Dominating Dekalia Page 4

  How could he be so calm? Calm enough for the two of them even? It was like a symbiosis.

  She could feel his presence leaning into her and her toes curled with the need to make sense of it, to understand this man behind all of heroics, doing the impossible to save their small ship from being torn apart.

  She wanted to touch him. She needed to run her nails down his chest and to run her tongue over his skin, salty with sweat, tasting his pulsing power.

  More than that she needed his manhood unsheathed, exposed and ready to penetrate her to the fullness of her depths, pumping, controlling, and ultimately spraying with his hot, thick jets of cum.

  Dekalia looked down and saw, to her horror, she had opened her legs.

  Pay attention! he growled. It came from inside her skull, like a sharp edge along her psyche.

  Now she was wet. Her pussy throbbing and pulsing.

  This was so fucking confusing. Playing the role of a living space doll during a crash landing with a cranky primale and she was actually being turned-on by the experience.

  “I am.” She didn’t say to what.

  Dekalia looked over to see the slight swelling in his crotch. Had she gotten to him at last? If he were fully erect, of course there would be no doubt of the matter.

  Primales were big, everyone knew this. An obedient considered it her life’s objective to take her male’s cock into every orifice of her body, accommodating the size and thickness. Their silky mouths and lips and even their narrow anal cavities were all open season. They would also offer the pillow of their breasts for their male to rub themselves over.

  Sometimes they would climax this way.

  A primale’s cum was like a gift from heaven to them however he gave it to her.

  Blah, blah, freaking blah.

  A drop of sweat hung on the tip of her nose. She went to wipe it away when she felt an invisible force pulling her hand back into place like steel on her wrist.

  “Hold still!”

  “I’m trying,” she protested, though there was a part of her did want to break free of his grasp and run out of the cockpit.

  Surely she could take her chances with the landing. So what if she was smashed into a million pieces over an alien landscape?

  At least she would be free of Marax.

  Dekalia fought to hold on, merging her will with his, pushing and pushing. She struggled to find an analogy. It was as if they were at the rudder of same ancient sailing ship, or was it the wheel that steered it, the wooden-spoked one on top of the deck?

  “Brace yourself,” said Marax.

  He was saying the words aloud and in her head, too.

  She tried to answer but her teeth were rattling.

  The ground was so close, looming, out of nowhere, a gleaming sheet of ice as far as the eye could see. And protrusions, sharp spikes of diamond every few meters. Closer and closer she saw them until everything turned fiery red.

  It was at this point Dekalia felt something hit her, blunt and hard on the back of the head, and then she blacked out.

  * * * * *

  They had made it.

  Against all odds.

  Now they had to survive. Marax laid his unexpected but highly effective copilot out on a cot in the makeshift emergency shelter for now. He had managed to pack the outside structure with sufficient snow to keep the heat in and that would buy her a few more hours at least.

  Crushed glaze stones from the ship’s ruptured generator made for a good fire and he had some broth and a few wafers left over from the ship’s stores.

  By now he had gotten everything he could from the ruptured ship’s hull. It was not beyond repair but he would be at it several weeks at least.

  Fortunately they had landed in the correct hemisphere and just a short trek from the equator, which meant there would be more than enough sunshine to power the micro-assemblers and objectifiers needed to create the living space he had in mind for them.

  In no time he would be able to convert the raw material of a hostile environment, in this case ice and snow, into the finished products of a sophisticated civilization.

  They would live well. And they would be safe.

  Marax was concerned, though, by the blow Dekalia had taken to the head. He blamed himself for not engineering a better landing. Emergency or no, there was no excuse for not protecting her person.

  She was his charge. His responsibility.

  That had ultimate meaning for a primale and it mattered not that she was alien to his ways of thinking, even hostile. They were bound together now by his orders, by duty.

  But even more than that, something had happened during the landing. He had been forced to go inside her head for a mind connection and while it had been only for the briefest instant and with the most professional and technical of purposes, he had felt something intensely personal.

  Her emotions had nearly knocked him flat. They seemed…familiar. He could relate, but how? And why?

  There were vulnerabilities inside her, for a few brief moments he had understood her, the anger, the movement she was leading, the frustrations over the limitations of their society, everything. Like a dream, though, it had ended, leaving only fragments governed by an internal logic irreconcilable with the outside world.

  One thing was certain. She was beautiful; much more so on the inside, if that was possible. He could only think in analogies. Forests and waterfalls and delicate proud creatures populated her soul.

  Light, the light was everywhere.

  Dekalia moved with curves and she was the mother of her garden, the naked Eve. That a primale should speak this way was absurd.

  And yet here he was, fantasizing about the naked Dekalia as he spun out construction nano-threads, weaving the perimeter of what would be a real garden, complete with water fountain and soft, tropical sky.

  The threads would do their own work once attached to one another and put under the direction of the bots who would guide them. Meanwhile objectifiers on humming treads would drive about depositing trees, manufacturing rocks and grass and eventually the buildings they would live in, complete with furnishings and, yes, even a style bot for Dekalia.

