by Rena Marks
“So good,” she breathed. “Do your thing.” She wrapped her arms around him, locking him to her, tightening her legs around him.
He growled over her. The sound was deep and vibrated into her, where her breasts were mashed against his chest and his cock inside her. It was low, hair-raising, and lust inducing.
The flesh inside her moved. As he held perfectly still, staring into her eyes, his cock pulled out as if snapping back into his body and then shot out, filling her so full again but quickly this time, not giving her a chance to adjust, but there was no need. He conformed to her, not the other way around. He knew her shape. His sucker, separate from the rest of him, pulled at her clit and she whimpered, knowing the impending orgasm was going to rock her world because she was being fucked and sucked at the same goddamn time.
He sped up, his body held perfectly still as his cock alone moved in and out of her, warmth flooding her deep inside, obviously feeling amazing for him as every self-propelled thrust was accompanied by a cry and every retreat by a shuddering sigh. It didn’t take long before her entire body turned into trembles. Her arms, legs, breasts…deep inside her channel. She was right there, right on the edge. Her body stiffened and she gasped, her eyes opening wide and locking on his.
“Trance, I’m… ”
He bared his teeth in a snarl and sealed her mouth with his. His cock surged so deep they felt fused together, and she came from every angle.
Her clit, her g-spot, her womb—everything exploded. Everything melted. Stars lit behind her eyes and her breath left her body.
She crested back to earth.
All she could see was him. All she could feel was him. She could taste him, scent him. He surrounded her, enveloped her, but it wasn’t imprisoning like it should have been. He was a shield. Her protector. Her bodyguard. Her friend. Her lover.
She was impaled by his cock, stretched wide around him—it was still arousing.
How could it be arousing when she’d just come?
“My Leah,” he rumbled, his voice low like thunder. “My turn?”
“Yes,” she breathed. “I want to watch your face when you come.” She dug her heels into the small of his back to spur him on. “Don’t stop,” she whispered, her head tilted back to gaze up at his face. “I’m still turned on.”
That was what he needed. He dropped to his forearms, cradled her head in his huge hands, and then fucked her. He stared into her eyes, licking his lips as he surged in and out, each thrust a little harder, a little faster than the last. Something was reaching around in her, touching places that had never been touched before and she realized it was him exploring her curves, her channel. When his feverish skin rasped across the rough patch of her G-spot, she almost leapt up for the instant pleasure.
“Trance! My god.”
“Nah, just your man,” he murmured, kissing her cheek, her temple, the side of her mouth.
Moaned words of demand, of praise, of need spilled from her lips as she clung to him, pulling him to her, needing more pleasure, more release. They grew wetter, more slippery and she realized he made as much lubrication as she. He roared from behind clenched teeth when she scratched her nails across the skin of his back. That sound, the repressed ferocity and wild passion of it, pushed her over the edge.
Throwing her head back, she screamed his name as she came another time. Her thighs shook where they were clamped around his waist, and her walls ebbed in constant waves around his heavy, thrusting cock. Pleasure expanded to every part of her, from her fingers to her toes. He didn’t stop. He pounded inside her rapidly, swelled to what felt like double his size, and went rigid. Even through her own orgasm, so intense it bordered on pain, she felt his release—the expansive jerks of his cock each followed by a gush of cum filling her, mixing with her. His deep grunts and guttural groans blended with her cries as they clung to each other.
She was shaking, the pleasure so intense, sparks still firing through her body.
Trance stayed bowed above her for a long minute, the muscles of his arms shaking. Slowly he rolled, bringing her with him as he relaxed his muscles inside her and separated them.
Tilting her head back, she looked up at his face. His eyes were closed, but he must have felt her gaze on him because his lips curled and he cracked one eye open to peek down at her.
“I told you I was going to rock your world.”
She laughed. “You did. You so did that.”
He hauled her up higher so he could nuzzle his nose into her hair, and then released a deep, satisfied sigh that warmed her scalp and sent a shiver down her spine. “You rocked mine, too. It was everything I expected and more. Thank you.”
Very gently, as if afraid to pull her hair, Trance tugged her hair to ease her head back. He pressed his lips to her forehead, each of her eyelids, and to the tip of her nose then finally sealed his mouth to hers.
He kissed her softly, leisurely, the urgency from earlier replaced by aching tenderness.
Leah felt her chest tighten with an emotion she wasn’t ready to name. It was too soon for that unnamed feeling. Things were too uncertain. It was too unrealistic. They were so far away from the safety of Xenia to testify in a trial from the man who wanted to kill her. She fantasized about him in her dreams, making him her husband as if she wanted to smooth away the abuse from the last one. It wasn’t fair to him.
She knew all of this, but she melted into his kiss anyway, unable to hold onto her logical arguments when he kissed her like she was precious to him.
When he pulled away, she thought, this is it. This is when the fingers in my hair tighten. This is when he gets angry, grows upset. Pulls out a diary and forces me to read the detailed logs of his feelings from the moment he met me. Tells me how he watched me through windows.
