Captive of Pleasure; the Space Pirate's Woman (The LodeStar Series) (38 page)

“Greetings,” she said with a smile. “How are things at my least favorite boutique in the galaxy?”

“Slidi? What are you up to?” Haassea asked with a moue of distaste. “Have you, er, joined some kind of theatrical troupe, perhaps?”

Haassea’s husband grinned at this. Slidi controlled her rage with an effort.
 

“Oh, you mean all this?” she asked with a graceful gesture at herself. “No, no, it’s simply what’s expected of me in my new position. A bit rich for your blood, I know, but out here, things are different.”

“As the whore of a man with mega wealth and no discernible taste, perhaps?” Traay inquired.
 

“As ruler of a business empire that makes your little shop look like a kiosk at the spaceport,” Slidi hissed. She controlled her temper and lifted her chin. “However, I merely linked you today to thank you. You two gave me my start, you know.”

She smiled widely. “The theft of credit before I left you? That was me.”

“Yes,” Haassea said, her gaze congealing to pure ice. “We know. We also know what else you’ve been up to, and so does the IGSF. You stole enough credit from us to finance your foray into prostitution, found yourself a wealthy man who was completely lacking in principles and stupid enough to take you in—”

Slidi threw back her head and laughed, sheer pleasure in her mirth. “My, my, I had no idea my activities were of such interest to you. I would have stayed in touch, to spare you the trouble of investigating.”

“Not us,” Traay said. “Someone else, and you may not be worried about the IGSF, but you should be worried to have him on your trail.”

“And who might that be?” Slidi asked brightly. Could be Marc Moon, the MoonPenny Coffee magnate...no, he hadn’t been that interested in her, and his security had been too good for her to steal from him. Could be the wealthy Maitresse customer she’d fucked in one room while his wife tried on clothing in the next, but again, he’d paid the amount she asked as easily as if it was a bar bill, so no. “I give up, tell me.”

“Logan Stark,” Traay said, and showed his white teeth in a grin as she failed to control her flinch.

Slidi twirled one of her necklaces between her fingers. “Why should he be interested in me?” she asked lightly. “What we did aboard his cruiser, and in your reception room—oh, and at the Commissioner’s Ball while you entertained his little street girl—that was delicious.”

Haassea didn’t roll her eyes, but she came close.
 

“Don’t bother, Slidi. You never had Stark, because he never wanted you. What you did was make him angry, and Traay’s right. You shouldn’t have done that. And now we’re through here, as well.”

Rage, instant and terrible, fired in Slidi’s middle, under the delicate silk and gold of her finery. “I had him,” she hissed. “I had him and I threw him away. Just like I threw you and your pathetic little shop away. You’re dirt under my feet, you’re—”

But the holovid link winked out, leaving her alone in the opulent room, with no one on which to vent her rage.
 

No one except this great, floating barge full of hapless whores, drones and workers.
 

She flung herself from the chair and stalked toward the entrance to the main casino. “Come,” she snapped.
 

She’d find some being, more than one pretty being, and make them sorry they were born.

That always made her feel better.

When she was calmer, she’d consider how to have her final revenge on Logan Stark and everyone he held dear.

 
***

All that heart-to-heart shit with Logan had worked up Joran’s appetite. He sniffed. Good, Nera had delivered warm bread and—he opened the covered dish beside the wrapped bread—eggs and vegesausages. Excellent.

“Zaë!” he called. “Come and eat.”

When she didn’t answer, he went to open the door into the bedroom. He could hear the soft swish of the showerdry. He walked over to stick his head into the lav. “Breakfast, bunny. Come and eat as soon as you’re out.”

She replied, something he couldn’t hear.
 

He went back to the galley and set out two plates and another mug for her, as well as sporks and as an afterthought, napkins. He broke off a piece of the bread, and ate it while he waited. Then he ate a sausage, then another.
 

Impatience simmering, he strode into the bedroom. She sat on the edge of the bed, wearing the ugly tan outfit. Shoulders slumped, she was slowly braiding her hair, her gaze faraway.

“Hey,” he said softly. “You hungry?”

She blinked, and came back to the room. But her gaze didn’t meet his. “No, thank you.”

“Too bad,” he retorted. “I need something pretty to look at while I eat. Now come on.”

She frowned, but at least she was looking at him now. “I am not an ornament.”

He cocked his head. He’d rather have her spitting mad than sitting there looking like a mawwr someone had chased out of a warm tont.

“Beg to differ. And, you need a reminder who’s in charge here?”

“Why do you want me to join you for a meal?” she demanded. “You find me an annoying burden, you made that clear in your conversation with that—that man who looks like you.”

“That’s my brother, Logan. C’mon.” His Zaë was getting feistier by the day. He liked it, surprisingly. A woman who never argued, or gave him back his own was kind of boring.

She stomped past him, and he patted her bottom as she went by. That got him a hot glare and a toss of her braid. He grinned, enjoying the way her ass rolled as she walked.
 

“Yeah, you’re annoying,” he told her as he moved to serve himself another cup of coffee. As the machine hissed, he watched her slide up on the other stool and lean over to sniff at the sausages. “You’re out of your element, in the middle of mine, and I’ve got to keep you safe. You want the truth? Scares the living hells out of me I may not be able to do that, to protect you in the shit storm of the next several days or weeks.”

She wrinkled her nose at him. “Must you speak of feces at our meal?”

He grabbed his coffee. “Sorry. I’m concerned I may fail to ensure your safety and comfort whilst battling with the creatures who captured and subsequently sold you into slavery, my lady. Was that better?”

“You will fight them?”

His chest swelled under her admiring gaze, even as he spoke swiftly to quell the fear he saw there too. “I will. With some help.” A lot of help, considering the troops he was amassing. He only hoped he could keep them working together long enough to get the job done. Kind of like trying to aim an asteroid shower.