  This last thought brought him back to his more familiar attitude.

  That of annoyance.

  Could the situation be more absurd? If he had his druthers he would make a functional and simple igloo structure for them, but she was a ranking fem on the council and even in times of war proprieties had to be maintained.

  Mustn’t offend sensibilities.

  A beeping noise interrupted his internal monologue. It was an alarm.

  Marax checked his wrist sensor, noting the motion inside the shelter. Dekalia was waking up.

  He wasted no time going to check, his heart beating just a little quicker, though he told himself it was what he would do for any person in his charge.

  Male or female.

  Never mind her sweet scent or the way she got under his skin, and the odd kind of feeling he was getting now in her absence. Not as if he was missing her, of course, but there was this vague difference and a stillness in the environment without her, like a piece from a puzzle missing.

  Marax opened the flap and stepped inside, quickly resealing the opening. Dekalia was sitting up. She had a look of utter shock on her face as she saw him.

  It was only then he realized what she’d been so startled about. Marax had forgotten he was stark naked, having taken off his wet clothes to dry them inside while he worked in the snow.

  Dekalia had just been attempting to get her bearings when the massive figure entered the silver, tent-like structure.

  At first she thought she had died and gone to the beyond, a landscape of utter white, bronze gods to attend her every need. But she quickly realized this man was mortal, albeit a most special brand. In fact she knew him quite well.

  Marax.

  In a flash all the images came back, the memories, from the moment she first saw his face to the ordeal of the space journey. All that tens
ion, the sexual heat.

  Then she remembered more. During the landing, he had mind-linked with her. Yes, she had felt him from the inside. Remarkably she understood him now, he wasn’t a machine, he was flesh. More than that he had desires…regrets…fears.

  He was human after all. And very, very capable of pain. A lot of pain very deeply hidden away. And at this moment he was standing there as if it was nothing.

  How long had he been out there in the ice and snow?

  Just how cold was it out there? In the mere seconds it had taken to open the narrow zippered doorway she had felt the temperature drop like a rock. How could he endure it?

  Melted snow dripped from his rippling muscles. He breathed smooth and easy. He was like a small sun, his skin glowing.

  She tried not to look at his nipples, tight and erect from the open air, or his balls, swollen and heavy. Most especially she avoided his cock, which even in its flaccid state was the most magnificent specimen she had ever seen.

  Like a moth to a flame, she felt drawn, and who could blame her?

  What woman would not want to race to him, to touch him to see if he was real and ultimately to drop to her knees to worship that sex of his, to excite him, to kiss him, blowing warm air across his skin to see how he might react?

  Was there any way to penetrate his emotional and physical armor?

  “You should be asleep,” Marax said, making it sound like an offense that she’d woken up.

  “And you should be dead from frostbite. Where are your clothes?”

  “I preferred to keep them warm and dry. This temperature is nothing for a primale. We went through much worse during training, not to mention the Battle of Three Comets.” There was a twitching at his lips as he mentioned the battle.

  She had touched upon it while linked to his mind.

  Something had happened there.

  “Well, you can put something else on now,” she said, realizing there was no safe place on this man’s body to rest her eyes.

  What was a woman to do? Look below the knee and you had to deal with the roundness of his calf muscles, go above the nipple line and you had shoulders staring you in the face and a rugged chin, designed to look strong and not cruel, undefeatable but not proud.

  Truly she had never seen a better specimen, veritable hologrid images for male perfection. The cynical side of her knew the government liked it this way.

  Make no mistake, primales were also about image, no matter what the genetic planners said about their utilitarian value. They could have been designed as robots with two heads or monsters ugly as sin, instead they were dreams of desire who kept women of both sub-genders awake at night.

  This one in particular, even now, in a life-or-death situation, made her think of nothing about sex. Impossible and dangerous sex with a man who was more of a machine. Too much packed into one man and too much temptation, too much of everything.

  She felt her own nipples grow taut under the makeshift thermal blanket and that’s when it occurred to her. Where were her clothes?

  Shame on her for not noticing she was down to her stretchy blue undergarments, no skirt, no leggings and no top. It was all his fault. He had stripped her.

  “Why am I dressed like this?” she demanded, fighting to think clearly.

  Her skin inflamed instantly as his eyes roved her nearly exposed form. “You were bleeding. I tried to clean you up.”

  She felt her head. So that’s why she had a headache. Good grief, why hadn’t she noticed the bandage?

  “You must have enjoyed doing that,” she accused.

  He didn’t flinch. “I assure you I took no pleasure.”

  “How noble of you.” She thought of him, his hands on her body, it was more than she could bear, imagining him undoing the clasps on her old-fashioned skirt, his fingers pulling at her leggings. She should be happy he had regarded it as a clinical exercise and yet it was almost worse thinking he didn’t enjoy it.

  Was she not enough of a woman for him?

  “I did what was needed to take care of you.”

  His words stung worse than her headache. So he saved her, so what? Did he expect a medal?

