The Pleasure Bot (Planet Desire Book 4) Page 8

  He gave a final thrust and the head of his cock exploded with a stream of come. Falling over her, he gasped for breath. He was paralyzed, unable to move a muscle. Her pussy throbbed, caressing his cock with the last ripple of her orgasm, milking him dry.

  “I can’t breathe,” she gasped, her hands pushing against his shoulders.

  He rumbled a protest and slowly lifted himself off her body. He didn’t move far—just to the side of her, and stretched out on his back, staring at the ceiling. The heavy scent of their sex filled his nostrils. “I think you’ve done me in.”

  She scooted down the bed and flung out her arms. “I won’t move until next week,” she said, her voice rasping.

  He laughed. The pair of them were a sorry, soggy mess. “Does your valet clean the bedding, too?”

  “Not unless I toss it on the floor. Why?”

  “Good. I was afraid it would sweep me up with the rest of the refuse.” He patted the mattress beside him. “Come here.”

  Priscilla scooted across the mattress and draped herself over his body, using his shoulder for a pillow. Her fingers combed through his chest hair.

  He wondered if she still had designs on removing the fluff.

  “Declan?”

  “Yes, love,” he said, as he rubbed a hand lazily up and down her back.

  Her head tilted, and she looked into his face. “What’s your life like?” she asked, her voice soft. “What do you do when you’re not…doing this?”

  “When I’m not selling my services to spoiled little executives, you mean?”

  She pulled his hair.

  He clamped a hand over hers. “I told you. Whether you believe me or not, I’m captain of a ship. My crew and I travel three galaxies seeking exotic goods to trade.”

  “Like the whiskey you were wearing?” she said, wrinkling her nose.

  “Don’t remind me about the damn whiskey,” he grumbled. “It was the black label. Smooth, potent. One of my best sellers.”

  “Why would you deal in contraband when there are plenty of legal goods you could trade?”

  “Now, where would be the fun in that?” The offhand quip was his stock answer. For some reason, he wanted her to know the truth. “I tried the straight and narrow wares, but the taxes and the red tape ate my profits. So, at first, I smuggled the odd case of liquor to make a little extra cash. But the market was there for the ‘black’ stuff.” He shrugged. “And the orders were coming from the very people who collected the profits from my legally traded items.”

  “How unfair.” She rubbed a fingertip over one of his nipples, causing it to pebble, then she scraped it with her fingernail. “Is your job dangerous?”

  “Only when someone gets greedy.” His gaze sought hers. “Why the twenty questions?”

  “I was just wondering. My life’s so different.”

  “Well, it’s safe to say you’ll never have to resort to a life of crime to support yourself.”

  “That’s right.” She sniffed. “I’m spoiled.”

  “It’s not like you’ve ever wanted for anything, Princess, have you?”

  Her brows drew together in a frown. “Am I supposed to feel guilty about that?”

  “Of course not. If ever I had children, I’d want them safe and swaddled as well.”

  “Swaddled?” Her voice rose. “I’m not wrapped in cotton wool, you know. I live in the real world. I work.”

  Declan cringed. The last thing he wanted now was an argument. His ears couldn’t take another high-decibel barrage. “My word choice was unfortunate. I was merely pointing out that you’ve enjoyed advantages most people couldn’t comprehend.” He waved his hand at her room. “You’ve a house for fucksake. Most of the rest of us can only aspire to an apartment.”

  “Or a cabin in a star cruiser.” She tapped his chin. “I think that’s pretty extraordinary. I can’t help it my parents are rich, or that they wanted to make sure I was well set before they left on their latest mission.”

  “How long have they been gone?”

  She drew in a deep breath and sighed. “Five years.”

  “They must be well-placed in the government to afford to gift you with a piece of hardware like your Agnes.”

  “I guess so. You know, I never really thought about it. I’d rather have them here than have their money.”

