“Rules be rules, Brother.” Scarred One gave a hard laugh. “Get up here and let me play for a moment.”
They traded places, and then rougher hands pressed open her labia even farther. A finger traced over and around her clit, slick and hot and slightly scratchy, making her quiver. Her clit swelled under the firm strokes.
She lost track of place and time as one man fondled her breasts and the other teased her below. Her legs strained against the chains, quivering uncontrollably. Her insides coiled tighter, each touch filling her world until she poised, awaiting the next. Her hands closed into fists as she panted.
“Now,” the man standing at her side said.
Suddenly fingers pushed into her, thick and rough, even as he pressed down hard on her clit. Every nerve between her legs exploded in pleasure. Fingers squeezed her nipples, the pressure unrelenting, and she screamed through the gag as the maelstrom of intensity burst within her. Her hips bucked against the hammering intrusion as the unceasing waves of sensation rolled through her, over and over.
Heart slamming in her chest, she would have fallen if the cuffs behind her hadn’t held her in place. She blinked and felt a trickle of sweat roll down her cheek.
The scarred one rose to his feet, sucking on his fingers. He gave her a quick grin. “You taste like sweet sin, girl.”
The green-eyed one pressed his hand against her pussy, making her shudder and her vagina spasm again. “By Mardun’s sword, that was fun. A shame we can’t take her now.” He stroked through her slick folds, and then licked his palm as he looked around the room. “Let’s double-team the big female from the Vulacan clan. I like the way she shrieks as she reaches release.”
As the two men sauntered away, Mella closed her eyes, trying not to cry. She’d come, but she felt…used. When Dain took her, she felt cherished. Wanted.
Not now.
The next man had softer hands, but a slower stroke, and she seemed to writhe forever under his touch before she came. Another one pushed her, hard and fast. And the next… She lost track of the times she’d come. She sagged against the pole, her inner thighs wet almost to her knees.
Sitting at the drink table, Dain watched the little thief be roused and then satisfied, again and again. With the lighting focused on the stage, he could see her every expression. Satisfaction, yes, but humiliation and anger also. His heart ached for her.
He scrubbed his face with his hands, feeling as if he’d kicked a baby canin. She wasn’t prepared for this or for what would come next, damn the sands. Earthers didn’t understand Nexan customs, and the government made no attempt to change that. Four times a year, during the night of the Starlight Rites, off-worlders were restricted to the plaza hotels for everyone’s safety. A planetary orgy one off-planet magazine had called the LastDay celebrations.
They weren’t too far wrong. But the customs of Nexus had kept the people strong for generation upon generation after the abandonment. Other colonies had failed or weakened. On Dan’s Folly, the colonists had become so inbred that their children required surgery to walk and often died before reaching five years. The population of Artonia had halved over the centuries.
Yet Nexans had flourished, despite their genetic mutations, despite the unexpected predator migrations that had almost destroyed the first settlement. With their colony in shreds, the original settlers had become brutally practical, and survival had taken precedence over monogamy.
Now, centuries later, women fought for the chance to serve the goddess during Starlight Rites. But that didn’t mean much to the little Earther suffering onstage. He shook his head.
“Neman and Morrgan are down; Bab is setting,” Blackwell called, stepping up beside Mella on the platform. “Let us see if Artema accepts her avatar, and then the avatar will choose her mate for tonight.” Pulling off the play patch, he released Mella from the restraints, holding her up when her legs sagged.
She scowled and pushed him away. “I won’t pick anyone.”
People around the stage gasped, but Blackwell only laughed and fisted his hand in her hair, running the other over her breast. He whispered something in her ear, and Mella’s mouth tightened. Although Blackwell probably enjoyed threatening her—his protectiveness of his friends was legendary—it wasn’t necessary. If Artema took Mella, she would need and want to mate.
Dain didn’t fully understand why, no human could, but Nexan gods were more…involved than on other planets. The most accepted doctrine said they’d enjoyed the arrival of humans so much that they intervened to ensure the colonists’ survival.