  “How long have I been out for?”

  “Approximately one rotation of this planet about its sun.”

  However long that was.

  “So we landed safely, I presume.”

  “You may presume so, yes. Can I get you something to eat?”

  “A primale playing the servant’s role? That’s rich.”

  “If you don’t want the help…”

  “That’s right I don’t.”

  “But you need nutrients,” he pointed out patiently.

  “What do you care? If I die it makes your job easier, right?” Why was she being this way? He was doing the best he could.

  “My mission is to keep you alive.”

  “Well, maybe I want to die just to spite you.”

  “That is illogical.”

  “No shit, Sherlock.”

  He cocked his head slightly, a movement she found exasperatingly and dangerously adorable. “Who is this Sherlock and why do you use the name on me?”

  “It’s an expression and don’t ask me to explain, I got it from my favorite Old Earth sayings book.” Dekalia liked history. She considered it the window into the soul of the world, the unique birthright of every human to know where they and the whole of the species came from.

  Marax furrowed his brow. “There is another saying, cutting off one’s ear to spite one’s face, I believe it goes.”

  “It’s cutting off your nose to spite your face, and I get the point.”

  “Hmm,” he said.

  If she didn’t know better she would swear that one almost made him crack a smile.

  “If this is your way of saying thank you for saving your life, Dekalia,” he added, “you may want to practice a bit.”

  “No, smart guy, it’s my way of saying nothing is forgiven, nothing is changed. Now how about getting me my clothes so I can take a walk around here and see what’s what?”

  He shook his head. “You are too sick. You will remain in this bed recuperating while I continue overseeing the construction of our dwelling.”

  “Our dwelling? What are we now, mating partners, because I’d rather partner up with a rattler.”

  “There are no rattlers here, only ice demons and snow cats.”

  “Whatever,” she said nonchalantly. Sure, he’d just named two of the nastier species in any book on galactic predators, but if he expected her to fold like a house of cards he had another think coming. “Either you get my clothes or I’ll walk outside dressed as I am.”

  Here’s hoping he stops me, she thought, rising to her feet, because it will be a pretty short and frigid trip otherwise.

  “Out of my way,” she said.

  “You honestly think I will move aside for you?” He was directly in front of her, his massive body blocking the whole of the entranceway.

  “If you don’t move I will take advantage of your vulnerabilities and I think you know what they are right now.” She meant his groin area, not that she held out much chance of getting to him before he managed to immobilize her.

  “My only weakness is you. And I suggest you return to bed now.”

  “Or what?”

  Marax’s features grew even more guarded. “Challenging me is a bad idea.”

  “For who?”

  “For both of us.”

  “Ooh, I’m scared.”

  He studied her, presumably gauging her seriousness. “I am going to tie you down,” he decided at last. “So I can finish my work in peace.”

  The image flashed in her mind of being helpless, her limbs constrained, the primale above her working magic with his ropes or steel chains or whatever he chose. As if she was some kind of soft and weak-willed obedient, happily accepting domination at his hands.

  “You’re insane,” she told him, but she knew he hadn’t a crazy bone in his body.

  His gorg
eous, unspeakably beautiful body with its well-honed muscles and perfectly proportioned parts that was designed for everything under the sun, except relating normally to another human being.

  “You won’t be tied long. I will be back soon enough. The bots should be able to finish most of the work on their own. I will engineer the more complicated parts tomorrow, like the terra-formed garden and the waterfall. Personally, I would dig us a cave to live in, but there are regulations for the keeping of civilians.”

  “Keeping, as in prisoners, right?”

  He said nothing.

  “Why else would you need to tie me?” she said, trying to sound appalled and not slightly aroused. “Afraid I will find a way to best you?”

  She could not have expected the answer, nor could she have gauged her reaction.

  “I consider it discipline for you, a prelude to obedience.”

  The words discipline and obedience snapped something inside her. She thought of bonds, ropes or even chains. Primales did this to their mates, they enjoyed such things and so did their victims. It was sexual, foreplay in the complex ritual of domination and submission.

  Did he dream of placing her in his bonds? Was that part of his imagined consolation for having to be sidelined with her out this far from the known universe?

  Marax must have seen the slap coming almost before her arm went into motion.

  It was a quick lesson in just what she was dealing with. Before she could draw her next breath he held her wrist mid-slap, suspending it above her head.

  Dekalia struggled.

  Their bodies touched. Her bare skin was against his, her full and heaving breasts against his chest. He had her on tiptoes, helpless as any obedient might be. She could yell now, she could fight or she could beg, but the next move was up to him.

  “Let me go,” she bluffed, trying to resist the heat of his body. “Or you’ll be sorry.”

  He released her in his own time, making her wait a few more heartbeats, just enough to let her know who was really in command.

  She dared not move until he spoke.

  “Back to bed,” he said.

  The word bed made her pussy hum. She thought of the implications, the kinds of things that happened in bed.

  Before she could argue he scooped her up. She wriggled to get away and that’s when she felt the pain for real.