Legend Beyond The Stars (10 page)

With eager hands he roamed her curves, while his mouth devoured hers once more. Her taste filled his senses, fuelling a hunger he had never before experienced.

His world shrank to encompass her.

Only her.

A growl escaped him. He lapped at the graceful line of her throat, sucked over the delicate bones of her shoulders and chest. He filled his hands with her high rounded breasts, shaping, moulding. He couldn’t get enough of her. She writhed under him her breath coming in short pants, her smooth hands gliding eagerly over his shoulders, down his back and drawing such a surge of pleasure from him, his mouth moved back to hers and drank.

Dimly he knew what this signified.

This desperate need.

He would claim her as his mate in the age old tradition of his ancestors.

From now on until both met their eternal rest, she would be bound only to him.

He fumbled with her unfamiliar clothing unsuccessfully, yanking with impatient fingers at the cloth. There was a faint ripping sound.

“No wait.” She gasped. Her blue-green eyes were bright with mischief as she smiled at him. His stomach muscles clenched in response. Something hard and hot flared to life in his spirit. She pushed at his shoulders and he eased himself back slightly. She grabbed the bottom of her top, pulled it over her head, her arms then encircled his neck to draw him closer and sighed.

Tarak was lost.

He lowered his head, eagerly suckled at her swollen breasts, moving from one to the other. Nipping, sucking, licking. She wriggled and squirmed beneath him. Her mews of delight teased, urged him on. He drew in a deep shaky breath. Her skin gleamed pale and fascinating beneath him.

By the suns of Darkos, this was too much
.

“Say you yield to me,” he growled against her silky skin as he thrust his tongue into the small indentation above her belly. He would have her complete willingness. It was against a Darkon warrior’s code to force a female.

“Yield?” she repeated her voice a thin thread of wispy sound.

“Slave Alana, say you yield to me.” He fondled her breasts persuasively then drifted his fingers over her body. He lifted his head to watch her face, as he slipped one hand
beneath her covering to tease her soft curls, his hard fingers seeking and finding the source of her pleasure. With intense satisfaction he noted how her brown lashes fluttered shut, the flush on her high cheekbones deepening, her soft mouth parted and moist.

Enough
.

He turned his attention to the clothing covering her long legs, his hands trembling in their eagerness.
By the hem of Cercis’ cloak, how did this contraption work?
He scowled and wrestled with the clasp. Dimly he realised her hands now clasped his and were trying to pull them away. Her body tensed, rejecting him. Denial roared through him.

“I don’t yield to anyone!” she hissed at him. “And, I am no man’s slave.”

Frustrated, he glared back at her. Her face was pink, her eyes bright, her white breasts rose and fell quickly. His body so heavy and tense he was literally shaking with the force of his passion.

Her wetness still coated his fingertips.

Mmmm
. Tarak reined in his raging senses, gathered a fragile hold over his need. He heaved in a deep breath. Thoughtfully, he considered the female lying beneath him. There was fear and defiance sparkling in those beautiful eyes, warring and, if he was not mistaken, rapidly gaining control over her desire.

It appeared his little slave objected to yielding to him. Perhaps it had been the words he had used?
She had been eager enough until he had spoken.

”It is a Darkon tradition.” Tarak picked his words with care, deliberately keeping his voice calm and soothing. He noted the curiosity lighting her eyes. There was a slight easing in her tense body.

Ahhhh
. He lowered his head, his lips nibbled along the line of her jaw.

She trembled. She clasped then unclasped his shoulders. The contact of her fingers against his skin branding his very bones with her mark.

“What is?” she whispered. She arched her back, as his mouth trailed slowly, oh so slowly down her neck.

“A Darkon warrior never forces a female. It is against our code of honour,” he murmured huskily as he nuzzled one delicate ear.

His heart lightened at her quavering. “Oh. Well then. But I am still not your slave.”

Wisely, Tarak kept his triumph hidden as he once more conquered her sweet mouth. She touched his arms tentatively. Her trembling body softened against his as she returned his kiss.

She was his
.

