Captive of Pleasure; the Space Pirate's Woman (The LodeStar Series)

by Cathryn Cade

  “Oh, Joran,” she whispered. She felt as if she might float up off the floor, carrying him with her, buoyant with sheer happiness. “I…I can’t believe you put so much trust in me. I mean, there’s so much of me missing that I don’t even know what I usually eat for breakfast!”

  “When you figure it out, I’ll be there, eating breakfast with you. You trust me to do that?”

  “I do trust you,” she said, reaching to kiss him again. “Even though you told everyone I had sex with you. I’ll get you for that, don’t think I won’t.”

  He stole another kiss, his lips curving up against hers. “That sounds all right to me. To have the opportunity, you’ve gotta stick around.”

  “Do you want me to stick around?” Her heart thumped so loudly she thought he must surely hear it. This wasn’t a flowery proposal, but it sounded at least semi-permanent.

  He cupped the side of her face in his big hand, and searched her eyes with his own. “Question should be, do you want to be with me? Even knowing who you are? Baby, you’re nearly royalty. And I’m just a guy living the life, skirting the laws of the galaxy.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “If you say you’re not good enough for me, I—I’ll pinch you,” she said. “You’re the Storm, but that only means you’re you. You’re who you’ve made yourself, and the core of you is good, too. Strong, and wild and—and sexy as, um, fuck. You just choose to be infamous, instead of famous. And you’re the man I...” well, she couldn’t say that, because she didn’t know if he felt the same. She knew he wanted her sexually. For now that would have to be enough. “You’re the man I want.”

  She pressed her body against his and looked up at him from under her lashes. “Please, Joran. Don’t let this night end without my having you again.”

  He moved, letting her feel the long hard shape pressing into her belly through their clothing. “I think it’d me having you, my Zaë.”

  She shivered with pleasure. “Yes, to both.”

  “Well,” he said, tightening his grip on her. “One thing’s for sure, if Woodby’s the only man standing in my way, he’s no reason to wait.”

  “No,” she whispered, her eyes on his mouth, which was moving closer. “I don’t want him, I never wanted him. Only you.”

  “Hmm, like the sound of that,” he murmured into her mouth. “You sure you don’t mind the venue? Not exactly private.”

  “I don’t care if everyone knows,” she said, because it was true.

  “Good. Me neither. But no holovid, and no talk afterward, I swear—not sharing you with anyone.”

  Then he kissed her, and it was all his mouth on hers, melding and clinging, in a kiss so long and deep and sweet that it went on even as they undressed each other, hands tangling on fasteners, fingers moving as one to push clothing out of the way, baring skin and flesh.

  “C’mere,” he urged, sinking back on the edge of the bed. “Don’t have time to undress. All we really need is this, anyway.” He unfastened his pants, and drew her hand to the springing, silk and steel length of his cock.

  She closed her fingers around him, and stroked him greedily. “Vain, aren’t you?”

  He sucked in a breath as he pushed himself into her grip. “Felt the way your little pussy grabbed onto me when I was inside you before, baby. And…” he worked his other hand into her tights and cupped her mons. “You’re already wet, So, yeah, I think I’ve got this.”

  She gasped as he found her clitoris and wet it with his fingertips. “I suppose…what you’ve got will have to do.”

  He growled, and the next moment she found herself being stripped swiftly and efficiently, then settled astride his lap, while he was still fully clothed.

  He smacked her ass twice with his palm, sharp stings that immediately spread heat through her.

  “You’re a naughty girl, Lady Ellianne,” he reproved, looking her over, and tweaking first one protruding nipple, then the other. “Naked on my lap, with your former suitor right in the main cabin, and this port full of people waiting on me. A very naughty girl.”

  Zaë blushed, her face and throat burning. But at the same time, excitement pulsed through her, and her pussy spasmed, empty and needy. She ducked her head and looked up at him through her lashes. “Am I very bad?”

  He palmed her bare ass, and squeezed with his big, warm, calloused hands. She arched her back, pushing into his grip, inviting more, and braced her hands on his chest.

