Warrior (17 page)

His palms, strong and warm, found her shoulders. Jess closed her eyes and purred as his long fingers dug in, discovering every knot in her muscles with unerring accuracy. She let her head fall forward. Broad thumbs circled a particularly nasty spot, massaging it skillfully until it melted away.

Damn, this is better than sex.
Then she grinned, remembering just how good Galar's lovemaking was.
Well, almost.

The skin of
Jessica's shoulders felt fine-grained under his hands, hot and slick from the combination of the oil and the water. Looking over her shoulder, Galar watched her pretty breasts bob, flushed pink by the heat. He badly wanted to taste those rosy nipples, but he was a patient man, and she needed the massage.

She'd earned it, too. Galar smiled, remembering her fierce concentration as she'd fought to block his attacks. To a man who'd spent his life fighting alongside cyborgs and Warfems, she'd looked more than a little clumsy.

He wasn't sure why he'd found that so endearing.

Maybe it had been her fierce determination. Jess kept pushing, kept trying even when she was all but staggering with fatigue. Pissing her off enough to make her swing at him had taken a surprising amount of work. She'd been so intent on getting it right, no matter how deliberately unreasonable his demands. She might not be a product of genetic engineering or some warrior culture, but she was a fighter all the way to the bone.

No wonder he couldn't resist her.

Galar rubbed circles in the center of her palm with his thumb, then began to work his way up the length of each long, tapered finger. He'd already massaged her back and arms so thoroughly, she lay completely relaxed against him, almost dozing.

“Mmmm,” Jess whispered. “That feels so good.” She gave a sensual little wiggle.

He smiled. “I was beginning to think you'd gone to sleep.”

Jess turned her head to give him a wicked smile. “Not with that hard-on of yours pressing against my butt.”

He lowered his head to give her ear a gentle nibble. She shivered deliciously. “Should I apologize for keeping you awake?”

“Only if you don't intend to live up to my expectations.”

He cupped her breast with his free hand, then began to delicately roll her nipple between oil-slicked fingers. “Oh, you don't have to worry about that.”

She smiled, shuttering her eyes in pleasure. “You relieve my mind.” He released her hand and started conducting an entirely different massage between her long legs. She arched and caught her breath.

Oiled fingers stroked and toyed with first one hard nipple, then the other, until she squirmed in helpless need. He gave her no quarter, teasing breasts and sex simultaneously while she whimpered.

Galar rumbled in pleasure at her reaction. She felt snug and delicious around his oil-slick fingers. He remembered how it had felt to drive his cock into that sweet, tight channel. His erection bucked, trapped between his body and her hips.

Her answering chuckle sounded distinctly feline.

As Galar's fingers
teased her nipple and sex, pleasure flowed through Jessica's body like a wave of heated honey, shimmering and sweet. She let her head loll back against his shoulder. After that long, delicious massage, she felt as boneless as a plate of pasta. Even her arousal was lazy, a gently rising heat instead of the urgent storm of lust she'd experienced the day before. Yet it was no less sweet, no less intoxicating.

Leaning back in Galar's strong arms, Jess let herself enjoy his slow, sensual teasing. His cock pressed against her like a wicked promise, and she grinned, anticipating.

“You like that?” he rumbled in her ear, sliding first one finger deep, then two.

“You're the man with sensors. What do you think?”

“I think I want to fuck you.” The rough tiger growl sent a shaft of pure lust jolting through her. Before she could stir, he surged under her, sweeping her out of the water and into his arms.

Jess yelped, startled, as he turned and draped her across the side of the pool on her belly. “Hey!” She started to rear up, but he curled a big hand around the back of her neck, keeping her gently in place. “What do you think you're doing? ”

“Take a guess.” Laughter rumbled in his voice as he stroked a hand over the curve of her ass, then found her opening with two fingers.

She gasped as he gave her a slow, teasing pump. To the outrage of her feminist sensibilities, the feeling of being held down actually increased her arousal. “Let go!”

“No,” he said thoughtfully. “I don't think so. I've got plans for you.”