Possession flooded his senses. His control fled. The entire Elite Forces could have been hammering at his compartment door, and he would not have been aware. He shed his remaining clothing quickly, his mouth never leaving hers, his tongue devouring her sweetness. In his eagerness his touch became rougher, more demanding although still careful never to hurt or bruise. She belonged to him and as such was his to protect.

Tarak was disturbingly aware of every shift, every touch of her slight body as she slid with sensuous movements against him. He rubbed his engorged shaft against her soft mound, his hardness seeking her entrance and she moaned. He tugged again fruitlessly at her clothing.

“Let me.” She gasped, her fingers brushing against his as they both fumbled with the fastenings. Finally it gave way and Tarak pulled the garment from her legs. He tossed it over his shoulder. He groaned with frustration when he saw the scrap of material which remained covering his goal.

An infectious chuckle escaped her lips.

He grinned at her bright face and her lashes fluttered with surprise. He slipped his hands around the small of her back, then inside the silky material and rubbed her rounded buttocks. Sweat beaded his brow. With a sudden harsh oath, he grabbed the cloth, pushing it down. His heated gaze following its progress.

He cupped her feet then slid his large hands up the inside of her legs to rest near her nest of red brown curls. Gently he eased her legs apart and stared at his goal. Exultation filled him and he shuddered at the depth of the emotion. He closed his eyes against the rush of urgency which swept through him, fighting for control. It had been so long and his female was so small. He could not hurt her.

“Don’t stop,” she whispered.

Tarak cradled her face with one hand. Her eyes were large and a measure of fear still lingered. Moving with exquisite slowness he entered her, his muscles shaking under the strain, all his senses screamed for release. His cock throbbed with long suppressed desire.

He would not take her like a primitive beast!

A Darkon warrior was always in control. His gaze holding hers, he thrust gently. He braced his arms either side of his slave, taking his weight. He grimaced as he tried again.

By the stars of Darkos she was so small
.

He would die if he could not appease this inferno raging through his veins.

Alana sighed. Those midnight eyes of his burned into hers with such intensity she wondered she didn’t erupt into flames. They would never finish at this rate. She would die if she didn’t reach fulfilment now.

She gripped his bulging biceps. With a cheeky grin she wound her legs around his hips and thrust strongly upwards. A moan left her parted lips at the pleasure rippling through her. Gratified at his answering shudder.

“I won’t break,” Alana whispered into his ear.

His growl sent goosebumps rising on her exposed skin, and her stomach muscles quivered with spasms of delight. It was if her words shattered the chains of his resolve. He thrust vigorously, over and over. Harder and harder. His eyes never left hers. A sob of pure bliss burst from her throat, as her entire body disintegrated into an explosion of such intense rapture it shook her to her core. She saw black with streaks of dazzling white. Fire radiated before her blind eyes.

With a triumphant roar he flung back his head, driving into her faster and faster causing her body to ripple and convulse again. He continued to pound his cock into her until his hot seed gushed into the very depths of her being.

Her muscles clenched, soaked up every drop.

At last replete, he lowered his head, covered her trembling mouth with his, to kiss her with dominant thoroughness. He rolled to his side, propped himself up on one elbow and surveyed her through heavy lidded eyes.

Her cheeks flamed at his satisfied expression. He gave the appearance of a starving beggar who, having satisfied his appetite with the main course, was eyeing off the dessert.

Replete, lethargy made her unwilling to move her hot, sticky body. Now he no longer touched her, a myriad of unsettling emotions swept over her. She couldn’t believe she had behaved so out of character.

With a total stranger.

Worse—this was not just any stranger. He was an alien. Tears of weakness burned her eyes.
What on earth was I thinking?
Chills prickled her skin. She forced her leaden limbs to move and scrabbled for the blanket seeking to hide herself from his steady gaze. She pushed aside the heavy leg trapping her to the bed.

When he attempted to assist her, she slapped his touch away, keeping her face averted. The blanket clutched to her chest, she sat up and swung her legs over the side, her bare feet seeking the floor.

A low rumble of irritation emerged from his throat. Alana was furious with the instant response quivering through her traitorous body.

