9. Chapter Nine

Chapter Nine

P yne

Nudity is nothing to a gladiator. I came to Cryosyne to fight a cestus match in an arena with thousands of seats. It was slated to be televised to millions more. Cestus matches are fought nude. No matter how you’re raised, when you become a gladiator, all modesty disappears.

But I’ve been on the Devil’s Playground living with human women for long enough to know many of their ways. They have very different views on nudity, scolding us if we run without clothes to the kitchen late at night to grab a snack.

This is why I’m baffled when, instead of emerging from the refresher in shorts and t-shirt as she did last night, Becca’s covered only in a towel. Her movements are slow, deliberate. It’s almost as though she wants me to get an eyeful.

Instead, I avert my gaze and feign interest in one of the religious tracts I found in the bedside table drawer.

“Would you… help me dry my hair?”

The mattress next to me dips with her scant weight and she thrusts a towel toward my hands.

“Uh?”

I can’t stay glued to these pamphlets forever. When I turn, her back is to me, her arms up, elbows out, with her hair gathered in her hands. Her shoulders are still dotted with water as she waits for me to dry her hair.

My cock has sprung to life, tenting my towel. Although she’s expecting me to move, I’m paralyzed by her shapely shoulders, the vulnerable curve of her neck, and… her scent. Though she just emerged from her shower, her arousal scent is already overpowering the smell of wildflowers in the shampoo.

I pivot on my hip to face her, take the towel she’s offering, and gently press it against her wet hair. My fingers brush against her scalp, and I squeeze the water from her locks, moving the towel in slow, deliberate strokes. Her long, brown hair is soft, silky under my hands, and I’m aware of every drop of water that rolls down her skin. It takes all my self-control not to lean closer and lick her dry.

As I work, I can’t help but notice how her shoulders rise and fall with each breath, the way her back muscles flex and relax under the towel. Her scent envelops me, making my head spin. I focus on drying her hair, trying to ignore the heat building between us.

My hands move lower, tenderly patting the ends of her hair, and she shivers under my touch. Leaning back, she rests her head against my chest, and I take a deep breath, inhaling the intoxicating mix of wildflowers and her natural, alluring aroma.

When I finish, I let the towel fall to the side, but my hands linger on her shoulders, feeling the warmth of her skin beneath my fingertips. The moment hangs between us, charged with unspoken tension, as I struggle to pull my thoughts back from the edge.

“Do you normally need help to dry your hair?” My voice is a husky rasp.

I’m not stupid. I think I know exactly what’s going on here, but before I cross a line and shatter something that can’t be put back together, I need to hear what she wants directly from her.

“No.” She reaches behind her, her palm softly stroking where it lands below my knee. “I thought it would feel good .”

If this female were of any other species, I’d be on her right now, turning her toward me, capturing her lips with mine. But she’s human, and their sexual behavior is confusing.

“What else do you think might feel good , Becca?”

She moves her head side to side, lifting her shoulders as though she’s working out a kink. The pause is long and silent, but I don’t protest. Just watching her like this, stretching like a feline, makes me want her even more.

Slowly, she twists to look at me over her shoulder. I wish I could take a picture of her facial expression—heavy-lidded, brown eyes full of desire, and lips glistening as she licks them.

“Why don’t we experiment together, Pyne?”

I don’t need to hear one more word to know this is an open invitation. In a swift move, I lift her and tug her onto my lap, her hip against my belly. Whether by accident or design, her towel is now bunched at her waist, exposing the most beautiful breasts, the most perfect dusky nipples I’ve ever seen.

Arousal flares through me, parching my throat and making pre-cum leak from my tip. I descend on her mouth, capturing her moan as her fingers clutch my shoulders. I’m frenzied, having been in such close quarters with her since the moment we met, wanting her, yet not being able to do all the things I’ve fantasized about.

Delving my tongue into her mouth, I don’t even try to stifle my moan as her sweet taste bursts on my tongue.

I pull back only long enough to husk, “Becca,” then devour her again as I explore her wet depths. The predator in me is palming the back of her skull to keep her from pulling away, though she seems to have no desire to do so. My other hand is firm on her waist, my fingers splayed as I tuck her against me. She has to feel my cock throbbing at her hip, but she seems far from offended.