The door was unlocked. Stripping off any remaining clothing, people streamed into the enclosed festival garden. Under Dain’s bare feet, the grass was soft, the evening air warm and moist. Only an edge of the moon glinted on the distant mountains. Forming a circle around the edges of the space, the women sang to Artema, asking for healthy children, that Nexans might live. The men chanted the beat, one word, over and over: choose, choose, choose.
Gripping Mella’s upper arm, Blackwell guided her around the inside of the circle, pausing in front of each man. At a hard look from Blackwell, Dain joined the line, taking a place at the end. No man could refuse the avatar on this night.
Mella chose no one. Finally she reached the end, and Dain. A shimmer of power danced on the surface of her pale skin, and her pupils had widened until only a tiny emerald circlet rimmed the black. Dain sighed and bowed his head for a moment in recognition. The goddess had indeed accepted the little Earther.
She studied him for a minute, then spoke, her voice resonant with unworldly power, but still Mella. “You hurt me; I accept that. You gave me to those men…and now…” She frowned at her glowing arms. “I understand a little.” Her eyes met his. “I don’t trust you. I can’t. But it’s you I want tonight.”
Dain held his hands out, palms up. He could no more refuse Artema’s wishes than Mella could. When their fingers touched, fire seared Dain’s skin and swept through his body, followed by uncontrollable lust, although he’d already been hard all evening from watching Mella being pleasured. He’d wanted her then; he still wanted her. Darkness rippled inside him at the memory of her running, that his desire and care hadn’t been enough for her, and then he set the unhappiness aside.
This was the Starlight Rite, and the last moon was setting.
As the circle waited, Dain pulled the goddess’s avatar into his arms, the feel of her lush body making him harden to the point of pain. Gripping her waist, he lifted her high in the air, so the very last of the moonlight glimmered on her pale skin. For a moment, he held her over his head, and then he lowered her slowly, impaling her on his rigid cock. The hot, wet feel of her pulled a groan from deep inside him.
Her legs wrapped around his waist, and she clenched his shoulders. Holding her ass in his palms, Dain raised her up and down. He thrust into her with a fury he didn’t recognize. Mating frenzy. His strokes grew harder, faster, and he felt her inmaline tighten. Her body stiffened, straining, and as her back arched, she screamed her release to the heavens. The hard convulsing around his cock forced his own climax, and he jetted into her in body-jolting spasms.
A second later, the last glow of the moon disappeared, and the clearing darkened. Only the stars overhead shimmered, not enough light to distinguish person from person. As Mella slumped against him, her cheek resting on his shoulder, Dain heard the rustling of grass as people moved toward the center of the circle. When a man touched a woman, he took her. Then searched for the next, for during the Starlight Rite, a man’s stamina was akin to a god’s.
The babies conceived this night would carry genes that ensured genetic diversity. And the people would flourish.
Dain turned his attention to the woman in his arms. Mella’s skin no longer burned where he touched her; her eyes were green again.
She swallowed. “I… Did I just…?” She stiffened at the unmistakable sounds of shulin, of women moaning, men’s grunting exertions. A woman’s voice rose in staggered cries as she
came.
Dain felt the clench of Mella’s vagina around his shultor and smiled. Artema enjoyed her visits on the planet. Holding Mella in his arms, he knelt and laid her down on the grass.
“Dain… I—”
“Shhh. Words do not belong in this time of the gods,” he whispered as he feasted on her breasts. The moan of her response was an aphrodisiac. Her nipples jutted hard, almost as hard as he’d grown once again.
* * *
He’d taken her over and over—so many times. And now, Mella watched a pale glow dance on the city skyline, portending the rising of a moon. Her body had returned to her control, although a whisper of the goddess remained, and she saw the energy of each person as a swirling vortex of color. Above her, Dain’s outline shimmered a deep red with a rich blue center. More beautiful than anything she’d ever seen.
