Seized & Seduced Page 6

  “Cayle.”

  “Shush, lunaheart.”

  He moved a fraction then settled between her legs. Some of her frustration eased. He didn’t intend to leave her ramped up and edgy.

  The next sec a curse leaped from her mouth. “Phrull.”

  Her eyes flew open to see his concern. “Breathe. Take a deep draft through your nose. Do it now and the burning will lessen.”

  “What did you do to me?” She glanced down her body, attempting to see between her legs.

  “I’ve put a smaller clamp-peg on your clit. Breathe the lifeforce. It’s a lighter peg with not as much tension as the ones at your breasts. Breathe. The stimulant on the clamp will kick in soon.”

  Even as he said the words, arousal stirred deep in her womb. It rippled from her breasts as he flicked the clamps. The sensations raced straight to her clit, the burning throb growing, growing, growing.

  “Ahhh,” she croaked and swallowed at the twirling ribbon of pleasure that frisked but never settled in one spot.

  Without removing his gaze, Cayle stripped, baring his muscular body and his erection. Her gaze went to his cock piercing, the glistening drops of seminal fluid on the ruddy crown. She’d ordered him pierced to enhance her pleasure and celebrated the decision. She’d pierce her clit except it was another sign of slave status. No one in her circle had one, or at least admitted to the fact.

  As she watched, he opened a bottle and stroked the creamy liquid the length of his shaft. His smoke-gray eyes deepened in color as his gaze collided with hers.

  “I want you to leave on the clamp. I’m going to slide onto the gel-couch beside you. Move carefully over me, so you don’t dislodge the clamp-peg. Take my cock inside you at your own pace.”

  “What is the cream?”

  “A new invention. It will stimulate you inside, the slight nip of the clamp a counterpoint for the pleasure in your channel.”

  “Have you tested it?” she asked, her tone sharp, jealousy springing to life at the idea of him penetrating another woman.

  “I’ve tested the cream. I used a vibrator to penetrate myself, and I’ve used it on my hands and my cock. Everything is natural and I have suffered no ill effects. I can wash it off if you wish.”

  “No, it’s all right.”

  His nod held approval. “Move slowly. I don’t want you to injure yourself.”

  Ursola did as he requested and clambered onto his body. If she progressed too fast, the sensations stole her lifeforce and she had to drag in huge breaths to compensate for the nip of pain at her clit. She guided his cock to her pussy and bit by bit took him inside.

  His girth seemed larger than normal, the exercise of seating herself more difficult, yet contrarily more thrilling than ever before.

  “Feels good, lunaheart.” He hissed out a breath. “So damn good. Much better than when I used the cream on my own.”

  “Yes,” she said as she rose and the pressure on her clit eased a fraction. She impaled herself again, the sense of fullness exquisite. “The enhancing cream is amazing.”

  “It does do excellent things. It makes my cock more sensitive. I can feel the drag of my shaft each time you move. My cock head is more sensitive. Tell me what you experience.”

  Ursola moved up and down in a dreamy fashion. Her teeth dug into her bottom lip as she focused on the growing swirl of enjoyment. “I feel relaxed, and the pleasure…it’s just out of my grasp. If I go faster, maybe I can reach it.”

  “No lunaheart. Keep at this slower speed. I’d hate you to rip off the clamp due to impatience. I don’t want to injure this pretty pussy.” He reached between them and ran his finger around the clamp in easy, delicate circles.

  The pressure on her engorged sex teetered her to pleasure then pain. She sucked in a hoarse breath. “Don’t know if my skin can contain this much delight.”

  “You can take it. This and more.” He sat up, so she perched on his lap, his new position making his cock strike her channel at a different angle. “Move a fraction faster now. Goddess.”

  Ursola laughed, the tinkling sound taking her by surprise. She sank down and rose, riding his cock at a faster pace. The blissful sensations began to knit together, growing, growing, expanding until she sobbed out her enjoyment. “Cayle.”

  His gray eyes twinkled with a spark of devilment. One large hand circled a breast, squeezed, clamp-peg and all.

