Creed of Pleasure; the Space Miner's Concubine (The LodeStar Series) Page 7

  She met him in the passageway outside her room. Her green eyes were wide with fear, her face pale as soy creamer. Dashing toward him full-tilt, she climbed him like a tree, wrapping her arm around his neck, her legs around his waist while she twisted to peer back over her shoulder.

  She was trembling, her breath coming in quick shuddering gasps. “It’s in my room,” she gasped. “Don’t go in there. It has big, sharp teeth, and—and fangs. Oh, it’s horrible. It jumped out at me. It tried to get on me.”

  Half his mind reeling with the sensation of having an armful of soft, lithe, fragrant woman, Creed did what he had to and set this aside. He thrust the laser in the back of his belt—no lasers in the house, as long as the threat wasn’t pirates, because they cut through furnishings and destroyed walls just as efficiently as flesh—palmed his blade and side-stepped until he could see into her room. She was light enough he could move fast if he needed to.

  “How big?” he asked, his mind cataloguing the possibilities. He knew he hadn’t seen all the creatures here, no one had but the native tribes and they didn’t keep holovid records.

  “It was—it was huge.” Her silky hair brushed his throat and his jaw as she hitched closer, her arm tight around his neck. “All hairy.” She shuddered.

  What the hells—a catamount in the house? That had never happened before.

  “Maww-wr.” The plaintive cry sounded close.

  “There. Did you hear that?” she breathed.

  Creed nodded. He had. He tightened his arm around her waist, and carried her into the open door of her room, looking at the small, dark bundle of moving fur crouched on her bag, investigating the latch. “That it?”

  She nodded. Then peered uncertainly into his face. “You ... you don’t seem too worried. What is that thing?”

  Creed fought simultaneous overwhelming relief and the absurd urge to throw back his head and give a shout of laughter. He shrugged. “We call them mawwr. Small felines, far as I know. They have teeth and claws, but they’re not dangerous to people. Though this one’s not tame, so if you try to grab it, you’d probably get bitten or scratched.”

  Which Noni had, her first day here. He wasn’t sure who’d screeched louder, her or the mawwr. The creatures weighed only a few kilos, but they were fierce when cornered.

  “Oh.” Her voice was small, and he watched with fascination as a tide of red swept across her delicate cheeks. “I ... I thought it was some kind of giant insect. A—a spider or something.”

  “Not too many animals left on Earth II. Guess you’re not used to seeing them.”

  Now that the danger was past, his attention strayed to the very soft, warm feminine body parts currently rubbing directly on his groin.

  “Not in New Seattle.” She shook her head, her hair caressing his face like silk. “Except ravens and rats.”

  “New Seattle?”

  She nodded, her hand on his chest moving up, over the thin fabric of his shirt. “I’m from there.”

  “So am I.” Without thinking, he looked down into her face, so close.

  She was eyeing the mawwr, which was now looking back at them, golden eyes slitted in the pointed, furry face. The long legs were folded under the lithe body as it crouched on the bag and both tails lashed slowly. Wary, but too curious to leave just yet.

  “So, the creature’s not dangerous?”

  He grunted, all he could manage at the moment. His cock was hardening, heat arrowing into his groin in a hard, intent rush. So close ... just beyond thin layers of fabric lay heaven. And he held a blade in his hand that could nick neatly through that thin layer in a nanosec. Laying her bare, open to him.

  Her gaze fell to his hand and her eyes widened. Quark, what was he thinking? He clicked the short but wicked blade shut and reached back to tuck it safely in his belt—before he used it on himself for his own idiocy.

  Her lips curved up in a grin, her green eyes abashed. “I’m sorry I scared you by screaming. Do you need to ... shoo the creature out, or something?”

  Creed stared at her mouth. “‘S’okay,” he muttered. “The mawwr wandered in, it will let itself out.”

  His arm tightened on her back and his free hand came up to cup her round, firm ass. To balance her in his arms, although once he touched her there, his hand squeezed in a paroxysm of pleasure at the lush resilience.

