Dominating Dekalia Page 5

  “My…head.”

  The words came out slurred.

  “What’s…happening?”

  “You’re relapsing,” he said.

  Next thing she knew he was rushing her the other way, from the tent out into the snow.

  “Are you crazy?”

  “You’ve had a concussion. I have to keep you conscious.”

  “The…hell…you…”

  There was more, somewhere in the back of her brain. She wanted to tell him about it. The images and dreams, what she thought of being close to his hard body and his half-hard cock, of what it had been liked to be trapped on that ship in deep space all alone with only him for company, wanting to run to him to be embraced and comforted while at the same time wanting to scream and run away to the other side of the universe if possible.

  Very dangerous situation, delirium.

  She hated him, of course, but hate had its opposite. Just so long as she didn’t die. Not until she had a chance to escape and make him look foolish for letting her get away. As if that would ever happen.

  The wind howled around her. She snuggled, shivering though she was hot at the same time. And then she blinked and saw the sun and other things too, impossible things like fountains of color erupting from the ice and scores of ice demons and snow cats dancing around her.

  They were singing too about a certain stick in the mud primale who was going to get his comeuppance.

  This made her laugh.

  Not good, not good at all.

  Marax brought Dekalia straight to the nearest snowbank. The sudden jolt to her nerve endings, the shock to her system should be enough to bring her around. As he had feared, she hadn’t just endured a concussion from the crash, she had also breathed a dangerous amount of triclor gas from the malfunctioning navigation system.

  In a matter of seconds she went from lethargic and mumbling to shouting at the top of her lungs, which was the signal to bring her back inside.

  He knew of only one effective means of warming a freezing body, and though it was the last thing either of them needed right now, Marax made the decision to climb into bed with her under the thermal cover.

  The contact of her naked skin was almost more than he could bear. Not wanting to risk the danger of frontal contact, he held her from behind. Quite against his will, his cock began to stir. Dread filled his belly.

  If he should lose control and take her now… It would be the end of his duty. He would be sexually bound to her and of no use whatsoever as her guardian.

  Maybe he should risk letting her sleep so she wouldn’t move against him. No. Too dangerous.

  If anything happened to her he would not forgive himself.

  The sudden flash of emotion caught him off guard. This was not how a primale was to react, certainly not toward a freewheeling fem.

  His hand strayed over her smooth belly and he felt his heart rate pick up. She was murmuring something. He could have made it out with his augmented hearing, but decided to leave her with her privacy.

  It was bad enough they were in bed together.

  Literally.

  Marax could imagine trying to make his report. First making a crash landing and then making sex with the subject he was supposed to be protecting. Or his prisoner, whatever view he chose to take.

  Daring to let his mind go, Marax gave in to the fantasies he had been so desperately pushing back.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  Oh, yes…

  It would be so easy, simply take hold of her wrist right now, to move her sweet body, positioning her on her belly. She would easily accept him as he kissed her to consciousness, applying his lips to her back, her beautiful shoulders, her perfectly shaped little ears and the stalk of her neck.

  He would wait until she was properly heated, writhing softly beneath him and moaning. Then he would make her ask for it, affirming his power and need. She would feel his hard cock against her ass, a rock-hard primale cock capable of heating to the temperature of a warm bath.

  She would plead for it and still he would play until it was finally time, until her scent filled the air, until her pussy dripped and it was time to rear up and push himself inside her.

  She would shudder almost immediately, signaling the ultimate readiness, a few moderate thrusts and she would be ready. He would feel her come, her body releasing in slow-motion surrender, liquefying, arching up to meet him.

  As the last of her orgasms died around them, the unspeakable waves of pleasure, he would begin to fuck her for real, retracting his cock to the tip and then slamming home. She would take the whole of him, open, conquered and desperate for more.

  On and on he would plunge until at last he would bite into her neck, his need at its primale peak.

  And then he would fill her…with all the cum inside him, all the stored desire.

  And it would be like death, sweet surreal, battlefield death.

  Especially when she whispered her name, a single sigh stretched to two syllables.

  Maa-rax.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  Marax shook away the waking dream that threatened to take him over. The situation was impossible.

  The little minx was obviously wet between her thighs too, he could tell because while a mem might not smell her heat or interpret her sighs, his acute primale senses picked up her body’s desire like a scream in the night.

  He groaned as she stirred now, moving her backside against him. The motion was rhythmic, intentional, though she was clearly in a state of semi-consciousness.

  Whatever dream she was in, it was an X-rated one.

  “Stay awake,” he warned. “You can’t sleep.”

  A moan escaped her throat and she arched her neck, inviting, begging a kiss. So tempting, but one little touch of his lips would spell the end for both of them.

  He needed to release her, put distance between their bodies, but he couldn’t risk her succumbing once again. There was also the issue of her wandering off. She’d been delirious before and given her stubbornness she might do anything.

  Marax had to stay put.

