Fontanas Trouble (5 page)

Fontana lay back on the seat and
closed her eyes, lost in the feeling of his mouth and fingers moving on her
flesh. The knuckles of the hand moving upward brushed her swollen pussy lips
through the lace of her panties. She gasped.

“What are you wearing, Fawn?”

She snapped open her eyes.
“What?”

He stared at her face. “What are
you wearing?”

“Black lace,” she whispered.

His gaze locked with hers as he
pressed a finger against her clitoris. She sucked in a breath. The black lace
rubbed against the sensitive nub in an obscene fashion that sent jolts of
pleasure through her. She had the sudden urge to pull up her skirt and massage
her panty-covered pussy into climax while he watched.

His gaze shifted to her face as
he slid a finger beneath the panties and into her channel just far enough to
tease her. The cab slowed. His thumb massaged her clit. She pulsed against his
hand. God, she wanted him deep, needed to come hard and fast.

“What do you like?” he asked.

“I-I like that,” she breathed.

“Show me your panties,” he said.

Warmth flushed through her. She’d
worn the panties hoping he’d like them. It hadn’t occurred to her he would ask
to see them. She pulled the skirt up to her abdomen. A car horn blared.

He looked down. “Black.” His gaze
came back to her face. “Show me.”

She frowned.

“Show me what you like.”

Her heart sped up. Damn, had he
read her mind? “I—”

He grasped her hand and pressed
it to her mound. A corner of his mouth lifted. “An attack of shyness? Maybe I
can help.” He pulled free the fasteners on her blazer and spread the jacket
open. His brows rose, and he looked at her face. “Going commando, I see. You
read my mind.”

Fontana nodded, unable to think,
the warmth from her pussy seeping into the hand covering her flesh. Brent
cupped a breast. They passed through a light, and his face receded into shadow.
He grazed the nipple with his thumb. She shivered.

“Show me, Fawn,” he whispered.

Fontana started to slip her
finger underneath the panties.

“No.”

She stopped at his abrupt
command.

“Through the panties.”

Her mouth went dry. She
hesitated. He pinched her nipple. Desire streaked through her. She tentatively
slid her fingers along the top of the lace. A tremor rippled through her
stomach when she grazed her clit.

He covered her other breast with
his palm. “You’re so soft. I love it.”

She began massaging her clit.
Pleasure started in a slow roll through her. Brent twisted both nipples. Her
clit tightened.

“Make yourself feel good, Fawn. I
want to hear you cry out.”

She massaged herself harder.
Vibrations of need thrummed through her. The patter of the rain that had
started against the roof of the car made her think of him with his tongue
against her sex and the gentle, insistent flicks he’d made. A moan slipped from
her mouth.

“Yes,” he urged.

Her thighs trembled. Pleasure
spiked through the sensitive buds he flicked. She reached with her free hand,
yanked aside her panties, and shoved a finger into her wet channel. The sound
of Brent’s sharp intake of breath filled the small space. She bucked against
her fingers.

“Brent,” she cried.

“That’s it, sweetheart.”

Heat flowed through her; then her
skin cooled. She clamped her thighs around her fingers. He kneaded her breasts.
Cream gushed from her channel. Convulsions tightened her walls around her
fingers.

“Come hard for me, baby,” Brent
ordered.

Fontana shattered from within.

When she floated back to reality,
Brent pulled her upright and against his chest. The rain had settled into a
gentle patter against the roof. He tipped her face up toward his and kissed her
slow and gentle. Her heart slowed back down to a normal rate. She’d just fucked
her own brains out, but she needed him. She really had forgotten how much she
needed a man’s touch.

The rain faded to an occasional
tap-tap
on the rooftop.

He nuzzled her ear. “It’s a
little cramped in this backseat. Let’s go somewhere where I can pay more
attention to your body.”

Wow. The man really did read her
mind.

She wouldn’t mind more of his
attention. She had the unexpected desire to ask about his opinion on the
Emperor’s plans to deregulate ship building and licensing.

A strange quiver radiated through
Fontana at the thought that she might care what Brent thought on politics or
books…family. Ray had wanted a family, but when he’d been assigned to the
criminal defense division, they’d both known she wouldn’t be able to live with
the idea of him fighting to free the assholes she’d worked so hard to convict.

There had been other men after
him, but she just hadn’t had the heart for it. Why get close to a man when it
was only a matter of time before she’d have to give him up? No, there would be
no discussion of law or politics with Brent. He was a good time—a damn good
time—and she was thankful for that. When she left Sagitariun, she would have to
deal with her next assignment. She had no time to be worrying about a man.

