My Prize (18 page)

Boralle grinned again. She'd rendered the mighty warrior speechless. How nice.

He slid bonelessly down, flat on his back and blew a hair away from his face. "God, love, how can I explain what that feels like?"

"I doubt that you can," she said. "You could, of course, tell me how sensational I am."

He chuckled. "You are that, lass. No arguments there." He moved her slightly, and she felt herself shudder as his thigh brushed her swollen mound. "Of course, there is one way I can make you understand..."

With a quick tug, Rory pulled Boralle up his body, legs still straddling him.

A second later she was straddling his neck, her clit open and exposed and incredibly close to his mouth.

Amazingly close to his mouth.

Ohmigod
. Waaaay too close to his mouth.

"Rory," she squawked. His tongue found her as his strong grip settled her hips right where he wanted her. Practically sitting on his face.

"Shush," he mumbled, sending the most delightful sensations through her. She'd never had anybody mumble into her clit before.

She shushed, simply relaxing into his caresses and letting all her worries and concerns evaporate.

She let his tongue work its magic, loving, twirling, teasing and caressing her into writhing bliss.

Within moments she was tensing, and seconds later he clamped his lips around her clit and sucked. Hard.

It was her turn to scream, and scream she did.

Waves of pleasure swept her from head to toe, tightening her muscles, cramping her thighs and sending her cunt into a paroxysm of contractions.

She trembled and shuddered above Rory as his tongue gentled her, then pressed again in a different place and sent another rush of screaming ecstasy through her body.

One part of her mind knew if he kept this up she'd die before she ever reached the surface. Another part asked, 'so what?'

Finally, the spasms eased and she could again draw breath.

She wriggled back down his body and collapsed on his chest.

He stroked her, calmed her, and held her next to his heart. It beat solidly beneath her ear and soothed her as her mind drifted.

Exhausted, sticky, and completely content, they slept.

*~*~*~*

The surface of Frallien IV was nothing short of a paradise, thought Boralle, as she finally stepped out of her cramped traveling quarters and into the soft sunlight.

In spite of the binary star system that hosted this particular planetary orbit, the solar distances involved allowed life to be warmly enhanced by their rays, rather than fried by the UV light.

The greenish skies told of the alien combination of gases in the atmosphere and the bounce in Boralle's steps reminded her of the different level of specific gravity here on Frallien.

She was able to pick up her holdall and a rather large ornate box all by herself—something that had worried her before landing.

The welcoming official eyed the box suspiciously, especially when a discreet alarm sounded as she passed by.

Checking his schedule, he crossed the crowded floor to her side.

"Major Boralle North? Central Galactic Court entrant?"

Boralle turned and nodded politely. "Yes. That's me. Hello."

"Welcome, Major North. Frallien greetings to you and your ancestors."

This, Boralle knew, was the traditional Frallien way of saying hello. The Fralliens were firm believers in ancestors, heritage, past histories—given that their entire social structure had been developed by their scientific forebears, it wasn't surprising.

She responded courteously, inclining her head in answer. "We are grateful for your welcome. My family honors Frallien."

"May I ask you to step this way for a moment? There seems to be an anomalous reading coming from your luggage."

Boralle knew a moment's terror. What the rass? Was it Rory's vessel that was setting it off? The sword? What was the problem?

"It seems that your bags contain an unusual concentration of chemicals, that are not native to this planet. It is merely a precaution, you understand..."

"But surely everyone has such a concentration? After all, you've got who knows how many aliens arriving for the games?" Boralle spoke with what she hoped was just the right amount of confusion in her voice.

The official smiled. "Indeed, Major. You are quite correct. And in fact, your readings aren't much more anomalous than anyone else's. But there are a couple of blips we'd like to check. Do you have any objections?"

Boralle looked the man in the eyes. They were orange.

She shrugged. "Not at all. I'm simply another contestant. Please feel free to rummage away."