  Declan knew she thought that was true, but the woman didn’t have a clue what a cutthroat existence she would have led without money to ease her way. “Do you mind my asking what do your parents do?”

  “They’re in the Diplomatic Corps. They build new trade agreements, negotiate treaties. Important stuff.”

  “You didn’t want to follow in their footsteps?”

  “I couldn’t.”

  “Not because you weren’t smart enough, I’ll warrant.”

  She sighed again and rested her chin on his chest. “I’m not sure why I didn’t study harder.”

  “Were you distracted?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “By boys?” He could well imagine a string of boyfriends vying for her attention. The thought rankled.

  “No. I didn’t date much.”

  He raised both eyebrows, disbelieving.

  She frowned. “Really! I was always daydreaming.”

  “About pirates?” he growled.

  Her blush told him he’d struck gold. He arched a brow. “What kind of daydreams did you have?”

  “This is a silly conversation,” she said quickly. “I was just a girl.”

  He placed his arm beneath his head so that he was high enough to see the emotions that chased across her face. “Not fair. I laid bare my past.”

  She scowled, and then spoiled the effect by pursing her lush lips. “This is so embarrassing.”

  “You can tell me anything. Remember? I won’t be around to spread your secrets.”

  She looked stricken. Her skin grew pale and her eyes solemn.

  “Oh, don’t get maudlin. You’ll be glad to see the arse of me.”

  “True.” She lifted her chin. “If you really must know, I dreamed about star cruisers and treasure chests.”

  “Not pirate’s hairy chests?”

  She plucked his hair again. “No! I just wanted to meet one particular pirate. Captain Adamarik Zingh. When I was young and very naïve, I pretended I was a prisoner aboard the New Attica, and that he swept me way to his paradise planet.”

  Declan couldn’t suppress a grin. “What if I told you I’ve met Adam?”

  “He doesn’t exist,” she scoffed. “He’s a myth.”

  “Oh, he’s very real.”

  Priscilla’s gaze was shadowed with some dark emotion. He’d almost swear it was pity.

  The thought was unsettling, emasculating—almost.

  She laid her head on his chest again. “So, tell me what he’s like. Is he handsome?”

  “Adam? Well, I don’t fancy him, but I imagine women might like his mug.”

  “He’s dark, right? Like you?”

  “He has black hair and blacker eyes that can look right though a man—or woman. He doesn’t suffer fools.”

  “Does he have many women? I imagine he’d have his pick.”

  “Well, you’re wrong. He has just one. Her name’s Evena. She’s a redhead, like you.”

  “Really?”

  “But she’s taller, stronger. She could kick most men’s asses.” He winced at the memory of one of her roundhouse kicks. “She sails with him.”

  Priscilla’s lush mouth pouted. “Are you saying I’m too wimpy to attract a great pirate like Captain Zingh?”

  “I’m saying he’s too besotted with his wife to give you a second glance.”

  “He’s married! I never heard that part of the tale. Damn.” She sighed and swirled his hair with her fingers. “Another fantasy bites the dust.”

  Declan found himself annoyed at her disappointment. “Shouldn’t you be dreaming of princes, anyway? Like some real estate mogul or an Arturian ambassador? Most women are hot fo
r anything Arturian.”

  Her mouth twisted with disgust. “You think I’m some hothouse flower, don’t you? That I want to be taken care of.”

  He lifted one eyebrow. “Well, aren’t you already?”

  Her hand flattened on his chest, and she smoothed it down his belly. Any lower and she’d be setting a fresh blaze. “Looking at it from your perspective, I suppose you’re right. I haven’t done a lot with my life.”

  “That’s not true. You have an education, right? A career? Make bags of credit? I’d say that makes you pretty successful.”

  Her fingers combed through the hair at his groin.

  Declan shifted his legs apart—just in case she really intended to do some more exploration. His cock was already alerted to the possibility and was hardening by the second.

  “If you could make bags of credit here, would you give up your ship?”

