Amorous Overnight (20 page)

“So Monica could give me permission to modify mine because she’s…a Garathani doctor?” she asked hopefully.

“Negative. Monica does not have the authority to issue, or give permission to modify, any probes.”

“But you said mine was a gift from Monica.”

“Monica’s request for your probe required approval from the appropriate authority.”

Filled with dread, Shelley asked, “Empran, who approved my probe?”

“Your probe was issued by Lieutenant Shauss. Special permission for custom programming was granted by Minister Cecine.”

Shelley’s scream echoed even in her padded room.

Chapter Ten

The next morning, she skipped breakfast and instead tracked down her quarry in the infirmary.

Monica didn’t even have the grace to look sheepish when she saw Shelley. Grinning from ear to ear, she asked, “So how was it?”

Gasping at her audacity, Shelley snarled, “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“That good, huh?”

Shelley screeched, pulling at her own hair. “What the fuck is the matter with you?”

“Wow, you really had fun, didn’t you?”

“That’s not the point!”

“So what is the point?”

“The point is, I’m totally and completely humiliated!”

“Shelley, you said you wished you’d brought a vibrator, and that’s really all the probe is—a technologically advanced dildo. So what’s the big deal?”

“How can you even ask me that with a straight face?”

Monica bit her lips and her shoulders started to shake with suppressed laughter.

“That’s it, you’re on my shit list for the rest of the trip,” Shelley told her, turning on her heel and walking away. “Don’t even talk to me.”

Monica darted in front of her. “Whatever I did to piss you off, I’m sorry, okay? Just relax and talk to me.”

“The big deal, Monica,” Shelley said with a withering look, “is that vibrators don’t require the approval of ranking officers.”

Monica winced. “Crap, you weren’t supposed to find out about that.”

“Yeah, well I did, and I…” She shook her head. “God, I feel so damned naked! How in hell am I supposed to go sit at the minister’s table every day and look everyone in the eye from now on?”

“I’m sorry.” Monica sighed. “I really didn’t mean to upset you. I just didn’t think you’d like me requesting it through Tysan because it would go into your medical record and Shauss was happy to do it. Believe me, he can keep a secret better than anyone I know.”

“Shauss!” Shelley spat. “That bastard would have been bad enough after the way he interrogated me, but—”

Monica frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“You didn’t know? After my delivery, while I was still on that corai crap Dr. Tysan dosed me with, Shauss questioned me to make sure I wasn’t lying about Mark.”

“So? Obviously you passed with flying colors.”

Shelley’s eyes bugged. “Have you ever been on that stuff?”

“No.” Monica looked fascinated. “Does it act like a truth serum or something?”

“More like a verbal emetic,” Shelley said caustically. “Basically all he had to do was say ‘Tell me your deepest, darkest secrets, Shelley Bonham,’ and I just started spewing and couldn’t stop. The more I didn’t want him to know about something I thought of, the faster it came out.”

“Jesus.”

“Exactly. It was utterly humiliating. The things I told him…” She shook her head, rubbing her upper arms. “And now he knows that I…”

“Shelley, come here and sit down.” Monica put an arm around her shoulders and guided her to a chair. When Shelley sat, Monica leaned on the desk in front of her. “Look, first of all, using a probe is nothing to be embarrassed about. Nearly every Garathani on this ship has used one, including Shauss.”

“Oh really? And what about your father?”

“Ew!” Monica shuddered. “I don’t know and don’t care to, if it’s all the same to you.”

Shelley stared at her. Was it possible she didn’t know her father had had a hand in approving her probe?

“But the probe of every Garathani on this ship isn’t programmed to simulate Hastion, is it?” she asked pointedly.

“Well, no. The standard-issue probes are programmed with generic finger and penile matrices, but because most of the males are homophobes, they tend to use the nondescript prostate stimulator. I just added a little fantasy element to yours because that’s what Jasmine and I both like.”