Fontana stroked his chest. “I
heard of a place where we can rent a private Roman bath. It’s outside the main
district.” She glanced through the window. “Looks like we are too.” She leaned
toward the robot driver. “Where are we?”

“In colony D, neighborhood 14, in
the Ancient Rome sector,” a deep masculine voice replied.

“How far to the Stabian Baths?”
she asked.

“Ten minutes,” the deep voice
replied.

“Take us there,” Brent ordered.
He stared down at Fontana. “We have ten minutes.”

Her stomach did a flip.

Chapter Six

The cab pulled up in front of the
Roman baths. Outside the rain-streaked cab window on Fontana’s side, a
Parthenon-style building hunkered in front of a mock Coliseum. A sign chiseled
in the imitation marble marked the building BATHHOUSE in thick Roman lettering.

“Have you been here before?”
Brent asked.

She shook her head. “I saw an ad
that promised the time of my life should I choose to come.”

“I’ll make sure of it.” Brent was
already out the door and around on her side of the cab when she stepped out,
hat in hand.

The rain had stopped, and the
sidewalk teemed with people. The fantasy resort Sagitariun was always busy.
Being a space station, the weather was controlled specifically for human
comfort, complete with a warm rainfall now and then. There was no tourist
season on Sagitariun. Every day was perfect.

“Are you going to feed me
grapes?” he asked.

“I’m buying. You’ll be servicing
me.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He laughed and
hugged her close, causing her to walk crooked.

Fontana’s attention snagged on a
woman as she stepped into the lit entryway of the Roman dining hall to the
right of the bathhouse. The woman passed behind a pillar, then reappeared on
the other side. Fontana thought back to Rick’s and the Lauren Bacall who had
come looking for Brent. Was that her?

Fontana kept her gaze on the
woman. “Brent, is that the Lauren Bacall from Rick’s?”

He looked in the direction
Fontana subtly nodded. “Sure looks like her.”

They’d driven about forty-five
minutes, well out of the Moroccan district.

“What would she be doing here?”
Fontana asked.

“There’s no one with her, so I
guess she’s not doing the same thing we are.”

Fontana jerked her gaze to him
with the intention of giving him a condescending look, but the twinkle in his
eyes reminded her that he wasn’t paid to be suspicious. She was.

“You don’t think it’s weird
seeing her?” she asked. “You thought it was strange seeing her at Rick’s.”

“Yeah, Lauren Bacall doesn’t
belong in Casablanca. If she were a tourist, it would be different, but she
works for Sagitariun. They should stay in character and not mess up a simple
movie set by dressing as another actress.” He shrugged. “Maybe I’m wrong.”

Fontana stared in the direction
the woman had disappeared. “Maybe you’re not.”

“You think she’s following us?”

Fontana silently cursed. Dammit,
she’d been acting like a law enforcement agent when she shouldn’t be. She
laughed. “All couriers go through training that teaches us to be suspicious. We
handle sensitive documents. Industrial espionage is bigger business than
prostitution.”

He slid an arm around her waist.
“Really?”

She nodded. It was the truth.
“Governments have toppled as a result of their big private-industry
corporations losing sensitive information to the wrong people.”

“Sounds a lot more exciting than
my fantasy package.”

Fontana laughed. “It probably is
for some of the top couriers. That’s not where I’m headed, though. Too much
stress, too dangerous.” She wondered if this wasn’t true. She could live with
getting herself killed. Could she return to the Corps, knowing another agent
might get killed as a result of her actions?

Fontana led Brent between two
great architectural columns on the facade of the Roman temple. They entered a
white marble antechamber. Togas hung from pegs on the right and left sides of
the hallway and alongside doors marked DRESSING ROOM. Some pegs were empty,
with neatly folded clothes beneath them. Straight ahead, two archways stood
side by side. A male stick figure was chiseled into the marble above the left
archway and a female above the right one.

“Grab a toga.” Brent veered left,
and Fontana followed.

He pulled a toga from the nearest
peg, and she grabbed the one in front of her. Brent winked at her, and her
stomach gelled as he disappeared into the dressing room to the left of his
empty peg. Fontana stepped into her dressing cubicle and slipped out of her
clothes. The toga was of a fine weave and shone like the threads were made of
metallic crystal. The fabric felt cool to the skin, even a little tingly. Brent
exited at the same time she did, and they placed their folded clothes and shoes
under their empty pegs, then faced the His and Her entryways into the pool
area. The pool beyond looked deserted.

