Thrill-Kinky (3 page)

And his wings—marling
stars
, she’d never felt anything like the soft, sensual caress of all those feathers against her back, her ass. So good. His hands gripped and kneaded, and his wings stroked and soothed, and all the while he was kissing her, exploring her mouth with his tongue, sending sparks down the connections from her lips to the mouth of her sex. Her common sense told her they needed to move, couldn’t take the time to play there when the overpriced thugs in the Fiero might show up at any second.

Her common sense lost the argument with her libido.

Did they pump pheromones in the air for Kenu Aram, or was Drax just that good?

Maybe she was more thrill-kinky than she’d ever guessed, or possibly just that horny. She didn’t want to calculate how long her most recent dry spell had lasted. Things were depressing enough with people shooting at them and the
Malcolm
’s best contract in ages turning out to be some kind of complicated larceny that would leave them as the obvious suspects for the theft or worse if they weren’t careful and broke if they were.

Maybe it wasn’t so illogical to be tempted to give in to pleasure in a world gone radioactive even by the high standards set by life on board the
Malcolm
.

She squirmed against him, wanting more, needing more. Begging for more with little, inarticulate noises breathed into his mouth because she didn’t want to stop kissing him long enough to speak.

With all Drax’s injuries, she was afraid to touch him other than with her lips, afraid to cause him further pain, until he moved one of her hands to his nipple. Already a taut little peak, it stiffened further under her touch as she caressed with light strokes, then, when he seemed ready, with firmer ones, rolling it between her fingers.

Not all of him had been hurt. At least one area was fine, one she’d dearly love to touch. Her other hand traced down his chest, skimming lightly in deference to his injuries. Skin like hot silk—real biosilk, not synthsilk, because they did feel different even if they were supposed to be chemically identical—covering steel. No, over something more valuable and beautiful than steel, something like that gold alloy they made on Xylac, a precious metal harder than titanium.

But when she reached his cock, she knew she’d found something more precious yet. It had looked promising while soft, but like just about everyone in the galaxy who liked to fuck penis-endowed people, she’d been disappointed that way before.

Not this time.

A heavy, hard weight in her hand when she first touched it, it sprouted further as she began to stroke and caress, going from impressive to too-thick-to-wrap-her-fingers-around and a length that would have alarmed an inexperienced girl.

Rita didn’t fit into that category, despite the recent dull spell. But experienced or not, the way it was continuing to grow was enough to provoke a “What the hell?”

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s still growing!”

The amazing, expanding wondercock stopped expanding. Rita wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or disappointed. “Too much? I was just trying to get something around human standard…”

She snorted. “Which you got your ideas of from porn, apparently. Trust me, those guys are way enhanced.”

Drax laughed. “I should have known. It’s true for all species, I imagine. Certainly for ours. And it’s obvious that the human women in porn aren’t typically endowed. Humans must find large breasts appealing but I’ve wondered how the girls in porn can avoid falling onto their faces from the weight.” He cupped her breasts, pinching her nipples between his thumbs and forefingers, shooting rays of sensation throughout her body. “Now yours…yours are perfect.”

Rita felt herself flushing with embarrassment rather than arousal. “Come on, I’m all nipple and muscle.”

“Exactly—perfect.”

She thought about it for a second. If you’re going to fly efficiently, you can’t carry a lot of fat, and breasts were just pretty fat. The skinny, strong build she’d always thought of as cute but borderline boyish must look like perfection to a Banjali guy.

Then he brushed over her nipples with his wings and she stopped trying to apply reason to the situation.

He slipped between her legs, running the massive length of his cock over the drenched red lace of her panties. “Is my penis the right size for you now? How do you want it? Bigger? Smaller? Thinner? Thicker?”

“Now,” Rita gasped, wiggling out of her shorts. “How I want it is
now
.” It took a second for it to sink in that he was actually changing the size of his cock to please her better. Wow. And not just wow that he
could
do that—though it was news to her Banjalis had that ability, she was used to the fact that alien species had evolved in some surprising ways—but that he
did,
especially for an alleyway quickie.

