Creed of Pleasure; the Space Miner's Concubine (The LodeStar Series) (17 page)

“Gonna taste you,” he told her, sliding his hand between her thighs. His hand closed around her thigh, squeezing the muscle, then stroking the incredible softness of her skin.
 

She made a small noise, a kind of squeak and bit his finger in her mouth. His gaze shot up to meet hers.
 

“Bite me again, I may bite back,” he threatened, just because he felt so damned good, felt like teasing. He had a banquet of beauty spread out before him and he was going to taste it and then slake his hunger inside her as well. He could not remember ever feeling this level of hungry anticipation.

Her hand shot down to cover her mons. He eyed it, then decided to work around it. He used his free hand to part her thighs, pulling them gently but firmly apart, so her feet dangled above the carpet. Ah, now he could see all her secrets, even with the partial screen of her slender fingers. She was so delicate, he could not believe she took his cock in her here, could accept his girth and length driving into her, and without pain.
 

About time he rewarded her for that.

Leaning closer, he drew his forefinger up the seam of her labia, between her fingers. The softest part of her, now swollen and wet. Her heady scent filled his nostrils like the fragrance of hot syrup.

When his nose and then his lips brushed her, she shivered. She moaned and sucked his finger deeper into her mouth, so his palm rested on her chin, his other fingers cupping her face. She also let go of her mons and cupped his head in her hands. That was all it took to drive him crazy. He opened his mouth on her, put out his tongue and got a taste of her wetness. Sweet and musky.

He explored, driving his tongue as deep as he could into her folds. She liked that, shivering in his grasp and moaning higher. Remembering his lesson, he licked higher and found the swollen little knot of flesh hidden in her golden curls. The clitoris, one of a female’s seats of pleasure.
 

Definitely one of hers. When he flicked it with his tongue, she went wild, whimpering and speared her fingers into his hair, holding his head cupped in her hands as if afraid he’d get away. He would have assured her he wasn’t going anywhere, but he was too busy attending to the signs—rising agitation, then stiffening, then jerking in his grasp as she cried out again, a paean of pleasure that cut sweetly through the quiet of his room.
 

When she went limp, sinking back on the bed, he did several things in lightning succession. Stood, ripped off his pants, bent one knee on the bed and slid one arm underneath her to lift her higher on the bed. Then vaulted between her thighs and took himself in hand, forging carefully but swiftly into her wet, hot, still pulsing channel.

Bracing his elbow beside her, his other arm still under her, he flexed his hips and drove deep, then began to thrust in luxurious abandon. She liked that, he could feel her react immediately, hanging on to him as she worked to take him deep, rising up to meet him. Took exactly six long, splendid thrusts before he lost it and came so hard he gave a shout of pleasure into the pillow as he jetted into her welcoming depths.

Afterward, he moved lazily in her just because it felt too good to stop. And groaned as she came again, her pussy milking the last of his pleasure. But finally, he lifted his head, and looked down at her. She looked the best he’d seen her look yet, even wet in the pool. Her eyes were half closed, dreamy, and her face was soft, her mouth curved up in a little half smile.

He smiled to himself. “Guess I did that right.”

She focused on him, and smiled back, her gaze strangely shy. “Mm-hmm.”

And being full of himself and his triumph, he stupidly didn’t stop there.
 

“Did some research,” he said, stroking his hand down over her bare thigh. “What women like. Decided if I enjoy this, you should too.”

And that’s when, to his shock, she lost it.
 

“You did research?” she hissed, her face scrunching up in fury. With maybe a flicker of something else … fear?
 

Creed kept his gaze on her. What the hells? What did she have to be afraid of? A few secs ago she’d been wrapped around him, her pussy squeezing his cock like a secret fist, her face soft and beautiful with release, her voice soft in his ear as she called his name, breathlessly.

“Uh, yeah. You’re taking care of my needs. I wanted to ... make sure you got yours.”

“
No
.” She shoved at him, her hands planted on his shoulders.
 

“No?” Now he was beginning to get irritated. Okay, he was past that. Anger and something that felt uncomfortably like hurt balled in his chest, hot and jagged. “Why the hells not?”

She succeeded in shoving him off, though only because he let her. She shot up to sitting, and scooted across the bed, away from him, giving him a fine view of her full ass, not turning until she was on her feet, reaching for her robe.

“Because,” she sputtered, her cheeks red. “This—this isn’t about
me,
it’s about you. I don’t—I mean, you don’t need to do anything for me. It’s not part of our contract and I … I don’t want it.”

Then she scurried out of the room, her robe fluttering behind her as if he were chasing her.
 

Creed was left sitting on his bed, alone. What the seven hells? He’d had her shivering around him, a bundle of feminine pleasure one sec and angry the next? She didn’t want the melting ecstasy she induced in him? Why the fuck not?

He’d wanted a woman for a long time. Now he had one. But he sure as quark didn’t understand her. He shook his head. No wonder males commiserated about women over drinks, confounded by the workings of their minds and emotions.

Okay, he was done trying to figure her out and he wasn’t linking Joran again. He’d use tech again, this time a different kind.

 
He linked into a program designed by a crazy but brilliant Indigon. The program took in the information about a situation and then used Indigon intuition and empathy that had somehow been infused in the program to come up with answers, in this case about why a woman would reject a man intent on returning the favor of intense physical pleasure.
 

What he came up with had, according to the program, a ninety percent chance of being correct. It shocked him, and then tickled him, to the point that he was grinning like a mischievous kid when he considered what he was going to do next.