  The jagged pain had her crying out, she jerked, her muscles twitching, the resulting flare of ecstasy too much, too big, too huge for her body to absorb. The tipping point. Pleasure and pain danced and mated, swirling in a big ball of satisfaction. A scream ripped from her throat as she convulsed, spasms catapulting along her channel, making her twitch and writhe.

  She was dimly aware of Cayle groaning, coming, but her body kept shuddering, and she had to concentrate on regaining her breath. She leaned into his solid weight, smelled the musky man-scent of him. When she was thinking more clearly, she’d play her usual game of trying to decipher his scent. It was musky—yes—but there were elements of spices and maybe flowers.

  He ran a hand down her sweaty spine, and she shifted into the embrace. Another spasm radiated from her clit, and she groaned at the spike of gratification. Less intense this time, but still enough to steal her body of lifeforce.

  “Easy, lunaheart.”

  “You sound satisfied.” It was difficult to get out those few words, to form them into sounds.

  “I enjoy giving you pleasure. I’m going to take off the clamp-pegs,” he said. “Don’t want to injure you.”

  Before she could answer him, his hand slid between them to unclip the tiny clamp-peg surrounding her clitoris. A sharp pain sent another coil of pleasure soaring. He lifted her off him and placed her on her back. “Don’t move. Take deep breaths.”

  Something else she liked about him. He read her body, knew how she was feeling, the sensations she was experiencing and how to ramp them up or ease her down. She’d asked him once how he knew, and he’d said it was instinct—something he just knew. But suspicion had lurked in her. Jealousy.

  She’d discovered he was everything he’d said. A youth from a poor family, desperate for funds. His mother had signed him up as a slave, taken the cash in return and walked away without looking back. Cayle had started work in her kitchen as a scullery boy. He’d caused no trouble and labored his way up until he’d come to her notice. Now, he could rule the other slaves. She’d give him this power without blinking—if he asked. Instead, he continued to work hard whenever she carried out her duties and social obligations.

  She drifted, happy with her thoughts, satisfied and completed. A little sleepy. Her clit burned, but it was a good burn. She was happy, she thought, as she’d never been before.

  “Take a breath for me, lunaheart.”

  Before she could ask questions, something cool and soothing washed over her clit, instantly relieving the remaining heat. She sighed, her muscles relaxed. Her eyes drifted closed.

  Cayle released one of the clamp-pegs at her breast. Sensation returned with a fiery kick, and she gasped, tensing to fight the pain. “Cronin’s balls,” she cursed, jerking from his soothing touch, her eyes wide now with the shock.

  “Steady there.” Amusement weaved through his words then the ache subsided, batted away by the same cool wash of gel he’d used on her clit. The seductive state of relaxation returned until he removed the last clamp-peg.

  This time, she managed to bite back a curse and secs later, it didn’t matter since the gel eased the brief agony.

  “All right?” he asked.

  “Sleepy.”

  “Why don’t you rest? You have nothing urgent to carry out until the soiree this eve.”

  “I should do some bookwork.”

  “Why don’t I help you later? I can scan the screens or read the necessary data. Whatever you wish.”

  She blinked at him, fighting her fatigue. “You’re too good to me, Cayle. Perhaps I will sleep now.”

  “I will wake
you in time to prepare for this eve.”

  “Excellent.” She caught a weird expression on his face. No, it was her. The orgasm had been so intense, so perfect and now she needed to recharge her body. He was smiling at her—her handsome slave.

  Ursola gave up the fight to keep her eyes open. Cayle…sometimes she wondered if her body would expire from the emotions he fostered in her. Happiness. Excitement. Joy.

  It was a pity her gorgeous man was a slave.

  * * * * *

  “One more cycle until recreation time,” a purple guard crooned as he pushed food pouches through the feed chute. Several fat red berries and a shiny yellow fruit bounced through secs later. He loaded water containers into another chute and made them accessible.

  Royal caught a berry in his paws just before it hit the ground.

  “We’re on space rations, I see.” Jannike fought the craving to scratch her stomach and lost. Her nails raked across her flesh but did nothing to cure her ailment. Luckily, neither of the men noticed since they were more interested in each other. Yet even they fought the true mating, confining their physical contact to skin-to-skin. She clicked her fingers at them. “Pst! I’m gonna eat all the rations. You should hurry if you want to eat.”