“I wish I could fly with you,” Drax whispered as he turned her around so she could brace against the wall. “This will have to do for the moment.”

As the plumlike head of his thick cock nudged against her pussy, parting her lips, pushing inside her, all Rita could think was that they’d be flying just fine, there in the trash-littered alley, her hands pressed into coarse, graffiti-laced blocks. Flying on lust, on danger, on each other’s need.

He folded his wings around her, braced himself on the wall, used his wings to play with her nipples. The wingtips were as articulated as long fingers, but the sensation was very different. Silky and animalistic and kinky and so good. And as he played, he worked his cock in and out with a gentle motion of his hips, teasing her with the head rather than pushing in. An alluring torture, one she’d be glad to continue for a good long time. Years, even.

Except that in the distance, she could hear the distinct angry purr of a Fiero’s engine.

“They’re coming,” she whispered, surprised by the breathy urgency in her voice. “And I want to come first. Give it to me now.” Damn, they should be moving…

But given that San’bal was sex-party central at the moment, they’d look less suspicious fucking than they would running.

And if that theory didn’t work, at least they’d have some fun before everything went to slag and marl and then turned completely radioactive. If she had to die, there were worse ways to go than fucking a sexy, winged man.

Drax made a strangled noise deep in his throat and pushed inside her. As much as she craved it, the size and the suddenness almost hurt. Then her out-of-practice cunt relaxed, accepted him, embraced him, and the edge of almost-too-much transmuted itself into just enough. Stuffed, but sweetly stuffed.

For a second, if that, they held still, getting used to the feel of each other. Then he began to pound into her, and she worked back with each hard thrust, using thighs and hips and ass muscles, rolling her hips, contracting her inner muscles as best she could around his huge, sweet shaft.

What was up with the alley filling with stars? No, her eyes were closed. It was just sparks from screwing her lids so tightly as her whole body started to clench.

One agile wingtip flicked between her legs, stiff yet silky feathers brushing her engorged clit, and she flew into space with Drax’s strong wings supporting her.

He cried out something she couldn’t understand, thrust even deeper a few times, and filled her with his come. It seemed hotter than a human’s, just like his skin was, or maybe it only felt that way because he’d made her so nuclear. In any case, his explosion triggered more contractions, more waves of insane pleasure.

What brought her back to herself was the sound of the Fiero passing the alley by. She slumped against the wall, half in relief, half in pure boneless exhaustion, and Drax slumped with her.

“That,” he whispered, “may have been the craziest daredevil stunt I’ve ever pulled in a long career of crazy daredevil stunts. And I don’t regret it for a second.”

“Yeah.” She was surprised she could still talk. “Me too. Not to mention the ugliest spot I’ve ever had sex. But no regrets at all. That was cosmic.”

“And we didn’t get caught. You’re definitely a good luck charm on top of your other…stellar qualities.”

She shrugged. “If it was the cop again, or some locals taking a shortcut, getting caught could add to the fun.”

“I like the way you think. I was thinking more of our friends in the Fiero, and having them catch us would have been bad,” he said slowly. “Especially if you…I mean, they’re some seriously nasty people. But I wouldn’t have regretted what we were doing if they caught us.”

The San’balese had been outromanticked by one slightly battered Banjali. Because she’d be spaced if he didn’t sound like he meant it.

Chapter Three

Still sporting a sated grin, she grabbed her bra and panties, gave them a good shake to get rid of nasty alley detritus, and slipped them back on. Almost naked was one thing, but fully naked might attract the wrong kind of attention, like the local police or festival security.

Drax buttoned a few strategic buttons on the purple trench coat so, while it was still obvious he wore little or nothing beneath it, he wasn’t actually flashing his dick at all of San’bal. Then he grabbed her hand. “Let’s go celebrate Kenu Aram.”

