Stormy Night Publications Publishers of BDSM and Kink Erotica
Prologue
Mal Ton lowered his face between his lover’s slender thighs as much to hide his calculating expression as to enjoy her eager responses. She was a lusty little thing. There was no denying her uninhibited enjoyment of carnal pleasure. Still, her quick mind and ruthless ambition made her a dangerous adversary.
She arched, pressing her slick folds against his lips. “Do it,” she murmured. “Lick me like you did last night. You have the most talented tongue I’ve ever felt.”
His dominant nature balked at the breathless command. “Beg me,” he countered, flicking his ‘talented’ tongue against her swollen clit.
She grasped his head with both hands and pulled his face up until he met her passion-bright gaze. “Make me come or go away. I have no patience for your games tonight.”
Pushing off the bed, he settled his weight on his knees, and stared down at her with intense displeasure. “Who controls the pleasure when we’re in this bed?”
A mutinous glare was her only response.
Her motivation was so transparent, it almost made him smile. She wanted to be disciplined, needed to know he was still in control, so she rebelled. “I never repeat an order. You know this.”
Still, she just glared at him, so he grabbed her hips and flipped her over onto her belly. Before she could scramble away, he pulled her hips up, tilting her sweet little ass to the perfect angle for spanking.
“You bastard. Don’t you dare—”
He delivered the first stinging spank and was rewarded by her gasp.
“You’re a beast. I hate you!” She lunged forward.
He easily caught her hips and brought her back into position. Spanking the other side, he watched the tension start to melt from her lissome body. She needed this even more than he’d realized. His next swat was a little harder.
She gasped and cried out, but no longer attempted to escape.
He delivered three quick spanks to each side, then paused and pressed his hands against her reddening cheeks. “Who controls your pleasure, Nehalem? Who will always give you what you need?” When she didn’t answer immediately, he squeezed.
“You do and you will.” Her voice sounded hoarse and breathless. “But I’m especially needy tonight.”
“I noticed.” He spanked her some more, using firm, steady strokes.
She moaned and wiggled, offering him teasing glimpses of her waiting pussy.
“Hold still.” He reinforced the order with one hard swat, not yet ready to move on.
The wiggling stopped as a whimper escaped from between her lips. Her long hair covered her face, so he couldn’t gauge her expression. Her body, however, told him everything he needed to know. Cream wet her folds and her legs were starting to tremble. She was nearing orgasm, but he had no intention of letting her come.
He spanked her naked bottom until her silky cheeks were rosy and hot. Each swat sent tingles up his arm and desire spiraled through his body. He carefully restrained his emotions. This was a mission. He was here for information, not to abandon himself to pleasure.
“Look at me.” He punctuated the command with another firm swat.
She shifted her shoulders and craned her neck so she could meet his gaze. “Yes, Sir.”
With his gaze boring into hers, he pushed two fingers into her hot, wet passage. “Why are you so—tense?” He added the last word as his thumb circled her clit. She shuddered, her inner muscles rippling around his fingers.
Her long lashes swept down, concealing her expressive eyes. Mal Ton scowled. Learning what pleasured her body had only taken a matter of days. Her mercurial moods and erratic behavior were far harder to predict. If he’d had time to prepare and months to devote to learning her habits, he might have unlocked the mysteries of General Bryson’s first lesser wife. As it was, Mal Ton had to know what Bryson was planning and he had to know now.
“Talk to me, Nehalem.” He moved his hand in a teasing spiral, dragging his fingers nearly out of her core. “Why are you so upset?”
“I don’t want to talk. I want to fuck. If that’s not why you’re here, then get out!” She kicked at him. He easily avoided her foot and pushed his fingers back in.
“Behave.” He spanked her again, a bit harder this time.
She arched her back, forcing his fingers deeper as she turned her face away. “That’s all I’m good for. Haven’t you heard? I’m the best fuck on the base, but that’s all I am.”
He needed to see her face, so he quickly turned her over and drew her arms above her head. Pinning her wrists to the rumpled bed with one hand, he found her pussy with the other and continued the slow, deep finger-fucking she was trying so hard to resist. She was beautiful. All of the general’s wives were beautiful. Resentment and longing radiated from her, inundating Mal Ton’s empathic receptors. He identified the emotions without allowing himself to be affected by them.
“Please,” she moaned. “I need your mouth. I’m begging you.”
That was too damn easy. He’d hoped she’d resist and give him reason to restrain her. Nothing thrilled him more than commanding his lover’s responses, watching her surrender everything to his aggressive brand of passion while she was utterly helpless. He pushed his fingers deep and left them there while he went to work on her sensitive clit.
She lifted her legs to his shoulders, crossing her ankles behind his neck. “Lick me. Suck me. Then fuck me with your tongue. That bastard never touches me with his mouth. He lets me suck him dry night after night but he’ll never—oh!” He cut off her tirade with a careful nip and settled his mouth against her slit. “Yes, just like that!”
She had every right to be discontent. Like most of Bryson’s sixteen lesser wives, Nehalem had been a gift to her powerful husband from a people desperate for his protection.
Unfortunately for Mal Ton, it was doubtful her resentment would lead to outright betrayal. He’d spent the past three nights in her bed and she’d confessed nothing useful. She either knew nothing important or she was loyal to ‘the bastard.’ Flaunting her lovers hadn’t recaptured her husband’s attention. Bryson had obviously lost interest in his beautiful, barren first lesser wife.
Mal Ton felt her orgasm build and sank deeper into her mind. His psychic abilities were moderate at best, but he only needed a few minutes to snoop around. At the exact moment her pleasure crested, he launched his mental pulse and sent her into unconsciousness. Her legs went lax against his back and her breath released in a soft moan.