  She was closer now. Had she moved or had he? All he knew was that her mouth was inches from his and her breath puffed warm on his chin.

  “A kiss for a hero,” she whispered.

  Then she pressed those petal-soft, warm, damp lips to his.

  His first kiss. Pleasure streaked through him. He’d seen kissing, imagined it, even craved it. But never had he imagined it would be this sweet.

  He heard a deep muffled groan—his. He didn’t care, was blind, deaf to anything else but her lips moving on his, caressing him with clinging silk.

  She cocked her head, her arm tightened and she pressed closer, sighing into his mouth as she opened hers, the tip of a wet tongue slipping past his lips to touch his delicately. She tasted of some mysterious sweetness all her own and he had to have more.

  It was this powerful surge of longing, conversely, that snapped him out of his haze of arousal. He froze, his mouth open over hers, tongue quivering to slide into her mouth and conquer that intimate space. To mimic what he craved doing to her below—drive his cock into her again and again in mindless search for release.

  Control. He had to get it back. He was a grown man and a business owner. A warrior, strong and honorable. He needed no one, chose who to let in and how far he let them in. She could slip in and rip his cloak to shreds, bring his demons roaring back to life.

  ‘On your knees, boy. Do as I say or you’ll get another beating. Now open that mouth and take what I give you.’

  No. He would not remember those old nightmares, would not let them rule him. Cold sweat broke out on Creed’s skin as the demons seized his arousal and twisted it into a dark, sickening echo of the past. Only the lust was no longer his, it belonged to the demons. This was why he avoided females.

  He reached up, pulled her arm from around his neck and set her down, stepping back until an arm’s length separated them.

  She stared at him, her lips soft and wet, gaze uncertain. A little dazed, as if she’d just emerged from sleep. The way he felt. He clenched his hands to keep from reaching for her again, hauling her soft, pliant form back into his arms, getting those breasts against his chest again, that ass in his hands. Took a deep breath, and searched for his calm. Felt it slipping beyond his control. He took another step back.

  “I have to go,” he managed, his voice hoarse. “I’ll, ah, see you later.”

  “You will? Does that mean you want me to stay?” she called after him.

  He stopped, his back to her. “I … don’t know. Just … wait.”

  Wait and find out if he could find a way to be near her and still be in control. Of himself and the way she made him feel.

  In his study, the door shut behind him, he linked Joran, the middle of the three brothers in age. Stark’s blood brother, so when the link opened, familiar features looked out at him—angular, handsome face with heavy, arching brows, hawk nose, although Joran’s face was tempered with a habitual smile and by long, auburn-tinged hair falling around his face.

  “Hey, little brother,” Joran said lazily from the shadows of his tont. “What’s new?”

  Creed stared at the naked woman who lay on his brother’s chest, her pretty face slack with satiation, her hair tumbled over Joran’s bare skin. Unaccustomed heat rising in his face, Creed forgot what he’d wanted to say.

  Joran did not move from the cushions he lounged against, but he spoke softly to the woman and she sat up, pouting. Joran smiled at her, and smacked her on her round, bare ass. She flounced away, although not without a longing glance over her shoulder. Joran did not return the look. Instead, he waited patiently for Creed to speak.

  “Ah,” Creed fumbled. Shit,
how did he say this? How did he ask about something that most men his age, quark, nearly all men his age knew so well? “There’s a woman here.”

  “At LodeStone?”

  “Yes. In my house.”

  Joran nodded slowly. “So, this is good, right?”

  Creed scrubbed a hand over the back of his neck, and moved restlessly. “She’s ... pretty.”

  Quark, this was stupid. To his brother’s credit, however, Joran’s expression changed not one iota. “This is good. She available?”

  Creed snorted a laugh, looking down into his coffee mug. “Highly. Logan sent her. She’s a wh—courtesan.”

  Joran’s brows went up. He pushed his hair back with one hand. “Logan actually sent you a woman. Holy skrog crap.”

  Creed shrugged. “You know Logan. You don’t move fast enough to suit him, he makes the move for you.”