Rita glanced behind them. She couldn’t actually see the Fiero, but she heard a flyer’s engines somewhere way too close for comfort, an engine tuned to purr in the way few personal flyers other than the most expensive could. “Yeah. And fast.”

They ran. Drax’s longer legs ate up pavement, going far faster than Rita would have thought an injured winged being would move on the ground in unaccustomed high gravity and basically dragging Rita along behind in his wake. Rita was fit, but as a long-time spacer, she wasn’t used to running. There was no point of running on a ship the size of the
Malcolm
. Not unless something was on fire or threatening to explode, and that didn’t happen much anymore since she’d become the mechanic. Before long, her lungs burned almost as much as her thighs did. Although she’d regretted it when she was thinking about how they’d blend into a partying crowd, she was glad she had on work boots—a bit heavy but they protected her feet, tender from a lifetime of spacing.

Rita had no idea where they were going. She’d known which direction the main festival site lay from where she’d been working, but she’d never bothered to figure out how to get from one to the other. That was what the nav-sys was for, and she’d figured she’d bring the floater back to the ship, change, and then figure out the best way to get back to party central, whether on foot, by whoosh-trains or by rented zipbike. But Drax ran like he knew the warren of back alleys.

Or like he had a natural nav-sys. Some flying sentients did, just like birds and Irashi glider lizards and those nasty things on Thrakash that were actually mammals but acted more like ginormous stinging insects.

Short of breath or not, she started to laugh. Drax turned and stared at her, raising one elegant eyebrow. “This is fun,” she panted. “Scary, but fun. Hide and seek for grown-ups.”

He looked puzzled for a second, then seemed to get the reference. “You’re crazy!” he said, but he was grinning as he said it. “But I like it.”

By about the fifteenth turn down a seemingly random side street, hung with purple and green banners but otherwise deserted, its shops and offices locked up tight except for a lonely take-out restaurant, Rita began to wonder if Drax was just as lost as she was. She could hear the festival in the distance—voices, music, laughter—but she couldn’t tell where it was, or even how close. Maybe all Drax’s zigging and zagging was some kind of clever evasive maneuver that made it harder for the bad guys to trail them, but she was willing to bet he was lost at this point. Someone else’s money, not her own, but she’d still bet. If she had enough breath, she’d have teased him about it.

Then they made a few more turns and stumbled into a bright, crowded space. “Cosmic!” she breathed. The festival was even bigger than she imagined, and brighter, and wilder. Strange, sensual music filled the air, wafting out from three—no, four—stages. It should have been a cacophony, but somehow the acoustics of the great square worked so that the more distant groups were barely audible over the closest one, just adding a pleasant background buzz. Colorful food tents wafted forth odors, some appetizing, others less appealing to Rita’s human senses. Strolling drink vendors with small bar carts offered green or purple frozen drinks, the inevitable green bubbly, or what appeared to be beer or wine. (After visiting many planets, Rita had concluded every culture made some kind of beer and wine. Thanks to Buck, she knew most of it was potable for humans, but not all, and even if it was tasty, you didn’t necessarily want to ask what it was made of.)

“Closer to the stage,” Rita panted. The crowd seemed denser there, and they could hide in plain sight. This time, she was the one to lead Drax. She might not have an innate sense of direction, but squirming and elbowing her way through a crowd was familiar territory. She’d done it in hundreds of bars on just as many planets, sometimes half-carrying Buck or dragging an irate Xia by her tail before she managed to get them all arrested for doing things that came naturally to a cat-girl.

Finally, Rita found an open area barely large enough for the two of them and stopped. The band was San’balese, and some of the musicians were playing two instruments at once with their four hands, something Rita figured she’d find fascinating once she wasn’t hyperventilating and mildly panicking about armed thugs in Fieros. If she could have relaxed, it would be one hell of a party. People bopped in time to the music, flirted and danced—and San’balese dancing was something to see and somewhat hazardous to be too near, with all those flailing limbs. Rita found herself swaying to the unfamiliar music as well as she scanned the crowd. She tried to convince herself it was just so she fit in, but really, it was because the music, though unlike anything she’d heard before, was sexy, bouncy and pretty much irresistible.