  “Probably stew again.” Lynx climbed to his feet with a wide yawn.

  Jannike was pleased to see his lower half remained garbed. She told herself to look elsewhere, but her mind disobeyed. Her glance took in a landscape of toned muscles covered with splotches of black. The feline tattoo on his arm had faded completely, and now it seemed as if the black parts wandered his chest. Her gaze moved on to Shiloh, a bulkier man and just as impressive.

  “Like what you see?” Shiloh asked in a silky voice.

  Jannike forced herself to meet his challenging gaze. “The tattoos have gone from your arms. Your chests are covered with black smears. Turn around.”

  Lynx turned to present his back.

  Secs later, Shiloh followed suit. “Well?”

  “Your backs have a few marks but not as many as your chests.” Probably because they hadn’t had penetrative sex yet, although she didn’t share this with them. She tossed them a ration pack each, then concentrated on her own meal.

  Lynx cocked his head. “Something is wrong with the engines.”

  Jannike frowned, listened to the steady drone and caught the pauses in the revs. “Can’t be too serious. The guards aren’t reacting.”

  “They’re grunts.” Shiloh’s tone was dismissive. “They don’t know any better.”

  “Whatever the problem is, it’s getting worse,” Lynx said.

  The ship shuddered, tilting downward without warning. Royal let out a shriek and leaped at Jannike. The missile of calibore pushed her off-balance, and she would have fallen if Shiloh hadn’t grabbed her and wrapped her in his arms.

  “Phrull,” Lynx muttered when the revs became a protesting moan. “I wish I could see what was happening. I hate this.”

  The ship shuddered, screamed and continued on its downward trajectory. The entire framework of the vessel juddered again, slowed a fraction.

  “We’ve hit atmosphere. According to the guards we’re close to Manx Two. Kelvin,” Shiloh shouted above the panicked cries of their fellow captives. “We’re crashing. Sit in the corner and brace.”

  Even as he spoke, he was urging both her and Lynx into the nearest corner. They huddled in a tight group, the men stoic while Royal chittered in alarm, his strong arms wrapped around her neck in a forceful embrace. His small body trembled, and not even the stroke of her hand stilled the shaking.

  Panicked shouts came from the guards. Running feet thundered past their cell.

  “Hurry! Hurry! We’re going down,” one screamed.

  Jannike didn’t bother lifting her head. Instead, she closed her eyes, leaned into the protective embrace of Lynx and Shiloh and enjoyed relief from the constant prickling of her skin.

  Chapter Five

  “They’ve slowed the descent,” Shiloh said.

  “We’re still going down.” Lynx’s taut muscles indicated tension, indicating that his mind had taken the same path as his. “Phrull, I hate this.”

  The same sense of helplessness roared through Shiloh’s veins. He glanced at the woman. Not a trace of panic. Jannike didn’t scream or pray. She didn’t cry out or react as most of the Virosian women of his acquaintance would under the same circumstances.

  Reluctant admiration filled him. He’d watched her train, even managed to confine his jealousy long enough to let her fight against Lynx. She’d held her own, using skill and cunning to best his friend during some of their bouts.

  She hadn’t managed to beat him, but he’d found their skirmish satisfying. Challenging even. Grudgingly, he realized he liked her no-nonsense attitude.

  “Won’t be long now,” Lynx said. “Better pray—”

  The ship struck the ground. Jannike head-butted him, and Shiloh grunted. Royal shrieked. An explosion sounded, close enough for concern. Screams and howls erupted in the other cells. Cries of agonized pain. The other captives battered his mind with their panic. He tightened his grip on Lynx, on Jannike, but they slid across the floor, whacked into the bars.

  Trolleys and feeding implements flew down the outer corridor that ran between the cells. Items crashed against walls with metallic shrieks. Pallets skidded around and hit them.

  Shiloh cursed. Lynx groaned. Royal screeched, his fear resounding in the confined area. Jannike attempted to calm him. The ship took off, fell in a sickening drop, punched into the ground again. The floor tilted at a crazy angle.

  Jannike pulled away.