“How do we know we’ll get a
private pool?” she asked.

He shrugged. “I guess when we
walk though, our pool shifts left or right, and another pool will move into
place beyond those doorways.”

“Why the His and Her doors?”

“Beats me. Here, you go in the
guys’ door, and I’ll go in the girls’. Come on.” He started toward the women’s
dressing room/entrance area.

Fontana caught his toga. “What if
they kick us out for going through the wrong door?”

“Come on.” He tugged her forward,
then planted a palm between her shoulder blades and gave her a gentle shove
toward the men’s door. “Live a little.”

She took a shuddering step,
waiting for him to step through the women’s door, and they plunged through at
the same time. A slight tremor beneath her feet made her think the building had
moved another pool into place just as Brent had suggested would happen. A
sensation of free falling made her stomach flip, and she felt dizzy. She found
herself frozen, unable to move even to catch herself from falling. Her feet
felt like they were part of the marble she stood on.

Her vision blanked out so that
all she could see was white. Then, suddenly she found herself in a room with a
pool almost big enough to swim laps, not the intimate tub she’d expected. Steam
curled up from the water’s surface. Royal purple silk pillows lay in piles around
the water’s edge. She felt a little tingly when she moved and—her gaze caught
on the big feet protruding from the hem of her toga.

What the—she lifted her hands and
drew a sharp breath at the sight of large, masculine hands. The movement made
something tug between her legs. Heart pounding, she groped her crotch. A cock
and balls filled her hand. Fontana fingered the balls, startled by the warmth
that started to spread from her penis like a lava vent had opened in her groin.
Her cock thickened, sprouting pleasure that made her heart pound.

She glanced to the right. Brent
wasn’t there. She took an involuntary step backward, looked to the left, and
did a double take. Brent had her body. He stood where he’d entered the bath,
holding one breast and rolling the nipple of the other around between a thumb
and forefinger.

“Wow,” he said in her voice, but
it sounded strange, sort of what she sounded like on a recording.

Fontana put her hands on her own
chest. Hard pecs were there under the tight skin, not the soft flesh of her
breasts as she expected. She flexed, and the muscles moved. Her pulse jumped.
Her nipples hardened a little to her touch, but the sensation was subdued
compared to her female nipples.

She ran her hands down her flat,
washboard stomach, felt the hard abdominals and the ridges, then continued over
her narrow hips and down her—his—hard thighs. Running her hands back up, she
found firm buttocks. Very firm. They were just as luscious and velvety as ever,
now that they were hers. She flexed her butt cheeks and felt the power,
recalled the first time she’d seen Brent. The sight of his steel buns had been
a big part of why she’d chased him.

“How did they do this?” she
asked, her voice a baritone that didn’t quite sound like him.

“I’m sure they know what they’re
doing,” Brent answered in her voice.

Fontana took a step forward and
faltered at the feel of the package swinging between her legs. She tugged the
toga up and grabbed a handful. Her cock had grown large, and she couldn’t hold
it and her balls in one hand. She shifted her grip to the shaft. It was
unyielding and throbbed with yearning. She gave the thick tool a slow stroke.
Pleasure flowed from the rod. She could feel it pulse, both inside the shaft
and in her hand. She thumbed the mushroom-shaped ridge. Electric pleasure shot
all the way to her scalp like a rolling thunderstorm.

“It must be the togas.”

She looked up when she heard her
voice coming from him…her.

“The silvery threads must be like
antennae catching our sensations and sending them to each other’s brain,” Brent
added. He had found a spot to lounge on a bed of pillows. One hand was between
his legs, the other was still working over one breast.

Her cock honed in on him like a
heat-seeking missile. It almost hurt to be hard and alone. She lumbered over to
him and settled on the pillows beside him, nearly falling, not accustomed to
her narrow hips and broad shoulders. She stroked her cock. The hard rod pulsed
in her hand, and her thighs quivered with pleasure. Surprised, she saw that
she’d leaked cum on herself. Her cock wanted more than a hand. Her cock’s
velvety head wanted to be covered. It wanted a warm, wet channel. Her hand was
a poor substitute for a pussy.

She bent and tried to get her
mouth around her throbbing erection. She couldn’t reach. So close. She
struggled to bend more, pulling her cock closer, guiding it to her mouth. Even
expelling all her air didn’t bring her mouth or tongue close enough to touch
the sensitive tip.