She didn’t see any sources of danger in the crowd, but she did spot something interesting. A drink vendor was making his way in their direction and Rita found herself hoping they had plain old bottled water or fizz along with the alcohol. Hydration would be good, and Drax, injured, must need it more than she did.

She turned to him, clutching his arm. “How are you holding up? I barely managed that run, and you were bleeding and begging for pain blockers not long ago.”

“And last night they’d left me to bleed to death. Banjali heal fast. We have to or we wouldn’t make it out of childhood.” She thought for a minute about how often children fell down while learning to walk or hurt themselves by doing something daredevil and stupid. Multiply that by about a thousand for children who needed to learn to fly as well as walk.

She nodded. “I hadn’t thought about it before, but it makes sense.”

He stretched, bringing the opening of the trench coat perilously high. “I’m pushing it, though. And I’d kill for water.”

Luckily that was the moment the Irashi drink vendor approached them—and he had bottled water. Rita handed over her credit chit and got five bottles of water and one intriguing-looking local fizz based on some kind of fruit she’d never heard of. “Not bad,” she proclaimed after the first sip. “Kind of butterscotchy melon. A little too sweet, though.” The aftertaste hit, salty and sour, almost pickled. She made a face and struggled not to spit it out.

Before she could, though, the flavors blended in her mouth, the ultra-sweet and the tart balancing to something delicious. “How did they do that?” She grinned and tried another sip, then another.

Finally, it occurred to her to offer some to Drax. “Be patient,” she warned. “The first sip’s weird, but then it’s really good.”

Obedient, he tried one sip, made an alarmed face, then smiled as the flavors settled down.

She gave up trying to get the bottle back after a little bit, figuring that he must need the bit of salt after his ordeal. Water would have to do.

As she drank, she scanned the crowd, looking for signs of their pursuers. Mostly what she saw was giggling tourists and snuggling San’balese. With all their limbs wrapped around each other, a snuggling San’balese couple was a fascinating sight in a circus-acrobat way. Everywhere she turned, couples were kissing passionately, or swaying to the music in each other’s arms.

And even in broad daylight, not everyone was restricting their fun to smooching and swaying. “Look at that!” Drax said, nudging Rita and pointing out a San’balese couple who seemed extra-intertwined. “I imagine that’s something you don’t usually see out in public.”

She took a stealthy look, then decided that, since the couple was right in the middle of the festival square doing something that involved both their shirts being unbuttoned and a lot more stripy flesh than the norm being exposed, they must have an exhibitionist streak and wouldn’t mind her staring. And she had no problem with watching if people felt like putting on a show.

“The phrase ‘his hands went everywhere’ seems to apply,” she said drily. “Only his really can. Lucky girl. No waiting.”

Entirely enthralled by each other, bare chests pressed together, the couple was kissing like there was no tomorrow. All four of the male’s hands were busy, running over the broad curve of the female’s back and her wide, round hips, up under her short, ruffled green and purple skirt. Both sexes wore skirts on this planet, pants for the four-legged apparently being a design challenge, and Rita couldn’t tell what two of the female’s hands were doing under the guy’s skirt. One was obvious, but the other…well, if the San’balese girl could do
that
from
that
angle, Rita was impressed with her flexibility.

It was sexier to watch than Rita would have imagined. Stripy and extra-limbed or not, the San’balese guy was well built, with a muscular chest. His partner was pretty, with the most amazing hair Rita had seen in a long time, long and wild and striped in different colors from her skin. Her cleavage was nothing to sneeze at either. Rita preferred guys, sexually speaking, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t appreciate another woman artistically, and the little stripy exhibitionist had great breasts, round and firm and neither too big nor too tiny.

