Kept: An Erotic Anthology (17 page)

Mouth open, he watched the last half mile of vertical flight. His knees jellified. A god was coming.

“Do not kneel. While among the locals, a simple head bow to an Ascend is sufficient.”

“Sure.”

With a shake of the nearby foliage, a microsecond roar, and a ground-jarring thump, the Ascend landed before them upon the pavement. A foot taller than he, and covered in rugged bronze scales bar his eyes, nostrils and ears, the Ascend was human in shape yet thoroughly awe inspiring. Steam fumed from his scales.

In unison with Brask, Jadd bowed his head and waited.

“Be at ease,” the Ascend commanded, voice rumbling. “I have come to survey the area and the woman. The uploaded parameters of her fluids have unusualities. Talk with me. I am Dassenze. Speak if you have noted any reason for her difference.”

The pinpoint gold orbs of Dassenze’s eyes paralyzed Jadd. Then a child darted across the street toward them, riding a two wheeled device. He wakened. A scooter.

“Excuse me, Dassenze, we are observed.”

“No. I am masked from humans. Have you seen differences? I conferred with Noss, my brother, and he feels something odd about this entire district of earth. Neither of us is sure of the cause.”

The child scooted away, oblivious.

“Uhh.” He found his tongue tip resting on his lip, and pulled it back. “Differences? Only ones that make her more desirable. I apologize for this. It’s...”

Dassenze chuckled dryly. “Don’t. Sexual attraction is acceptable. I’ve already tried several humans and taken two as slaves. However, I doubt her desirability difference is what I’m seeking.”

The Ascend were known to take on sexual partners at times. But two already?

Brask turned, sending his coat swirling. He craned his neck back as he looked up at Brittany’s window. “We will be sure to note any other differences, Dassenze.”

“Good. Be vigilant. Though the enemy is far from this part of space, we need to assess this planet and move on. Within five years we plan to decide their status. Are they starfarer or not? Our work is endless. Earth will join us in the war against the Bak-lal or be destroyed.

“Of course.” Jadd’s chest tightened.

The Bak-lal carried the centuries old war with them – bio engineering all in their path and creating new Bak-lal legions from the peoples who failed to fight them off. He’d never seen a Bak-lal soldier.

Pets were given a part of the virus that bestowed starfarer status. In the presence of their master, a pet could take warp space. If Earth’s people failed at this first test, if the virus failed to take, their destruction would occur all the sooner.

“You worry over this decision, Preyfinder Jadd?” Dassenze’s golden eyes seemed to catch him on the edge of a sharp abyss. “Tell me the truth.”

“I do, lord.” He bowed his head. “I wish them well.”

“Good. Your concern pleases me.”

That was a revelation. Jadd smiled weakly. If only this Brittany’s future wasn’t so grim, he might be a very happy Igrakk.

Chapter 4

At barely six am, Brittany awoke from a hot dream to find herself with her quilt bunched between her legs.

“Damn.” She snatched away the quilt, sure from the feeling down there that she’d find... “Damn!”

The bed cover was soaked with her wetness. What the hell? She never humped things in her sleep. Even when she dreamed she had some weird-ass Adonis with piercing eyes fucking her.

Brittany groaned and rolled over to sit on the edge of the mattress and hold her pounding head. It took a few minutes before she was thinking on all four cylinders, before she looked down and saw she was totally naked.

“Am I going insane?” she muttered. “I went to bed in clothes, didn’t I?”

Actually, she couldn’t recall going to bed at all. Or drinking. Yet she had a hangover that possessed her entire body, a bruise on her thigh and a sore butt. She attempted to recall the night before.

Art classes, walk, walk, walk to car. Blank.

Something odd had happened, but she didn’t feel like she’d been raped or anything. Just odd. Should she call the police? Maybe. If she wanted to look insane. Officer, I awoke with an intense desire to make love to my pillow. Can you help me?

Hot uniformed officer...handcuffing her, undressing her.

What the hell?

She stood and rummaged both hands through her hair until it was a mad mess.

“Day. Work. Be sane!” She trudged toward the kitchen. “Oh. Whoops. Clothes.” She turned, still half asleep, and made for her dresser.

