Fusion (Crimson Romance) (11 page)

Within the black marble stall, water sluiced over his tired, dirty body from every conceivable direction. It was hot and there were even colored lights emanating from the same water jets that directed the spray. Scented soap provided an aromatic experience that was both pleasing and soothing. He hadn’t such a luxurious experience in years.

Once more, he tasted the bitterness of guilt. How could he stand there soaping himself and relishing the feel hot, fresh water and the smell of cleanliness? His comrades were fighting and dying.

He quickly put a bar of hand-milled, herbal soap back in its holder and was determined to end the shower and the remorse it caused. He’d only stay long enough to wash off the rest of the suds and return to the main area or their quarters. But thoughts of the woman in the other room kept taking precedence. He was glad she’d run down that dead-end canyon, toward him. He was thankful to have her company while conversely wishing her safely back in that cave. But the truth was simple: there simply
wasn’t
any safe place any longer. His world and hers would be attacked eventually. Whatever remained of their cultures would be destroyed by the Condorians. And realizing that, he let his guard down and simply gave way to emotions a leader shouldn’t harbor. Not in these circumstances. He should keep his mind on business, and his penis in check until it was time to use it.

Even as he tried to keep their mission before anything else, his body was still aching for her touch.

His left hand slid down his wet body while his right began to finger his nipples. The need to release couldn’t be contained. He imagined himself making slow love to Lyra, on some planet away from war, strife, or any conflict.

He spread his legs and began to stroke his thick rod. It and its accompanying
flange
were fully erect and when he gazed down he saw the telltale red glow of his testicles. He’d been in need for a long time. Lyra’s presence just augmented that desire by a hundredfold.

For just a few moments, he’d give in to desire. Get it out of his system and he’d be able to return to the room more equipped to think.

His hips began to automatically thrust forward as he stroked his shaft from the very base out to the tip. Occasionally, he’d tweak the flange on top as it vibrated in response to his stroking. His bullock-like testicles swung forward from their dropped position between his lower thighs. Their subtle glow grew brighter as he neared ejaculation.

“Lyra,” he whispered, “I want to take you hard! Creator … help me. I want to be deep in you … somewhere far away.”

With the words said, he closed his eyes and stroked himself faster and with his hand more tightly closed around his shaft. He swung his balls harder. The act of tweaking his nipples, the swinging of his testicles, and the stroking of his penis finally gave him the full barrage of sensations his body required. He released his seed against the shower wall hard and long. It took all his control to keep from shouting out while thick semen spattered onto that surface and washed down the drain.

The wonderful climax took him to another reality where only pleasure existed. The entire time, he conjured a vivid, nude image of Lyra sucking him off, pulling his balls with one hand and fingering his flange with the other. And when he was done, and stood there dragging air into his lungs, he actually felt better, more in control. Perhaps the release was needed to clear his brain. His body had been trying to tell him this since meeting the little Earther.

Now, he believed he could go back in the main area of their quarters, and let her go to one bed while he rested in another. The woman must be dead tired. She
must
rest. And that meant sleeping, not screwing him when it wasn’t necessary for their cover.

He desperately needed sleep as well. Who knew when Aigean would come for them and they’d have to fuck at length for an audience. Shaking his head slowly, he recognized impulses that were centuries old rising in his heart and mind.

Harboring Craetorian instincts to protect his would-be lover, his conscience was at war over how to guard her and entertain a roomful of spectators. That this entire situation was a farce made no difference to thousands of years of breeding. He was already projecting mating overtures on Lyra.

As to the
performances
they’d have to provide, he needed to again broach the subject of his genitalia as he was certain she’d never seen anything like it given her admitted ignorance of his race. The woman should realize what she’d be taking inside her slender, tight little body. Her preference for “spontaneity” for the audience’s sake, and in order to make their cover of an exciting sex duo more plausible, might not be a good idea if she actually didn’t know how to accept his cock. Then again, if he ended up showing her his package, he’d want her. That brought him right back to the subject of needing adequate sleep. By this time tomorrow night, he’d be a walking zombie if he didn’t rest. And she wouldn’t be able to function at all if he gave in to his needs.

