LOGAN (The Innerworld Affairs Series, Book 5) (10 page)

She had no way of knowing what a swollen manpiece looked like, but having once seen a pair of horses copulating, she assumed it wasn't much different for humans. With a little ingenuity, some leather strips and her favorite ceramic hairbrush handle, she had made an artificial manpiece for Fulton.

As she knelt in front of him and strapped the invention around his hips, his expression turned fearful but she scraped a thumbnail over his nipple and glanced purposefully at the lounge, and he forgot any objection he might have had.

Positioning herself on her knees before him, she thought to imitate what the horses had done. She guided the brush handle into her slick crevice and instructed Fulton to shift his hips back and forth, but the result brought her little satisfaction.

It was better when she made him lay on his back and mounted the piece from atop, yet she still required manual stimulation to feel the pleasure.

Certain there had to be a way to make her creation work properly, she tried several different positions before she found one that sent a tremor through her. Symbolically, his laying on top of her was completely unacceptable, but physically, his lower body rubbing so intimately against hers was extremely titillating. Fulton required more practice—that much was clear—but this new method of seeking pleasure was worth a little clumsiness.

She held off the mind-numbing release as long as possible, but eventually it overwhelmed her. She was so pleased with Fulton and her invention, she spent much longer than usual with him on the chaise. Her fingers tickled and scratched his flesh until he whimpered with a mixture of pain and pleasure. She even toyed with his private parts in ways she'd never thought to do before.

The expression on his face was one of excruciating pain, but the shivery bumps on his skin revealed an appreciation for his torment. Nadia wallowed in the raw power his torture stirred in her and the itch started up all over again.

Suddenly his entire body was racked with shudders and a tiny drop of clear fluid seeped from his manpiece. If she didn't know it was impossible, she might have thought he just had a sexual experience.

She was about to order him to massage her one more time when she noticed he had gotten teary-eyed again. His weepiness was really becoming quite tiresome. Waving him away, she didn't bother to conceal her annoyance. "Get up, you fool. Go fix my tea now. I'll have it in the sitting room."

The moment he left, she proceeded to take care of the itch herself. Visions of the Earth men filled her mind and she wondered how close Fulton and her invention had come to the real thing. As delicious waves of sensation flooded through her, she knew she would never be truly satisfied until she could make the comparison firsthand.

All she had to do was come up with a reason why she should be permitted to make contact with one of the crossovers... preferably the big, dangerous-looking man with the scars.

Chapter 6

Tarla stretched and wiggled her tired fingers. After two hours of husking corn, the boring task was finally completed. It might have been less tedious if she could have kept Duncan talking but he had nothing more to say. In fact, it was unnaturally quiet throughout the kitchen. Normally her nurses were so talkative, she had to hush them.

She got up and walked over to Robin and Sunny. They had been helping the dishwasher but that chore was finished as well.

"It's too quiet," Robin murmured the moment Tarla sat down with them.

"I know," Tarla replied. "Duncan said these men don't talk much, but what about our people?" She gave it some thought. "Maybe everyone's suffering from post-traumatic shock."

Sunny nodded, her usual smiling face clouded with worry. "I know I am. I keep thinking this must be a bad dream, but I can't make myself wake up. Nothing we've heard makes any sense."

Before Tarla could respond, Kara and Darcy joined them. As Darcy sat down beside Tarla, she asked, "So, how do we get out of here?"

"I wish I knew. Duncan insists that no one has ever left here... unless they die of
really
old age."

"Swell," Robin said. "I can't accept that. If we were brought in, there has to be a way out. I absolutely refuse to live out my days like some hippie in a nineteen-sixty commune."

"At least the communal bathroom facilities aren't as antique as this kitchen," Sunny said, trying to find a bright side as usual.

Kara nudged Darcy and made a face that prompted Darcy to speak. "We want to go home, Captain. Our families are expecting to pick us all up at airports today and tomorrow. They're going to think we're dead."

Tarla patted Darcy's hand and put on her most reassuring face. "We'll find a way. These old men may have been cowed by whoever's pulling the strings here, but that doesn't mean we have to be. We're soldiers and trauma nurses. We're used to making instantaneous, life or death decisions under impossible conditions. And it definitely appears we have a lot more tech knowledge than most of the current residents. Surely that gives us an advantage even if we're being held by a superior alien race like Higgs believes."

Again Tarla fought the temptation to reveal how much knowledge she actually had and how she just might turn out to be their secret weapon. But she just couldn't take the chance of losing their trust at this stage.

As the women tried to console one another about their loved ones waiting for them at home, Tarla fell silent. She understood but couldn't really empathize. The last time she was in Innerworld was three years ago and the only person she'd met with was her handler. When she'd first relocated to Outerworld, she'd kept in contact with several men and women she called friends but, within a few years, those relationships faded. And because of her double life, she made a practice of never getting too close to her Outerworld neighbors or workmates. If it hadn't been for the war, she knew none of these women, including Robin, would consider her a close friend.

As to family, there was only her father and he had disavowed her when she'd openly shared a living space with her first Terran lover. That man's disapproval of Noronians and Terrans having equal rights was so great he had moved back to Norona when Romulus was given permission to join with Aster, even though Innerworld had been his home most of his life.

