Read My Prize Online

Authors: Sahara Kelly

My Prize (8 page)

BOOK: My Prize
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The twin sensations of his tongue and his fingers were wreaking havoc on Boralle. She moaned, groaned, churning beneath him as her juices soaked his hand and her pussy felt like it could swallow him whole.

Her mind flooded with light and color and Rory's kisses, and as if he sensed her confusion and need, Rory slowed the movements of his hand and returned to her clit.

Her swollen, agonized, about-to-explode, clit.

Never breaking contact with her mouth, he slid one more finger inside her, stretching her, filling her, and yet still leaving her wanting.

His thumb pressed upwards, sharply, suddenly, tipping her over an invisible ledge and launching her into orbit.

She cried out into his mouth, and felt him take her breath away. Literally.

Her body jerked as it orgasmed frantically around his hand. The spasms rocked Boralle from head to toe, and she tore her mouth from his to grab a breath. Her gut was clenching along with her cunt, and the lightest of touches from his thumb on her clit was enough to send another wave of orgasmic pleasure through her system.

"Ah, lass, you're so beautiful when you come," breathed a voice next to her ear. He eased his hand away from her and rested it on her thigh, as if waiting for her to regain enough conscious thought to open her eyes.

She was afraid to, but knew that she had to look at him. To see what was shining from those deep green pools that sent such incredibly sensual signals to some unknown receptor in her spinal column.

Slowly, she raised her eyelids.

He was close, almost too close for her to focus on. Green lakes swam in front of her vision and she blinked.

He pulled back a little and brought his hand to his face.

"You, Boralle. This is you. How your body should love. How your body should taste..."

She watched, wide-eyed, as he delicately licked her juices from his fingers.

He took one finger and lightly ran it over her lower lip. "Taste yourself, lass. Taste the honey that comes from our loving."

She touched her tongue experimentally to the liquid on her lip, all the while held captive by his gaze. It was sweet, tangy and unique, and suddenly Boralle wondered how Rory would taste. She blushed, wondering if such a thing was possible. She'd certainly never heard of it before.

But then again, this was turning into a day filled with unexpected pleasures.

Perhaps touching and tasting Rory might be one of them.

God, she hoped so.

*~*~*~*

Rory's body was humming songs the likes of which would have driven his native bagpipes into a completely twisted pile of mashed-up intestines, incapable of producing more than a small squeak.

The fact that some of his clansmen had described Rory's attempts at playing as sounding almost
exactly
like that conveniently slipped his mind.

The woman who had convulsed beneath his hands was looking at him with awe and reverence in her sky blue eyes. If it hadn't been huge already, his cock would have swelled to gargantuan proportions. As it was, his mind pondered the issue of whether he'd be able to stand with a caber that size lodged between his legs.

And yet he knew it was not quite time to lose himself in Boralle. She'd had her first true orgasm—awake, alert, and brought to her peak by the touch of another human being. Her breasts were just beginning to relax and her skin to dampen slightly with her sweat.

He grinned. She'd be soaked by the time they were finished if he had his way.

He loved to see women like this. To watch the consciousness seep back into their brain cells, to marvel as that "what-the-hell-hit-me" look was replaced by the "my-God-I-feel-wonderful" look. Of course, the fact that it was followed by the "holy-cow-Rory-did-you-do-that?" look didn't hurt, either.

And there, right on schedule, was
that
look.

Boralle was staring at him, her eyes stunned, her lips moving slightly as she fought to find words.

Rory's lips curved upwards into a smile of pure masculine pride. "Are you well, then, lass?"

"I...I...we..."

Satisfied that his woman had been reduced to stuttering by the skilled touch of his hands, the Laird McAllen allowed himself a mental pat on the back. He'd completed stage one of his plan—Boralle was now ready for him.

But the surroundings were awful.

If he was going to bring her the true knowledge of how it could be for a man and a woman, it wasn't going to be in the dingy gray interior of a starship. He thought furiously for a moment or two until a chime distracted his thoughts.

