"Wicked it is, little dove," he murmured, playing the rich velveteen over skin of the same texture.
"Positively . . . wicked," Arabella purred, wiggling enticingly over the length of his body.
"Then you and I shall be positively wicked together, wife," Darth murmured, smiling up into the deep gold of Arabella's eyes as he contrived to think of more ways that he and his wife could be wicked together. "All day and all night, little dove," he whispered. "Remember?"
The End.
Read an excerpt from “Rapier”
by Candy Dance
“What are you doing?” Starling squealed as she braced her two diminutive fists on his shoulders, in what he supposed could be an attempt to push her body off him. He stared at her frantic gaze above him, feeling her long hair feathering across his chest, then pooling in the hollow of his throat. He wondered by her question, just what he was doing. He’d never considered doing anything with a real woman before. Sex bots were playthings, but Starling was flesh and blood. Wasn’t that the point though, somewhere in this mess? However, he could concede that he had no notion of propriety with a woman . . . none . . . zilch. But then, wasn’t he
owed
. . . something?
“Fucking,” he muttered, as he knocked Starling’s bracing arms loose, making her squealed again. Then, with his arms full of a wiggling curvaceous woman, he rolled their bodies, until he held Starling pinned beneath him.
“You can’t-You
can’t
!” Starling gasped, shoving against Bran’s block-shaped shoulders, nearly hurting her hands with the impossible effort.
“Why the hell not?” Bran demanded, grasping a hand full of her hair and another full of her tee shirt, which he began pulling up her squirming thighs.
“Because! B-Because,” Starling pleaded, feeling the heat of Bran’s knuckles scorching her belly as he . . . as he.
Not like this!
She squeezed her eyes shut, expelling a frightened whimper.
Bran stilled his hands motion between two mounds of firm breast, hearing that feminine whimper made him think . . . “Look at me,” he demanded, then he released his hand from its treasured burrow and he placed his hands on Starling’s small skull to hold her up as her eyelids peeked open, along black eyelashes. “Tell me why not.”
Starling’s thoughts were in panic mode as her gaze searched Bran’s hardened and attractive face. “Because we are
not
married!” she finally blurted, then she gasped and she began to shove on Bran’s chest again, as hard as she could. She was amazed when Bran’s tough muscular body moved and he fell onto his back, causing her to gaze at her small hands in wonderment.
“Married?” Bran groaned, of all of the things he’d thought to hear this was the most shocking and damn alien . . . “Married!” he snapped again, throwing a forearm over his eyes. “Christ!”
Starling thought it fortuitous to escape Bran’s heat and looming masculinity, so she pulled her tee shirt down and grabbed a strangely texture blanket, while she scooted to the very back of the small space they were in. A space like a box and they were sitting on a deck of some sort. Ahead she could see two high-backed seats, and she realized they were in the vehicle Bran had strapped her into earlier.
“Let me get this straight.” Starling’s eyes widened as Bran rolled onto his stomach and he propped on his elbows, making his biceps balloon before her eyes. “You say you won’t fuck me, unless we are, ah,
married?”
Starling clapped her hands over her ears, exclaiming, “Oh, I don’t like that word! Please, don’t say it again.”
Bran raised a dark eyebrow and tilted his head. “Marriage?” he guessed, a little too innocently for such a roughly masculine face. Starling shook her head vigorously with her ears still clasped, not realizing that it showed she could hear everything. “Well, just what would you call it then, Beauty?” Bran asked in exasperation. A moment later truly regretting all that he did not know about shy and timid real women . . . because then he could have been prepared for . . .
“Making love,” Starling whispered, lowering her hands. “Married people, having a baby . . .make l-love.”
She looked so serious, he thought. Christ, she looked hopeful. Hope swimming in deep green melting eyes. What was he supposed to do? Rape her? Then, he made a fatal mistake by opening his mouth again. “Baby doll, there are no holy men here to take vows from, so I don’t see . . . ”
“But you are a Captain, aren’t you?” she interrupted, as his jaw went slack. “A Rapier one,” she added, looking as if that bolstered her point perfectly.
The problem, Bran reflected with an audible groan, was it did hit the point. It was an antiquated law,
never,
he was sure enforced in centuries . . . He swiped the square surface of his hand over his face. That might be stretching it, they probably did use it closer to the colonies of earth, but out here on the spacial rim . . . well, it was ludicrous. But legally valid . . . ancient legally, he could marry people, but surely not himself. It could not apply to him!
The point,
Bran decided, as he sidestepped all of it abruptly, was that he was not going to get laid. And that was the true misery. He’s lost his career . . . he was stuck with a voluptuous babe for months . . . he was in the middle of a hostile Grub world . . . and
now
, he was stuck with a hard cock from here to eternity.
“Great,” he mumbled. “Just damn, great.”
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