  His face must have registered his horror at the thought. Give up his ship? “Priss, I’m not like you. I’d never be happy here.”

  “You’d be bored to tears, wouldn’t you?” Her smile didn’t reach her eyes.

  “Well, perhaps not—if I had someone like me to play with after dark,” he teased, hoping to lighten her mood and get her mind back to the part of him her fingers were now caressing.

  She arched one eyebrow. “Think you can add the touch of spice my life’s missing?”

  “Haven’t I already?” he murmured, finding it harder to keep his mind on the conversation.

  She tugged his shorthairs. “I have plenty of spice.”

  His hand closed over hers before she could do more injury. “The comm circuit’s ringing off the wall, all right.” He lifted the same hand to caress her cheek. “Where’s the boyfriend who should be ready to tear me head off for being here with you—like this?”

  She shrugged and looked away. “I don’t have time for men.”

  “Your job’s so demanding?”

  “Sure. Mostly.” She sighed heavily and traced a finger along his shaft. “I don’t make the time, I guess. Then again, I haven’t met the man who would tempt me to loll around in bed all day.”

  “Loll?” He pumped upward. “You haven’t done much of that.”

  Her grin stretched her lovely, pink mouth, and he relaxed, glad she’d shed her somber mood.

  His gaze drifted to the saddle. “You know you’re going to have to show me how that thing works. Is it enough?”

  “Enough?”

  “To take the place of a real man in your life?”

  “What’s with this obsession with real men?” She rolled her eyes. “First Agnes, now you.”

  “A sore spot, is it?”

  “I don’t want a real man—I want…” Her gaze settled on him, and he read dismay in her features. “Shit.”

  He yawned, his mouth opening so wide his jaws popped. He was surprised he could think of sleep when his cock was pleasurably aroused. “I’m sure you’ll find what you’re looking for, love. In the meantime, we have another day to scratch an itch. All I need are a few hours rest.” He pulled her hand from his cock. He could see the grumpiness returning. The minx needed more rest as well.

  He pulled her closer to his side. “Sleep,” he commanded. His eyes drifted closed.

  “Shit!”

  Chapter Eight

  ‡

  “I like the new look,” Agnes’s amused voice shattered the silence.

  Declan jerked, nearly dropping the bottle of juice he’d been drinking. “Can you give a man a bit of warning when you sneak up on him?” He settled the bottle back on the refrigerator shelf.

  “Pink does wonders for your complexion.”

  He cursed under his breath, irritated that anyone, even a bloody computer, should witness his present state of dress. “Not another bloody word out of you.” With another curse, he adjusted the knot of the drapery he’d filched from Priss’s closet. “I couldn’t find my clothes.” He’d searched for his clothing without success before resorting to the square of flower-covered fabric.

  “The valet’s just following my orders.”

  “You want me wagging me ballocks for the entire weekend?”

  “I’ve studied up some on human sexuality. Nudity breaks down barriers. You’ve only got the weekend to seduce her. I’m just trying to hurry things along.”

  “But for what? It’s just a weekend of shagging,” he growled, not knowing why the thought disturbed him.

  Agnes sighed. “You still believe that?”

  Declan ignored her cryptic comment. Instead, he girded himself to ask the question that had kept him awake. “So, she really has no man in her life?”

  “Nope. It’s just her and me.”

  “But why? There’s nothing wrong with her—other than her rotten temper, and the fact she has to be in charge. The men around here must be fools. There must be at least one who wants to be led around by his cock.”

  “She hasn’t found The One. She’s a romantic. Not that she’d admit it to anyone. But she wants to be swept away. Dominated, even. The men around here want business partners.”

  “Bloody fools. She has so much more than a healthy bank account.” Like gold dust freckles across a cute, tip-tilted nose and nipples softer than velvet.

  “Perhaps she’s alone because she doesn’t know what she wants. I think she needs a little help discovering what makes her happy.”

  “You’re not thinking I can help her with that, are you?” She expected him to prepare Priss for another man? “I haven’t a clue how to show a woman what she wants.”