"
Attention all personnel. We are now in a holding orbit around Frallien IV. Our request for permission to ferry our personnel to the games has been taken under advisement and our entry data has been accepted for review. Members of legal team epsilon dash zeta should assemble in conference room 12
."

The message repeated itself twice, making Boralle's eyes return to their normal alert state.

Rory sighed.

"
We anticipate that a period of at least twenty-four sidereal hours will elapse prior to our acceptance by the Fralliens. Please use this time wisely to refresh your datapads on all facets of law pertaining to the Fralliens, their energy sources, and also whatever is available on Magus Prime. We are informed that a Magus Prime heavy cruiser will be arriving shortly. We should have current data accessible at that time. Thank you. Announcement terminated
."

"Magus Prime? You mentioned them earlier?" Rory's eyebrow rose as he placed the question.

Boralle snuggled against him, lazily running her hand up and down his heavily-muscled arm. "The Magans are the biggest threat to peace in this system," she replied. "My guess is that within a few hours of their arrival, we'll have 'current'data because spy drones will be busy as soon as the ship moves within range." She sighed.

"Seems that no one in the universe ever learned to trust, doesn't it?" said Rory quietly.

"That it does, Laird McAllen. That it does. I wish there was a place where such things weren't everyday occurrences. Someplace...someplace...
clean
."

Rory narrowed his eyes as the answer flashed through his brain. "Will you come on a wee journey with me, Boralle?" he asked, linking their hands together.

"A journey? Now? How? Where? I don't understand..."

He laid a finger gently on her soft lips. "So many questions, and so few that I can answer to your satisfaction." He replaced his fingers with his lips and just brushed a kiss across her mouth.

She sighed with pleasure.

Rory smiled. "I have a few secrets, my sweet. Let me use them, and trust me to take us somewhere...somewhere I think you'll like."

"Trust," she mused. "Funny. I've known you for such a short time, and yet—and yet I do trust you. You are an honorable man, aren't you?"

Her blue eyes bored into his brain, seeking his secrets, searching his soul. He did his best to open his mind and his heart to her, and let her see the measure of the man she was cuddled against. "I try ma best, sweetheart. To stand by my word once given, to honor my ancestors, to tell the truth and to do right by others."

"And your women?" The question tumbled out of Boralle's mouth and she looked surprised, almost as if she had not intended to say it out loud.

"My women? Never leave my bed unsatisfied, or unhappy. I never promise more than I can give, and I never take what's not offered freely and with pleasure." He stroked his hand down her cheek and nudged her chin up to meet the touch of her lips once more. "But I'll admit one thing, Boralle North."

She tipped her head and for the first time moved toward him, returning the gentle kiss with one of her own.

His cock leaped and his heart moved in an odd way. He spoke the words before he thought. "With you, it's...it's different."

It had slipped out on a breath. The truth, the puzzling fact that with Boralle the rules had changed. He wasn't quite sure how or why, and he pulled his lower lip between his teeth as he prayed she wouldn't ask him.

"How?"

Well dammit. She was a
lass
. Of
course
she was going to ask. Rory mentally slapped himself on the forehead. "I don't know the answer to that one, yet. It just...it just
is
." Rambling like an old woman, he was. And a lovesick one at that.

But there
was
something different about being with Boralle. It had nothing to do with the fact that he was in a strange part of the galaxy, or that the woman next to him had been born millennia after he should have died on the battlefield.

It had to do with the feel of her skin to his senses, the smell of her body to his heart and the touch of her lips to his soul.

He felt as if he could stroke her hair for hours and still find new sensations flooding him. He wanted to bury his face between her legs and spend a year or so learning each and every molecule that made up her womanhood. And then he'd bury his tongue inside her and taste every inch he could reach. And he had a long tongue.

He wanted to spread her cheeks and find her tight little rose, caress it and watch her eyes grow wide as she found new pleasures beneath his hands.

And mostly he wanted his cock in her cunt. For about three lifetimes or so. He wanted to explode within her, on her, around her, to cover her with his seed. And damn, he had to explain the whole blue fog thing to her as well.