Suddenly the skin on their chests opened up. Tendrils emerged, multicolored and gently wiggling as they intertwined. The tendrils were actually pretty, like the sentient space anemones on Garthak Nineteen, but, like the space anemones, vaguely creepy. “Are they…”

Drax chuckled and whispered back, “Mingling their permens, I bet.”

“It sounds less botanical in their books.” Rita considered the view thoughtfully. A little freaky, but she couldn’t look away.

“Watch their faces, not their tendrils.”

Drax was right. If she focused on the San’balese couple’s faces, the scene became erotic. Permens and more limbs than she could keep track of might make these aliens a little too alien for her to want to play too, but damn…the emotion and sensation displayed on their faces were universal. (Except maybe for those Garthak Nineteen anemone people, who reproduced by spores.) Need. Lust. Approaching orgasm.

Rita also glimpsed an intimacy more naked than their bodies. These two might be boundary-shattering even by the liberal standards of San’bal—Rita didn’t see anyone else mingling permens in public this early in the day—but she’d bet credits she actually had, as opposed to someone else’s, that they were also in love.

Rita couldn’t decide whether she was more touched, more turned on by their romantic daring, or more melancholy that she couldn’t remember the last time someone looked at her the way the male San’balese gazed at his partner.

Never, probably. She’d had plenty of sex and some actual relationships, but they’d always been more of the friendly “that was fun; we should hook up the next time we’re on the same planet” variety than a great romance. It happened when you were a spacer on an indy ship without a regular route.

The sheer lust in Drax’s eyes a little while ago made up for a lot. Sure, it was lust and adrenaline, not true love, but who ever thought that Rita Anteres, crew member of one more tramp space freighter, would end up on an exotic alien planet in the company of a handsome, winged jewel thief, alternately having crazy sex and running from bad guys like they were in a holo?

She looked around nervously at that thought. Because if this were a holo, what happened next would depend on where it was made and what genre of holo it was. If it was San’balese romantic suspense, they’d defeat the bad guys in some dramatic, clever and largely bloodless way, and Drax would turn out to be a prince who, for some reason that didn’t make sense even in context, had to marry a commoner of another species.

If it was a Xylac drama, she and Drax would be lucky if they just died.

Luckily, she was from New Canada, so she had an array of genres to choose from. This had better be one with a happy ending.

As she pondered, Rita’s senses were on alert. While the
Malcolm
’s crew didn’t go out of their way to get involved in crime, they’d been in enough sticky situations that she knew how to watch for trouble.

And it looked like trouble was on the way. The crowd was parting at the northern side of the square, near where they’d first entered. Parting not like the sea on Miltas parted when all four moons were full, but like space marines and whores do when leave was over—with raucous noise and cursing and a few punches being thrown. Someone was making a scene, forcing their way through the crowd. Rita couldn’t see if the someones were police or thugs, but neither alternative was good.

She still hadn’t heard back from Buck. He must be having trouble getting in touch with anyone else.

The only positive point was that if she couldn’t see them in the crowd, they probably hadn’t spotted her and Drax either. She hoped. Drax was taller than most San’balese. Luckily there were tourists of many species enjoying the festivities, so his height didn’t stand out quite as much.

Rita turned and tugged at Drax’s sleeve. “Time to get a move on,” she whispered, rubbing up against him as she did, so to a casual onlooker, they’d be hurrying off to find a more private or comfortable place to fool around, not running away from whoever was galumphing across the crowded courtyard. She allowed herself a chance to enjoy the heated-silk texture of his skin and the beauty of his body as she did. If all hell was about to break loose, she might as well snatch some fun while she could. “I think your friends from the Fiero are closing in. Or maybe the police. Or for all we know, both, acting in league. There are crooked cops everywhere.” Or maybe he really was a jewel thief whose intended victims had beaten him within an inch of his life and then called the cops.