Fugitive (25 page)

   Manx's back arched as his fingers dug into the sand. "I'm gonna come right in your face in a minute!"

   "Promises, promises," she chided.

   "No, really, I mean it," he said earnestly.

"Really, really?"

"Really, really," he replied.

   The points of his corona were tightly engorged and every vein was standing up on the shaft when, without warning, she went down on him, sucking his hot meat into her mouth. Manx's sigh of relief was soon replaced with moans of pleasure as she slid her lips and tongue up and down the length of him. She did her best to reach the base, but it was too long; backing off, she wiped the paint from her fingers and gripped it near the root.

   "No joy juice," she reminded him as she took him in her mouth once again.

***

Manx wished he'd never told her he was capable of that as he watched her sucking him. Before she'd begun, she'd removed her swimsuit, and that ethereal smock was all she had on. It may have protected her back from the sun, but it hung open in the front, revealing her luscious breasts, soft stomach, and the enticing patch of auburn hair between her thighs. That image alone should have made him climax, but the effort it took to hold back the coronal fluid also had the effect of increasing his stamina. Not that he particularly wanted more stamina at this point, but something told him that following her instructions was the best plan. The stroke of her brush teased him; her gaze focused intensely on every square inch of him enthralled him—and her scent! It had always been strong before, but this was unbelievable! He'd never dreamed that a woman could be capable of such passionate desire.

***

Drusilla was reveling in the power. Without his fluid to trigger orgasms, she was able to savor his cock like never before: hot, pulsating, and as strong and hard as a tree trunk. She licked the scalloped edge, teasing each point as though daring it to drool. She knew the incred ible amount of concentration it was taking him to hold back; could see it in his face, hear it in his tight, labored breaths as he fought for control.

   Finally, though not completely sated by any means, she decided the time had come to reward him. "Let it go now," she whispered.

   Manx's growl was deep and guttural as rivers of fluid poured from each point of his cockhead. Drusilla bathed her hands in it and then grasped his hard penis, sliding her hands from base to head and back again in a slow, firm movement.

   "Go ahead, Manx," she said fiercely. "Come in my face."

   In three excruciatingly slow strokes, he came, his snard spewing from his cock as though fired from a cannon. Catching her across the mouth, it ran down between her naked breasts, but on the second round, she aimed it away from her, splattering a jet of creamy semen across his freshly painted chest.

   "The finishing touch," she whispered with awe.
"Absolutely fabulous…"

   Her erotic painting might have been finished, but Manx certainly wasn't. He rose up off the sand and pushed her onto her back, thrusting his still-spewing cock into her with one swift stroke. As he hung poised above her, the full effect of snard, cock, and coronal fluid hit her in one exquisite moment as her climax meshed with his. She gazed up at him in wonder until he began to move, and then lay helplessly beneath him as he unleashed the wild fury of his passion.

   Manx drove in deeply, shutting off the coronal flow once again, determined to let her have it for as long as he possibly could. As he rocked into her, her eyes were barely open and her every breath a moan. When at last he felt her relax her grip on him, he went on, bringing her to climax again and again; she was his, and he would give her all he had.

   When he ejaculated the second time, he kept right on going, his cock slick with his own snard until he pulled out and buried his face in her creamy heat, sucking her clit until she screamed and her body convulsed around him.

   Then, his cock still rock hard, he plunged into her again.

***

The sun was barely peeking past the horizon as Lester faced the band of Nedwuts that had reluctantly been allowed to land on Barada Seven. Most of the time, the authorities disarmed them and sent them back to their ships with a warning never to attempt to land on their world again, but this time, they had actually been invited as hunters to track down the wildcat that was prowling the jungle. Lester thought it was a very bad idea, himself; the cat wouldn't live forever and hope fully was male and wouldn't reproduce. At least the cat only had claws and fangs. These snarling beasts had pulse rifles.

"And you say you have not heard from this Terran

female in several days?" the lead Nedwut, Klarkunk, asked when Drusilla was mentioned.