“Galar!” Her attempt at a tone of stern warning was probably blunted by the giggle she couldn't quite suppress.

“Jessicaaaa,” he purred back, shifting his hold to the center of her back. Water sloshed around her knees as he wrapped his other arm around her thighs.

And buried his face right against her pussy.

“Oh!” She tried to rear up, startled, but his Warlord strength controlled her body effortlessly, keeping her in place for the long, wet lick that followed. “Gaaalaaarr!”

He made a rumbling sound and settled down to eat her in earnest, first circling his tongue around her clit in a delicious, burning spiral, then lapping between her lips, then finally thrusting deep into her core. In and out, in and out, drawing flickering hot patterns that maddened. In seconds, he had her writhing, but the powerful arm around her thighs kept her pinned and helpless.

Jess had never been so turned on, so fast, in her entire life.

He paused in those mind-blowing licks for a series of little nibbles, pressing his teeth gently into her lips and over her clit, careful to use just enough force to make her squirm, but no more. At the same time, he probed her with his free hand, pumping maddeningly deep. Teasing her until it was all she could do not to howl.

“Oh, God!” Jess tossed her head, panting. Every stroke, every nibble, every lick sent another blazing jolt of pleasure through her nervous system.

“You taste good,” he growled, an elemental male rumble. “So juicy, so sweet. And you're
tight
too.”

She squeezed her eyes shut and panted. She was so damned close to coming, she could feel the fiery nimbus of the climax trembling right on the edge of her consciousness. “Fuck me! God, please
fuck me
!”

He gave her a slow, tormenting stroke with those big fingers. “You sure you're ready?”

“Yes!” It was a scream of pure frustration.

“No.” He lowered his head and curled his arm tighter around her thighs. “I don't think you are. Not quite.”

“You bastard!” Jess bucked against his hold, maddened.

He only laughed and went back to using that ruthless tongue again, avoiding her clit now, as if knowing all it would take was one tiny stroke to send her over.

Yowling in a combination of pleasure and pure frustration, she hunched and tried to kick, clawing at the floor around the tub, only dimly aware it was smooth tile instead of grassy loam. Out of the corner of one eye, she saw something sail past and bounce off the invisible wall of the chamber. She was far too absorbed in the oral torment to register what it was or what had sent it flying, though. “Galar, damn you!”

“Now,” he purred, straightening behind her and dragging her legs apart with both hands. “
Now
you're ready!”

He drove his cock into her in one strong, ruthless thrust. She wailed at the piercing pleasure of being so completely filled.

Galar felt massive, thicker than her fist, and he pumped in and out of her in merciless digs that stretched her deliciously. Almost too much, almost too hard, but not quite. The feral intensity of his ride was just what she needed, shooting her up the sweet, searing curve to orgasm.

Until finally—finally!—Jess came in long, blazing ripples so hot, she literally saw stars.

Galar threw back his head in delight as her tight inner muscles milked his cock with long ripples. Gritting his teeth, trying to hold on just a little longer, he slammed his hips against hers, working the thick shaft in and out and in again. Each honeyed stroke made him shudder at the raw pleasure of possessing her.

He'd never in his life experienced anything as hot as teasing Jessica into a mindless frenzy. He fully intended to do it again. And again.

And again.

Imagining the pleasure to come, he felt the orgasm swamp him in a shuddering liquid blast that tore a bellow of delight from his throat.

Later, as they
staggered around on shaking legs getting dressed, Galar found the bulb of herbal oil lying all the way by the far wall of the chamber. He frowned down at it, wondering how it had gotten there. He didn't remember throwing it, and he didn't recall Jess doing so either.

Then again, they'd been pretty turned on. Who knew what one of them had done in the heat of the moment?

Marcin slid the
penitent's rough gray robe on over his naked shoulders. The fabric's stiff fibers pricked at his skin as if with hundreds of tiny claws. He worked to embrace the discomfort, knowing there would be worse to come. Atoning for his failure to apprehend the heretic would require blood. And a great deal of pain.

He'd chased her for the past endless week, getting close only to fail repeatedly as she'd Jump again and again until he'd lose the trail. She seemed to be able to sense his presence even when he was fully shielded, something that should have been impossible.

