The Pleasure Bot (Planet Desire Book 4) Read online

  Without a spoken invitation, his hips rocked forward, sliding between her palms, and his eyes drifted shut. All thought and sensation narrowed to the soft, steady rain from the shower that filled his lungs with moist heat and the glide and caress of her hands.

  Her nimble fingers slid upward to the crown, thumbs circling his swollen flesh. They squeezed and twisted downward, and then up the shaft again. Gradually, her caresses grew firmer, faster, wringing moans from deep inside his chest.

  His hips followed her rhythm, stroking, jerking, and finally he pulled away. “Enough!” he repeated, opening his eyes.

  Priscilla’s mouth was open, her face flushed—her eyes heavy-lidded with passion. Her hair was a dark cap, sleek as a seal’s pelt. Water ran in rivulets down her face, curving down her chin and neck to drip from the tight points of her breasts.

  Breasts he was suddenly ravenous to taste. He leaned down, hooked his hands beneath her arms, and hauled her up. Then he took two steps to press her back to the wall, leaving her feet dangling inches above the ground. With a low growl rumbling from his chest, he buried his face against the pillows of her breasts and rubbed his bearded cheeks, his lips, and his nose against the distended buttons.

  Her legs rose, one at a time, to encircle his waist, drawing his groin into the cradle of her thighs.

  He rolled his hips to grind his cock against her mons while his teeth closed around one firm bud.

  “Ah!” Her hands gripped his hair, pulling his face tighter to her breast. “Harder!”

  He nibbled and chewed, gently torturing the tip, gauging her enjoyment by the wriggling of her ass.

  “Come inside me,” she said.

  He let go of the bud and looked into her face. “When I’m ready. Not a moment sooner.”

  “Bastard!” Her hands tugged his face toward her other breast.

  Because he was ready to feast there, he followed her suggestion. He opened his mouth wide and sucked as much of her breast inside as he could, his tongue laving her nipple. He trailed his hands trailed down her sides and grasped her ass in a hard grip to raise and lower her while he rubbed his cock along the furrow of her sex.

  Her breath caught on a whimper. “Please.”

  Because he’d die if he waited a moment longer—not because she begged—he prodded between her legs, searching for her opening. With an eagerness that satisfied the marauder inside him, she circled her hips, coaxing him toward her entrance.

  When he felt the hot, moist center of her press against the crown of his sex, he drove forward, burying himself inside her in a single, deep stroke. The walls of her vagina closed around him like a wet, velvet glove, caressing his shaft with the roll and grasp of her inner muscles. Heaven for the moment was her tight, hot channel.

  Their gazes locked. Declan took several deep breaths, girding himself for the storm. “Ready, Priss?”

  She nodded, and her fingers dug into his shoulders.

  He lifted her at the same time he flexed his buttocks backward, pulling almost all the way out.

  Her teeth bit into her lower lip, and she whimpered again, a small mewling sound—so feminine, the male in him wanted to roar.

  With a groan, he pulled her downward, while his cock thrust into her again—his hands and hips working in opposition. Leaning forward, he took her mouth, his tongue sliding past her lips. He’d swallow her cries while he plundered her sweet pussy.

  With water washing over them, Declan pounded into her body, a stroke away from exploding, but he fought the need to surrender. Too many months had passed since he’d buried himself inside a woman he hadn’t purchased for a night of pleasure. Whatever her motives for this weekend of lust, Priscilla’s cries weren’t practiced or calculated to increase his fervor.

  No, the truth of her desire was in the gouges she pressed into his shoulders, the cries squeezed from the back of her throat, and the trembling of her belly as she climbed toward her climax.

  Nearing the end of the storm, Declan dragged his mouth from hers and stared into her half-closed eyes. “Come for me, baby.”

  “I’m there. Almost there.” Her eyes squinched tight, and she gasped and tightened her legs around his waist. Her breath caught on an inward gasp. “Now! It’s happening now!”

  Declan gritted his teeth and slammed his hips into hers, hard as he could, pushing the breath from her body in gusts.

