Stripper: The Fringe, Book 4 (35 page)

“You’ll want to do her when you see her,” Roberts had insisted with gleaming eyes.

Foster shook his head. “All I do is deliver for the agreed-upon price.”

Nonetheless, Roberts put the bonus clause in the contract. Roberts wanted Foster to play Jynx Brennan. Roberts wanted him to bed her for sport and earn some extra credits. As pretty as Jynx was, and despite his thoroughly disreputable reputation, that wasn’t one of his contractible skills. He didn’t bed for bonus. That’s why he generally didn’t apprehend females—the temptation was too great.

Foster set his ship, the
Damn You
, on autopilot, then made his way to the galley. Tossing a premade dinner into the micro, he set the table and ate without tasting. He didn’t need a cook. He liked his solitude. He enjoyed not having to worry about anyone but himself.

Sometimes, when he didn’t have a package onboard, he talked to himself. On those days, he admitted to being lonely, and he thought about getting a dog, but he promptly dropped the idea. He’d have to disable the autofires all over the ship, and that would give any prisoner a clear advantage if they managed to escape the cells. He’d programmed the units to recognize him, but he didn’t want the hassle of reprogramming them to recognize a dog.

“They didn’t recognize Laura as a dog.” He considered. “Well, more so a wolf in sheep’s clothing.”

Disgusted that he was talking to himself yet again, he yanked a beer from the pantry, popped the cap and sipped. He checked the kitchen audvid. Jynx hadn’t moved. She had nice legs. Her sandal-clad feet were grungy, but one quick shower, a fresh dress—she rolled onto her back. A long, low growl rumbled through his chest.

“Nice rack.”

Not too big, not too small, her breasts would just about fill his large hands. Lilac motton clung to her body like a drawn-out caress. Her lacy bra pressed against her thin layer of clothing like an inviting whisper.

“Must be exhausted. Poor, evil IWOG doctor on the run for three weeks.” Sipping from his long-necked bottle, he watched her sleep.

Jynx hadn’t gotten far from her lab on Banna. Hell, she could have traded one tumble for a ride off Corona on any trader’s ship.

Knocking back a swallow of beer, he decided she just wasn’t the sort to trade with her body. Regardless of what Roberts said, Jynx was a lady. Foster could tell by the way she spoke and carried herself. She might be an evil doctor, but she was still a lady. An IWOG lady.

“Don’t think I’ve ever met one of those out here.”

Tossing his head back, he polished off his beer and chucked the bottle to recyc. After shutting down the kitchen, he went to his bedroom.

“Not a whole lot of bona fide IWOG ladies on the Fringe.”

Not that her status mattered. He’d deliver his package in a week and be off on another job. Gods knew how he needed the money.

Foster lingered at the audvid in his bedroom as he cleaned his teeth. Would be interesting to make it with an IWOG lady. Just once. Just to see if she was any different from any other woman in the Void.

Frowning, he thought of Laura again. Not a lady by any stretch, but ex-IWOG consumer, like he was. Laura came on like gangbusters, then went suddenly, shockingly shy when he’d tried to close the deal. He wasted weeks on her. Even let her live on the ship for a while. He reprogrammed all the autofires to reassure her, and what had that bitch done? Robbed him blind. Laura swiped a fortune after balling him senseless. While he lay utterly spent, Laura removed everything that wasn’t bolted down on the
Damn You
, crammed it in a shuttle and took off.

To his utter chagrin, he liquidated all his accounts to buy back his own electronic tricks at auction, and his shuttle, but at triple what he’d paid originally.

Laura, forever after in his mind as “That Bitch”, stripped him so naked he couldn’t believe she’d left him a pair of boxers, let alone a pair of pants.

Because he’d trusted someone, he’d opened himself to a world of hurt. Never in his life had he called a woman a bitch. But Laura’s deliberate playing of him earned her the title of “That Bitch”. If he ever laid eyes on her again, he’d shoot first and ask questions later. Laura made him doubt the motives of half the population by sheer virtue of being female.

