Amorous Overnight

by Robin L. Rotham

  “I guess that makes sense.” Her throat grew tight. “It also makes what you’ve done for my family that much more of a blessing.”

  Ketrok had applied infusion buttons to the chests of all her family, and her father, already acting more like the fun, relaxed dad she remembered, had apologized profusely for his behavior earlier.

  “That was remarkably tasty,” Hastion said, dropping the red-plastic spoon into his empty cup. “After eating this meal, I can understand why Terrans are so fat.”

  The rest of Shelley’s Blizzard suddenly lost its appeal. Her cheeks and ears stinging with heat, she dropped it into the trash can behind her as inconspicuously as possible.

  “I wish there were some way we could repay you, Minister,” her mother said while she played patty-cake with Wyatt. “I feel like you’ve given us back our lives.”

  “To be perfectly truthful, I’m hoping your daughter will consider accompanying us to Garathan. We’re sorely in need of nurses.”

  Shelley turned and looked at him. This was the first time he’d ever said anything to her about going to Garathan. He looked back at her, his eyes a warmer gray than she’d ever seen them, and she recognized something in them.

  Hope. It wasn’t just a word he was saying—he actively hoped she would say yes.

  Something in her that had been held down for too long burst free. They needed her. They really, honestly, needed her, and she could help them. Wasn’t that why she’d become a nurse in the first place, to help people in need?

  She could almost hear her shrink, Ramona, cheering her on. Ride that dragon, Shelley! Hell, be the dragon!

  Dragging her gaze from his, she said, “I want to do it, Mom.”

  “What!” Tara laughed incredulously. “You’re always telling me how you can’t wait to get away from them.”

  “Tara!” Shelley blushed, looking back and forth between Hastion and the minister. “I only said that because I was scared. But I’m not anymore, and I really want to go, not just for the money but for the adventure. And now you don’t have to postpone your trip either. I was feeling really bad about keeping you from your assigned mates.”

  Tara shrugged. “Hey, it’s fine with me. I just don’t want you to do something you’ll regret.”

  Her mother pouted. “But I was just getting to know my grandbabies.”

  “You’re welcome to accompany us to Garathan, Mrs. Southern,” the minister interjected.

  Shelley’s heart instantly swelled with hope. “Yes! You could all come with us—right, Minister?” she said with an encouraging look.

  He tipped his head. “Of course.”

  “Oh!” Mom looked startled.

  “No way!” Alex laughed. “Mom in space? It’ll never happen. She won’t even fly in a plane.”

  She swatted his arm. “Alexander! I wouldn’t let a little thing like fear keep me from seeing Shelley and my grandbabies. If she can do it, I can do it.”

  “Maybe we could arrange a visit later,” Dad said firmly. “We have a life here, and I run my own business. I can’t just take a few months off without a lot of planning.”

  Shelley sighed. She should have known that was too good to be true. “Well at least we’ll be able to send video messages. If the AAD relocated me, I wouldn’t be able to have any contact with you at all.”

  “That’s true.” Her mother sighed too. “We’ll miss you and be counting the days until you come home.”

  Shelley put an arm around her mother and laid her head on her shoulder. “Me too, Mom.”

  Chapter Six

  When Hastion entered the sparring center that evening, only one of the three circular arenas was occupied. A number of males in various states of dress hovered around baya arena, no doubt waiting to see whom their leader intended to thrash the conceit out of this time. The low hum of their conversation went abruptly silent when they saw Hastion.

  One of the males stepped aside to reveal Cecine, who wore nothing but a white exercise brief. The gleam of anticipation in his eye frayed what little remained of Hastion’s composure. Peserin’s hell, he hadn’t imagined anything yesterday—the minister was eager to thrash him.

  Keeping his spine straight and his head high, he made his way to the changing area. The uneventful remainder of his guard shift had given him too much time to envision every potentially awful outcome of this match, and he could hardly keep his hands steady as he stripped down to his black brief and draped his uniform over a bench. Very few things in his life had been harder to endure than the minister’s growing dissatisfaction with him. He should never have offered himself as second, much less agreed to provide sexual service. He’d tried to have his cake and eat it too, as the Terran saying went, and now he was trapped in a hell of his own making.