   "Yes," Lester said, his hands displaying his anxiety. "I have been concerned about her. She did not answer when I called yesterday, though it's possible that she may have been out all day—on the boat, perhaps."

   "Why have you not gone to check on her?" Klarkunk demanded. "Are you such a weak coward?"

   Being a peaceful soul, Lester didn't consider himself to be particularly brave; on his planet, bravery wasn't necessary most of the time, but neither did he consider himself a coward. "I had intended to visit her today."

   "Don't bother," Klarkunk said. "Just tell us the way."

   The thought of sending these horrid Nedwuts to check on the lovely Terran had Lester's hands flying in all directions at once. "No!" he asserted. "I will go with you. She knows me and has no reason to trust you. You may frighten her. She is our guest, and we will not have her treated in such a fashion."

   "As you wish," Klarkunk said with a sneer. "You can be bait for the cat."

   Lester turned a slightly paler shade of orange as the other Nedwuts all laughed aloud at Klarkunk's jest, but Lester had an idea he wasn't joking. "I will go to see that our guest is not harmed. You will not approach her, or the house, without me."

   Klarkunk knew he could do just as he pleased, when ever he pleased, and Lester wouldn't be able to stop him, so he agreed with only a passing show of reluctance. The thought that they might not only bag a Zetithian, but also be able to take a Terran female captive, appealed to Klarkunk. Females of all species could be sold as slaves on the right worlds, but Terrans were highly prized on several, and would bring a better price than most. Not nearly as much as the bounty on a Zetithian, but enough to make it worthwhile. He sincerely hoped that the cat hadn't done its job too well.

***

Jack bolted upright in bed. "I know where he'll be!" she announced to her startled husband. "A Terran was going to be staying on Barada Seven. That's why we delivered all of that food, and I'm pretty sure they said their visitor was a female, traveling alone. If your Manx has as good a nose as you say, I'll bet he's sniffed her out by now."

   "Jacinth," Cat whispered. "They could each be on opposite sides of the planet. Even Manx's nose isn't
that
good."

   "Still, it's the best hunch I've had yet," Jack insisted as she twisted around to face him. At her thought, the glowstone at the bedside illuminated, revealing him and setting off a wave of fond desire that coursed its way through her entire being. One look at Cat was just about all it took, and the sound of his voice or the touch of his hand intensified the effect. Purring sent her over the edge. "Wonder if Nedwuts know how drawn you guys are to Earth women."

   "Possibly," Cat replied. "The fact that you keep killing them to protect me could have gotten back to others."

   "I doubt it," Jack said candidly. "I hardly ever let any of them live once they've seen you."

   "I have noticed this," Cat said dryly, "but other witnesses may have spread the word."

   "Maybe," Jack conceded, "But nobody else likes Nedwuts much. Can't see anyone ratting on us—not even for money."

   "I do not agree," said Cat. "I have seen too many horrific things done for money; free men bought and sold like animals and then tortured for sport. Selling information to Nedwuts is minor compared to the many atrocities I have witnessed in my lifetime. If they do know of our affinity for Terran females, we must be quick to reach this woman before the Nedwuts do. She will be in danger from them as well."

   With her own sister's kidnapping and Jack's subse quent six-year quest to find her still fresh in her memory, Jack didn't need to be reminded. "All the more reason to check up on her first," she said firmly. "As soon as we get there, that's where we're going. What was that little guy's name? You know, the orange one?"

   "They are all orange," Cat reminded her. "But you mean Lester, I believe."

   "Yeah, that's the one," Jack said. "He's the agent for several properties near the spaceport, and one of them is that house by the lake. I'll bet that's where she is, and I'll bet Manx is with her."

   "It is unlikely that they are together," Cat reiterated, though he was probably wasting his breath.

   "Just as unlikely as it was that I found you and then we found your other friends," Jack pointed out. "I think we've got God or fate or something on our side! The Zetithians were dealt a bad hand. It's up to us to make sure they don't lose the game."

   Cat shook his head and leveled a questioning look at her.

"Don't know what that means, do you?"

"Does that surprise you?" he countered.