  “Yes, you are. Who’s bad girl are you?” he asked, and smacked her ass again, twice in quick succession.

  “Yours,” she said. “Yours, Joran.” She’d resolved never to let him spank her again, but this one was very different. It set her free to obey him, and not worry about anything but the next command, the next pleasure.

  “Then kiss me,” he ordered, and she did. She knelt up and pressed against him, reveling in the feel of his shirt against her bare breasts, of his hands soothing the sting on her bottom, and tasted him, using her lips and her tongue to implore and incite.

  “You want me to touch you?” he asked, drawing back just far enough to watch her, while his hand slied between her ass cheeks, his fingertips sliding down into the wet crevice below.

  She nodded. “Yes, please. Touch me, Joran.”

  He kissed her again, and his fingers delved deeper, tracing the wet seam of her labia. Zaë arched back into his touch, moaning into his mouth, her nails digging into his shoulders.

  “Another time, I’ll let you beg for each and every touch,” he promised, his voice warm and deep in her ear as his fingers slid inside her. “And I’ll spank your ass for every naughty thing you say, until it’s as red as your pretty cheeks.”

  He chuckled, a soft, taunting sound as her pussy spasmed around his fingers. “You like that. But now, I think we both need a quick, hard fuck. Put me inside you.”

  He showed her how to guide his cock, and then sink down onto him and rise up again.

  “Oh,” she told him. “I’m riding you.”

  “Yes, you are,” he said fervently. “And doing a fine job of it, too, my Zaë.”

  Then they both stopped talking, as he clamped his hands on her hips and guided her to move faster and faster, while he thrust up into her, a tight, slippery rhythym that was so good Zaë began to moan happily, her soft cries rising over Joran’s deep groans of pleasure.

  When she thought she would scream of the pleasure of him moving inside her, he clamped his mouth over hers, and drank her cries, while they both flew together.

  He slumped back on the bed, Zaë cradled on his chest.

  “Fuck me,” he muttered breathlessly. “That was...”

  She smiled to herself. The Storm lost for words? She must have done something right.

  In a moment, however, he was knifing up, taking her with him. “Time to clean up and get dressed, baby. Then, unfortunately, we’re in for a wild night.”

  ***

  As they dressed, Joran explained what would—if everything went according to plan—happen. Zaë stopped with her top on but not pulled straight.

  “Oh, my heavens, that is positively labyrinthine. Are you sure it can work?”

  He’d make it work, for her, for all of them. He moved in, straightening her top and then tucking her hair behind her ear. “It will work. We have the best on our side.”

  “But the IGSF,” she protested.

  He grinned. “They think we’re on their side, that’s what matters there. By the time they realize we are on their side, but not on Cerul’s, it will all be over but the shouting.”

  She eyed him doubtfully, then nodded. “If anyone can do this, I’m sure it’s you. What do you want me to do?”

  “Wear this.” He handed her a bundle from the nearest cubby. “It’s a flight suit. Warmer than just your clothing.” It was also lightly armored against stray laser fire, with cerametal flake in the coating.

  Once inside, he’d find the safest place to stash her, to keep her safe. The thought of her face bloodied, half torn away like Va
r’s had been, chilled away the remnants of sexual satiation and left only a terrible, yawning fear. He couldn’t lose her, not now. And it anything more happened to her because of him, he’d never be able to forgive himself.

  “You keep giving me more things to wear,” she complained. “Are you sure you don’t want to just put me in an iso-chamber?”

  He tipped her chin up. “If I could, I would, make no mistake.You’ll stay beside me, and you’ll do exactly as I tell you. If I tell you to go with someone and hide, you do it, no questions. Understand?”

  She nodded, but her jaw was set in a way that made him both proud and uneasy.

  “Braver than you should be, bunny. Discretion, that’s what I want to see.”

  “I understand.” She was busy unfastening the flight suit, which luckily had been made for a female and was pliable enough to stretch over her curves. “You’re wearing one of these too,” she said.