  “Yes! Yes!” she chanted, and then her voice broke on a cry.

  Declan felt the convulsion of her orgasm pulsing around his cock, clutching him in rolling waves. “Yes, baby. God, yes!” He slammed into her and exploded, his thighs, balls, and cock tightening, spewing a stream of hot come deep inside her body.

  He rocked, letting her pulsing cunt wring every last drop of passion from his body.

  She writhed on his staff, her moans growing thin and breathless, until she collapsed against his chest.

  Finally spent, he shuddered, but kept himself pressed as far as he could reach inside her. Reluctant to break the connection, he continued to rock until well past the last shivering pulse of her hot sheath.

  Priscilla’s fingers raked lightly down his back. Her kisses, light and fluttery, touched his lips and chin.

  He smiled at her uninhibited show of affection and turned to catch the next with an open-mouthed kiss of his own. He ate her lips, sucked her tongue, and finally drew away to gaze into her face.

  Her eyes held a dazed look. Her lips were slack and swollen. The sight was deeply satisfying. However, the skin around her mouth and chin was an angry red. “The beard will have to go, love. You’re chafed.”

  “Hmmm,” she moaned, a dreamy smile on her face. “I’ve never heard it put quite that way.”

  “Your face, love,” he said, suppressing a grin. “You’ve a whisker burn.”

  Her eyes rounded. “Oh!” She touched her cheeks gingerly and winced. “Definitely has to go.” Her ever-present scowl returned with a vengeance. “You’d think with all their market research Playthings would know better.”

  Declan sighed, sorry to withdraw his cock from the hot sleeve of her cunt. Then he remembered her earlier insults and hesitated before pulling out. “Tell me I wasn’t enough to satisfy you.”

  She shoved at his chest, and then huffed when he refused to relinquish his hold. “Do you ever ask questions? Or are you programmed for commands?”

  “Programmed? You are an odd duck. I’m just how I am. Captain of my own vessel. I don’t make requests.” He squeezed her buttocks. “Answer my question.”

  She arched an eyebrow. “Couldn’t you tell?”

  “I’m just a man, love. Not a mind reader.” He lowered his eyebrows and growled. “You had certain…expectations, or so you told me before.”

  A blush suffused her face. “I wasn’t disappointed,” she said, her tone sharpening.

  He grunted. He’d wanted lavish praise and found her comment stingy to say the least. Oddly, he felt motivated now to blow wind up her skirt—after he’d recovered, of course. “Just so you know where I stand. I’ll allow no more insults to my abused cock.”

  A tight, determined smile crimped the corners of her lips, and she squeezed her inner muscles. “This is abuse?”

  His mast appreciated her calisthenics and lengthened its sail. He pumped his cock twice, shallow explorations only. He looked at her reddened skin, then sighed and pulled out. “The beard, then I’ll love you properly. Have you a razor?”

  Both slim eyebrows rose. “Razor? What century are you from? No one I know uses a razor.”

  “I enjoy the scrape of a blade on my face.”

  “Well, I don’t own one,” she said, her chin lifting. “But I have something else. It’s better—less barbaric.”

  “Get it,” he said, his words clipped.

  He held her while she unwrapped her legs and dropped to the floor of the stall. Shoving away from his chest, she reached into a recessed shelf and pulled out a small silver pot. With a twist, she opened it and swirled her fingers inside. She
narrowed her eyes and reached for his face, a daub of pink cream on her fingertips.

  His eyes narrowed with suspicion. He caught her hand, pulled her fingers to his nose, and sniffed. “It smells like flowers.”

  Priscilla rolled her eyes. “It’s a depilatory.”

  “I don’t care what it is. I won’t smell like a bloody rose garden.”

  “Don’t be silly. It washes away.”

  “Just give me a razor or a sharp blade. I’ll take care of my beard my own way.”

  “Well, I don’t have either.” She tilted her head to the side and gave him a wary glance. “Or do you have another reason you shouldn’t remove your beard?”

  Hands on his hips, he leaned toward her, attempting to intimidate her with his superior size. “I’m not hiding a weak chin.”

