinary . . . like him. “But mostly it’s you. You’re special. I want to be near you, to know you. I’ve never seen anything like you. You could be a junior pre-certificate concubine for all I care.” She thumbed his nipples, wide flecks of erect copper. She guessed his cock would be the same color. “The door opened tonight, and I instantly became more of a woman than ever before. I’m drowning in the desire to be woman enough to match you.”

  “This isn’t infatuation.” He lightly licked over one of her brows.

  “No.” She confirmed. It was different. It was a very personal adventure. “I’m not going to come with you tonight.”

  He nibbled on her lashes, forcing her eyes to close. One of his thumbs delved into her belly button, while the other massaged lower, over her womb. “I’ll make you suffer. But I’m so glad you’re trying.”

  Moaning, she nipped at one of his nipple buds. “I can take it. This isn’t an attempt. It’s a passage.”

  “So confident.” One of his hands slid around under her cheek, then pinched low on the globe, causing her to jump. “There are no rules.”

  She licked a circle around his nipple, enjoying how hard his heart worked within his chest. “I should tell you about this uncle of mine. George talked a lot about how overrated rules were. He’s very inspirational.”

  “I think I’ll take you on the table next, before we go to the floor. The bed will be next, and then will come the wall.”

  She lifted her chin and met his glittering stare. This night would be one of the best of her life. Did he think there was no satisfaction to be had in the rise to pleasure? It wasn’t the finish that held the power. She smirked, wondering if that belief was part of the test. If so, she was already on her way to passing.

  He licked his lips.

  She blew him a kiss. “Let’s get started.”

  WOWZERS. You have found the ending called Press the Flesh. Click on this link to return to the Choice Index. Dare to decide again!

  “This is too much.” There was no way Becca would agree to this kind of sexual harassment. “A man of your talent, lost in whiskey on an aging trader, seducing your interns . . . it’s pathetic.” She clenched her fingers at her sides and strode, back stiff, to the door.

  She shoved her toes into her shoes, barely caring that her heels didn’t quite make it in. She clomped to the door. “I find your flirtation really objectionable. I’ll give that kitchen the best system overhaul it’s ever had and then I’m off this ship in a week.”

  “Let me know how being a vegetarian works out for you,” he drawled.

  She threw him a scathing look over her shoulder, her cheeks flaming with impotent rage. He propped his hips back against the table, his hands braced out on either side. He looked magnificent, a man in his prime, confident of his power. But as attractive as he was, she wouldn’t go into such an imbalanced relationship. What sexual game would he demand later, while assuring her none of the kink would matter to her evaluation? Her jaw worked on the choking injustice she wanted to fight. Instead, she threw herself through the frame and rushed down the hall.

  Fighting not to cry, she made it to her bunk. Snoring Lump was still snoring. Sniffling, she struggled into her flight suit and hid in one of the toilet stalls. She couldn’t flush to cover her tears, because everyone had to use their plax-page to record each flush. So she just bent over and tried to be quiet, grinding her teeth, sniffling into her knees.

  That night, while Becca lay in her bunk with the sour-smelling, scratchy, gray blanket, lit by the too-bright safety lights embedded along the edge of the upper bunks, Bixy paused to pat her on the shoulder. “Just keep to yourself and the rumpies won’t bother ya. Kitchen’s not the worst place to start out. Last girl to stand up to him got sent to the cargo bays and never came back.”

  Becca stared at the bunk above her and reconsidered a career in the military. Then she closed her eyes and tried to wipe it all away.

  The next morning came too early. Snoring Lump was a great huge booming giant. Treetops, as humans called them, were supersize. They stood up to one meter taller and wider than humans, and their voices were proportional.

  Bixy cursed out Snoring Lump, but he just replied, “Aww, sorry, old lady. Die already.”

  In the string of profanity that followed, Becca learned that the treetop’s name was Mike. Mike was not the first treetop Becca had met, but she’d never met a rumpy, a species of tailed humanoids. Her allotted five-minute shower turned out to be three, so she was forced to use her morning sink water to finish rinsing her hair. Afterward, she combed it so hard she ended up throwing a blond wad the size of her fist away. Ah, ship life. It was what she’d wanted. But after such a morning, she was still unready to meet the kitchen crew she’d have to work among.

  Moving through the light traffic of shift change, she headed toward the kitchen. She’d heard rumpies had sex on their knees, from behind, like beasts. Sex rumors always flew faster than any others. The only fact she knew about them was they had tails of varying lengths and sizes, some of which could even be prehensile. And that was the extent of her gossip, let alone knowledge, regarding the other race. They were the lowest rung of humanoids and generally considered grotesque by many people. Tweeties were valued for their beauty, treetops for their strength, and slinks for their vicious nature. But rumpies were less social with standard humans, and highly social among themselves. Their isolationist ways and animalistic tempers made them less respected. Becca stepped into the mess hall, which was sparsely populated with the earliest arrivals for the first breakfast. She herself wasn’t scheduled for two more hours.

  She sat at one of the tables and contemplated her plax-page. Instead of swiping through pages of detailed ship-specs, or calculating power relays and indexing transfer points, she stared morosely at the three poor files Walters the Asshole had sent her. There were the specs for the food lines, codes for various supplies and access points, and a Travelers’ Guide to Meats of the Settled Planets. Pinching the bridge of her nose in order not to start crying again, she breathed deep, then decisively deleted the insult. File locked~ Permission to delete required blinked back at her. If only she could crush her plax-page into a thousand pieces.

  “Something’s wrong.” The voice was low and soft, carrying a sort of hum.

  She looked up. A darkly tanned rumpy sto
od at her table, his hands bristling with dirty coffee mugs. Movement, swaying and distracting, flashed behind his lean, aproned body. Keep your eyes on his face. Do not look at his tail.

  She stood up quickly. “Nothing I can’t handle. Can I help you with those?”

  He tipped his head, considering her. His eyes were very dark, but not the black of his long hair, which was braided and trailed over one shoulder.

  She shoved the plax-page in her pocket, then nervously pulled it out and opened her stated project. She showed it to him. “Hi. I’m Becca. I’ve been assigned to improve the kitchen systems.”

  He ignored the device. She held his gaze. His rich, warm eyes were kind and surprisingly strong. “Will the senior chief be joining you this morning?”

  “No. This is a solo project.”

  “I see,” he offered sympathetically. “Good for you.”

  She tightened her grip on her plax-page. Did the whole ship know she’d refused to play the senior chief’s sexual games? Awkwardly, she put it in her pocket and determinedly managed to keep her attention from the hypnotic movement flicking behind his back.

  After a long moment, he gestured with his chin at a corner. “There are some mugs over there. Grab them.”

  By the time she’d gathered them, he was through the sealed door at the kitchen. Using one of the codes Walters had sent her, she too passed through the frame.

  The kitchen was full of tails. Long and slinky, short and puffy, wildly whipping, rigidly straight, they seemed to be everywhere. The colors were vivid and inhuman. Banded stripes, mottled calico, tawny, dappled. Some were plumes of long, silky fur, others had a short nap. One was thick, round, and bristly, like a raccoon’s tail, but most seemed to be either feline or canine. No matter how fast Becca tried to jerk her gaze from one, it landed on another. She finally found a blank spot on the wall and stared at it, trying to control her breath.

  “Heh,” puffed a slender woman who hefted a crate of eggs past Becca. “Another rumpy virgin.”