Those repeated failures weren't just frustrating—they could cost him his life. His stomach twisted in dread, but he ignored it. Fear was an unworthy emotion, he told himself, a barrier on the path to victory.

Marcin walked across the cold black quartzion floor, grinding his heels with every step so the sharp stones dug even harder into his bare feet. An icy sting told him he'd succeeded in his goal. When he looked back, he saw with satisfaction that he'd left bloody footprints glistening on the stone.

Perhaps it would help appease the warrior priest's fury.

Though even if it didn't, he'd embrace whatever punishment he was dealt. That, too, was his duty. Failure had a price, and an honorable man paid it without stinting.

He strode along the stone corridors of the Cathedral Fortress, passing soldiers, pilgrims, worshipers, and priests. A frigid glare repelled any curious gazes that lingered on his penitent's robes and bloody tracks.

The crowd thinned quickly as he found his way to the priests' wing. Tarik ge Lothar's quarters lay at the end of the corridor, in a coveted location in the tower that overlooked the Great Inland Sea.

When Marcin stepped through the unlocked door, the view through the huge window took his breath. The Inland Sea lay in a great sweep of blue all the way to the horizon under the pale violet sky, waves battering the black stone cliffs that formed the base of the Cathedral Fortress.

Leading a cohort of the Faith came with other benefits as well. Though low-ranking monks like Marcin might have bare stone cells with only a few amenities, Warrior Priest Tarik's quarters spoke of battles won and the rewards of victory.

First there was the great fur skin that lay across the smooth marble floor, fully twelve feet long. The creature's six legs were tipped in dagger blade claws. Its massive, bearlike head glared out at the room, snarl exposing tusks the length of a man's forearm.

The colonists on Cambria called the creatures gravediggers for obvious reasons. Marcin would have hated to take on a beast of such size, even with full armor and a beamer.

Tarik had stalked it without armor, using naught but a knife, though it was said he'd spent a full week in regen afterward healing the resulting wounds. It had been one of the tests that had proved him worthy to lead his cohort.

Arranged on the gleaming black headboard shelves of his bed were trophies of other battles: an exquisite bronze of a nude woman looted during the invasion of Vardon; a katana from ancient Japan; an array of priceless objets d'art and weapons, all in gold or marble or encrusted with gems.

But the real centerpiece of the room was the massive cabinet that occupied the place of honor across from the bed. Like the warrior priest's bed, it had been carved from gleaming black Xeran spiderwood. Marcin recognized the distinctive style of the intricate carving as the work of the finest artisan on the Fatherworld. The warrior priest must have paid a great deal for that cabinet.

Skulls lined the shelves, both human and alien, each painted in the dark, dried blood of its owner. Xeran characters described the death blow that had killed each of them, along with words of praise for their courage and combat skills. These were Tarik's most honored foes.

Not a few of them had Xeran skull implants.

Marcin would have liked to examine them more closely, but he didn't quite dare. Instead he moved to the center of the room, where a fire bowl sat on a piece of priceless crimson Takega silk.

Arranged on the silk on one side of the bowl were five silver boxes filled with herbs. Opposite the boxes lay a strand of shining wire studded with sharp thornlike projections.

Marcin knelt on the side of the cloth before the thorned wire, silently admitting his guilt.

Expressing his willingness to pay the price.

10

No sooner had he seated himself than Tarik entered
on silent slippered feet. He was dressed in a black silk robe and loose trousers, both embroidered with silver thread in symbols of the Faith so that they had a somber gleam.

The first time Marcin had met Tarik, he'd been surprised to find the warrior priest a smaller man than himself—a full head shorter, built for muscular grace rather than the sheer bull power of a combat 'borg. Yet he would not have cared to meet the priest in battle. Even without the four sets of horns that revealed his rank, there was a stillness about Tarik, a kind of lethal calm. It was the icy serenity of a man who'd been learning the skills of the warrior from the time he could walk. He looked like what he was: the leader of the most deadly cohort in the Xeran priesthood.