  She quirked one eyebrow. “Acne, then?”

  “No!”

  “A birth mark?”

  He frowned, narrowed his eyes into a smoldering look that had sent many of his crew slinking away.

  Her expression grew thoughtful. “Is it because of your, um, skin?”

  “What about my skin?”

  “Will it melt?”

  “Does yours?” he asked, reached and smoothed his hands down her flanks. Did she think his skin was more delicate than hers?

  “I was just asking.” She wrinkled her nose. “No need to get huffy. I thought there might be a good reason you can’t lose your beard.”

  He huffed out a breath. She wasn’t going to let this go. She was one impossibly hardheaded woman. “For fucksake. Just get it over with.”

  “You’re such a baby.” Her lips curved in a grin.

  Declan rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. She hadn’t a clue how close he was to backing her up against the wall again.

  She touched one fingertip to the side of his face. He felt a tingling warmth, and then she brushed at his cheek. Her fingers held a clump of his hair. She gripped his chin and pulled down his face, frowning as she examined him. “Looks like this won’t do you any harm.”

  She slathered on more of the cream. “Now get under the water.”

  He stepped toward the spray, and she swept away the last of his thick beard with her hands. Then she stepped back and stared up into his face. “Oh my!” Her expression was admiring.

  He raised an eyebrow. “I take it you aren’t completely repulsed?”

  “Hmmm?” She continued to stare.

  Although flattered his face had left her speechless, he tapped the end of her nose with his finger. “Pay attention.”

  Her gaze dropped to his chest and a wicked little smile stretched her lips.

  He raised her chin and glowered into her face. “Oh no you don’t! The chest hair stays.”

  “Why?” she asked, her face suspiciously guileless. “Body hair isn’t very hygienic. It traps things.”

  “Things? Are you saying my hair is harboring creatures? Do you think I have lice?”

  “Not creatures—sweat, odors.”

  “I smell like a man. Real men have body hair.”

  “Every man I know denudes his body.”

  “Then they’re bloody poufs.” His glance dropped to the juncture of her thighs. “Is this obsession you have with hair why your pussy’s naked?”

  “Of course.” She closed her thighs and shifted, trying to hide her pink nether lips from his gaze. “What did you think?”

  “That you’re underdeveloped—to go along with your wee size.”

  Her scowl darkened her face. “Oooh! Not everyone, or everything, is built along your proportions.”

  “Exactly! I’m glad you finally acknowledge my superior proportions.” He smiled and slid open the door, stepping out of the stall and onto the silvery marble floor, unmindful of the trail of water he left behind him.

  “Aaa—gnes!”

  He winced at the shrill pitch of her voice as the echo crashed around the shower stall. She stood too close not to have damaged his eardrums. The next galaxy wouldn’t be far enough to save an injury from her squawks. “Must you screech?” he asked, throwing her a glare.

  “Yes! She’ll only pretend she didn’t hear me.” Her mouth opened wide.

  He held his hands to his ears.

  “Aaa—gnes!” she yelled. “She can be so aggravating. I don’t know why I don’t erase a program or two.”

  “The help runs away from you? Doesn’t that tell you something?”

  He regretted the quip instantly when her expression froze and her eyes teared. Women’s tears always filled him with dread.

  Declan grabbed a towel and rubbed his face and hair, and then knotted it around his waist. A quick glance at the floor and he discovered his clothes were gone. “Where are my bloody clothes?”

  Priscilla sniffed and straightened her shoulders. “The valet took them for cleaning.”

  “Valet?” He’d known this subdivision harbored well-heeled residents, but he hadn’t judged her smallish house quite so wealthy.

  She gave an imperious wave of her hand. “It’s a drone really. Hardly any intelligence at all. Not like my Agnes.” She walked to the cupboard and pulled two large towels from inside. One she placed on the countertop, the other she held in front of her to daub at her moist skin.

  He didn’t care for the tone in which she described her help. Even the lowliest scivvy aboard his ship was treated with more respect. He crossed his arms over his chest. “I bloody well want me clothes back.”

  Her chin jutted. “So do I. You need something to wear when you leave.”