“Where are you going?” he demanded in a rough arrogant voice.

“Back to my room.” She avoided his eyes.

“These are your quarters. You are my slave, Alana, and will reside with me.” With one fluid movement he sat upright, then reached out and grasped her shoulders pulling her around to face him.

Alana glared at him. “I am no man’s slave. Read my lips!” she hissed, then immediately wished she hadn’t when his eyes dropped to gaze at her mouth in momentary confusion. She blushed at his intense, fervent expression and watched as he moistened his lips. He leaned forward and Alana was horrified to find herself leaning forward also in unison as if magnetised.

What the …?

She jerked back.

He scowled.

Her chin jutted.

“You will remain here. I have claimed you.”

“Excuse me! There was no claiming done anywhere.” Alana fought to keep her voice cool. She did her best to ignore the tension radiating from him, although her insides quivered and churned. Poised, he looked ready to pounce if she made one wrong move. A heavy frown
marred his brow, his sharp eyes far too penetrating. All she knew was she had to get away from him.

Now. Before she disgraced herself and bawled out her confusion. Crawled back into his arms for comfort.
Don’t be such a fool. It was just sex, that’s all. He’s not looking for anything else
. She squared her shoulders and held her head high under his thoughtful gaze.

Tarak deliberately relaxed his tensed shoulders and with deceptive casualness lounged against the wall. He linked his hands behind his head.

“Very well. You may leave,” he drawled, noting with satisfaction the flush of annoyance which burned across her cheeks, bringing colour back into her pale face. That was better. For a moment there he had been horrified his slave was going to start leaking from her eyes again. He didn’t know why, but the thought she was hurting caused his gut to turn over.

“When I decide to mate again, you will be ordered here to my quarters.” He resisted the urge to laugh at her outraged expression. Her hands curled into fists, the light of battle blazing in her eyes. He knew she itched to smack his face. To stir the pot, he smirked instead at his groin. “That will be very soon.”

“Ooooh!” Alana clamped the blanket around her and struggled to her feet. She stumbled, not noticing his instinctive reaction as he reached out to steady her. Twisting away, she kicked at the blanket which was dragging on the floor. She retrieved her clothes, her body stiff with haughty pride.

Tarak watched with interest, his eyes never leaving her as she huffed and stomped around the room. Truly his slave was a curious creature, one which stirred his blood into conflagration with astonishing speed.

His slave. His Alana
.

He recalled her cheeky grin, the way her eyes had sparkled at him, her strong legs wrapped around his hips, the delight and surprise which had stolen over her face when she had climaxed in his arms. His to go to her and toss her back onto her back thundered through him. She could easily be imprisoned in his quarters. Manacle her to his bed perhaps, he mused.

Fierce desire shuddered through him and he swallowed his moan. He concealed his clenched fists, kept his expression neutral, when she threw a suspicious glance at him. He noticed how she kept her gaze fixed on his face, not daring to look lower.

“Trust me, you can order as much as you like but there will not be a repeat. So I hope you made the most of it,” she said in a muffled voice. Finally giving up trying to dress and keep herself shielded from his gaze, she threw the blanket on the ground in frustration, and jerked her top over her head.

Tensely he watched as she wriggled into those curious pants with its many pockets.

“You will do as I command.”

Alana snorted. She bent over. Tarak’s eyes fastened onto her small tight buttocks. His balls tightened and swelled. His cock throbbed into life. Sweat prickled above his upper lip.
His gut clenched. Somehow the good hunter that he was, he stayed prone. His mouth dry, he watched her grab the blanket.

She rolled it into a ball.

She threw it at his head.

He dodged it easily. Despite his acute discomfort, laughter lightened his soul.

“In your dreams!”

“And you will be. In my dreams. As I will be in yours.” He smiled slowly at the hot colour which again suffused her face. He stood, his smile broadening into a grin as she hurriedly averted her eyes. She took a nervous step backwards. Tarak reached for his pants and pulled them on with some difficulty over his rigid, hungry cock. He adjusted his crotch and with stern discipline directed his thoughts away from his rioting fantasies.