Yes, Boralle North was something special. Something different. She deserved the best he had to give, and a wee voice was telling him that it might require more than he'd ever given a woman before.

But for a start, he could give her a little holiday. A glimpse at a world she'd probably never have imagined, living as she did in this gray and dark ship.

He'd take her home—to Scotland.

 

 

 

Chapter 7

Boralle watched in fascination as the mighty Scottish warrior ran his hands over the delicate circuitry of the holo-vid control panel. She was naked, but unconcerned, since being naked around Rory McAllen somehow felt natural and right.

"What are you doing?" She couldn't help the question.

"Hold on a second, love," he answered absently.

She wondered if he had any idea what that word meant to her. No one had ever called her "love" before. She'd been raised, along with three hundred "siblings," in Martian Colony Four's group nursery. Since Mars had been terraformed, it had become a major child-rearing center, with its off-world dynamics and abundance of humanoid reproductive genetics. Parenting was now restricted to donating cellular matter.

Mothers and fathers were almost a thing of the past. Even her "grandfather," Tiryus North, had been one of the caretakers at the Nursery, but as soon as she'd learned the word, she'd always thought of him as her Gramps. She'd selected her surname in his honor and the bond between them had been a strong one, environment notwithstanding.

But "love"? No. No one had ever called her that so casually. Or put such warmth of affection into it.

Something inside her unfurled. Slowly and hesitantly, a small part of Boralle North was beginning to awaken. Something that nestled deep in her psyche, or her cerebral cortex. Or possibly her heart. She didn't know. She only knew it was a splendid feeling and he, Laird Rory McAllen, unlikely character though he was, had caused it.

He concentrated now, eyes closed, hands hovering above the panels. The lights blinked furiously, and she lost track of the readings that were being input into the system.

"Close your eyes, Boralle," said Rory. "We're going on our wee trip."

She did as she was bid, instinctively obeying the excited encouragement she heard in his voice.

She felt the air on her body change, from barely noticeable, to cool and breezy. Behind her eyelids, light flared.

Something caressed her body and clung.

"Open your eyes now, dear heart." Rory's whisper came from beside her and she felt him take her hand as she lifted her head and opened her eyes.

Her breath left her body in a gasp of sheer astonishment.

"Welcome to
my
home, lass. Welcome to the Highlands."

He squeezed her hand and gestured widely with the other, inviting her to look.

And look she did.

They were standing on a hillside, surrounded by towering slopes that led up impossible distances to the bluest of blue skies.

Green plants covered much of the lower areas, occasionally gashed by gray rock outcroppings. As her eyes rose, Boralle saw the greenery fade to gray and eventually to white where late snows frosted the highest peaks and glittered so brightly it hurt to look at them.

Beneath them was a lake, stretching away from them into the nest formed by the meeting of these giant land formations.

Calm and peaceful, the lake reflected back the magnificent peaks and the blue of the sky, dotted here and there with puffy white clouds that dragged their shadows behind them in a blending pattern of light and dark. The countryside flickered as the patchy shade moved rapidly across hill and valley, leaving brilliant sunshine in its wake.

The air moved ceaselessly, stirring Boralle's hair and blowing it across her cheeks. She breathed in, filling her lungs with the unusual fragrance of forests, pines and Scottish magic.

It was cooler than the cabin had been, yet she was not chilled. She glanced down, only to be shocked again as she realized she was now clothed.

But not in her uniform.

This was a wild riot of colors, the likes of which she'd never seen. A soft dress was tied loosely above her breasts and fell in white ruffles to her bare feet. It was covered by a woolen wrap of sorts, gathered around her waist and tossed across one shoulder.

There were reds and greens and yellows, all vying for position as dominant color. She squinted as the sun shone on it—she'd never imagined colors could be like this. Unnerved, she stretched out her free hand and gently touched the softness of the wool. It was magnificent.

A squeeze on her other hand reminded her that she was not alone.

"D'you like it, then, lass?"

BOOK: My Prize
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ads

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