  “Hold.” Shiloh gripped her arm to reinforce the order. “Might bounce again.”

  It did.

  Hard.

  Jarring.

  Then the synmetal fabric of the big ship groaned.

  Shuddered.

  Settled to less of a lean.

  The screams, the roars, the howls of pain became worse. The cacophony of terror deafened Shiloh.

  Instinct made him want to help, yet he could do nothing except look after those who shared his own prison.

  Once he was sure the ship had stilled, Shiloh released Lynx and Jannike. He assessed his own body. He groaned and stretched out the leg Lynx had fallen against, pressed his ribs. Blood dribbled down his face, and he swiped at it to clear his vision.

  “You all right?” Lynx demanded.

  “Fine,” Shiloh said and managed to prove it by climbing to his feet. He staggered, balancing precariously because of the uneven floor.

  The cries hurt his head, the pain, the fear, the horror of this never-ending nightmare.

  “Whoa.” Jannike rubbed her temple. “You have a hard head.” She wobbled a bit as she attempted to stand. Shiloh gripped her arm to aid her to stand. Royal clung, covering her face in his anxiety.

  “It’s okay, boy. Let me move you.” She shifted his trembling body to another position on her shoulder, pushing closer to Shiloh as she regained her balance.

  Shiloh eased out a breath, relaxing even though Lynx was on her other side and still on the floor.

  Lynx attempted to rise and collapsed with a pained groan.

  “What is it? What’s wrong?” Anxiety had Shiloh rushing to his friend’s side.

  “Shoulder,” Lynx gritted out. “Bloody thing has come out of the socket again. Gonna need to shift.”

  “Not here,” Shiloh snapped.

  “Ahoy there,” a booming voice called above the racket.

  Jannike gaped at Kelvin. “How did you get out of your cell?”

  “Door buckled with impact. Might be able to force yours. Quick help before guards come.”

  “The guards are busy,” Jannike said to Lynx. “Shift now to speed your healing. Stay at the rear of the cell.”

  “Phrull, she’s right,” Shiloh said. “We need everyone at full strength.”

  Lynx nodded but struggled to remove his tunic.

  “Let me.” Shiloh maneuvered t
he fabric up and over Lynx’s head. Every wince, every grunt from Lynx felt like a body blow, and not for the first time, Shiloh wished they didn’t need to remove their tunics in order to shift. Their trews melted into their bodies, and he had no phrullin idea why their shirts ended up in tatters instead of doing the same thing as their trews and footwear. “Sorry.”

  Lynx sucked in a harsh breath as he focused. Shiloh watched, aware of the anxiety stirring his gut. Gradually, the transformation took hold. Shiloh released the grip he had on Lynx’s tunic and puffed out a relieved breath. Lynx wasn’t limping. The shift to feline had helped.

  “Where do you think we be?” Kelvin boomed.

  “Maybe Manx Two.” Shiloh strode forward to check the door. Kelvin was right. The bars of their door were out of alignment.

  “If we’ve crashed somewhere on Manx Two, we’re in bigger trouble than before. The deserts are inhospitable and dangerous,” Jannike said. “Most people never leave the dome, except to travel off-planet.”

  “We’ll take our chances. You stay here if you want but Lynx and I are leaving.”

  “We’re coming with you.” Jannike stalked to join him. “Let’s do this.”

  Shiloh squinted at the light coming from outside the ship. The crying and screams continued, and animals and beings—those who’d escaped their cells—poured through a rupture in the wall of the ship.

  “Wait. I see guard. I get keys or find central control.” Kelvin glided away, surprising graceful despite his booming voice and large brown body.

  “Yank at the bars on my call,” Shiloh ordered. “One, two, now.” He put all his force behind the yank and at his side, Jannike did the same.

  The bars moved, but not enough.

  “I have keys to work individual cells,” Kelvin said. “Guard dead. Must have hit head. No central control panel for cells.”

  “What about the other guards?” Shiloh asked.

  “Front of ship took most of the impact,” Kelvin replied. “Maybe dead.”

  “Let’s hope so,” Jannike said.

  Kelvin tried the first key and then the next. On the fifth attempt the key turned.