  Joran tipped his head back and laughed. “Yes, he does. Well, little brother, this time I must say he’s topped all his other moves. He also has good taste in women. Fuck me, can’t wait to see her.”

  “No need. I’m not going to ... that is, I told her to go.”

  Joran’s brows shot together this time, in a curious frown. He waited.

  Creed shifted uncomfortably. He paced outside onto the balcony, where a warm breeze blew up across the valley into his face. He squinted into the sunlight. “The Zhen teachings say a warrior has to place himself above the pleasures of the flesh.”

  Considering he was speaking to his brother, who specialized in such pleasures and had, from the look of him and his woman, just finished indulging in one of them, this sounded as if Creed was parroting old, stale teachings. But for so long, they’d been a part of him—a Zhen monk, above temptation yet stooping to help those who floundered below.

  “I imagine to do what they do, a man has to focus,” Joran said, his tone respectful. “Intense lifestyle, calls for total concentration. But you left for a reason, right?”

  Creed leaned his elbows on the rail of his balcony and gazed up the mountain at the gates that led into the mine. “It was time.” Or so his teacher had insisted.

  “Then maybe it’s time for this, brother.”

  Creed explored this idea, but the hair on the back of his neck stood up and his gut tightened. “Not sure it will ever be time.”

  But he had to admit, another sensation curled through him, pushing through the dread like the little plants they occasionally found in the mine shafts, insistent on growing where they’d landed despite the dark. Hope.

  And anticipation, such as he used to feel when he went to the mine in the morning, ready to search for another vein of precious ore. Or when he was planning this place, the first place that was his and his alone.

  Or further back, when he’d ridden his cruiser away from the monastery, ready for a new life. And then the flight that brought him here to a new planet, ready to be explored. Ready for him to claim part of it for himself.

  But that had been so simple, compared to this. She—Taara was a living being. A woman—more mysterious than a new planet. And far more dangerous to his peace of mind.

  He looked down, his hands gripping each other. He had to force his next words out. “You know I’ve never ... I mean, I want her. But—”

  “If you want her, then it’s time, Creed. Don’t try to figure it all out now. Your body will show you what you need. And she’s experienced; she’ll show you some things.” Joran’s handsome face lit with deviltry. “You want her eating out of your hand, you find out what she likes and do it. She’ll be wild for you.”

  “Wild?” Creed didn’t want wild, he wanted soft and sweet.

  Joran muttered a curse and sat up. “Creed. It’s okay to let that ice cold control of yours melt once in a while. Fucking is one of the reasons to keep on living, brother. As good as riding a fast pony, or flying a cruiser at top speed—maybe better. As good as taking down an opponent, or winning a huge deal. Or, I don’t know, finding one of those big veins of ore you search for.

  “You’re a man, time to be all man. The Zhen may be celibate, but you aren’t with them anymore, so you don’t need to cling to all their ways. You left for a reason, so leave behind what’s no longer working for you.”

  “But if I let go of my control,” Creed shook his head, “who am I?”

  “Still you,” Joran answered instantly. “Still strong. True heart, sharp mind, still the best man I know.”

  Creed stared at him. This was how his brother, the wild hell-raiser who led a band of nomads in activities mostly frowned on by the InterGalactic Space Forces, saw him?

  “True heart?” he muttered.

  Joran shrugged. “I know you didn’t spend all your time with the monks on your knees meditating. You swept in and cleaned house, took some foul predators out of business. Good reason the Zhen-Lou are spoken of with awe and respect. You brought that with you to LodeStone. You take care of your people, you put up with Logan’s skrog shit and you never say a word when I ask you to, ah, look the other way when my people need to hide out on your land.”

  “You’re my brothers.” Creed’s cheeks were hot again.

  Joran nodded, his gaze warm. “Yeah. That’s what I mean. So, go with your gut—or a little lower down—on this one, brother. You’ll still be in charge.”

  “Ah … I wouldn’t know how to ...”

  Joran grinned at him. “Negotiate. That’s what you do with a courtesan. You tell her what you want and she tells you if she’ll do that. If not, you do something else, or you send her away and get another. You’re the boss.”