  “But you’ve traveled. Seen a lot, I’m sure. You could help her see that there’s more to life than work. Then maybe she’d be willing to take a chance and spread her wings a bit.”

  “That’s not part of the bargain. I’m not the man to show her what she’s made of. I’m just the weekend shagger,” he said, bitterness creeping into his voice. He headed to the door.

  “If that’s what you think, then I guess I had you figured wrong.”

  He paused, angry with himself that he cared to know what she thought. “What did you think?”

  “That maybe you might want something more from this weekend. That maybe you might want to help someone other than yourself.”

  “You had me figured wrong. I’m only looking out for me and my crew. You get them released, and I’ll take care of my end of the bargain.” He continued toward the doorway, but rather than shoving it open, his hand spread out on the surface. “Besides, I’m the last person you should want Priss to pattern herself after. I’m no great example.”

  “You’re right.” Agnes agreed too quickly, which only raised his suspicions that she was up to something. “Forget I said anything.”

  “Agnes?”

  “Yes, smuggler?”

  “I can’t keep her in bed all weekend long.”

  “Why not? No stamina?”

  “There’s nothing wrong with my libido,” he said, while imagining clenching his fingers around her scrawny neck. “What else might she enjoy doing?”

  “Why don’t you ask her?”

  “You mean, talk to her?” Inwardly he cringed. Conversing with women about personal issues and long-term plans was one of his least developed skills.

  “What would it cost you? She’s not always so—strident. Just when she wants something really bad.”

  That was an interesting observation.

  “Priss likes to rise early.”

  He looked out the window, past the brick wall that divided Priss’s lawn from the next-door neighbor’s property. The edge of the horizon glowed yellow-orange. “It’s almost morning.”

  “Yup. If you’re going to call your friend, you better do it quick.”

  He didn’t question how she knew about Reiver. “He’s not expecting a call any sooner than Sunday.”

  “Better tell him a security guard is sniffing around the garage. He might want to try 2233 Briarwood. The owners are on vacation for the next month.”

  “I’ll
tell him.” Agnes was amazing. He bet nothing happened in this neighborhood that she didn’t have a pulse on. “I’ll need my comm pack. It was in my duster.”

  “Look on the lower shelf of the pantry.”

  Declan nodded. Maybe she wasn’t such a bad old bat.

  “I still think you look really hot in pink, smuggler.”

  He grinned. “Bite me, Agnes.”

  She sighed. “Wish I could. I’d give you a run for your money.”

  “I bet you would, you hussy. Thanks, Agnes.”

  Agnes sighed and closed the circuit, leaving Declan to call his First Mate. While she had a little time to herself, she decided to run a profile on Declan. The smuggler just might do.

  And maybe Tonio might want to combine his processor with hers…

  *

  Declan held a hot cup of coffee under Priss’s nose.

  In sleep, the woman was a soft and winsome temptation. Her nose wrinkled, and she sniffed. Then she pried one eyelid open to peer up at him.

  “Good morning,” he said, a little loud and definitely too jovial.

  Her eyebrows drew together in annoyance. “Mornin’,” her voice was slightly raspy—no doubt hoarse from her lusty cries the night before.

  He’d tried to leave her be and let her get a decent night’s rest, but his body found it impossible to ignore her womanly curves for very long. He’d had her every way he could imagine, and surprisingly, her ardor had matched his—and he’d had months of abstinence to whet up a mighty appetite.

  Priscilla stretched under the covers, and then sat up, bunching pillows behind her back before she reached for the cup. She was careful to tuck the sheet beneath her arms, denying him a glimpse of her fair flesh. “Aren’t you having any?” she asked, giving him a quick glance before her gaze darted away.

  Could she be suffering from a little morning-after shyness? He shook his head. The woman who’d bellowed her wants in the wee morning wasn’t the least bit shy. Perhaps she was sore. “Are you feeling all right?”