All through the morning at work she alternated between unease at her memory loss and an increasing awareness that her pussy was aching, was throbbing, was somehow imagining something inside it all by itself. Even when she was busy cutting Mrs. McGuire’s hair, fer Chrissakes. Had someone popped her an aphrodisiac?

She made a dash to the toilets and splashed water on her face.

“What is
wrong
with me?” she exclaimed to herself in the mirror.

With her hairbrush, she flipped her curls from her flushed cheeks. Then she probed her mouth with one finger. “My lips are swollen! Crap. I’m sick.”

A series of intense aches pulsed between her legs.

She groaned, laid her head on the edge of the sink, shut her eyes, then blindly groped for and found the hairbrush. No one could get into the staff toilet while she had the door locked. The hair coloring was in Tiff’s good hands. The brush was...clean, smooth, just the right length and width. Damn, she was almost drooling over a hairbrush handle.

“Emergency. Has to be. I can’t take this.” Her hands trembled.

She wiggled the curved handle of the hair brush under the thoroughly moist crotch seam of her panties and almost collapsed at the burst of sensation when the hard tip slid to her entrance then nudged apart her lips. Ever so slowly, she pushed it up inside, as far as it would go. Her walls scrunched in so tight it hurt.

She fucked herself with the handle for a full minute before she could think straight enough to let go of it with one hand and pleasure herself while still moving the hairbrush.

“Will. Only. Take a minute.” She gasped with every stroke.

Five minutes later, at the least, she hadn’t gotten off. People would be pounding on the door soon, worried she’d drowned in the toilet.

Brittany bit her lip, poised with the handle deep inside, filling her. “Noo. No. Please. I need to, so
so
much.”

Close, but she couldn’t get herself to go over the edge and orgasm.

She gave up, her forehead sweaty from her exertions, and began to withdraw the handle. Her pussy clamped onto it and she panicked, tugging to dislodge it, scared she couldn’t get it out again.
Oh God
. She’d have to duck walk out of here, with it still stuck up there, and call an ambulance.

Then it slowly began to move.

Once she’d extracted the brush, she giggled and snorted for a minute, so relieved she didn’t know what to think, while staring at the brush. This was crazy.

Then she spent the rest of the afternoon dying to hump the couch they kept out the front for customers, and eyeing every hairbrush like it was Romeo and Tom Hiddleston rolled into one.

At home her trusty vibe failed to do its duty. The batteries gave out before she got off. Her fingers felt wonderful for all of the first minute before they lost their charm. It was Sunday tomorrow. She could go crazy, couldn’t she?

Which was how she found herself outside the local nightclub slash dive at one am, unfulfilled and horny enough to screw every man in the place if...if only they didn’t smell wrong. Marnie had come with her, and left with an old boyfriend at midnight.

Slut, she’d whispered in her ear when the girl came over to tell her. Marnie had only poked out her tongue and given her the finger. What were friends for if not to insult?

Now she was stuck going home by herself. At least she’d had the sense to call a taxi, even if her last drink had been an hour ago. Getting shit-faced drunk when your hormones were raging wasn’t wise.

Then
he
walked into view at the other end of the row of parked cars, blocking out the taxi waiting for her with its engine idling, and he turned and headed toward her. Long dark coat. Mean look in his eyes...or where his eyes would be. His face was shrouded in darkness. He just looked
bad
.

Her throat closed in. Breathing, who needed it?

Big man, as in fucking huge, and with a totally deliberate way of moving. Every step was calculated. Like a lone stranger walking into a lowlife Wild West town, about to rescue the folks from the two-gun killer kid. She could hear the theme song from
The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly
playing.

All he was missing was a Stetson and a pair of six guns.

Headlights from a passing car flickered over him. His face...oh god. He definitely needed a hat to pull over that. Were those parallel scars running across his cheeks? Or tattoos made up to look like American Indian war paint? Whatever. They were red and scary. Only he surpassed scary by a mile. She took a half-step back, surprised the man wasn’t snorting steam out his nostrils.