“And how do you think Hastion would feel knowing that I’d, uh…”

Monica grinned. “Used him as a masturbatory aid?”

“Well yeah.”

“He’d probably be really turned on. In case you hadn’t noticed, he’s an exhibitionist, and I can pretty much guarantee he’s not using the nondescript stimulator function when he plays with his probe. That boy’s got a kinky streak a mile wide.”

Shelley blushed at the vision dancing in her head. “I think you’ve scarred me for life.”

“Come on, admit it—you loved every minute of it.”

The blush intensified. “I’m not admitting anything.”

Monica laughed. “So you did have fun.”

“Even if I did, I’m still mad at you, so there.” She stuck her tongue out and went for the dramatic exit.

“You’re welcome,” Monica said blandly.

Shelley stopped but didn’t turn around when she said, “Thank you.”

The crowd at the arena this time was smaller but no less intimidating when Hastion stepped down the rings into the arena at the appointed hour. Mostly Mikal’s friends, of course. He’d heard no announcement, which meant this was an informal challenge. Fine with him—the fewer warriors who witnessed this, the better.

“Hastion, I hear you’ve come to defend your pretty ass,” Ensign Cobel called with a sly grin.

“Good luck with that, boy,” Ensign Geer added. “According to Mikal, there isn’t much left to defend.”

As all the males guffawed, Hastion ground his teeth. Damn Mikal! He would cut the bastard down to size or die in the effort.

The warrior chose that moment to walk into the sparring center, stripped to his brief and smirking like he’d already won. Hastion’s stomach sank. The other male had put on even more bulk since they last sparred. Cutting him down to size would be more than a challenge.

Mikal jumped down into the arena and assumed an attack stance. “Let’s not waste time with pleasantries. Call it, Cobel.”

Hastion stepped back into his default stance and nodded grimly.

“Mark!”

Mikal rushed him and Hastion leapt to the side. Before he knew what was happening, Mikal had grabbed him by his braid and swung him around, right into his waiting fist. Shocked by the illegal hold and blinded by pain in his left eye, Hastion lashed out wildly with his foot but Mikal hit him in the face again, and then everything went dark.

He was dimly aware of being shoved facedown on the pad and an ungodly heavy weight dropping onto his back as uproarious laughter rang in his already ringing ears. He made a vague attempt to push himself up.

Mikal’s voice said, “Cobel, Verr, hold him.” Suddenly another weight came down on his calves and callused hands stretched out his arms, pinning him to the platform.

His heartbeat spiked to panic speed and he tried to open his aching eyes. “Mikal, what the—”

“Hold still, pretty boy, or this will hurt more than it has to.”

Blunt fingernails scraped his hip as the back of his brief was tugged down.

Oh, fuck no!

Hastion burst into frantic motion, determined to throw him off.

“Mikal, what the fuck is wrong with you?” he screamed.

“This is for your own good, Ensign.” Mikal roughly pulled one of his buttocks to the side. “You don’t want to develop hemorrhoids, do you?”

Something cold touched his anus and Hastion’s world went white-hot. With a roar of rage, he tore his arms free and turned his upper body far enough to reach around and grab two handfuls of Mikal’s bulging brief.

Mikal bellowed, lunging forward as he tried to pry off Hastion’s brutally clamped fingers, but Hastion hung on, twisting the other male’s genitals without mercy. When the weight on his legs suddenly disappeared, he rolled onto his back and rammed his knee into Mikal’s face repeatedly until the bastard sagged to the side and lay unmoving.

Blinking hard, his tortured breaths deafening in the sudden quiet, Hastion shoved the rest of the dead weight off his hips and rolled to his knees. He ignored the red halo impeding his vision and looked around until he spied the tube of hemorrhoid cream Mikal had tried to shove into him. Snatching it up with shaking hands, he rolled the stirring male to his back and stood up to straddle him. Then he dropped all his weight onto Mikal’s chest with enough force to drive the air out of his lungs.