  But he could not make sex. He had only one option. Putting himself in stasis, just for a standard hour or so. A primale could do this, locking his body in place, in this case as a cocoon around hers, while mentally entering a kind of REM state wherein only the basic hypothalamus functioned.

  Basically he would shut down his system. Just enough to hold off the sex drives. He would keep on the parts that needed to watch over her and hold her in place. If she tried to get up he would know it.

  The shutdown took only seconds. Like counting backward from ten the way old-style hypnotists did it. His last conscious thoughts were of Dekalia.

  Safe and alive.

  It was all that mattered, the only thing in the entire universe. Everything was peaceful now. He imagined himself on a white-washed plane, sitting cross-legged in a white garment, the wind lightly rushing through his hair.

  Perfect peace. The sort a man could enjoy forever. But it was short lived.

  Dekalia was squirming.

  He could feel her. She was on the move. But she wasn’t trying to get out of bed.

  Marax made a deep grunting sound, as if he’d been struck by a spear or a Narthian claw.

  What the—?

  It was Dekalia all right, and she was kissing him.

  Taking full advantage, pressing her lips willfully against his in his semi-animated state. Everything was going to backfire!

  Whatever she thought she was doing, whether she was awake or dreaming, it had to end before it began.

  Pulling himself up from the depths, he tried to regain control of his muscles. Only one was moving though. And that was his cock.

  Dekalia wasn’t exactly sure where she was. Hot and cold, and wet and dry, she pushed against the limits of her dream, and with it, the hardness of the man in bed with her. She couldn’t remember who he was or if she even liked him but at the moment he represented release, pure and simple.

  Yes, yes, she ju
st needed it inside her. All she had to do was roll to her belly and have him rise on top of her.

  Only he wasn’t moving. Not at all.

  Was he dead? Hardly. He was too warm—like a furnace—and besides, she could hear his heartbeat, the strongest she’d ever known.

  Was he comatose, then? Possibly, but there were ways to get a man awake.

  She had had dreams like this before, sexy ones where she’d aroused an unconscious mem and then mounted him.

  But this was no mem.

  Wriggling her small body, she worked free of his sideways embrace. Better, infinitely better. Now she had room to work.

  Dekalia kissed his arm, the powerful biceps smooth skin over pure steel. As she worked her way up to his shoulder she heard him making tiny noises in direct response to the soft kiss of his lips.

  Was he dreaming too? A sex-making dream within a dream.

  When she reached his lips she paused, taking a deep breath. His mouth was like fire on hers and the minute she sealed herself against him she could feel the juices flowing from deep inside her.

  This man is made to be submitted to, she thought, made to conjure sex from a woman, twisting her body and soul into a helix of desire not unlike the genetic code or the helix-shaped ship that had gotten them here.

  Here…but where is here?

  She pushed the question back, not wanting to let reality in to spoil the fun. Instead she nibbled at his earlobe and it was at this point she felt the stirring of his cock. He was so big, by the stars and moons, how would she take him all in?

  One inch at a time, that was how.

  Sidling down the bed, admiring his every ridge and muscle from his rock-hard, ribbed abdomen to his powerful thighs, she moved between his semi-spread legs. She would like them farther apart but good luck pushing even one of those legs of his aside.

  He was a primale, his name was Marax and she hated everything he stood for.

  Another piece of the waking world, quite unbidden, had just come crashing in. She was running out of time. Any second now she would come to her senses and all of this would end.

  They were on an ice world and she was a detainee of the government.

  This man was her jailor and he would not want sex with her if she was the last woman in the universe.

  More of the truth came now, slamming hard like the pain in her head. She needed pleasure to offset it. If only she were back in her own sleep chamber.

  That last wish made her think of the bomb. Someone had tried to kill her and now she had no sleep chamber.

  The primale’s cock pulsed in her hands. She would mount him, take him greedily inside herself. After one little kiss to that magnificent shaft that is, yes, one sweet kiss with her lips pressed to the head of it.

  Dekalia heard a growling sound now and next thing she knew strong male hands were at her shoulders, pushing her away. She blinked once and waited for the dream to end. She expected to wake up alone. But Marax was still there just as he had been, trying to keep her at bay.

  Dekalia scooted back. She hadn’t been dreaming about sex-making with Marax, she’d been attempting to for real in her sleep.

  Which was quite a different thing all together.

  “I can explain,” she said.

  Though really he needed to explain too why he had been hard for her and why he had seemed to respond.

  Marax was on his feet, ignoring her.

  “Where are you going?”

  “To check on the bots.”

  “But we need to talk.”

  “No,” he said as she watched him turn his back and go to the hatch to brave the cold once more in the nude. “We do not.”

  “Fine,” she cried out as he disappeared into the blizzard once again. “See if I care.”

  Unfortunately she did care. Which meant that she would have to find a way to make him care too. There was one thing she could do to draw his attention for good.

  And that would be to escape.