Laura reduced him from a major player with loads of cash to a man with a bare-bones ship and little else. After draining his accounts, he had the
Damn You
back at full-throttle and his reputation, but that was all. On the brink of retirement, he’d been forced to start all over with only his ship and his rep.

Anger and embarrassment flared. He took a deep breath to push the uncomfortable emotions away. Foster blamed no one but himself. He never should have trusted Laura. She lucked out and caught him at a low, lonely point.

“When I was using the little brain.” He glared down at his pants. “Ain’t putting you in charge again, buddy, no matter how much you sit up and beg.”

He checked the audvid again. Jynx Brennan was small, blonde, delicate and lady-like. She had the softest, sweetest, most honey-rich voice he’d ever heard in his life. She was
everything
he’d lusted after in his youth on Banna.

“Won’t be fooled again.” He undressed, shut off the audvid and tumbled into bed.

Four people. One rope. Desire plunged into dangerous obsession.

Dark Empress

© 2011 Anitra Lynn McLeod

Onic Empire, Book 5

Errion Ald’Areed senses that his business partner’s passion for designing pleasure upgrades for service robots has cooled, but nothing he’s tried—men, women, exotic adventures—has lifted Lorren D’Buren’s ennui. Until he sees the look in Lorren’s eyes when the intergalactic ambassador from Diola crosses their path at a charity ball.

Under the watchful eye of Gabriyel, her faithful bodyguard, Farjika is determined to live down her empress mother’s scandalous reputation for taking multiple lovers. Her instant attraction to Lorren, though, tempts her to cross her self-imposed bounds of propriety. And Gabriyel is shocked that his level-headed mistress has fallen so easily into a torrid affair.

At first Errion is pleased that Farjika has roused Lorren out of his funk. When he notices the depth of the mutual fascination, though, he realizes he must act quickly—or lose his sometime lover and best friend.

His plan to eliminate the threat is perfect in its beautiful complexity. Until one snag in his delicate web of seduction plunges them all into a potentially deadly tangle with no way out…

Warning: Contains humor, masturbatory robots, mystical BDSM, stern punishments and more variations on m/m/m/f than the author can count. Sex toys are not included with purchase but are strongly recommended.

Enjoy the following excerpt for
Dark Empress:

“Tell me, my lovely one, what do you hope to accomplish here on Avalith?” Errion knew the question was a light one. Any visitor would have a stock answer ready to spew out to satisfy any who asked, yet Farjika actually considered his question.

Lifting her gaze to capture his, she softly informed him, “My world is isolated. We have been so for many hundreds of thousands of seasons. I hope by coming here, to Avalith, and donating a large portion of funds, to show the galactic community that we are concerned with our brethren. That we wish to break free from our self-imposed seclusion.”

Errion wanted to capture her mouth, cutting off her words long before she could finish speaking them. Not only was she utterly lovely, but she was kind and sweet. Worse, she had a conscience. She wasn’t just repeating words she’d been told to say, she honestly believed in what she said. Red flashes of warning went off behind his eyes. This woman was dangerous. Farjika truly could sway Lorren from any path he might be on, and she could do it without much effort. Farjika was a woman who could steal a man’s soul without intention. Raylor’s bursting balls, but she’d effortlessly stolen Errion’s attention and yet seemed utterly unaware!

As he drew her into the main room, her gaze slid around, appreciating the paintings, sculptures, rugs and the furniture. She finally settled her gaze on Errion. “I am impressed by your estate. You clearly have a unique turn toward art.”

He nodded, offering her a drink, which she cupped lightly in her hand.

“How long will you stay on Avalith?”

She took a sip to give herself time to think of her answer, and he realized she honestly didn’t know. Her hesitation worried him. His gut told him her stay depended on what happened with Lorren.

“I find I am intrigued by your planet. I would like to stay and learn more about your culture even after my official visit has come to a close.”

As she spoke, he noticed she kept taking surreptitious glances at one sculpture in particular. He had to work hard to suppress a lusty grin.