A woman laughed, and Fontana
realized it was Brent.

“You’ll never do it.” He leaned
over. “Here, let me show you what it feels like.” He drew the crown into his
mouth. Wet, warm pleasure spread down her shaft. She pulsed her cock. It wanted
to thrust deep into his mouth. His lips hugged her rim. A moan escaped her, a
deep rumble in her chest that sent waves of pleasure to her center. She thrust
deeper, and he pulled back. She popped out.

“Hey.” She had to have him. She
gripped her cock with both hands. It was as if it had a mind of its own. All
she could think about was burying herself inside someone, anyone, and soon. “I
have to have more of that.”

She let go of herself and cupped
his breasts. The flesh was firm yet yielded and formed to her hands. His
nipples were hard pebbles in her palms. “That’s nice. They feel so firm and
soft.”

“And that tightens my pussy,” he
said.

Her cock yearned for him. She
couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything but find his wet channel. No wonder men
only wanted one thing. Her cock throbbed with need. The damned thing wouldn’t
feel normal until it found some pussy. If she didn’t have release, she felt
like her dick would break free and go in search of sex on its own. She stroked
herself hard. That wasn’t working, and she couldn’t reach it with her own
mouth.

“Are you ready?” she pleaded.

“I’m more than ready.”

Whatever he was doing was working
to whet his appetite. He lifted his toga, exposing his pussy, the lips parted
and pink with anticipation. She had never seen herself from this angle, and it
was erotic. She had to get her shaft inside; then maybe the need would relax.
She crawled until she was over him. He grabbed her shaft in his small hand and
guided her in.

Wet warmth enfolded her, tight,
slippery. Her head felt like it would explode. Both heads did. All she wanted
was to bury herself deep inside him. So deep she would never have to leave. She
intended to slide in slow, but desire compelled her to thrust. Pleasure erupted
from her shaft. She pulled back and pushed herself home again.

Brent murmured something. She
thrust home harder this time and felt the orgasm build, but she couldn’t slow
down, couldn’t halt. Her only thought was one more thrust, then one more, then
one last one, and her whole world became an explosion of pleasure. She pumped
her seed into him, clenching groin muscles to squirt more, thrusting one last
time. Her skin tingled and flushed all over. She stilled. Sweat covered her
chest. His channel held her cock like a velvet glove. It was warm in there, and
she wanted to do it some more, but her penis was too sensitive to move.

“Oh,” she rumbled. “That was
bigger and stronger than any orgasm I’ve felt. Ever. No wonder this is all men
ever want—and then they fall asleep. I feel like I could sleep for a week.”

“And yours are little bursts of
pleasure that seemed like they were trying to build to something.”

She pulled out of him and
collapsed on the pillows beside him. “Wow.” She wrapped her fingers around her
limp penis. It wasn’t sensitive like it had been after orgasm, while she was
still inside him. “Did you come?”

“I don’t think so. I had a couple
little somethings.”

She tugged at her limp cock.
“Sorry I came too soon. I couldn’t hold back, no matter how hard I tried. I
want to do that again. I want you to feel what I do when your cock is inside me
and I come.”

“You’ll have to wait a little
while. I’ll show you something that gets me back up. Lie back and relax. The
harder you try, the softer it gets.”

He reached between her legs. His
small hand held her balls and kept them warm. It made her tingle all over. He
worked them back and forth. The feeling was pleasant, relaxing, similar to how
she’d felt when her cock was growing hard. She reached down. She was thick but
not hard.

“Relax.” He bent over her.

One breast hung free; the other
swung beneath the shoulder-drape of his toga. She cupped the exposed breast.
Soft and pliable. Her large hand couldn’t hold the whole breast. His nipple
hardened in her palm. This was how she felt to a man, to this man. Was he as
excited as she’d been when he entered her? How could he last as long as he did?
She had exploded almost right away, the pleasure was so intense. Everything he
felt was intense. Even the nipple in her hand felt like it had a home there.

He took her stiff cock in his
small hand, stroked its length. She felt that beat again as her blood pounded
into her erection. He shifted lower, slid his mouth around the head. Heat
deepened from her shaft. The strange need returned, the need to bury her cock
somewhere wet and warm. He sucked the corona, then slid his tongue down her length.
She sighed. Air cooled the head, sparking more need to bury it inside him. She
massaged the warm, velvet tip.