With calm deliberation, he got out of the shower and dried his body. Then, he shrugged into a thick black robe, tamed his drying hair with a complementary brush, and walked back into the main room. Lyra was pouring them each a glass of water. A bottle of wine was also sitting nearby, but the water was a healthier choice given their tired status.

• • •

Lyra glanced up when
her
bronzed, godly superior came striding back in the room. The moisture in his hair caused its blond hue to turn a few shades darker. “Uh, if you don’t mind, I’d like to grab a shower myself. I don’t want to eat while I’m so filthy. Not if I don’t have to.”

“Of course,” he readily agreed while drinking a tall glass of clean, iced water.

She entered the spacious bathing area, took a look at the black and silver grandiosity, and smothered the desire to spit on everything. What right did she have to be so coddled, even on a mission of this importance? Her friends were dead and here she was, living in the lap of luxury. Her life expectancy might be even less than what she’d endure outside in the wastelands, but the comfort dead heroes would never have ate at her conscience.

She took a deep breath, shed her clothing, and threw it in the auto-wash service bin. Then she stepped into the still-steamy shower that Sol had exited. She turned on the water and was inundated with warm, soothing spray from all directions and accompanying optic lights that set the mood for her next actions.

The feeling of being unsoiled almost made her drop to her knees in thanks. It had been such a long time since so much water had been offered. Her body cried out for the need to be clean, for as long as possible. And then she remembered the man who’d just left the same space. She could almost feel his body heat on the thick marble walls.

As she stood there considering the immediate future, a strange thing happened. Tranquility encompassed her. It floated around her like the hazy mist of water. An image of the Colonel standing there took her fear and rage away when nothing else could have.

Her right hand slid between her thighs. Her left hand reached for the old-fashioned bar of scented soap that had been new but was now used as her superior’s choice for bathing accoutrement.

There were soap dispensers for the more squeamish bedroom sharers, but she wanted to have the same bar skimming over her flesh that he‘d put next to his. It would bring her closer to the orgasm she craved.

Hate would come again. She had enough of that in her heart. For now, she could do what she hadn’t been able to without others watching on a transport vessel. Now she could have a little time to herself.

Death was there, just around the corner. But there was also the feel of warm, wonderful-smelling soap that a god-like, soon-to-be sex partner had just used.

Afterward, eating, sleeping, and thinking of the mission would be easier. She just had to touch herself first. She had to. Everything suddenly seemed so desperate; this was one thing she owned.

Her fingers separated her labia as she rubbed the bar of soap over her face, breasts, and stomach.

What would it be like to have him washing her and filling her pussy at the same time? She softly moaned as an image of him kneeling behind her came to mind.

She’d always preferred to be entered, vaginally, from the rear. Sometimes being on top was great, but a man could more easily play with her clit if he knelt behind her. And since fantasy was an outlet for her pent-up emotions, she indulged herself like the doomed woman she was.

She thrust her middle finger into her pussy, rotated her hips forward, and rubbed her body harder with the bar of soap. In her mind, it wasn’t her finger inside her body, it was Sol’s cock. Using her imagination, she pretended her finger was large, thick, and throbbing.

She’d heard stories about the men of his race and assumed those rumors weren’t entirely accurate. How could they be? The exaggerations were preposterous.

But as she both manipulated her labia and thrust her fingers deeper, the scene she envisioned was much better than any story. Something told her he’d be better than any man she’d ever had. She’d make it so. Time was so short now. And if he would be her last lover, then God couldn’t have sent her anything more fantastic.

She fantasized about how it would be. Even in the middle of an enemy-controlled vessel, she could still imagine. No one could take that away from her.