  All that remained to be seen was how much worse he could fuck himself.

  Hastion pulled his hair over his right shoulder, quickly weaving it into a loose braid and tying it off with a thong as the minister had done, and then blew out a couple of inconspicuous breaths before turning to face the arena. He blinked when he saw the crowd that had gathered in the short time it had taken to prepare himself.

  Fuck. Ensign Mikal must have followed him from the Command Core. He leaned against the bulkhead with his thick arms crossed, smirking as though Hastion had already been thoroughly thrashed.

  That was something else he hadn’t considered carefully enough—the minister’s other personal guards. They resented what they perceived as Cecine’s unmerited favor in naming him second and didn’t hesitate to speculate aloud as to the reasons for it. Mikal had been particularly insufferable, gesturing lewdly and making sly inquiries about his bowel health, often in front of large groups of warriors.

  Hastion ignored him, as always, and stepped down two knee-high ledges into the pit of baya arena, where the pad under his bare feet was thicker to cushion the impact of flying bodies. When he reached the center, he and Cecine briefly gripped each other’s left forearms in the traditional greeting of competitors and his heart rate doubled. For the first time, he wasn’t the passive recipient of the minister’s impersonal touch, but an equal participant. He was about to lay his hands on that pale, elegantly sculpted body—grasp it, grapple with it and ultimately either subdue or be subdued by it.

  His breath stalled as prickly heat swelled from his perineum, tightening his scrotum and anus, and filling his cock. Powers above, now was not the time for an erection.

  “Show the boy how a real warrior fights, Minister,” one of the males called out.

  “If this were a formal challenge, there would have been an announcement,” Cecine replied without looking away from Hastion. “Ensign Hastion and I have both been lax in our training in recent months. We merely seek to remedy that. Are you ready for a workout, Ensign?”

  Though the challenge in the minister’s eyes was at odds with his words, Hastion took a deep breath and said neutrally, “I am, sir.”

  “Excellent. Holligan, you may call the start.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  They both took a step back into sparring stances and then Hastion scrambled to realign his. Fortunately, he didn’t favor either side, so leading with his left foot didn’t put him at a disadvantage. Did the minister favor the left or did he switch to throw his opponents off? Probably the latter, if his cunning smile was any indication.

  Pride shot more steel into Hastion’s backbone. They’d see who took a proper chastening tonight.

  “Mark!” Holligan called.

  Hastion crouched lower, prepared to deflect an attack, but the minister only widened his stance—and his grin—waiting for Hastion to come to him. In no mood to tolerate a protracted defensive battle, Hastion obliged him, lunging for his neck with both hands and then dropping at the last second to tackle him at the waist. As Cecine flew backward, he grabbed one of Hastion’s wrists and the back of his neck. He’d barely landed on the pad when he scissored his legs around Hastion’s waist and flipped over on top of him.

 
Instantly Hastion made a bridge of his body and shoved him over, rolling with him, but Cecine’s grip on his neck hadn’t loosened and he used Hastion’s momentum against him, curling feetfirst over his torso to land sideways across his chest. Undeterred, Hastion curled his own body quickly enough to clamp his knees around Cecine’s head.

  Cecine’s bark of laughter startled him enough that he loosened his grip and lost the advantage when the other male jerked away. Knowing a strategic retreat was in order, Hastion rolled to the side and sprang to his feet. Cecine did the same, his face alight with enjoyment as the other males cheered him on.

  “You’re quick, Ensign,” he said, wiping his forehead with his arm.

  Panting, Hastion smiled grimly. “I have to be, sir.”

  That was all the respite he got. The minister went on the offensive this time, grabbing his neck. Hastion ducked out of his sweaty grip and seized Cecine’s hard thigh. Rather than staggering back, Cecine stiffened his legs and threw his weight forward onto Hastion’s back, clamping one arm around his waist. Hastion cursed silently as Cecine grabbed his ankle with his free hand, wrenching it toward him. Clearly he wasn’t the only one who’d picked up some Terran close-combat techniques.