Instead, he watched her. “It’s me,” he whispered. “Not him. I would die before I made you endure what he did.”
She shuddered at the emotion in his voice.
He immediately pulled her into his arms again, where she felt safe and warm and protected. “I’ll be with you tomorrow,” he crooned. “When you see your ex and me in the same room, you’ll always be able to differentiate us. He’s abuse; I’m protection. You’ll always sense the difference between us.”
Leah stayed awake for a long while after Trance fell asleep. As they lay in bed, the room aglow with the dying light of the fake setting sun on the wall, his soft stroking of her hair slowed before stopping altogether, but his arms never let go as if, even in sleep, he needed her close. Poor baby. She thought of all the times her waking nightmares had kept him up.
She had so many questions for him about feelings, and the future, and where they should go from here. But there was no way in hell she’d willingly wake him.
Giving in to the desire to have sex with him was probably a bad idea. She was still so very, very broken. But it was Trance, and when it came to him, she never could fully resist. He was different from anyone she’d ever met. He was an irresistible mix of devastatingly gorgeous, sexy, vulnerable, cocky, flirty, protective, and just plain fun. He’d never hurt her.
Would he? Of course not. She almost berated herself out loud for the traitorous thought.
Maybe whatever this was would never be more than a weekend fling. Maybe she would fall madly in love with him and live the rest of her life in fear of his personality changing.
Maybe, just maybe, they’d fall in love with each other and live happily ever after within the gates of Xenia. Just like in her dreams. Or were they setting her up for failure? Surely real life could never be as happy as her dream world.
Regardless of what the future may bring, and despite the potential for devastation, Leah wanted to explore the feelings she was developing for him.
When she couldn’t keep the thoughts from rolling through her head anymore and finally decided she had to fall asleep, she reached out to the nightstand for the sleeping squares prescribed by Amanda. She shook one of the dissolvable pieces out of the dispenser and placed it
on her tongue, waiting for sleep to hit.
Not even a sleeping pill was enough to calm her system from the thought of facing Brock tomorrow. She lay awake for another hour, listening to the soft sound of Trance’s breathing, afraid to take another dose. Yet growing twitchier by the second.
Chapter Thirteen
“WELCOME TO THE Iota Nine Judicial System. Please prick your finger and smear your DNA on the swearing-in tablet for identification.”
An old-fashioned blood smear instead of transdermal processing of her DNA. They were ensuring there were no questions about legalities of identities or legal impairment.
The tablet had a small well on the bottom. She placed her pinkie finger in it and closed her eyes, waiting for the prick. It was swift and sharp, not causing as much pain as she expected. She smeared her blood over the signature line and took a tissue from the top of the stand to wrap around her finger.
“DNA tag includes the name Leilani Vivienne Margulies and alias Ciregna. Goes by the shortened name Leah. Under the influence of B vitamins and medically prescribed Systalize, a sleeping agent. Blood levels indicate positive to testify.”
Huh. She wasn’t aware there were B vitamins in her sleeping pills. It seemed a bit counterintuitive, but Amanda knew better than she did.
After swearing in, all the lights shut down in the small room and a small hovering ball, with a laser where the camera lens should be, glowed. It floated to eye level with her, and a voice boomed from a speaker.
“Leah Margulies. Do you hereby testify of your own free will?”
“I do.”
“Ms. Margulies, please let the court know of your relationship to the accused, Brock Leonard Ciregna.”
“Brock Ciregna is now my ex-husband.”
“And your relationship at the time of the charge?”
“He was my husband.”
By the time the trial was nearly over, Leah was exhausted. It may have been the talk of the century, but she’d learned so much herself during the times she and Trance were excused when she wasn’t needed. In the designated break areas, they were able to access news feeds which showed live public opinions. There was no longer any mystery about how the wealthy were able to get richer off the death of a poor, unsuspecting spouse. Leah also discovered that her popularity as a chef with her talk shows and other venues had never gone down. Her fan base had been excited to hear from her again, even though it was something so awful as her ex-husband’s trial for her attempted murder. Now it was known that Brock had purposely sent her to work at Xenia because the money was excellent, it got her out of the public eye, and it would have been an easy way to explain her death—possibly even blame the Xeno Sapiens.
The lights in the room dimmed, signaling she and her bodyguard were to return to the courtroom. The room was silent and dark when she entered, only her booth lit. She returned to it and Trance sat in the seat next to her. Even though the cameras couldn’t see him, it helped to know he was nearby.
The hovering ball rose to make an announcement.
“The final matter before the verdict is decided is the victim closure act. Some alleged victims choose to speak to the alleged accusers. You are given a five-minute episode in which to communicate with each other. This is a controversial step and several rules have been placed to facilitate a smoother operation. During such episodes, should you choose this route, be advised that every word on both ends is televised. There are speakers and microphones in both booths. In order to keep a person from talking over another and running the clock, microphones will be turned off from one end. However, sound in the room is still heard and recorded in order to record behavior of the accused. You will speak when your light signals your microphone is on. Do you have any questions, Leah Margulies?”