They entered a small office and Boralle's hold-all and the box were placed on a table. Without being asked, Boralle opened the hold-all, revealing a few personal possessions, her favorite fragrance and the vessel.

Of course, the official picked that up right away, running his hands down the handle with a raised eyebrow.

"My, my." He licked his lips. "This is quite lovely."

"Thank you." Boralle held her tongue, watching as the Frallien continued to stroke and caress the handle. Which looked dangerously familiar to her now. The Frallien sighed, and she noticed a distinct tent forming in his official robes.

"Don't suppose you'd be interested in selling this, would you?" he asked, licking his lips again.

She could swear he'd be slavering over the damn thing before much longer. And she knew Rory wouldn't appreciate
that
.

"Uh, no. Sorry. Family heirloom
." Containing some prime family jewels.

"Too bad." The official gave the vessel one last lingering touch, and then turned to the box.

He frowned as he looked at it, unable to see a clasp. "Would you open this please?"

Boralle squared her shoulders.

Now her carefully planned little scenario was about to begin.

"I'd be happy to. One moment." She reached into her bag and pulled out a pair of sleek Pondo skin gloves that was the palest yellow, and had been created by Rory's magic when she began to work through the plan with him. The vapor given off by the Pondo skin caused them to glow when touched by any kind of light.

The official seemed a little taken aback.

Then Boralle dropped to one knee, raised her clasped hands to her forehead and began to intone in a very solemn voice "Spirit of the Glen, Spirit of the Glen..."

The Frallien's brows drew together. "Um, excuse me..."

"Sshhh," said Boralle, not looking up. "Spirit of the Glen, Spirit of the Glen, we honor you. Spirit of the Glen, we revere you. Shine your blessings and your protection on us, your children, Spirit of the Glen."

The official was clearly uncomfortable, shifting from one foot to another. The Fralliens set great store by their icons, and clearly, here was one who wasn't sure if he should worship an alien one as a matter of respect, or not.

She grinned to herself. So far—so good.

After a moment's low humming—a nice touch suggested by Rory, who had actually wanted bagpipe music, but had been talked out of it by a swift nip to his cock—she rose to her feet again, and slid one finger across the front decoration on the box.

He had outdone himself with the container. It was a warm wood, not unlike his vessel, deepened with age and handling. There was a lot of intricate inlay on the top, and ornate carving on the sides. It had the appearance of something that could easily be millennia in age, even though Boralle knew that Rory had made it less than two hours ago.

The lid slowly opened, revealing a deep emerald green silk interior. And there, nestled in a perfectly shaped depression in the silk, was the broadsword.

Shining brilliantly—the handle now featuring a selection of jewels which sparkled and glittered—it lay in all its magnificence.

Rory had complained bitterly about the jewels, knowing no fighting man could hope for victory while wielding such an over-decorated piece of, in his terms, gaudy crap.

Pointing out that she had no intention of lopping off any Frallien heads with it, Boralle returned to take a couple more nips and licks at Rory's cock, and within moments had more than enough jewels on the handle to make it look like a valuable family icon.

Which was how she intended to present it.

She had learned that the Fralliens would probably permit her to introduce a religious artifact into her portion of the games, within limits, and she'd also learned that the way to handle Rory was to pay large amounts of attention to his manhood, and distract him any time she suggested something that didn't quite match his own opinion.

The smile with which she looked down on the broadsword was quite brilliant and dazzled the Frallien official.

"What a beautiful piece. It must have been in your family for eons," he said, backing up a step respectfully.

"It has indeed," answered Boralle, closing the lid of the box at his nod. "I couldn't imagine being here without it to give me its blessings. It is truly one of our family's jewels."

She didn't, of course, mention that the real owner was in possession of the rest of the family jewels.

But she could have sworn she heard a soft chuckle coming from the vicinity of the vessel in her hold-all.

Rory looked out over the white buildings that formed the housing quarters for the Olympiad contestants while Boralle fussed around the room behind him.