  “No. My vest is armored. My safety depends more on my mouth than anything else.”

  “Well, then you should be safe.” She gave him a look. “Being that you’ve an iridium tongue and too much charm for any one man.”

  “Thank you. I think.”

  He cast a last look over her, fixed the collar of her flight suit so his jeweled collar showed, and eyed her with mingled pride and worry. She was beautiful, and she looked well-fucked, her face flushed, eyes still heavy, lips swollen and her hair half falling out of her braid, though no time to fix that now. She should be a quazillion miles away, but she wasn’t, so the suit and his stamp of possession would have to do.

  With a last kiss on her soft, addictive lips, he led the way out.

  An ugly flush mottled Woodby’s face as he looked from Joran to Zaë and back. The man knew exactly what they’d been doing. But when he opened his mouth, Joran preempted him.

  “We’re out. You can stay here, or come with us. You’re armed?”

  Woodby drew himself up. “Of course. I’ll stay with Lady Elliane and rendesvouz with her parents.”

  “No, I’ll have a man on her. Link them back, tell them to land, pick her up,” Joran said.

  “No,” Zaë said. “I won’t go.”

  “I had planned exactly that,” Woodby said, ignoring her. “They’ll be here soon.”

  Joran ignored her too. “Also, give me the ident of their craft, so we can mark them as neutral.”

  “I have no idea the ident of their craft.” Woodby gave Joran a smug look. “They are being brought in by a very powerful man. Logan Stark, of LodeStar Enterprises. Perhaps you’ve heard of him? He’s no one to mess with.

  Joran met Qala’s look of shock over Woodby’s shoulder. He shook his head wryly.

  “Might have known he’d manage to get his hand in here,” he said. “You’re right, Woodby. He’ll take care of them.”

  He turned to Zaë, who was frowning at him. “When they get here, you’ll go with them. LodeStar guards are the best. You’ll be safe, so will your folks.”

  “How does your brother know my parents?” she asked.

  “Logan knows damn near everyone, near as I can figure. Now come on, time to move.”

  ***

  Sgt Ren Mecham prided herself on being a good IGSF officer. She was part of the greatest peace-keeping force in the galaxy, and she did her best to uphold the honor of her uniform and her rank. She followed orders, but she did so with thought.

  Over the months that Commander Aqa Cerul had been in charge of troops on Frontiera, Mecham had slowly and painfully lost her trust in the woman. This was reinforced over and over as Cerul proved that she did not have the proper respect for the ideals of the IGSF and the Alliance Federation, but instead was ruled by pride and a rabid belief that her own way was the only way.

  Now, facing the commander via holovid from her fighter in the night skies over Bone Arch, Mecham watched her worst fears play out.

  “Do you mean to tell me the Storm actually dares to hold one of his auctions under my very nose?” Cerul hissed. “This is not the way he was supposed to behave. I told him to infiltrate, and instead he’s brought the dregs of commerce here with him.”

  “Ah, so it appears, sir.” Which was why when Mecham and Arc followed him and several of his craft here, and saw that they were far from the only ones streaming toward Bone Arch, they did a full recon. They thus discovered that there were several large, fast, expensive craft already moored in the settlement, armed men ranging around the grounds and a ship hovered over the roof of the lodge, unloading several pods large enough to contain beings. Since they were on the track of slavers, they immediately reported this to their superior, who reported to Cerul.

  So now, with Cerul slavering over this piece of news, why did Mecham suddenly have the feeling that she and Arc were being used not only by their own forces, but by Il Zhazid himself?

  “Sir,” she went on doggedly. “Do you think it may be part of a plan to draw them in where we can get to them?”

  “Then why did he not inform me?” Cerul demanded. “And why here? No, the man is thumbing his nose at me.”

  “But, sir, holding a slave auction may be his way of following your orders.”

  Cerul focused on Mecham, not a pleasant experience. Then she smiled. “Do you believe that, Sergeant? Then you are as gullible as he.”

  Mecham shifted, a cold trickle of sweat running down her back under her uniform. “Sir?”

