Ardor's Leveche (25 page)

“Leveche,” Ardor heard Bowen whisper as clearly as though his lips were close to her ear. In that one word she could hear shock and hatred and fear.

Though a bitterly cold wind was howling around them, buffeting them from all sides, its wintry tendrils dragging down exposed flesh to sting and burn, the Reaper walked out onto the Plaines of Geschäft in only his silk uniform shirt opened at the collar and his black leather britches and boots.

“Ardor!” Bowen screamed, furiously motioning for her to run to him as he backed up, stumbling through the shifting sands. “Ardor, hurry!”

Feeling the cold blasting her, Ardor’s teeth were chattering and her feet felt numb through the thin leather of her boots. She tugged the coat collar around the lower part of her face and stood there shivering, amazed as she watched her husband rip the silk shirt from his chest.

Bowen shrieked as the half-naked warrior came toward him. He spun around and ran toward his ship, his feet digging into the sand. Casting fearful glances over his shoulder, he had almost gained the stairs leading up to the runabout’s hatchway when the door slammed to with a resounding clank that echoed over the barrenness.

“Holy shit of the ancients,” Ardor whispered. There was no doubt in her mind her lover had caused the door to close. She swung her gaze to him and was stunned to see him removing his belt. Her eyes widened as he dropped the belt and ripped his britches off so easily they might have been made of tissue paper.

Bowen was pounding on the door to his craft with both hands raised high above his head. He was yelling, his words snatched away by the breath of the harsh wind. When he looked around and saw a naked Gabriel Leveche walking steadily toward him, he screamed and took off running toward the tallest of the star dunes.

Ardor knew what was about to happen. She could feel it in the very marrow of her bones. It was a singing, humming sensation that made her joints ache and sent tremors of fiery singes down her spine. There was no need for her to watch Kurt Bowen’s execution for she knew her mate would not want her to. So she turned away from the running, screaming man and the sleek black wolf that was loping after him and walked back to the warmth of the Fiach, closing the door behind her to await her lover’s return.

“Queen Ardor?”

The Vid-Com came on without the customary chime to announce its caller.

“Aye, Your Excellency,” Ardor said, looking into the slightly amused eyes of the Burgon.

“I am most pleased to see no weapons were brought to the Plaines of Geschäft.”

140

Ardor’s Leveche

“No weapons were needed, Your Excellency,” Ardor replied.

“Only a very sharp set of talons and even sharper incisors, I’d think,” the Burgon said with a laugh.

Ardor simply smiled.

“I do hope there won’t be any cleanup necessary.”

“My instincts tell me there will be nothing left when all is said and done, Sir,” she told him.

“Damned cold out there, though, isn’t it?”

“Damned cold, Your Excellency.”

“Well, when all is said and done, please drop by my humble palace and I shall see what I can do to warm up the two of you.”

“I will convey your invitation to my husband, Your Excellency. Thank you for the offer.”

The Burgon saluted her and the connection was broken.

Ardor sat there for a few moments then began taking off her clothes.

141

Charlotte Boyett-Compo

The sleek black wolf raced over the rippling dunes behind the pretty little gray beastess whose switching tail and musky scent had caught his attention. He got close enough to nip at her haunches before she darted away to the left, her elegant legs digging furrows in the sand as she turned toward the setting sun. Grinning, the black wolf changed his direction just as easily and was soon running by her side, his sharp fangs gleaming in the fading light from the dual moons overhead. Matching her shorter stride, he playfully bumped her from time to time, swatting her with his lush tail.

Running over the dunes nearly the entire day, playing tag among the fallen meteorites, neither animal minded the bone-chilling cold wind that swept over them.

Their fur was thick and covered them well. Mating many times over the course of the day, they had enjoyed the freedom of the barren land where no prying eyes and no forbidding tongues could deny them their pleasures.

It was the wildness they needed, the time alone without worry and responsibilities, but it was animal exhaustion that finally slowed their strides.

Having come back to the gleaming black ship that sat perched on the rosy sand, the two animals padded toward it, their sides heaving from the exhilarating run. The male shook himself vigorously then looked up at the hatchway door, it opened silently to emit a steady stream of warm air on the waiting wolf and his mate.

The she-wolf climbed up through the opening, padded lightly over to the copilot’s chair and hopped up into the seat. Behind her, the hatchway door slid shut as her mate once more shook himself.

Ardor stretched her naked body—her arms over her head—and yawned tiredly.

She found herself ravenously hungry and said as much to Gabriel.

“I couldn’t eat another thing,” the Reaper said with a wry grin. “But I am thirsty.”