She and the big man in the other room wouldn’t just be playing a sex duo, traveling the stars for the purpose of showcasing their abilities. No. They’d be making memories for the short time they’d have together.

Lyra dropped the bar of soap and began to pull her nipples. Wet and soapy as they were, the sensation was fantastic. She took several steps forward so that her nipples barely grazed the black marble wall. This, too, was an added sensation that had her licking her lips in expectation.

She’d hoped for a longer round of play, but being tired and horny had the effect of rousing her body more fiercely and quickly than usual. She felt a tightening in the back of her pussy. It squeezed forward toward her clit, where her fingers played. Her body undulated with the coming orgasm, while her breasts were flattened against the shower wall. She rode out the climax with her fingers still embedded deeply within her body. When it was over, she stood there panting, then finally placed the palms of both hands on the black marble wall in front of her. She fancied she could still feel heat there that wasn’t associated with the warm water.

The entire scenario hadn’t lasted five minutes, but the wonderful experience was now over. Her mind could center on business again and not on seven feet of make-believe Norse mythological male in another part of their quarters.

After drying her body, she marched back into the main room wearing a copy of the robe Soldar donned. But needy feelings quickly rose to the surface again as she studied the massive pectoral muscle jutting from the open vee of his bathrobe.

So much for thinking a quickie would work.

She focused on eating. Sustenance was necessary or her energy would give out. Despite what they’d consumed in the desert, her body actually craved better fare than the protein pack most of the Allied Forces were issued. She shoved aside her guilt and decided to eat well. Maybe filling up would lend extra energy to kill a few Condorians — when the time came.

• • •

Soldar momentarily closed his eyes in frustration.

The beauty who shared his quarters was still enticing him. He wanted to run his hands through her drying hair as it curled around the nape of her neck, and under her sweet chin and shell-like ears. He wanted to pick her up, carry her to one of the sumptuous-looking oversized pillows that served as beds, and make love to the woman until the next day. But not knowing when Aigean would come or what she’d have planned, it behooved them to keep their professional wits and not act like hormone-driven adolescents. He’d have her sooner or later.

“Drink plenty of water,” he advised, “and eat lots of fruit.”

She half-smiled and nodded. Her fingers closed around a piece of pink and orange striped gactor fruit from the planet Cygnus.

That particular choice was one of his favorite treats when it had been available on Craetoria. Seeing how hungry she was and how hard she was trying not to show it, Sol handed her pieces of bread and cheese. She smiled at his friendly gesture, but ate without comment.

He picked up the last of his water, swallowed it, and then stood. “I suggest we get some sleep.”

Lyra stood, tightened her belt around her waist, and offered up concerns for the day’s encounters. “Sol, Aigean doesn’t really know what to do with us, does she? I’m not even sure she knew what to do with just you, had you arrived alone … just as you and your men planned. The woman barely knew how to get us on her ship. This leads me to believe she’s desperate.”

Accepting the shortened version of his name without comment, he nodded. “I agree. But being watched as she is, it’s courageous of her and her crew to continue. Most people in her position wouldn’t be willing to risk so much.”

“But this spontaneous mess makes me reconsider that tantrum I threw in the passageway. I brought a lot of attention to us. What I did might not have been so smart. Maybe what we looked like wouldn’t have been all that noticeable to a bunch of drunken, drug-induced thugs.”

He shook his head in denial of that censure. “Your ingenuity was brilliant. Had the Condorians wanted to know who we were, you dispersed any suspicions. Now, don’t think on it any more, Lyra. Go find a bed and get some sleep. Something tells me tomorrow will be a very long day. As an old Earth saying goes, we’re playing this by the seats of our pants. That could be to our advantage.”

“How?”

“If we don’t know what we’re going to do next, the enemy surely won’t!” When she simply nodded and began to clear away the remains of their meal, he put one hand on her forearm to stop her. “Leave it for the servants to clear. In the event all of them aren’t so loyal to Aigean, one who services this room might think it odd if we clean up after ourselves.”