My Prize (17 page)

He smiled at her. "That's the clever part, love. Even if I say so myself." He nodded at his broadsword, standing in a corner. "There's your cummeter."

"Excuse me?" She looked completely lost.

"Here's the setup." Rory leaned forward slightly, a grin on his face and a little shiver of adrenaline running through his body.

It was not unlike the feeling he'd had standing with his clan amid the hills of his beloved Scotland, waiting for the sounds of the warriors across the glen that would signal the start of another fight for survival.

He'd hated the battles, but loved the thrill. He was, at heart, a fighter. A fighter for those he loved, those he felt responsible for, those who looked to him for protection. And he loved them as fiercely as he fought for them.

Looking at Boralle as she waited, eagerly, to hear the rest of his plan, he knew with a certainty, that he loved her.

He'd fight for her, kill to protect her, and give his life for her if the Gods demanded it.

The power of the emotions running through him made him dizzy and he blinked, unable to deal with the millions of thoughts that had suddenly exploded behind his eyeballs.

"Rory?" He opened his eyes and found her frowning, leaning toward him, reaching out a hand to touch him.

He caught her hand in his and brought it to his lips. "I'm here, lass. Just finishing up my thinking on our plan."

"The sword?"

"Yes. It's the key." He took a breath, mind back on track, brain cells clicking over in a neat and steady rhythm. "How familiar are you with the principles of the booth?"

Boralle pursed her lips and frowned again.

"Well, I know it registers the levels of arousal and orgasm through a series of electrodes that measure the electro-magnetic impulses given off by the brain and, to a lesser extent, the body."

He smiled. "Very good, lass. You sure you never studied engineering?"

She snorted. "No. That's basic stuff from the instruction manual."

"Well. Be that as it may, do you suppose the electrodes that measure these levels require the person to be actually
in
the machine?"

"Well, normally, I would think—yes. They're built in to the surface that touches the person. The bed, if you will."

"Right. But the Olympiad booths are different, yes?"

"Well, yes. They're more like specialized environments. There aren't many of them..." Her voice trailed off for a moment as she thought it through. "Which, of course, makes it easier for the Magans to substitute the faulty ones. If there's a problem, the Fralliens probably don't have many back-up units."

She flashed a quick glance up at Rory. "That's damn clever of them. It's known that the Magans have been working on Olympiad-style booths. No one would ever suspect anything. They've done their homework well, haven't they?"

He could sense her temper rising, and reached out for her. "Down, lass. Focus on our plan now. Leave the Magans be."

"Sorry. It just seems so wrong, what they're doing."

"Trying to do, Boralle
. Trying
. They've no succeeded. And they won't, if we have anything to say about it."

Gazing at him, a shiver ran through her as she heard the determination in his voice. He meant every single word.

She eased, feeling some of the tension leave her spine. "So what do I do?"

"Well, we have to make sure you are the first contestant. With any luck, you'll be the last as well, and there'll be no need to risk anybody else."

Boralle could immediately see a problem, but her faith in Rory was growing by the second. She held her objections and nodded for him to continue.

"Then you'll make an impassioned plea to the judges to compete in this event on the strength of your own body's abilities. No booth or artificial stimulation."

He took a breath and looked at his sword. "You'll have ma sword with you. Somehow you'll have to get it into the arena. It's—it's been changed a wee bit. It's now a pretty sophisticated piece of equipment, so I'm told—" he held up a hand to forestall the thousand and one questions that were trembling on her lips. He knew her so well.

"Dinna ask me how it was done. It was. I accept it. If you put it into the booth, instead of you, it will register the arousal level and conduct that information to the meters. And it will do it honestly, Boralle. No cheating, no inflating of the numbers. Just a true reading of how much you love ma touch. How much your body responds to mine...how wet your sweet pussy gets when I do this..."

He slid his hand down her belly and between her legs, just cupping her warmly in his palm.

She sighed and opened her thighs, giving him better access.

"This is my part of the plan, sweetheart. Your part is to persuade the officials with that silvered lawyerly tongue of yours that you want to connect the booth to the sword instead of yourself."

He began a soft massaging motion with his hand and Boralle's heart pounded, as her hips started moving involuntarily, seeking his touch.

"Of course, the actual scoring will require both of us to do our parts. And do it verra well..."

She loved how his soft Scottish burr deepened as he became aroused. She figured he could probably talk her into an orgasm when he sounded like that. He was doing a pretty good job of it right this minute.

"Wait a moment..." She wrenched herself back, determined not to get sidetracked before she'd hashed out all the details. Well, not
too
sidetracked.

"How am I going to get to go first?"

His face crinkled into a wicked grin. "Well, lass, I'm afraid that
will
involve a wee bit of cheating."

Boralle tried to look stern. She failed.

The fact that a large, handsome, naked, red-headed Scot with the greenest eyes in the galaxy was lovingly stroking her equally naked body had a lot to do with it. And the fact that his flesh was warming hers, that his arms were holding her, and that a certain part of him was hardening against her, also had something to do with it.

"Cheating? How?" She choked and hung on to rational thought with her teeth as skilled fingers searched for wonderful places. And tickled them.

"I'll be making sure that your number is picked as first contestant. Don't worry your head about that, love. Just trust me."

And that, realized Boralle with a flash of insight, was the crux of the matter.

Trust.

She had to trust that Rory was who he said he was. Trust that he had her best interests at heart and trust that he really was here to save the day. To save lives and prevent a disaster that might well obliterate a couple of planets as well.

Could she trust him?

She watched his face as he touched her. There was gentleness there, and affection and wonder too, as he stroked her body lovingly.

He'd done nothing but show her tenderness.

He'd never asked for anything, or tried to pass himself off as anything other than what he was.

He'd loved her body and appreciated her mind. He'd listened to her and treated her ideas with respect.