A rumble of wagon wheels outside alerted the kitchen staff that the field workers had returned. Tarla and the others pitched in to help fill plates of food while the incoming men lined up at the water pump to wash. Since there was a shortage of tables and chairs inside, a lot of people carried their dinners outside and sat on the grass. When Tarla saw Major Cookson heading out the door, she got her own dinner and followed him. Robin stayed right behind her.

"Would you mind if we joined you, Major?" Tarla asked once she caught up with him.

"Not at all, but please call me Geoffrey," he said pleasantly.

She smiled in return. "And I'm Tarla. This is my friend, Robin."

His hands being full, he simply nodded his head. "How do you do."

Robin smiled and held his gaze. "I do very well, thank you. And how do
you
do?"

Geoffrey's only response to her obvious flirtation was to clear his throat and turn away. "Shall we sit over there?" he asked, looking at a spot under a tree. As they seated themselves, he caught sight of Logan coming out of the big house. "McKay!" he called. "Over here."

* * *

Tarla watched Logan sway and bump into the wall of the house. A moment later the glass he was carrying slipped from his grasp. Without hesitation, she rose from the ground and started toward him.

"Sergeant McKay?" When he continued staggering around the corner toward the back of the house, she picked up her pace. "Logan! What's wrong?"

Closing his eyes, he leaned back against the wall and slid to the ground.

"Are you ill?" Tarla asked, dropping to her knees beside him. His eyes were squinted shut and his upper lip was dotted with perspiration. She placed her palm on his forehead to check for fever but he jerked away from her hand.

That abrupt movement caused him to groan aloud and press his hands against his temples.

"Headache?" she asked softly.

"Migraine," he whispered. "Just leave me alone."

Tarla clucked her tongue and continued to speak in a gentle voice. "I will
not
leave you alone. Is there anything that helps?"

His voice remained a harsh whisper. "Medicine was in my bag... wherever that is. Aspirin helps a little. And ice."

"Hmmm. I'll go find Duncan and see what he's got. Will you be okay here for a few minutes?"

He didn't bother to answer. It was taking his entire concentration not to throw up all over himself. The setting of the dueling suns was drilling a hole through his eyelids, but the effort it would take to find shade was beyond him. He just crouched there, helpless as an infant.

It seemed like Tarla had been gone quite a while but he knew from previous experience, she'd be back. She couldn't resist fussing over a man incapacitated by pain.

"Logan?"

That voice
. He covered his ears to shut her out.

"I need you to get up and walk a little ways with me." She grasped him by the arm and tried to lift, but he didn't budge. "Don't be stubborn. There's a tent set up for you with a cot and lots of soft pillows. It's
dark
in there. I couldn't get any ice, but Duncan gave me a powder that might help."

The pillows and darkness did it. Logan mustered sufficient strength to open his right eye and pull himself upright. She hadn't been completely honest about it being only a little ways. Despite his limited vision, he noted a number of soldiers erecting tents in the area. Each thud of a hammer forcing a stake into the ground was like a railroad spike being rammed into his brain but he was in no condition to stop them.

Tarla led him away from the construction and past the small wooden shelters to a tent that had been set up by itself. She held the flap open as he entered then closed it except for a sliver after she was inside.

The simple act of eliminating the brilliant sunset went a long way toward relief for Logan.

"Sit down on the cot but don't lie back yet," Tarla ordered. "There's a bucket there if you need it. I had a supervisor once who got migraines that made her nauseous, so don't try to be a tough guy if your stomach's queasy."

Whether it was her words or the sight of the bucket, his stomach overruled his mind. When he was finished, she handed him a glass of water to rinse his mouth then removed the bucket. Efficient as always.

He started to lie down but she stopped him again. "Wait. Take the powder first." As she mixed it with the water, she explained, "Duncan says this is all they have. It doesn't sound very strong but it tastes like ground aspirin. I figured it's worth a try."

While he drained the glass, she arranged the pile of pillows so his head and shoulders would stay elevated. "Okay, lie back now and try to focus on breathing."

He might have been able to do that if she hadn't sat down on the cot next to him and slipped her hands behind his neck.

Instantly his fingers clamped around her wrists and held. "What are you doing?" he asked through gritted teeth.

"There are pressure points in your head that will release your endorphins, which are natural painkillers. Would you rather suffer or let me touch you?"

He groaned and released her wrists. What he couldn't tell her was that tolerating her touch caused another kind of suffering. He groaned again as her fingers worked some kind of magic, pressing and rotating two spots at the base of his skull. From there she went to the points behind his ears, the sides of his head, then the top and started at the base again.

The pain was still there but the sharp edge had been slightly dulled, making room in his mind for more awareness of her. He didn't need to open his eyes to see her. She was a permanent fixture in his memory. He knew he should send her away but the migraine and her gentle treatment had sapped his willpower.

He relaxed a bit more as she massaged the tension out of his neck and shoulders. Now he felt her hip pressed against his, and how her forearms brushed lightly over his chest as her hands manipulated his muscles. His fingers curled into his palms to keep from stroking her back and urging her closer until he—