He opened a refrigerated unit and took out two large bottles of water. He handed one to her and they quickly consumed the cold liquid, wiping away any spilled water with the backs of their hands.

Ardor watched him walk to the pilot’s chair and sit down to adjust the heat wafting through the cabin. She admired the flexing of the muscles in his thighs and chest and when he leaned back, closing his eyes, she knew he was about to clothe himself. She reached out to touch his arm.

Gabriel opened his eyes and looked curiously at her. When he saw the glimmer in her pretty green gaze he laughed. “Not yet?” he asked.

“Not yet,” she agreed and got up to sit in his lap, her shapely rump fitting across his lap snugly. She swung her legs around until her back was to his chest.

142

Ardor’s Leveche

The new Storian king reached up to capture his lady’s plump breasts, running his thumbs over her stiffening nipples, stroking her softly. Between her slightly parted thighs, his cock strained to see what was going on.

“We’ve been invited to the Burgon’s palace,” Ardor said as she reached between her legs to lightly stroke his rod.

“That was most cordial of him,” Gabriel said, playfully nipping her along the column of her neck and along her velvety shoulder.

“I would imagine he’d prepare an adequate feast for us, wouldn’t you?” she asked as she ran her index finger along the slit of his penis.

“I would think so,” he agreed and flicked his tongue to the sensitive spiral of her ear.

Ardor cocked her head to one side to give him better access to her ear. She liked the tingly feeling his wet tongue was causing in her belly.

The Reaper slid his hand back up her chest and shoulders then wedged them between his chest and her back to insinuate them under her ass. With no effort at all, he lifted her up until his erect cock was poised above the warmth of her moist entrance.

“I know you’re not hungry,” she began but stopped as he lowered her upon him, impaling her on his rigid shaft. “But I am starving.”

“So am I,” he said as he settled himself to the hilt within her, “but not for food.”

She lay her head back on his shoulder as his hands returned to her breasts and began a soothing, erotic massage making her nipples as hard as little stones. She wriggled in his lap, squeezing her thighs tightly closed around his shaft.

“A nice bowl of soup would be fantastic,” she said with a sigh as her breathing began to increase.

“A nice furburger would be even better,” Gabriel stated and chuckled at his pun.

She pulled her head back and looked at him, her eyes dewy from the internal heat that was melting her bones. Her cunt was a mass of intense itching that needed him to scratch it harder. “Shut up, Reaper,” she ordered.

He slanted his mouth over hers—his tongue slipping between her lips to taste that moist, sweet cavern—and claimed her from stem to stern in one breathless moment that surged up from the pilot’s chair in a powerful thrust.

Ardor cried out—her pleasurable sounds trapped in his mouth—and plastered her hands over his, pressing his palms against her breasts as she rode his stiff rod. The ripples that were traveling through her velvety sheath were gripping him in tight, little squeezes that brought his climax from him with a powerful grunt.

Passion shook them both and she slumped against him, the back of her head once more on his shoulder, her hands falling away to lay limply at her sides. He sagged in the chair, breathing hard, and let his head rest on the tall back of the chair. Neither felt like moving. The cabin was warm, the leather on which he was sitting comfortable, his 143

Charlotte Boyett-Compo

naked lap comforting to her, so he wrapped his arms around her as sleep closed their tired eyelids.

Safe in their gleaming black cocoon as darkness fell, the might of Aduaidh Prime’s Burgon protecting them, the cold winds of the Plaines of Geschäft skirling gently outside the porthole windows the two Reapers slept the sleep of lovers. Tomorrow would be time aplenty for worldly concerns.

144

About the author

Charlee is the author of over thirty books. Married 39 years to her high school sweetheart, Tom, she is the mother of two grown sons, Pete and Mike, and the proud grandmother of Preston Alexander and Victoria Ashley. She is the willing house slave to five demanding felines who are holding her hostage in her home and only allowing her to leave in order to purchase food for them. A native of Sarasota, Florida, she grew up in Colquitt and Albany, Georgia and now lives in the Midwest.

Charlotte welcomes mail from readers. You can write to her c/o Ellora’s Cave Publishing at 1056 Home Ave., Akron OH 44310-3502.

Also by Charlotte Boyett-Compo

Desire’s Sirocco

Ellora’s Cavemen: Legendary Tails I anthology

Fated Mates anthology

Longing’s Levant

Lucien’s Khamsin

Passion’s Mistral

Pleasure’s Foehn

Rapture’s Etesian

Discover for yourself why readers can’t get enough of the multiple award-winning publisher Ellora’s Cave. Whether you prefer e-books or paperbacks, be sure to visit EC

on the web at www.ellorascave.com for an erotic reading experience that will leave you breathless.

www.ellorascave.com