  Chapter Four

  Dekalia was under the waterfall when Marax returned from his latest survey. He’d made dozens so far, all of them designed to map and explore the terrain surrounding the wrecked helix ship. It was his plan to search for any and all missing parts and also to formulate a complete geologic study that might be used by later colonists.

  Any parts he still needed he could manufacture with the ship’s objectifier. All in all it had seemed to him a most productive use of his time. As for his female charge he had the remote detection bots to keep track of her movements.

  Not that she could manage to get very far.

  For one thing there was no way for her to leave the dome and if she did she would freeze to death in a short time. As for leaving the planet, this was something even he could not manage at the present.

  It had been a particularly satisfying mission and the crispness of the outside air, which averaged less than -10 old-style Fahrenheit, left him mildly invigorated as usual.

  He had not been surprised to find her showering. Even without the intelligence from the spy bot he would have known. Her ways had become quite familiar to him. Though he was not always sure of the motives.

  As for the showers she had made it her habit to take them several times daily under the real water of the waterfall the nano bots had constructed.

  Marax was truly pleased with the design. The rocks, and particularly the cascades of crystal-clear liquid, were a work of true genius, copied from the planet Cygnus.

  Their residential unit was an onyx, pyramidal structure with high, vaulted ceilings. A number of tree and plant specimens had been created to adorn it, some native to Earth, like the plain sunflowers, while others, like the star-tipped trimilian plant, were quite alien and spectacular.

  Spectacular too was his reaction to Dekalia, the sight of her nude, wet body causing his pulse to race. Why was he not used to it after all these days?

  Even now his breath, ice cold as it was from the trek across the frozen plains outside the dome, was taken away at the sight of her nude, so entirely self-absorbed as she leaned back, running her fingers through her long, dark hair.

  She had decided to leave it a more natural color lately, eschewing the loud pinks and greens and neon shades she had been so fond of the first few days of their moving into the completed habitat.

  The ribbon cutting as she had called it on their small but functional bio-dome had occurred one week ago now by Earth standards. Not that this planet matched anything they knew back home.

  The dome might offer a splendid view and it was more than capable of keeping them warm and safe but there was no mistaking the true nature of their environment. During the artificial nights they’d imposed for rest purposes, the snow cats could be heard scratching and the ice demons were making their endless thunk, thunk noises as they tried to crack the material of the artificial hemisphere like an egg with their powerful jaws.

  There was certainly no beating the night sky, though, with its myriad stars in constellations utterly unknown by Earth’s historians. Sometimes Dekalia would sit at the edge of the beach on the blue synthesized sand and watch them. He would watch her in turn, inordinately curious as to why she should spend such time on an activity with no real purpose.

  One time he asked her this very question and she rolled her eyes, muttering a single word under her breath.

  Primales.

  Indeed, he could say the same of her sub-gender. Fems were beyond exasperating. They were counterintuitive. Dysfunctional. Period.

  What especially offended his sensibilities was the waste. Why create a creature so gorgeous, lean and seductive, able to move the way she did beneath that water with the grace of a cat while possessing the wiles of a wolf?

  Why put such effort into the molding of the breasts, the contour of the buttock cheeks, the depth of the eyes, which could be at once green or blue or anything in between depending on the light and the mood.

  Moods.

  These were the single most tumultuous, unaccepta
ble yet somehow irresistible component. What possible point was there in being happy, sad, in laughing one moment, in showing childlike interest in a flower one second and railing against him like a banshee the next because he wouldn’t even consider allowing her to go outside the dome?

  It was for her own safety, did she not see that? He ought to be ignoring her point of view and everything else about her and yet he did anything but.

  As if she were made of fire and he was somehow the moth.

  He had of course his ulterior motives in watching and studying. Marax did not and would never trust the fair Dekalia. Her demeanor, the way she watched the environment, avoiding eye contact, indicated in the old parlance of Earth that she was up to something.

  It had not taken long to figure out what. In one way he had to give her credit for the sheer genius of her plan. She would be stopped, though, and then she would be punished. She would not like that at all, which meant he in turn would enjoy administering said punishment as a primale to no end.

  More than once he had given her the chance to confess, making subtle inquiries as to why it took her so long to ready herself each day when there was no public function to attend to, no social event to look forward to.

  Her answers were clipped and evasive. It was a fem thing, using the style bot so much and her personal objectifiers too. Beauty time, she called it and at other time when she wanted other sorts of privacy she spoke of “beauty rest”.

  What she was doing was constructing a transmitter, using the objectifier’s own memory banks to manufacture the components piece by piece so as not to arouse suspicion.

  Brilliant.

  Deviant.

  Punishable.

  For days now he had considered exactly what he would do. In his mind he had various scenarios. The image of her squirming over his knee, humbled by a spanking was one of his favorites. She would be bare-assed of course. He would make her do this part herself, taking down her panties and lifting her skirt.

  Then she would assume the position, crawling across his lap, obedient and flush.

  He would take his time reading off her offenses and building the suspense. Then he would rub her ass and ask if she was ready.