“Where are you staying?” Casually, he maneuvered himself across the room until he was standing near the life-sized rendering of an intricately bound woman. Between her parted legs, a man thrust deeply into her. The woman’s head was bowed in submission; however, her face was still visible as her hair was drawn away. The man’s head was flung back in ecstasy, his lips peeling away from his teeth with an artfully captured snarl of possession.

“I am staying in my skip.” When he tilted his head, she offered, “A small planet-safe ship while my larger spacecraft remains in orbit.” She took another sip of her drink that turned into more of a gulp when she drew her eyes away from him and the erotic rendering. “Master D’Buren graciously offered one of his fallow fields to station the craft.”

“Lorren’s father is always so generous with visiting dignitaries.” Usually so he could finagle an exclusive marketing contract for his robotic servants. Wouldn’t he be surprised when he realized Diola had no desire for mechanization? “Is something wrong?”

Darting her gaze to the entwined figures, then away, she whispered, “Are all of your statues so explicit?”

Errion laughed.

Her head stayed low as her gazed traveled up. She seemed unsure if he were laughing at her or at what she’d said.

“Explicit?” He chuckled as he slapped his hand to the man’s muscular ass. “He’s fucking her as she wishes.”

Eyes widening at the vulgarity, Farjika cupped the fragile glass, which trembled in her hand. He could tell she struggled with the idea of whether she should say something or not. In the end, her curiosity got the better of her. Darting her gaze around to ensure they were alone, she asked, “If she wants him, then why is she bound?”

The woman’s arms were artfully tied behind her back, and she used them to leverage herself up. Her legs embraced the man who had his head back in the throes of release.

Lowering his gaze, pinning her where she stood, Errion murmured, “She is bound because she finds pleasure in giving control to the man.” Softly, he asked, “Haven’t you ever let a lover tie you up?”

Farjika’s gaze met his, her pupils dilating. In that moment, he saw the hunger in her eyes. A dark hunger for something that Lorren would never give her but Errion could.

Before she could answer, he deftly removed his jacket, tossing it casually on a nearby chair. “I would think a future empress would be well schooled in the art of lust.” He turned, giving her an excellent view of his bulging trousers. Pleasure rippled across his tense muscles when she looked down then quickly away. Slowly and deliberately, he looked at her chest, making sure she saw him looking. He noticed her nipples pressed tightly against the fabric, twin bits of tightened flesh. “I understand that on Diola, sex is practically your religion.”

“That is not true.” She frowned at what he’d said. Her displeasure deepened when she noticed the way he was looking at her. Setting her drink upon the closest table, she said, “Sadly, many seem to think that it is, but I assure you—”

“How did it feel when he slid his tongue into you?”

Caught off guard by the question, she sputtered in shock, then turned her gaze around the room again. “Where is Lorren?”

Running his finger down the rope that bound the woman’s breasts, he murmured, “He’s a little tied up at the moment.”

He could tell that Farjika was trying to determine if he were being literal or not.

“I think I should go.” Her skirt flared around her legs as she spun toward the door.

“Without a word to Lorren? That’s hardly courteous behavior,” he scoffed, continuing to stroke the rope that trailed down the woman’s torso. The metal felt cool below the heat of his hand. “Especially after all the trouble he went to for you.”

She stopped in midstride, apparently thinking over what she should do. He’d hit his mark well; she did not wish to appear ungracious or rude, not to the object of her affection.

Frankly, he didn’t mind getting another look at the back of her dress and her hair, which was startlingly similar to the rope on the statue. Farjika would look exquisite bound, and binding would only heighten her awareness of her body. Already he could picture how he would drape the silk rope around her frame using various lengths of crimson cord that would highlight the color of her skin. Deliberately, he would place the knots to give her the greatest pleasure. To have her bound and at his mercy was such a heady prospect, he couldn’t stop thinking of the ways he could pose her. Of course, if he acted on his cravings, Lorren would kill him.