But he smelled
good
. From yards away. Was that even possible?
Mm-Mmm
. It took all her determination not to squeal, run down the aisle between the parked cars, and jump his bones then and there. Loose stones on the concrete cracked under his boots. A breeze blew the front of his coat wide. She caught a glimpse of a wide, well-built torso that stretched his pants and shirt with a real man’s body.

Shit. Was that metal glinting there? Holsters? No. Couldn’t be. Unless he was a cop?

Fear reared its head. He wouldn’t be looking for her. Get the fuck outta his way.

Jarred into self-preservation mode, Brittany cleared her throat and squeezed back against the bus she was walking beside to allow him to shimmy past. Not that a man like this would ever shimmy. He’d saunter or stalk but never ever shimmy.

What would it be like to be underneath him being...

Shut up. She took a deep breath and held it when he seemed about to pass her.

Don’t faint. Unladylike.

Then he grabbed her under her shoulders, lifted her a few inches, and slammed her flat against the bus with enough force to frighten her but not hurt. Startled, she sucked in air.

His scent swept her awareness of danger far, far away and replaced it with pure unadulterated
LUST
.

Her pussy flooded instantly. She shut her eyes. Not Niagara Falls wet, just enough to make slippery every part of her down there, enough that a man could slide his cock right in without a second’s hesitation. That. Wet.

She inched open her eyes and found him staring down at her. Brutal and callous was her instantaneous impression.

An odd ringing began in her ears and buzzed down through her. All the small hairs on her body stood up. For a moment, for the tiniest particle of time, she lost track of where she ended and he began. They merged, breathed as one, their hearts beating as one...

Then his fingers tightened on her upper arms. Both of them inhaled some much-needed air. The ringing drifted away.

A man...a man like this might do anything to her. She quivered.

“Spread your legs.” From the grating timbre of his words, he was as desperate as she was. Then he leaned in and murmured directly to her ear, his breath warming her. “Is your pussy glowing red for me?”

And she almost obeyed, but those last words undid what her body was screaming at her to do. The brakes screeched on. Was her pussy glowing? Where did this lone stranger get his pick-up lines?

Stranger. Bad man. A fucking stranger.

She needed to scream out rape. And fast. Before she instead asked him if she should wrap her legs around his head or keep her feet on the ground while he fucked her.

At her stiffening, and obvious noncompliance, he paused. “Did I say something wrong?”

Rough voice. Deep. The man gargled rocks. Maybe that was his job? Rock gargler.

“It was the glowing pussy line. You need to work on –”

“Noted.” He nuzzled her neck. Bit her.

She sagged down the bus, held up only by his big hands on her body.

Shadows blocked the aisle of cars up where he’d just come from. Two more men stood there. Oh crapola. Was this some sort of gang?

One advanced. “You okay there? Miss?” A young man’s voice. An oddly polite question.

Her stranger let her go and faced them. “Stay back.” One hand turned back his coat revealing a weapon hanging at his side. Could that be a shotgun? Surely not? No one wore a shotgun in a waist-slung holster.

The first of the two men shifted. The
snick
and flash of metal said switchblade. “Miss?”

A few seconds passed.

Her stranger used the seconds of time well – he reached back, sneaked his hand under her short swishy skirt and planted his palm over her mound.

Her mind went into meltdown.

“S’fine. I’m fine!” she added thickly, because she’d just pressed herself against that invading hand.

“You’re sure?” Her would-be rescuer asked.

No. Yes. God, she was a fool.

“Yes.” She put her hand on the stranger’s wrist, and found her fingers could barely encompass half of his arm. “I’m fine. Go away.”

“Okay. Suit yourself. Have fun!” The knife vanished. The two of them backed off and walked...somewhere, laughing.

She cared not at all, being more interested in his thumb, which was pushing at her panties, exploring, shoving. The cloth was now molded to her and had crept up into her slit.

He turned to her, and with that thumb, did some more thorough and ever so rhythmic exploration.
Shove, push, then slow inward probe while her thighs strained forward to encourage him.
She still clutched his wrist, for all the good it did. He wasn’t taking guidance from her.

Throbbing, close to coming, conscious of nothing but what his hand did between her legs, of how swollen and heated her most intimate parts had become, Brittany gave a soft choked moan.