Trailing my lips down her neck, I nip at the soft flesh, causing her to shiver and hum. “That’s it, sugarplum,” I murmur into her ear, loving the way she melts under my touch. She tastes so damn good, almost like mellaberries from the high mountains on Verden.

My tongue dives back into her mouth again, tangling with hers in a fierce dance that leaves us both panting. With one hand still on the back of her head, I slide the other down to cup her ass and squeeze gently, pulling her against me. She whimpers into my mouth and I feel every inch of my length reacting to the contact.

My lips leave her mouth with a soft pop and trail along her jaw until I reach her earlobe. Her pulse races against my lips as I suckle and nip at it.

“You’re so beautiful,” I groan against her skin, nipping again just to hear her breath hitch. Her scent surrounds me—flowers and arousal mixed with the sweet, humid aftermath of her shower. My cock throbs in anticipation as I pull away from her neck, taking in the sight of her flushed cheeks and parted lips, yearning for another taste.

My heartbeat is thumping in my ears, my thoughts are flying in every direction as I plan the next ten steps: relieving us both of our towels, lifting her and opening her thighs as wide as they’ll go, then diving between them to taste the heart of her.

Before I make a move, klaxons clang in my head, slowing my racing thoughts so I can think. I remember who I’m in bed with, and with great effort, I force myself to recall my end goal.

I’ve had lots of sex in my life. As a gifted gladiator, I was rewarded with female flesh each time I won a match. Those couplings were quick, as there was often someone in line after me who was waiting for their reward. The females were paid to fuck me and usually didn’t bother to give the illusion that they had any affection or even desire for me.

Since gaining my freedom, as I traveled with the Galaxy Gladiators, I’ve used my pay at every port to buy companionship. Different from the females who were my rewards, many of these even pretended to enjoy my company—until they’d collected their credits.

But this is different. This is Becca, the sweet female slave who’s forced to cook in the kitchens of this hotel. No one is paying her to do this. She initiated this because she likes me. And I like her. The last thing I want is to take her like a whore. We both deserve so much more.

My tongue retreats from her mouth and I replace it with sweet, smacking kisses on her pretty pink lips. She’s panting, a dazed look on her face. Her hardened nipples are pressing against my chest, her hands fisting in my hair.

After pulling back completely, her lids open, and she blasts me with a questioning look. I have to explain myself. The last thing I want is to make her think I don’t want her.

“Becca. I want to do this right.”

She shakes her head as though she’s swimming up from the ocean’s depths.

“I want to show you…” What do I say? I want to show you my affection? How much I care about you, though I’ve only known you a few days? No. The females on the ship would call me a “perv” if I said such things. I imagine they’d tell me no one feels this depth of emotion after such a short time.

I suck her bottom lip into my mouth, enjoying her honeyed taste. “I want to take this slow. Is that okay?”

Her pupils are blown wide, the pulse in her throat still throbbing, her scent so pungent my erection will never go down. But when I release her lip, she gives me a solemn nod.

“Slow. Good.” By the look on her face, her thoughts are still so hazy, she can’t put a sentence together. That’s okay. I can work with that.

I lift her and her towel slips away. After a swift peek—I’m not a strong enough male to avert my eyes—I settle her face down on the bed, straddle her, my knees outside her hips, lift her damp hair, and kiss her neck.

This. This is what I dreamed of a thousand times in my bed alone, first in the gladiator barracks, then in my cabin on the Devil’s Playground. Not furtive fucking, but generously giving pleasure as though I have all night to do so.

“I want to learn every ince of you, Becca, what makes you moan, what makes you squirm, what makes you pant.”

I lap at her nape, then behind her ear as I find a sensitive spot that causes her to suck her breath in through her teeth. Experimenting, I discover nipping is her favorite and licks are a distant second. When I suck air in through my teeth at the shell of her ear, her writhing body tells me this wins first place. When I huff out a hot puff of breath, I decide I’ll have to do this again tomorrow to double-check what she likes best.