He disentangled himself from her naked body and crawled off the bed. If she stirred before he found what he was looking for, he’d claim he’d gone to get her a glass of water. He grabbed his discarded pants and fished a slim datapad out of his back pocket.
Her control console flickered to life as he sat down at the station but a security scanner protected her private files. Damning the inconvenience as well as the delay, he scooped up the unconscious woman and held her on his lap. He rested her head against his shoulder and held her eyelid open until the scanner confirmed her identity.
After returning Nehalem to her bed, Mal Ton copied the entire directory into his datapad. No sense wasting any more time. He could sort through the information when he returned to Stilox.
While the information streamed, he glanced at Nehalem. She had curled up on her side and tucked her hands beneath her cheek like a child. The steady rise and fall of her luscious breast assured him she was sound asleep. Good. He really didn’t want to spend the rest of the night listening to her complain about ‘the bastard’ while she demanded progressively kinkier sex acts from him.
Mal Ton knew something important was about to happen. Security had never been tighter. Stilox Reformation Command just hadn’t been able to determine what had the Protarian officials all worked up. Quickly confirming that he had the information on his datapad, he finished dressing and slipped into the secret passageway. Nehalem had showed him the exit after their first night together. He kept his head down and moved with a casual stride, determined not to draw attention.
He emerged in the officers’ shuttle lot and headed for the gate at the other side of the fenced area.
“Halt!”
The sharp command brought him up short. He had a pulse pistol tucked into the back of his pants and a knife hidden in his boot. He fervently hoped he wouldn’t need either. Dead bodies were too hard to explain.
“Where did you come from?” the guard asked, his gaze gleaming in the moonlight.
“I thought you did a perimeter sweep on the hour, every hour.”
Those bright eyes narrowed and his thumb tapped the molded grip of his sidearm. “I just got back. State your name for the ident-link.”
“I’m not in your system. My business here is confidential.”
“Visitors are required to register with the—”
“Look, my client would rather not be identified as utilizing my services so I take care of his needs on his shuttle. If you’d like a taste of what he pays for, I’ve got no problem with that.”
“You’re a… I see.” He took a step back, clearly uncomfortable with the revelation. “The base provides for the sexual appetites of the fighters. I don’t understand why an officer would break protocol to be with a—”
“Let’s go to your quarters and I’ll show you why.” Mal Ton advanced. If the guard didn’t back down soon, he’d be forced to blast him. The lot was dark and the only surveillance transmitter was at his back. Still, a weapon’s pulse would activate automated security. He needed to end this ridiculous conversation now. Scanning the guard’s mind, Mal Ton decided to push his luck. “I get paid by the tick, buddy. Take me in or let me go down. I’m the best fuck you’ll ever have.”
“I’ll have to take your word for it. Tell your client to come to you next time. I won’t let this slide again.”
Finally! Mal Ton blew the guard a kiss and hurried through the narrow gate.
“Come in,” Roark Talbot called without taking his eyes from his vidscreen. Mal Ton strode into his office looking far too smug for someone who had just returned from behind enemy lines. “Your mission was successful, I gather?”
“They’re planning to snatch some hotshot geneticist from an obscure planet called Earth. If half of the information in her dossier is accurate, she’s lightyears beyond her provincial world.”
“Snatch, as in kidnap?” Roark hated Mal Ton’s reckless ventures. Every person on Stilox risked something for the cause, but Mal Ton enjoyed the danger. He refused to consider the cost of any mission, focusing entirely on results. Roark knew pain drove Mal Ton’s ruthlessness. He understood what Mal Ton had lost. Still, it couldn’t go on forever and Stilox couldn’t afford to lose Mal Ton. “Won’t kidnapping an alien cause an interplanetary incident?”
“These are the Protarians we’re talking about. They’ll find a way to get what they want. They always do. According to the file, they’ve attempted to gain her cooperation willingly and she’s refused. This is a last resort.”
“What if she’s full of shit?” Roark asked. He knew that gleam in Mal Ton’s eyes. His friend was already working on a strategy. “Earth’s technology is nothing special. In most areas they can learn from us.”
“Therein lies our dilemma.” Mal Ton dropped into one of the chairs facing Roark’s desk. Mal Ton was still dressed in the garish ensemble of a Protarian courtier. He must have come directly from his shuttle. “If she’s full of shit, the Protarians can have her. On the other hand, if her claims of complete genetic transcription are truthful, we need her more than they do.”
Roark pushed back from his desk and allowed the possibility of ending the nightmare—or even lessening the suffering—wash over him. Endless years of war had left Stilox a ravaged shell of twisted metal and toxic fumes. The toll exacted upon Protaria was more insidious, yet no less devastating. How could one Earth woman help undo the damage, even if she was ‘lightyears beyond her provincial world’?
“Why won’t she cooperate with the Protarians? What have they offered her?”
“Monetary compensation, exchanges of information and land grants for colonization. She’s having none of it.” Mal Ton’s mouth curved without parting. “I like her already.”
“What do you intend to do?” Trying to talk Mal Ton out of whatever he had in mind would be a waste of breath. Besides, Roark was intrigued by this reckless venture. He couldn’t wait to read more about this mysterious geneticist, to see what had the Protarians so captivated.
“Someone is naming a hospital after her.” Mal Ton laughed. “Who the fuck gets a hospital named after them?” His gaze turned calculating and cold. “I’ll pose as head of her security contingent and escort her to this ridiculous gala. Once I’ve spent some time with her, I should be able to determine if she’s the real deal or not. If she’s all bluster, I’ll deliver her to Protaria with my compliments.”
“And if she’s as brilliant as everyone seems to think?”
A predatory smile finally parted his lips. “I’ll take out the Protarian crew, transfer Andrea to my ship, then rig the Protarian transport to explode so no one will realize what I’ve done.”