Mikal bucked when Hastion grabbed him by his streaming nose and pinched his nostrils shut. He shrugged off the larger warrior’s grappling hands, holding on until Mikal gasped for a breath, then jammed the entire tube into his mouth and shoved his jaw closed with both hands. He pushed with all his might, driving Mikal’s head back, not letting up until the other male choked and bucked again, his eyes bulging as he tore at Hastion’s wrists.

Finally Hastion let him go, staggering to his feet while Mikal lurched to his hands and knees and retched on the pad.

“You obviously didn’t read the directions,” Hastion said with surprising calm as he pulled up his brief, “or you’d have known that stuff was meant for you,
asshole
.” Then he looked around at all the impassive faces watching him. “The rest of you assholes could use some too.”

Bounding up the rings, he pushed through the silent crowd and made his way to the infirmary.

When he walked in, Ketrok did a double take. “What in Peserin’s name happened to you?”

“Sparring accident.”

“And the other male?”

Hastion smiled grimly. “He should be carried in by his friends shortly.”

The grizzled doctor assessed him with sharp eyes for a moment. “Is there anything you wish to report, Ensign?”

“No, Doctor. I believe we have settled our differences to our mutual satisfaction.”

Harrumphing, Ketrok said, “You’re going to be here for a while, so you might as well lie down and get comfortable while I repair the damage to your eyes.”

The infirmary door opened and Mikal staggered in with more than a little support from Verr. Blood dripped from his shattered nose and split lip, and his eyes were beginning to darken and swell.

Not surprisingly, Verr didn’t meet Hastion’s gaze.

Ketrok pointed. “Put him on that bunk.”

When Mikal settled onto the bunk with a grunt, Ketrok asked, “So what about you, Ensign? Is there anything you wish to report?”

“No, sir,” Mikal gurgled, leaning over far enough to spit a mouthful of blood onto the pad. “Just a friendly sparring match.”

“I see.” He looked back and forth between Hastion and Mikal for a moment and then said, “If the sparring between you is ever this
friendly
again, I’ll report you both. Understood?”

“Yes, sir,” they replied in unison.

As Ketrok passed on his way to the supply cabinet, Hastion sent,
“You may wish to scan his genitals for injuries.”

Ketrok nodded, an unholy gleam in his eye.
“Well done, Ensign. Very well done indeed.”

At two o’clock in the morning, Hastion lay on his back, nude but for his loose-fitting mabi pants. His head spun pleasantly, his stomach sloshed rather unpleasantly, and his eyes… Well, he could no longer feel them, so mission accomplished.

On the floor beside his bed lay an empty bottle of fine single-malt Scotch, one of two Terran whiskies he’d intended as gifts for his father. He’d not drunk all of it—at least half had spilled. He hoped the pad enjoyed it.

He groaned. Peserin, but he hated what he’d done to himself. He’d gambled everything—his pride, his self-respect, his virgin ass—and he’d lost it all. He’d fucked himself royally, as those adorable Terrans would say.

But why?
Why
did it have to be this way? Why could the minister not accept and enjoy him the way Shauss did Tiber? What was so lacking in him that no male could find him worthy?

Backbone, that was it. He should display more backbone. He should stand up to the minister and tell him,
By the Powers, no more fucking unless you give me what I want!

But perhaps the minister didn’t care to fuck him anymore.

And did he even know what he wanted? He’d thought he wanted to be fucked, but when he got it, he didn’t like it. Well, he liked it, but he didn’t like the way he felt about himself after the minister had gotten what
he
wanted and shoved him away.

Planting one bare foot on the blanket, he wagged his knee back and forth, lost in the blue blur of the ceiling.

Perhaps he should endeavor to be more like Tiber. Be more…intelligent. More decisive. Perhaps he should become a physician, as he’d once dreamed. He’d always excelled at caring for others, and physicians were deeply respected. Except on Earth, where they were alternately worshipped and reviled, depending on which side of a legal action one was on.