  He was the boss. Right. He could handle a huge mine, all the techs and equipment it took to run it, the buyers who flew in to look it over, the pirates who kept trying to take it—he should be able to handle one small woman without going rogue.

  Except that what she stirred in him felt like a vast, roaring storm that once awakened, might rip him to pieces. “Well. Thanks, Joran.”

  “Anything, brother.”

  “Same.”

  The link winked out, and Creed straightened, relieved to have the conversation over. Give him a technical problem to overcome or equipment to fix any day. Or a fight—something he could throw himself into physically and still remain in control emotionally. Sex, he was not so sure.

  But Joran seemed sure, and Joran knew him as well as anyone. Creed grinned to himself. The monks had taught him about control and being a force for right. Joran, on the other hand, was an expert at matters of the flesh as well as skirting trouble of all kinds, sometimes leaping headlong into it, and reveling in the ride.

  So maybe on this, he should once again listen to the expert.

  Creed strode back through the house, determined. He was back in control, he was calm. He would let her know she could stay, for a while anyway. That he was willing to let her in just far enough to bring him physical pleasure.

  She was a professional, she would understand that the physical was all there could be between them. That it would go no further.

  She was standing in the passageway between the sitting room, galley and guest rooms. Arms twisted behind her back in a fashion he imagined only a woman, with her more slender arms and looser shoulders could do, she stood in profile, breasts thrust out, one leg bent as she regarded the huge holomap on the wall. Her eyes were wide, soft lips pursed.

  When he neared her, she turned her head sharply, her silky curls swinging. One strand flew across her lips, and clung to the damp curve before slipping free. He followed the movement with his gaze, rapt as her tongue darted out to touch the corner of her mouth in that tiny, flirtatious move of hers.

  He took that last step, the one that brought him close, close enough to fill his nostrils with her sweet, subtle scent. Close enough that when his hands came up, independent of his brain—which was fogged with heat and very little thought—they closed right around her little waist.

  She put her hands on his arms, not pushing him away but holding on. His cloak fell away with a si
lent sigh, giving up the battle to enclose what he unleashed.

  The next thing he knew, he had her against the wall, his head cocked over hers, as he opened his mouth and did his best to chase that teasing, silky tongue of hers into her mouth and wrap it in his, capture every taste of her wet, welcoming mouth.

  Through slitted eyes he watched her, lashes fluttering against her cheeks as she kissed him back.

  Soft hands slid up to cup the back of his neck and his head, holding him there as she gave unreservedly of her mouth, letting him suck that butterfly tongue into his mouth, letting him pull at her lips with his. He drew back once, just enough to admire her lips wet and swollen from his, then cocked his head the other way and went back for more.

  Doing his best to devour her. He was starving, and he hadn’t known it. She was the only thing that could assuage his ravenous hunger.

  Her breasts were pressed against his chest, two soft pillows with hard points teasing him. Strong thighs held him in a sweet vise, accepting the helpless flex of his hips as he ground his cock against her. The friction was overwhelmingly good, so good he felt helpless heat roar through him, every sensation in his body arrowing to that place.

  He jerked his mouth from hers, and pressed his forehead against the wall beside her head as he climaxed helplessly, his ass flexing as he thrust against her.

  Release. Sheer physical ecstasy.

  Followed swiftly by fiery shame. The darkness of humiliation.

  “Quark,” he gritted. “I’m ... sorry.” He’d used her like a simudoll. He’d never touched one, but he’d seen them in holovid ads, heard men joke about them.

  She turned her face against his cheek and proceeded to shock the seven hells out of him.

  “Why?” she whispered into his ear. “That’s the nicest compliment a male ever gave me, what you just did.”

  He lifted his head, eyed her warily, his cheeks hot with more than the flush of completion. She met his gaze, hers warm and bright.

  “I mean it,” she murmured, her voice wrapping him in intimacy as surely as her arms and legs. “I take it as the highest praise that you find me attractive enough to ... you know. Just from kissing me.”