  “Silence,” Cerul snapped, tapping one thin hand on her command console as her feverishly bright gaze drilled the holomap hovering before her. She pointed to the mountain pass where the few buildings of Bone Arch squatted, and spoke to the officers hovering at her shoulders.

  “This is perfect. We can take him out, and the others with him. I daresay no one will notice or care if the illustrious metropolis of Bone Arch disappears off the map of Frontiera.”

  The truth slapped Mecham in the face like a cold, dirty hand.

  Her commander intended to double-cross the Storm, to take him out along with the slavers and anyone else who happened to be in the vicinity. From the look of cool satisfaction on her face, she’d always intended this. Maybe she’d even given Arc the command to show the patrol at the Pleasure Palace the day Storm had gone to meet with Vadyal.

  Mecham, who had been running ident numbers on some of the large, fast, expensive craft on the ground below, swallowed hard against the sickness that tried to force its way up her throat. She and Arc had been nothing but pawns, just like Joran Stark and his crew. Cerul hadn’t really cared what they reported, because she was going to destroy them anyway.

  “Sir. One of the main business owners in Bone Arch is—”

  Cerul looked up, her gaze pinning Mecham like a blue laser charge. “Masterson. Yes, I am aware, sergeant. I am also aware that while he may style himself as legitimate now, the man is simply another pirate who has found easy pickings on Frontiera.”

  “He’s here, sir,” Mecham said doggedly. “In Bone Arch. I’m transmitting idents for other ships coming in, too. You may want to look at them.”

  “Silence, Sergeant.” Cerul waved an impatient hand.

  Mecham disobeyed. She had to, because there was one name in particular, the most recent, that made cold sweat break out in her armpits and run down to pool in her soft bra.

  “Sir,” she went on, even though Arc was shooting her murderous glances from his holovid, and the officers around Cerul were eyeing her with fascination and disbelief.

  “And is The Storm there?” Cerul interrupted, her voice light as ice crystals.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And are several known slave runners even now flying in to meet with him in a secretive fashion, in a known outpost of criminal activity?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Cerul’s slight smile disappeared. “Then I think, if you’ll pardon me for doing so, sergeant, that we may assume this is not a rendezvous that any of these beings wish to be noted, no matter who they are.

  This was not true, Mecham knew first
hand. But she didn’t have time to argue, because one last name was scrolling onto her readout.

  “Logan Stark,” she said, her stomach falling away as if the winds buffeting her craft had reached inside to claw at her. “Quark. He’s here too.” Surely Cerul wouldn’t ignore him. And he had others on his cruiser, which Mecham could see making the banking turn to come in below the pass, and down toward Bone Arch.

  But she didn’t have time to attend to the rest of the readout, because her commander had had it. This was evidenced as her back snapped straight in her seat, and she waved Mecham away like a pesky insect.

  “Arc, take over command until reinforcements arrive. Mecham, you are relieved of duty. Report back to base immediately.”

  She began to speak rapidly to her officers, who attended her, nodding and ignoring Mecham.

  Ren sat in her craft, holding it steady as thunder boomed outside and a lightning strike shattered the darkness just on the other side of the lodge, striking the edge of the rocks in a display of profound violence.

  It echoed the turmoil inside her.

  She’d just been relieved of command. That was a slap so profound she knew her career, indeed her usefulness as an active officer would never recover. She sat, holding the controls of her ship, Cerul’s words echoing in the thunder outside.

  Until another voice spoke in her ear, this one male and somewhat familiar.

  “Hey, Mecham. Y’know, you’re better off without that bitch. Wanna come down here and do somethin’ worthwhile?”

  “Huh?” She started, and scowled at the new holovid that popped up to one side of her console. One of Stark’s men. Haro, that was his name. “How did you intercept this link?”

  Haro waggled his brows at her. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” Then he sobered. “Listen, Cerul’s gone rogue, you get that, right? You need to duck and cover.”

  “She’s the commander of Frontieran Intergalactic Space Forces,” Mecham said. She blinked back the moisture that threatened her eyes.