   "Well, no, actually, I enjoy coming up with figures of speech you won't understand. I like that exasperated look you get. Makes you look sexy."

   Cat chuckled. "You think everything makes me look sexy."

   While this was true, there were some things that affected her more than others. "Don't suppose your dick's hard, is it?" she inquired.

   "Do bees be? Do bears bear?"

   "Ha! Finally figured that one out, have you?"

   "Not really." he admitted. "But this is the correct context for its use, I believe."

   "Sure is!" Jack declared. Gazing at her beloved husband with all of her desire for him written plainly on her face, she added with conviction, "Manx and that woman
have
found each other, Cat. I just know it. And she won't give him up without a fight. Those Nedwuts had better look out."

***

The next morning, Drusilla was startled awake by the sound of the doorbell. She had barely had time to register what the intrusion was before Dwell's voice chimed in.

   "Untrusted species," he said urgently. "Interaction NOT advised."

   "What?"

   "Untrusted species," he repeated. "Avoid interaction."

   Throwing off the blanket, she noted that Manx was already up before she pulled on her robe and headed for the door to see just what Dwell considered to be "untrusted."

   Pushing the view button on the doorjamb, she saw what he was talking about and was very glad she hadn't opened the door. Five hideous beasts armed with pulse rifles stood on the patio, along with a very agitated Lester.

   "Let me hear what they're saying, Dwell," she whis pered. "But don't let them hear me."

   "As you wish," said Dwell as he activated the link.

   "She is our guest," Lester was saying. "I had not intended to disturb her so early."

   "The wildcat may already have killed and eaten her," one of the hairy, wolf-like creatures snarled. "Do you not wish to make certain that she is safe?"

   "I—I gave her a pulse pistol," Lester stammered, his hands an orange haze in front of his chest. "And she promised to be careful."

   The wolf-man barked out a laugh. "Those cats are masters at taking their prey unawares."

   "You…
know
of them?" Lester's musical voice had taken on a suspicious edge. "But… how?"

   "The owners reported to us," the Nedwut said. "We are expert hunters and know about all manner of prey— and predators."

   The way his lips curled back from his cruel fangs led Drusilla to believe that these horrid creatures would prey on just about anything. Though she'd never seen their sort before, her mind made the jump to the obvious conclusion. "They're Nedwuts!" she exclaimed. "And they aren't here to hunt for that cat! They're after Manx!"

   Spinning on her heel, she ran through the house looking for him, but Manx was nowhere to be found. Scrambling down the back stairs, she checked the towel cabinet and found that even his clothes were missing.

   A rage unlike anything she'd ever felt before in her life welled up within her, and Drusilla stormed back up the stairs and ran to the door. There, on a nearby table, was the pistol Lester had given her. She never thought she would need it after Manx killed the wildcat, but apparently she did. Twisting the setting to kill, she shouted for Dwell to open the door.

   "Interaction not advised," Dwell said.

   "I heard you the first time!" Drusilla shouted. "Now open the door or I'll blast it down!"

   Drusilla thought she heard a sigh of resignation from the house computer, but the beep from Klog startled her as the door unlatched and began to swing open. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw that the house droid was armed with a large butcher knife and an ice pick. "Good boy, Klog," she said approvingly. "I feel a lot better knowing you've got my back."

   Klog beeped twice and moved in behind her.

   Drusilla had never met up with any Nedwuts before, but it was easy to read the expression of evil delight in their eyes when they got their first look at her. Then they saw the pistol in her hand and seemed much less delighted.

   Lester looked both terrified and relieved at the same time. "You are well, then?" he said anxiously. "They are here to hunt for the cat."

   Drusilla knew better. She understood their ploy now, but knew she couldn't let them have any inkling that Manx was involved, or that she knew anything about him.

   "I killed it," she said bluntly. "Sorry I forgot to tell you that, Lester, but I've been busy."

   "Busy?" the Nedwut asked. "Doing what?"

   "Painting," she replied. "Birds. It's what I do and why I'm here." She pinned Lester with a pointed glare. "I was told that I wouldn't be disturbed. This is twice you've been here now."