He was cautiously optimistic that their plan would work, but there were uncertainties, a lot of variables, and too many things that could go wrong.

He'd woken before her as they completed the last leg of their free fall to the surface of Frallien, and had held her tightly against him as she slept.

His recent experiences had showed him a universe that was filled with miracles beyond his understanding, but none had diminished his firm belief that one Hand was guiding it along.

So he prayed. Quietly and sincerely, the Laird McAllen asked for some divine blessings on their upcoming venture. And he asked for something else too.

He asked to be allowed to love Boralle North for the rest of his life.

She fit against him like the other half of a mold, buttocks tucked into his groin, nursing his cock as it lengthened against her. Her breasts filled his hands perfectly, her head had found an ideal spot on his shoulder, and her soul had crept into his, curled itself up into a ball, and had fallen soundly asleep, becoming part of him without his realizing it.

She was everything he could ever want, and he knew that his life would be unalterably changed now, because of this one slip of a woman.

The one who was now cursing colorfully behind him.

"No time. No damn time," she muttered as she stared at a holoschedule that was presenting itself above the desk.

All contestants had similar, utilitarian quarters. But they were the Frallien idea of utilitarian, so they involved windows, carpeting, soft beds, entertainment outlets, and a nicely sized desk with an assortment of communication devices. Fralliens took sensuality everywhere, even into decorating.

Under other circumstances, Boralle probably would have loved it, but Rory knew she was focused on the games to come.

And it didn't take a genius to realize she was getting frazzled.

"No time for what, lass?"

"No time for
anything
. Look at this..." She pointed a finger at the schedule. "The way it's set up, I've got less than an hour before I have to go make the Statement of Intent. I wanted more rassing time. I haven't written my rassing speech. I haven't prepared...I can't do it..."

Her wail of frustration and fear caught at Rory's heart so he put his arms completely around her and hugged her tight."Of course you can, lass. You're my woman. You can do anything."

She snorted into his chest hairs and giggled at the sound.

"That's ma girl. Come on, Boralle, this isn't like you. You're the best there is, that's why we're here."

She raised worried eyes. "This is going to be the hard part, Rory. Convincing them that the sword is a religious artifact. That I cannot compete without it. It looks so...so...dangerous."

"It wouldn'a be a good icon if it didn't, sweetheart. The Fralliens will recognize power when they see it." He rested his chin on Boralle's head. "You'll do this just fine. It's my part I'm worried about..."

"You?" She laughed. "You're invisible."

"Aye, that's as mebbe. But I still canna pick up the numbers and give them to the Olympiad Committee. I have to be more subtle than that."

She cuddled into him, seemingly trying to hide somewhere inside his ribcage.

"We're a pair, aren't we?" She shook her head a little against him.

"Aye, lass. We're a pair, all right." He was content for a moment to just hold his woman against him.

Finally, she pulled back. "Time to go."

Rory gave her a long kiss, and realized he was passing her a good portion of his heart at the same time. His lips moved against hers, their tongues met in a flurry of touches, and their breath mingled in each other's lungs.

As if she sensed his emotions, her eyes filled with tears.

"Whatever else happens, Rory McAllen, I want you to know something. I...I've...I think I'm in love with you."

The worried blue eyes stared into his, making his heart swell and his loins burn.

Then Laird McAllen said something to Boralle he'd never said to another woman.

Ever
.

"I love you too."

*~*~*~*

Major North straightened her dress uniform and nervously faced the Olympiad judges.

The simple white outfit suited her, emphasizing her delicate features, making her eyes shine bright blue and her hair turn to the gold of the Frallien sunshine.

She kept her mind away from the knowledge that her personal sex-slave Scotsman was elsewhere in this complex, trying to ensure that her number, lucky sixteen, would be picked as first contestant.

"And now, from the planet Earth, Sol system, left outer quadrant, Major Boralle North, for the Central Galactic Court. Contestant number sixteen."