  They flipped and rolled and grappled their way around the arena for a half hour, growing progressively less civilized with every attack and escape. The harder the minister tried to pin him down, the more violently Hastion fought, and when he managed to pry himself out of a brutal headlock, he lashed out with a kick to Cecine’s midsection. Although the air rushed out of him in a harsh grunt, Cecine managed to grab Hastion’s ankle and twist with both hands. Hastion dropped his hands to the pad and twisted into a backward flip, kicking him in the jaw with the other foot as they both went down.

  “Break,” Holligan called.

  Hastion immediately jumped to his feet and offered the minister a hand up, still vibrating with the adrenaline of combat. Breathing roughly, Cecine eyed it with amusement before accepting.

  “My apologies, Ensign,” he said as he rose, “but as much as I’d like to continue this, it appears my presence is required elsewhere.”

  The other males grumbled their disappointment as they began to disperse, but Hastion nearly sagged with relief. It was the best outcome he could possibly have hoped for.

  “Perhaps another time, sir,” he said automatically, breathing deeply to calm himself.

  The minister rubbed his jaw. “You may count on it, Ensign.”

  They picked up their uniforms and boots and walked down the corridor to the minister’s suite. Presumably Cecine wanted to bathe before appearing elsewhere. Hastion just wanted to get to the privacy of his quarters so that he could take care of his raging erection. As aroused as he was, orgasm would take mere seconds.

  Now that it was over, he could hardly believe it had happened. In the moment, he hadn’t allowed himself—indeed, hadn’t had the time—to dwell on their contact, but now the sensations came rushing back at him in uncannily vivid detail. He’d had the hard muscle and smooth, hot skin of that back rippling under his hands. Felt those long arms locking him against that flat, hair-roughened belly. Heard his own pulse racing as those lean, hard thighs clamped on his ears. And that lovely sheen of sweat…

  Hastion licked his lips as he followed Cecine into the suite’s living area. Peserin, he’d tasted the minister’s sweat, not just once but over and over. Sparring had never before seemed so intimate. Thank the Powers for constricting briefs or his arousal would have been on display for all.

  Averting his eyes as the minister stepped into his sleeping chamber, Hastion walked on, his breathing uneven and his heart pounding with want at the thought of him stripping to shower.

  “Ensign.”

  Hastion paused. “Yes, sir?”

  “I require service now.”

  Hastion stiffened. He was already too close. “I should rinse—”

  Cecine seized his wrist and yanked him into the sleeping chamber. Reacting instinctively, Hastion dropped his uniform and resisted but Cecine twisted his arm up behind his back and shoved him against the padded bulkhead.

  “Now, Ensign,” he growled in his ear. “I require service now.”

  Hastion’s eyes widened and his heart threatened to burst out of his chest. “Yes, sir,” he panted, wide-eyed.

  “Don’t move.”

  When he was released, Hastion obeyed, staring at the pad in front of his face without seeing it, breathing rapidly. Peserin, it was as though the minister had torn a fantasy directly from his mind.

  A moment later, his brief was jerked down his thighs to his knees, bending his already aching erection unpleasantly, and a hard plastic nozzle was jammed into his anus with little enough care to make him wince. When cool moisture filled him to overflowing, the nozzle was removed and he heard the wet sound of flesh on flesh. A hard hand pinned his neck against the bulkhead and then a foot stomped his brief to the floor and kicked his ankles farther apart.

  And still Hastion was unprepared for the hard, hot cock that drove into him. Burning pain and pleasure seared him in a frightening wave of heat, and he ground his teeth, struggling instinctively.

  “No.” The minister leaned into him, using his entire body to smash Hastion into the padded bulkhead, grinding his thick cock even deeper.

  Unbearably aroused, Hastion arched his back, pushing with his arms but Cecine grabbed his wrists and crossed them in front of him, anchoring Hastion against his chest.