I lick the cords of her neck above her hateful slave collar, then nip them as I press her shoulders to the mattress to keep her from wiggling out of my grasp as she dives into her pleasure.

Circling the tops of her arms with my palms, I graze her flesh down to her wrists, then back up and down again. Her head thrashes as she whispers, “Too good. Too good. Torture.”

I’m a gladiator who has done things in the arena I’m not proud of, but I’ve never considered myself a sadist… until now. That she calls this torture just makes me want to prolong her agony. If I had any doubt whether she likes this or not, the desperate scent billowing off her is all the answer I need.

With my thumbs together in the middle of her nape, I spread my hands wide and slide my palms to her waist. My featherlight touch makes her whimper. If I live long enough, perhaps I’ll learn why such a gentle touch is so powerful. Now, though, I simply store the information in the back of my mind as I map her flesh.

“Please.”

It’s just one word. Not demanding in the least, but I can sense her desperation, can smell it.

I shouldn’t keep her waiting long. It’s clear I’ve already pushed her too far, but there’s one thing I must do.

I settle my thumbs into the two divots at the base of her spine. They’ve been calling to me since the moment I first saw them.

With my thumbs in those indentations and my palms spread around her hips, I lean closer and husk into her ear. “My thumbs fit perfectly here.” I press a bit harder, so she knows what I’m talking about. “I wonder how else we’ll fit perfectly together, hmm?”

A funny sound I can’t quite name escapes her as it seems every muscle in her body loses its strength and she collapses against the bed. I’ve wielded a sword, one against many, but I’ve never felt so powerful as this moment, being able to vanquish her with words alone.

Kissing my way from beneath her ear to her nape, down her spine, bestowing one kiss to each vertebra, I stop at her tailbone when all those slack muscles tighten. That’s a clear boundary. Besides, I want to slip my tongue somewhere else.

Flipping her over without warning, I spread her thighs and spear my tongue into her with a desperate groan. Her taste bursts on my tongue as she clamps her thighs against my ears, fists my hair, and lets a soft shriek explode from her lips.

Her taste is intoxicating. So is the heat of her.

I’m pressed so tightly to her flesh that I don’t know how I manage to breathe. It’s as though I’m part of her. Merged. Melded together.

When I’ve wallowed in her taste and scent, burrowed so deep my face is painted with her cream, my frenzy slows. I pull back and take a good look at her pretty, pink folds. Then I explore.

I lick and nip and suck, noting her pleasure spots for the next time and the next and the next. She likes things harder than I would have guessed—the suction, the flicking, the circling.

She’s so aroused she’s wordless now. It doesn’t matter. She’s still so expressive she gives me a detailed roadmap. When she pulls my hair tighter, she wants more pressure. When she makes a guttural sound from the depths of her chest, it means she’s close—which makes me slow down because I want to extend her bliss.

When her thighs tighten around me, it means she wants more control as she thrusts up against me, taking her pleasure as much as I’m bestowing it.

“Please.” Her tone is scratchy, nearly breathless. It’s the first word she’s said in long minutes and by the sound of it, just saying that one word cost her dearly. I think I’ve teased her long enough.

I use my chin to press hard, right where I’ve learned she likes it, then slip one, then two fingers inside her as I strike up a rhythm. She makes a high, keening sound as though she’s startled as her release slams into her.

Between her moans of pleasure, her fingers scratching my back like claws, and the way her walls are spasming around me, it seems her ecstasy is intense. Her orgasm goes on for so long, if I wasn’t so good at reading her by now I’d think she was faking. Has anyone ever experienced such prolonged bliss in the arms of another?

She’s still rolling in pleasure, still clenching me with her inner walls, her heels scrabbling against the sheets as she manages to shout, “Pyne!” This seems to be the peak of her explosion, but I keep performing the motions that provide her this bliss as I nurse her through the cataclysm until every muscle in her body relaxes into the mattress.

Though I outweigh her by a hundred dextans , she slips her hands under my armpits and pulls me to lie with her, face to face, on our sides. The look of peace on that lovely human face is something I’ll carry with me always.

Her lids are almost closed, but she must be looking at me through slits as she sighs and says, “You are a beautiful male,” then falls asleep.