“Yes.” Her voice was surprisingly clear. “What if he refuses to cooperate?”
“Both parties sit in electric wired chairs. Should a party consistently take longer than five seconds to answer, shocks will spur the talking. Consistency is equal to three chances.”
“I understand. Will we view each other?”
“That is victim’s choice. You may choose to view the alleged accuser. You may choose to keep your room blocked from his view. How do you prefer televisement?”
“I wish for full viewing on both ends.”
“Then you may speak. Please think about how you wish to begin and wait for your light to signal the microphone. You have ten seconds.”
The ball returned to its docking station, the glow of the camera shutting down. Inside her booth, the lights came on, dimly enough to not shock her with sudden light. A bigger shock was seeing Brock’s booth lit with the same glow. She wasn’t sure if he was actually here or if he was some sort of hologram image carried from another location, but it was eerie enough to freeze her for a few moments.
When her light turned on, it was a cool bluish shade.
“Brock Ciregna, I have testified about the horrors I endured during my marriage. The stalking, the journals you kept, the beatings, the discovery of the life insurance policy. The murder of my parents was even pointed out, although you were never tried or convicted. If you are found guilty of all the charges you’ve been accused of, you’ll spend your life in prison. It’ll be a shorter life sentence because the severity of your actions determine the difficulty of your prison and I’m guessing you’ll be sent somewhere rough enough that your body should wear down quickly. Even at that—which I feel is completely justified—I would like to go on record to say I will file charges for the death of my parents. Their voices deserve to be heard.”
As she stopped speaking, her light stayed lit for about three seconds and then turned out. Next to the light button, a red one came on. The number display counted down from five seconds.
He waited nearly the full five seconds to answer and then smiled mockingly, as if he’d done it on purpose.
“You are welcome to bring any charges you wish. As you said, my life span would be shortened anyway, so what’s one more charge against me? Other than you wasting taxpayer dollars, that is.”
Bastard. Still manipulating her, even now. Knowing that in her people-serving business, she couldn’t stand the thought of unnecessary waste, especially when it was someone else’s dime. But what he didn’t know was that her goal for the purpose of the victim voice program wasn’t to air out her dirty laundry. It was to allow the public—and any future victims in her predicament—become aware of his actions.
Her light came on and began the countdown from five. She took her time.
“I wish to know why you attacked a woman in the homeless camps of Xenia. I know it is because you thought she was me. But I wish to know why you chose that moment to do so.”
Her light turned off after she stopped speaking and his lit.
“Because I knew I couldn’t get to you while you worked in that damned city. When I saw the underground newsfeeds, I realized that the information leaked is usually leaked to bring awareness and acceptance to those aliens. So I began watching them. Sure enough, I learned that Leah Margulies, once the famous chef from Iota Nine, had volunteered to test the cabins created to replace the tents before winter. You always were such a do-gooder. But only you and I knew in this instance, you needed a place to live.”
His light turned off.
“Do you have any remorse for injuring an innocent woman? The one you mistook for me? Amy Milner?”
His face was incredulous. “Why should I? What the fuck did she think would happen when some strange woman gives her an expensive silk kimono? The quality is right there for everyone to see, even the poor and stupid liberals who became homeless because they chose to stick their nose in someone else’s business. No one asked them to march the borders of the wall to bring awareness to the alien monsters. I’m glad the rest of the world burned down their homes. That’ll teach them to mind their own damn business, just like that woman should have minded her business. What the hell was she thinking she was going to do with an expensi
ve kimono while roughing it in a dusty tent? She deserved to have some sense knocked into her.”
Now it was time to allow his true personality shine.
“But I thought it was a woman’s duty to look good for her husband?” He’d told her that countless times when he avoided hitting her face.
“Are you being cute?” His voice sounded dangerously deceptive. A shiver ran down her spine even though she knew there was no way he could get to her. “If more men knew how to treat women, we wouldn’t have some of you growing so uppity you think you’re untouchable. But even you, a star in some people’s eyes, were taught otherwise, weren’t you, wife?” he sneered. “The only reason why you can even vocalize these questions for me today is because you have a fucking bodyguard next to you? Like that keeps you safe?” He laughed like he knew something she didn’t.
He had to be bluffing. He was locked tight and there was no way he could win a verdict to set him free. She smiled easily, waiting for his light to go out so she could speak. “I’ve been safe within the gates of Xenia, Brock. The Xeno Sapiens provided a bodyguard for me to visit the outside. I am safe. You can’t touch me any longer. Not mentally. Not physically. Not emotionally.”
Anger twisted his handsome features, making his eyes appear beady. He flushed an unbecoming mottled red instead of the adorable purple she was used to.
“You fucking high-falutin’ bitch. There’s one lesson I taught you, over and over. Beginning with the one where I burned down your parents’ home.” He waited for the shock over his words to hit—knowing he couldn’t be charged in this court even with his confession because he wasn’t on trial for it—but she refused to give him the satisfaction. It angered him even more, so he stretched out his words, determined to scare her. “I own you, wife. If I can’t have you, no one will.”