  Then he took them both to the floor.

  Stunned and breathless from the impact, Hastion yanked fiercely, trying free his arms, but they were trapped between his abdomen and the pad, held there by Cecine’s unrelenting grasp and the weight of both their bodies. Cecine’s cock was still buried inside him, his knees bracketing Hastion’s on the floor, and Hastion had no choice but to close his eyes and brace himself for what was coming. He ground his forehead into the pad, agonizingly aware of the humid gasps of breath against his ear, the sharp chin digging into his shoulder muscle, the sweaty, hair-roughened chest rasping against his back, and the strong thighs pinning his together.

  Do it, sir!

  The minister took a deep breath and erupted in a frenzy of motion, fucking him without mercy. Despite the copious application of lubricant, Hastion’s overstretched anus burned, and his bowels cramped in reaction to the hard impacts deep inside him. At the same time, all the pleasure centers in his brain were activated by the unrelenting stimulation of his prostate, the friction of his painfully hard cock against the pad, and the pure adrenaline rush of being restrained and forcibly fucked. Piled atop all the other sensory input he’d experienced in the last hour, it was almost more than he could bear and he grappled with the urge to scream.

  When orgasm claimed him, he managed to hold on, hissing through his clenched teeth as a kaleidoscopic confusion of hot pain and shivering pleasure exploded through him.

  Growling, Cecine squeezed Hastion’s wrists tighter, never backing off the brutal pace. The drag over his prostate was almost intolerable now that he’d come, and Cecine’s emerging spur ramming against his coccyx added to his agony. He pushed a knee wide in an attempt to gain some leverage, but Cecine just crowded between his legs and drove deeper.

  The urge to beg for mercy was suddenly overwhelming, and Hastion prayed for control as he sucked in huge draughts of air. Finally the minister rammed home and held, shuddering, his cock like molten rock in Hastion’s ass as it pulsed and jerked.

  Dazed and disbelieving, Hastion lay still, keeping his forehead against the pad as he swallowed repeatedly. What in Peserin’s name had just happened?

  “Minister, Shelley Bonham seeks an audience with you.”

  Shaking his head to clear it, Cecine withdrew from Hastion and pushed up to kneel between his pale legs. What he saw shook him. A rush of foamy liquid escaped the unmoving ensign’s wide-open orifice—lubricant and semen streaked with blood ran down over his sac and melted into the pad beneath. Worse, there was a bloo
dy hole in the skin covering his tailbone where Cecine’s spur had gouged him.

  Peserin’s hell, in his quest to strip away a fine warrior’s control, he’d lost control himself.

  And Hastion had paid the price. It shamed him beyond bearing.

  “Minister, Shelley Bonham—”

  “Admit her to my sitting area,” he ordered harshly, “and tell her I’ll be with her momentarily.”

  “Affirmative.”

  “Don’t move,” he said. He had amends to make, sooner rather than later. “I’ll return shortly.”

  When she was here earlier, she’d been too upset and blinded by tears to take note of her surroundings, so she strolled around curiously.

  Like every other room in the ship, the minister’s living room was iridescent blue from stem to stern. Blue used to be her favorite color, but after months trapped aboard the Heptoral, she was sick of it. She’d never paint a room any shade of blue again.

  Though his furniture was the same dull gray as hers, he appeared to have actually made an attempt at personalizing. There were colorful throws draped over the backs of the couches, several huge potted palms and ferns bracketed the flare window, and on the low square table between the couches sat a crystal vase filled with exotic red and orange flowers.

  She was surprised to see two white bookshelves stuffed with both hardbacks and paperbacks in one corner. Didn’t everyone read digital books in space? They sure took up a hell of a lot less room, something the Garathani claimed was at a premium aboard the Heptoral.

  But then power had its privileges.

  Interestingly, the minister’s quarters smelled a hell of a lot better than hers. Of course, she did have two babies soiling several diapers a day, but the blue biologic pad lining every inch of the ship’s interior was supposed to provide uniformly clean air throughout the ship.