  “Are we back to that again, then?” Secretly, he was glad her temper had returned in spades. The trace of earlier dejection had left him feeling uneasy—and mean.

  “Damn straight! I’m demanding a trade-in.”

  “After you made me lose my beard? That’s heartless.” He stepped toward her. “Perhaps you need a little reminder of where we left off.”

  She sidled away, clutching her towel to her chest. “That’s precisely why you won’t do. You’re too bossy.”

  He didn’t even try to suppress his grin.

  “Aaa—gnes!”

  “Yes, boss?” Agnes said, gasping.

  “Where have you been?” Priscilla cast an exasperated glance at the ceiling. “You sound out of breath.”

  “Tonio was showing me his new disk pack.”

  “Likely story,” she muttered. “Get Playthings back on the line. I want a trade.” She used the edge of her towel to dry the parts of her body she could reach while she carefully turned to keep his gaze off her bare flesh.

  “No can do, boss.”

  She straightened. “What did you just say?”

  “I’m just following your order, dated March 10th, 10:30 a.m.: ‘Under no circumstances—even if I beg you—unless it’s life or death—am I to permit communications with the outside’.”

  “That was incoming calls.”

  “Oh. Well, I still can’t.” Agnes made a sound as though she were clearing her throat.

  Declan figured she was about to choke on another lie.

  “You’re a hostage.”

  “A hostage?” Priscilla blinked.

  Declan stiffened. Agnes was a wily old bat who might just land him in the penitentiary for a century.

  “Uh…part of his role is to keep you captive in this house all weekend long. No outside communications.”

  “He’s going to keep me hostage?” Priscilla snorted. “Like he could stop me from leaving, if I really—” Her mouth clamped shut and her face flamed.

  Declan felt like crowing. “If you really wanted to? Isn’t that what you were going to say?” He knew his grin was triumphant—gloating even. He should really feel ashamed of himself for how much enjoyment her uneasy attraction gave him. But there it was—this high-flying, blue-suited exec, whose throwaway income could keep his ship afloat for a year—wanted him—a scalawag, a smuggler.

  A sly expression crossed Priscilla’s face, and she tilted back her head, “Agnes, what if I
change my mind about taking him out this weekend?”

  “It’s too late to change the scenario now. He’ll have to stop you, not violently of course, but he will keep you indoors. By any means necessary.”

  Declan got the heavy-handed hint.

  Priscilla’s expression grew alert, and her eyes narrowed with curiosity.

  Declan would bet credit the minx was intrigued by the by any means necessary. He flexed the muscles of his chest to remind her of his might.

  Her gaze followed the ripples. “Your caveman tactics won’t deter me if I decide to make a run for it.”

  “Precious Priss” wanted to play a nasty little game. This could be fun. “Try me, sweetheart,” he said, pitching his voice low.

  She canted her face and studied his expression. The way her teeth worried the edge of her lip told him she was tempted.

  He kept his lurid thoughts hidden and stared back, hoping he wore a bland expression.

  But her gaze slipped away, and she toyed with the edge of her towel. “Maybe later,” she said, her voice small. “Um, I should find us something to wear.”

  He felt a moment’s disappointment that she might never have the nerve to challenge him to a rougher game. “What for?”

  She already thought he was a barbarian. Maybe all she needed was another nudge toward anger to make her go for it. He braced his legs apart to pull her attention back to the part of him that bothered her most.

  Her gaze flitted over his sex. “Well, we can’t just walk around naked all evening.”

  “Why not?” He took a step toward her.

  She backed up to the door. “I’m hungry. I haven’t had dinner yet. I’ll place an order with the cook.”

  “You have a cook, too?” That set him back. He was really losing his touch; he’d somehow managed to miss three retainers when he’d cased the house. “Is he hiding out with Agnes?”

  Her lips curved into a smile. “You really don’t know, do you?”

  “Know what?” he asked, hating the feeling that he’d missed an important clue somewhere along the line.

  “My help are automated.”

  “As in wired into the latest household technology?” he asked, suspicions raising his hackles.