Chapter Eleven

 
It took Taara a long time to settle down, even after a hot showerdry and changing into an ensemble of cream lii silk knit, trimmed with spider lace. The short, off-the-shoulder top fit like a glove, as did the snug skirt, but the fabric was so light and stretchy it almost felt as if she was not wearing anything at all. She tucked her hair up in a messy knot, scowled at her flushed cheeks and turbulent gaze in the mirror, and stepped into a pair of little embroidered flats.

Then she paced her comfortable, quiet bedroom, with quick jerky steps. She was shaking, her heart racing, tears pressing at the back of her eyes. She felt as if she was coming apart inside. What was wrong with her? Why
was
she so upset? She’d shocked herself as much she had him with her explosion.
 

She should be happy that he wanted to please her. For goddess’s sake, the last time they’d been together she’d been angry that he had not taken the time to do so. She must be going crazy.

It was just that she was already deep in shifting sands here and she did not need him deciding to seduce her, too. Making her want him more than she already did. Making her long for more. For a dream she hadn’t let herself dream for years, that she’d meet a man, a strong man who’d want her for his own and they’d have a place in the galaxy where they could be safely together, where she’d look after him and he’d look after her.
 

And now here she was with this beautiful, lonely man, whom she’d just learned was also a hero. She’d spent her life in awe of the legendary Zhen-Lou vigilantes, most of the galaxy had. To learn that Creed Forth had been one, that when she touched him she was touching a living, breathing crusader … it was too much.
 

It wouldn’t last. This was a business deal. And that was all it could be. Because … because … she hadn’t the courage to go for more. She was about as far from a hero as one could get. She was a coward, one who was barely holding on to her resolve.

She perched on the edge of one of the comfy chairs, arms wrapped around her middle, rocking back and forth as misery threatened to overcome her and hot tears burned at the back of her eyes. She felt as if she were being split in two emotionally.
 

She wanted Creed, but she didn’t
want
to want him. If she did, that meant what they did together was
important
. And if she let him be important to her, if she let him in … she was afraid she’d never get him out. He would split her stunted heart wide open.
 

She’d closed herself off from people after her parents died, she knew that. She loved Daanel, he was her cousin and she understood how to love him. He was her friend and her only family. Kiri had snuck in too, and was now a dear friend.

Damn Logan Stark to the seventh hell. He was the one who’d brought her here, given her a taste of this. Forced her to let Creed Stark into her life. She was so tired of being buffeted by forces beyond her control, from the sandstorm that had taken her parents to the gangers who’d destroyed her and Daanel’s chance of happiness on Earth II, to Stark’s demand that she come here.
 

Finally, in Creed’s bed she had gained some measure of control. She was the experienced one in this relationship. Now he’d taken even that from her. And at any time, either he or Stark could jerk this fragile peace away, send her back to her old life. Creed, released from his celibacy, would find some other woman and probably marry her, bring her here and treat her like a queen.
 

And Taara would be left with a broken heart—again. This time would wreck her for good. Because she’d been a girl when her parents died. Now she was a woman, and if love and lust took hold of her, she’d never get loose from their toils.

Sniffling, Taara turned away from her own reflection. She wanted Daanel, or Kiri, wanted to have a pity party with someone who understood and would sympathize. And she couldn’t even have that.
 

Her comlink chimed, reminding her that just to put the fizz in her drink, it was time for her weekly link with Daanel, time to once again convince him she was partying it up on Serpentia while searching for stylish clothing in the markets there.
 

To her relief, he was not available, so she left him a quick message, detailing the false itinerary she’d set up for the week, with the help of some minion in Stark’s employ.
 

Then she signed off. Seeking solace, she wandered out onto the wide balcony outside her room. The sun had gone down behind the eastern mountains and the air was merely warm now, instead of hot. The scent of sun-heated evergreens drifted down the mountain on a gentle breeze.

“I know why you got angry at me.” The soft, deep voice behind her stiffened her body in instinctive defense, although she didn’t move from leaning on the railing, back arched and legs crossed.
 

As Creed Forth joined her at the rail, she continued to gaze out at the golden, peachy glow gilding the tops of the mountains, and casting lavender shadows into the river bottom. The river itself was silvery, the brush along the banks shadowy green. Although the beautiful scene failed to penetrate now.
 

As always when he was in the vicinity, she could focus on nothing else. Every part of her was aware of him, but she would not show it.

“Oh, I wasn’t angry. Just explaining how it should be with us.” There, she sounded sweet and reasonable. Sort of.

“Yeah, you were angry.” There was a smile in his deep voice. No, a grin. A smug, self-satisfied male kind of grin, as if he had her all figured out. Well, so big lizard balls, as Daanel liked to say.

She gave him a sidelong glare, her fingers tightening on her forearms.
 

He was smiling at her, mostly with his eyes. How did he do that? It was distracting and did funny things to her belly. She didn’t like it, not a bit. She didn’t like what he said next, either.

“You want to keep me at a distance,” he went on, holding her gaze with his as he leaned closer. Close enough she could feel the heat of his skin, feel his forearm brush the side of hers, the fine hairs on his arm brushing her like a caress. “Letting
me
please
you
is more ... intimate.”

Taara drew in a sharp breath, feeling as if he’d smacked her in the chest.
 

“So how do you know so much about women all of a sudden?” she demanded, to deflect him from his trajectory, which was unfortunately accurate.

His mouth twitched up at the corners. “I have my sources.”

“What, you have an advisor tucked away somewhere here?” Darn it, if he leaned any closer, she was going to do something stupid, like lean over and—and lick him, or something. She pressed her lips together to quell the temptation, and his gaze flicked down to her mouth, as if her every change of expression was fascinating.