When his hot mouth closed on her breast again, when his teeth touched her nipple, every thought fled under the onslaught of returning need. She tangled her fingers in his hair and heard his low laugh. And then, with unyielding strength, he turned her over, putting her on hands and knees.
She shivered, uncertain if she could endure coming again, especially without Artema’s desire burning within her. She tried to move away. He pinned her in place with rough hands on her hips, pushing her legs farther apart and placing himself between them. His cock nudged at her center, and then, with one hard thrust, he entered her. The feeling of his large shaft in this position shocked through her, taking her breath away.
He cupped her breast in one hand, holding himself up with the other, and set his chin on her shoulder. She felt engulfed by his body, surrounded and restrained and filled completely on the inside. Keeping her immobile, he began to move, his thickness sending shock waves of pleasure running through her.
She thought at first she could just enjoy the ride…until his hand left her breast and his fingers slid into the wetness between her legs. With every thrust, his fingers stroked her clit, one side, then the other. The oversensitive nub engorged under his fingers until each touch turned to an exquisite sensation. His strokes sent need rioting down her nerves. Her fingers curled, clawing the grass. She braced herself, trying to push against his thrusts, trying to urge him to greater speed. The night seemed too hot, and sweat ran down her back as she panted.
She’d come so many times that her body wouldn’t come again. It couldn’t. She needed more, something more…
Each nerve inside and out thrilled as his thrusts deepened. His fingers stayed on the boundary of her clit, never on top. Damn him.
She poised on the edge, whimpering, her thighs trembling, her body rigid. Waiting…waiting…
Then he cupped his hand over her clit, directly over it, pushing firmly as he groaned, shooting hot inside her, and the sensation sent her over. His hand hard against her, his cock hard inside, her bundle of nerves trapped between the two. Convulsions shot brutal pleasure through her whole body. Mewling, she bucked against his palm in little jerks, each motion increasing the pressure and sending her into more spasms.
Screams echoed in the small glade from people everywhere doing the same. The slap of flesh against flesh, moaning, incoherent begging.
Dain’s arm came around her like steel bands as he sat on his heels, pulling her back with him, still firmly embedded within her. Her bottom rested on his thighs; the pain of the welts from the caning made her wiggle. His arm tightened, holding her against his chest. His hand stroked her breasts; his lips nuzzled her shoulders.
Her body felt limp, hugely satisfied, and yet tears burned her eyes. She needed to curl up and cry somewhere alone. She’d always wanted to be held like this, not just the orgasm, but the loving afterward, feeling protected and cherished.
But what would he do if he knew who she really was. Keep her? Or kill her?
She stiffened in his arms and heard him sigh.
Chapter Eighteen
People returned to the building to dress then left quietly, exhaustion obvious in every step. Dain waited, leaning against the door frame of the building until one of Blackwell’s servants brought Mella out, showered and dressed. Her mouth was swollen from his kisses, her face beard burned. She’d been well used and looked it.
And his heart felt like a boulder within his chest. He grasped her arm and nodded to the servant. “Please give us a minute.”
With a bow, the man moved to a discreet distance.
Mella looked up.
“I didn’t want to leave without saying good-bye.” Dain ran a finger down a strand of her red-gold hair and watched it shimmer in the morning sunlight.
Her fine red-brown brows pulled together. “Good-bye?”
“Yes. You made it clear that my ownership doesn’t please you. I’m returning you to the Indenture Hall. Perhaps your new master will prove more to your liking.” He might as well have taken a knife and shoved it into his own gut. The thought of her living with another man, being taken… His hand pressed against his stomach as if he could cover a wound. Not this wound.
She didn’t speak. Had not spoken to him since he’d ordered her to be silent. Her big green eyes filled with tears, but she gave him nothing else, nothing to pin hopes or dreams upon. Nothing to change his decision.
His chest tightened with disappointment. He motioned for the servant. Giving his little thief a nod of farewell, Dain turned and left her behind.
And felt his guts being pulled out of him, inch by inch.