“You must be very careful. The slavers will not behave honorably. They would not consider it a virtue.”

He grinned. “Well said. And having met some, you’d know.”

“Yes. Also, I have heard of this Commander Cerul. I think perhaps I’ve even met her.”

Why a sheltered immi would have encountered an IGSF commander was beyond him, but who the hells knew? Maybe she had. Her misfortune, if so.
 

“Don’t push for the memories,” he said, watching her frown in thought. “You’ll end up with some wishful thinking mixed in there, I suspect.”

He lifted his mug and then looked at her empty one. “You want coffee?”

“Yes, please. Two creamers.” She opened the bread, and then slid down to hurry to the cold unit for a small container. She opened it and set it beside the bread.
 

“What’s that?” he asked with interest.
 

“Soft cheese with an emulsion of moonberries, and cinnamon. I mixed it myself. It makes the bread more flavorful, if you like it, that is.”

He slapped a portion of the purple spread on a hunk of bread, took a bite and hummed his appreciation of the smooth, creamy sweetness of the spread on the warm bread.
 

She accepted her mug of coffee, and some food. He eyed the small portions on her plate and frowned. “You need to eat more. Like my women with curves.”

“I’m not very hungry.”

Joran sighed. He set his fork down, wiped his mouth with his napkin and turned to set one elbow on the counter by her plate, his other hand on her back, smoothing down the slender curve. “Look at me.”

She slid her gaze his way without turning her head. He raised his brows imperatively. She frowned. With a growl of frustration, Joran grabbed her ass, turned her on her stool to face him, and closed his legs on hers, holding her there with one hand under her chin.
 

“A battle is coming, my Zaë, the likes of which you’ve never seen. I’m going to be square in the middle of it, and if I don’t win it, so are you. Got a lot on my mind, don’t need to be worrying about you on top of that. You need to eat, you need to stay close and you need to—”

His last words were muffled as she reached up and pressed soft fingers to his lips. She rose up from her stool and stared into his eyes, her brows together.
 

“No,
you
need to stay safe,” she said, her gaze fierce. “Thus, you are the one who must eat, and rest and—and not worry about unimportant matters like my appetite.”

No one interrupted him. No one got in his face and cut off his words. And no one put their soft fingers over his lips and frowned at him sternly.
 

No one.
 

And why this woman’s doing so made him not irritated, but instead made his mind haze with heat and his cock stiffen with instant arousal, he didn’t know and didn’t care.
 

Wounded woman she might be, a virgin and one who kept showing him that she’d been raised to expect gentle treatment and politeness that he never bothered with, all things that should send him running in the other direction fast as his boots could carry him. But instead, for some crazy reason, it all made him want her even more. Fuck, everything she did make him want her.

With a swift move, he grabbed her off her stool and onto his, straddling his thighs. Then he kissed her, hard and wet and deep, melding his mouth with hers to plumb her sweetness. She tasted of woman and berries and coffee, all hot, all sweet.

Still kissing her, he stood and bore her to the nearest surface, the divan. He sank back onto it and fumbled for the waist band of her leggings. He yanked them down, and then pulled her shirt up, breaking the kiss long enough to pull it over her head. He left it there, trapping her arms, baring her astonished face and her torso.

“No bra or panties?” he muttered, his hands already on her breasts, cupping and squeezing their soft fullness and threading her stiff nipples through his fingers. “Like that. You go like this all the time from now on.”

“I washed them in the lav,” she said. “Wh—what are you doing? You’re
not
going to spank me again. Because I—”

“Why, you need it? Or want it?”He grinned at her.

“No! I will not allow it.”

He kissed her again, swallowing her indignant words, and slid one hand down between her thighs, cupping her where she was soft and hot and damp. He gave her a little squeeze and watched her eyes glaze, her breath catch. “Right now, I’m just enjoying what’s mine, baby. You can leave the shirt on your arms, I like you tethered.”

As if she’d suddenly realized her arms were constrained, she pulled them free, her breasts bouncing with the motion.
 

“Kick your tights off,” he ordered, stroking his fingers into her pussy and watching as her eyes widened with realization. “Yeah, hurry. I wanna play with you.”

“I’m not your toy,” she said. “I am my own woman.” He grinned at her, because she was already obeying, as if her body was disconnected from her will. He liked it like that.

He pulled her leg over him so she straddled him on her hands and knees, then clamped his free hand on her ass when she would have moved back. “Stay. Just like that,” he approved. “A frisky little catamount pony. One who needs gentled before a man mounts her.”

He slid his fingers into the furrow of her ass, and she whimpered, her short nails digging into his chest. “Sh-shh,” he soothed. “It’s all right. You’ll like this, baby. Gonna make you come all over my hands.”

With her panting breaths sweet on his face, her breasts dangling like ripe fruit and past that, his own hand working in her pussy, she was the prettiest catamount pony he’d ever gentled.
 

“Look at me,” he ordered. “I want to watch you while I pleasure you.”

She did, her blue eyes hazed with heat. She whimpered as he slid one, then two fingers up into her tight pussy, but it contracted around his fingers, and again harder when he slid the fingers of his other hand down to work her from behind, stroking her wetness up to the tight rosette of her anus and petting it as he stroked her clitoris with his thumb.

“That’s it,” he praised her, watching her pupils dilate as she focused on him, and her body focused on what he was doing to her, then watched and felt as she gave in to the sensations he was wreaking on her. “Now come for me, my Zaë. Give it to me.”

“Yes,” she moaned. “Yes-ss. Oh, my. Oh, Joran.”

His name on her lips as she shook and spasmed around his fingers was like the burn of good moonbrandy, tempting him to keep coming back for more.