He'd known when to be gentle with her and how to rouse her to a fierce passion that matched his own.

He was everything she could ever have asked for in a man.

She just wished she knew if he was
real
.

But whatever he was, reality or fantasy, she knew she trusted him. Enough to put her life in his hands.

What lay ahead on the surface of Frallien IV was going to be a challenge for her, and for him. There was a lot resting on their shoulders. But Boralle knew, without a doubt, that between them, she and Rory would be up to the task.

For once, she was going to play more than a spectator's role in this amazing universe. This was why she'd decided on her career in the first place. To make a difference. To contribute.

She was going to put her brains and her body to good use and change the course of history. Or correct the course of history. However one wanted to look at it. She felt a Heisenberg headache coming on, and switched her attentions back to sex with a Laird.

Not a difficult transition, seeing as his cock was now rigidly resting on her thigh and his eyes had darkened to that electric green she now knew signaled his arousal. It was almost always matched by a flood of moisture between her legs.

She sighed with pleasure as he played in her puddles.

Rory felt her juices flood his hand as he plunged his fingers into her warmth. He groaned as she slid back against him, giving him even better access to her sweet lips.

Suddenly she pulled away. "Rory. Stop a minute. There's something I want to try..."

He stilled, watching her as she scrambled around and pushed him down on his back. One leg rested on the floor next to the small couch, and he felt her wetness against his other thigh as she straddled it with hers.

Her hands slid to his cock.

He groaned again, but louder.

"I want...I want to taste you, Rory. Really taste you." She touched him gently, running her hands up his length and back down again in a gesture so natural it almost brought tears to his eyes.

"Well, lass, when you put it like that..." He sighed, stretching out and resting his head on his hands. With his head propped up slightly, he could watch her.

And he wanted to hang on to this moment. To preserve the expression on her face as she admired his rigid length.

It was the most erotic thing he could remember happening to him in a long time. Well, actually, he could never remember anything quite as erotic.

Her hands learned him slowly, brushing softly over him then becoming more confident and grasping him firmly.

"Is this okay?" She asked the question quietly, seeming to sense his concentration on her movements.

"Sweetheart, if it was any more okay I'd be levitating ma body off the couch," he groaned.

A wicked little grin crossed her face, and Rory mentally crossed himself. He wondered if he should send up a little prayer for protection against her naughty inclinations.

He silently smacked his brain for even considering it.

Her head dipped and her tongue flicked out. Rory held his breath waiting...waiting for that first brush of warm moisture against his cock.

And
there
. There it was.

He lurched, not realizing how sensitive he was to her slightest move.

"Did I hurt you?" she asked, raising one eyebrow and smiling. "Do you want me to stop?"

"Ach, you're a wicked woman and I love it," moaned Rory. "More, lass. More. Anything..."

"Okay."

She bent and sucked him deep into her mouth, bringing a groan of pleasure to his lips.

She tongued his head, traced his veins and ridges and scraped her teeth gently over his taut flesh. She worked him with all the skill she possessed, and for a woman who'd been used to sex with circuit boards, she seemed to possess a lot of instinctive skill.

He felt the sweat break out on his brow as he watched her focus on his cock and take him again and again into her hot mouth.

She slipped a hand beneath and fondled his balls, weighing them, moving them gently on her palm, and then slipping away from his cock to press kisses on them.

A small bead of moisture peeking from the tiny slit fascinated her. She licked at it, tasting it, cleaning the slit with soft swipes of her tongue and encouraging another drop to appear.

She ran her fingers through his soft curls as she loved him, as if she wanted to become part of his body, to swallow his cock, and merge herself into his spirit.

Her busy fingers found a spot beneath his balls that sent shivers through him, and she realized it almost immediately. Being the very bright lass she was, she didn't waste the opportunity.

Combining her hot mouth with her seeking fingers, she quickly brought Rory to the point of no return.

"Boralle," he gasped, head thrown back, neck cords tight, and hands gripping the couch like a drowning man on a life preserver.

She raised her head and looked at him over his cock. Her eyes were dark blue and stormy, a little unfocussed and full of desire for him. Her body was soaking his thigh, and he knew that she was as aroused as he was.

"Let me see you come, Rory," she whispered. "I want to see your cock as
you
come for
m
e."

Her words were enough.

His hips thrust at her, and he felt the shudder of sexual voltage building at the base of his spine. With his teeth clenched he managed to mutter a few words at her. "Are ye sure, lass?"

"Dammit,yes. Let go, Rory McAllen." She tightened her grip on him, giving him one last long swirling lick, and finishing with a hard teasing flutter beneath the head. Right on the exact spot that would cause him to explode.

And explode he did.

Boralle held him in her hands and watched.

He was completely and absolutely amazing as his body rippled into an orgasm. And
she'd
been responsible for it.

She grinned as she observed him, trying to be clinical and dispassionate, but failing, as she relished each moan, each groan, each twitch and thrust of his hips.

His lips peeled away from his teeth in a feral snarl and she could feel his muscles as they tightened beneath her body.

He pushed his cock harder into her grasp, thrusting now, out of control.

His cock took on a life of its own, throbbing within her grip, pulsing with the force of his climax.

She waited for the moment when his body would let go. And she didn't have to wait long.

With a great roaring cry, Laird McAllen climaxed in front of Boralle North.

His cock twitched and his body became rigid. The veins beneath her hands swelled as his seed pushed its way from his body.

But of course, there were no jets of creamy come, just a fountain of delicately scented blue fog.

She lowered her mouth to him, sucking at the last of the blue fog, and licking away the little droplets of moisture.

He tasted so fine, like some rare dessert.

"Oh Rory, " she sighed, gently releasing her grip on his cock as it relaxed.

"Lass, that was...that was..."