Mella watched him walk away from her. She forced herself to keep from running after him. From begging him to let her stay. Breathing into the pain, she raised her chin. He was a murderer, if not directly, then one who’d had a hand in it. Just because he could make her body respond didn’t mean she should abandon common sense. Cap and the others deserved better.
After a minute, she realized someone stood beside her, also watching, and she looked up. Blackwell’s face appeared as hard as the mountains on the western horizon.
When Dain disappeared, Blackwell grasped Mella’s arm. “Let’s go, Earther.”
The solacar was too silent, Mella thought, as Blackwell drove past Old Quarters and toward the center of Port City. She glanced at him from the corner of her eye and saw a muscle pulsing in his tight jaw. “What?” she asked.
Each word clipped and cold, he said, “When I was a skinny seven-year-old, two addicts in Old Quarters attacked me. They had me belly up on the ground. Then Dain charged in. He won, but by the sword, he almost died of it. The scars on his face and arms are souvenirs. He was only ten.”
Blackwell’s fingers tapped the steering wheel. “A couple of months later, a pack of regstal attacked his parents. Ripped apart his father and put his mother in the hospital for months.”
“By what?”
He gave her an impatient look. “Regstal. Reptiles with big teeth. Everyone thought the season’s migration finished, but this pack came through late. Perhaps delayed by a closed mountain pass. Dain’s folks were in a carriage when the regstal scented them.”
Mella shuddered. Ripped apart? Her heart tugged. What could be more horrible than to lose a parent like that?
“Dain went to a Zarain clan relative who liked to cow children into obedience. As you might have noticed—if you weren’t a totally blind Earther—Dain doesn’t cow easily. So the beast beat him. Daily. Usually with a cane, sometimes a whip.”
“Dear Prophet,” Mella whispered. “How could someone do that to a little boy?”
“The old man was sick in the head. Dain lived there until his grandsir visited and saw his bloody tunic.”
“I hope the clanae beat that man up.”
Blackwell barked a laugh. “He did, actually. And brought Dain home.” His face hardened again. “Seeing, hearing someone being beaten makes Dain sick. Having to wield a cane himself…”
That’s why he’d looked so unhappy, why he’d held her so tight. Poor Dain.
“I don’t like you, Earther. You have hurt him in ways he’s never been hurt before.” Bla
ckwell brought the solacar to a stop in the tiny alley behind the Indenture Hall. After sliding back the door on her side, he pulled her out. His unyielding grip on her upper arm quashed the impulse she’d had to flee. The door opened to a small reception area, a duplicate of the larger one on the plaza side. Behind the desk, an older man rose and bowed. “Colonel Blackwell. How can I serve you?”
“I am returning this unshuline, named Mella, for reassignment.”
The manager blanched, and he quickly poked the keys on his infounit. “Can you tell me the problem? If she did not give good service, perhaps she should go to the mines.”
Blackwell’s mouth tightened. “Appealing as the thought is, General Dain requests that she merely be given a new owner.”
“General Dain? The kinae of Zarain?” The manager appeared to have trouble breathing. “He was… She…” He tapped more keys. “Black sands, an escape attempt. She will be severely—”
Blackwell interrupted, “The general handled her punishment already.” In illustration, he patted Mella’s bottom.
She hissed in pain and jerked away, glaring at him.
“I enjoyed that,” he said softly enough that only she heard.
The manager nodded. “I’ll note she’s received her discipline.” He tapped a few keys. “Does the general desire a refund or a replacement?”
“No.”
“Very good. In that case, I’ll simply put this unshuline up for tomorrow’s auction.”
“Thank you.” Blackwell gave her a cold look and walked away.
Mella clasped her hands together and tightened her lips. He hated her. Dain hated her.
I’m alone. Again.
The manager pressed a button on the desk, and Handler appeared. His brows drew into a line when he saw her. “Your indenture be not finished yet.”
“She tried to escape yesterday,” the manager said. “General Dain has returned her. She’ll return to the auction stand tomorrow.”