Joanna Wylde: Survivals Price

He wrapped his arms around her, lifting her and carrying her the few steps across the room to the couch. He could feel how startled she was when he lifted her; her entire body tensed. He expected her to soften, though, so it came as a surprise to him when she pushed against him. She didn’t want to be held.

He lowered her to her feet and watched as she smiled up at him seductively, as if to erase the brief moment of tension. How interesting.

She didn’t like to lose control. The thought brought him up short, filled with implications. Did she enjoy performing, experiencing orgasm with a client because it genuinely felt good, or was it because of the rush of power it gave her? He thought about the room full of men, chanting, following her with their lustful gaze, throwing credits up on the stage. No wonder she had come so powerfully before them… It was sobering.

“It’s my turn,” he said suddenly,

“What do you mean?” she asked, her voice playful. “Do you have some special request? Shall I do something for you? To you?”

“No,” he said. “I want to do something to you. It’s my turn to give you pleasure.”

That brought her up short.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand,” she said softly. “I’m here to work for you. That’s what I do. My pleasure is really no concern of yours.”

“Oh yes, it is,” he said, his voice low and smooth. That facade of hers cracked again, and he held back a smile. She was genuinely uncomfortable, and completely off base.

“You’re here at my pleasure for my purposes. This is what I want.”

She shook her head, tensing even more, and for the first time he realized something wasn’t quite right. She really didn’t want him touching her.

“What’s going on here?” he asked, his voice suddenly serious. Her eyes darted away from his and instincts honed by his years of survival kicked into play. Where a moment earlier she had smiled seductively, now she whirled on him, whipping an almost invisible silvery thread that had been hidden in the seam of her thong. Ionic whip, his mind whispered, and he leapt back. She held one of the most dangerous and difficult weapons he’d ever seen, a whip only a handful of molecules thick. Sharp enough to slip right through almost any substance.

He backed up against the door, too startled to do more than fumble at the latch, but it wouldn’t open. She must have locked him in. Adrenaline rocketed through his body and his mind raced through possible plans of action. This time when she came for him, he was ready.

He dodged her once more, feinting to the left.

She moved quickly, adjusting automatically for his new position, and the whip snapped out with deadly intent, faintly humming.

He cursed, leaping again, then rolling across the floor in a blur. He had to disarm her or he wouldn’t survive the next 60 seconds. She wielded the whip as if born to it—he’d never seen anything like it.

Except in holos of his own practice sessions.

As he sprang back to his feet, he reached down and pulled his own whip out of his boot. Light, undetectable, infinitely dangerous, it was the perfect weapon—no security device invented could detect one. He always carried it with him, even in portside strip clubs. You just never knew when you’d come under attack.

As she raised her arm to lash out again, he flicked his hand and a second humming noise filled the room. He saw her eyes widen, first with pure shock and then delight. She burst out laughing as their whips clashed mid-air, tangling and sizzling as they wound around each other like angry snakes.

The only thing that could neutralize an ionic whip was another ionic whip.

“You’re better than I imagined,” she said lightly. “I thought this would be an easy job. I can see I was wrong.”

He cocked his head, understanding filling him.

“You’re here to kill me?” he asked softly.

“You’ve got it,” she replied, eyes twinkling with merriment. “You’re not as stupid as I thought. But I’m still going to kill you.”

With that she launched herself at him, one leg extended toward his gut. He blocked her without thinking, and then landed a solid punch to her midriff. She grunted and twisted, bringing her leg up to tangle with his, and they hit the floor. Together they rolled, and Damian felt the adrenaline pumping through his body. She held death in her eyes—this was a fight for survival, but all he could think about was how strong and smooth she felt against him. He wanted to fuck her more than ever.

Writhing in each other’s arms, they crashed across the room. When they slammed into the wall, the woman took the bulk of the hit on her head. She fell limp, and for a moment he thought she was dead. But her chest still moved. Holding her tight, well aware this could be a trick on her part, he leaned over and rested his cheek against her neck. Her pulse was steady and smooth, and then she slammed her chin against his forehead.

He pulled her away from the wall, covering her with his body. Without thinking he forced her legs apart, pushing the hard length of his erection between them. Damn, that felt good. He rubbed back and forth several times, wishing he’d managed to get his leathers off earlier. He’d give anything to thrust into her right now.

He felt an answering push from her hips, as her eyes snapped with fire.

They looked at each other, saying nothing, then her hips wiggled beneath his again.

He responded in kind, and she bucked, trying to break free. Instantly he tightened his hold, and they writhed against each other, their movements a combination of fight and fuck. Blood pounded through his head. He could feel sweat breaking out across his entire body. This had nothing to do with the strain of holding her, and everything to do with how much he needed to be inside her, taking her and fucking her until she screamed for mercy.

Her legs came up around his waist, kicking and clenching him alternately. He saw the cords of her neck straining as she tensed against him. He rammed his hips hard against her, his cock hitting the hard leather of his pants painfully. It hurt; it made him want to scream. He needed to be inside her, needed to thrust up and take her again and again as she whimpered for mercy and clawed at his back.

She bucked against him once more, her teeth flashing as she went for his throat. Just in time he blocked her with his chin, and he felt her teeth sink deeply into his flesh. She was an animal—deep within he could feel the vibration of a scream coming from her chest. Anger or frustration? She ground her clit against him and then he felt her convulse. Her mouth dropped away from his face, a ring of his own blood gracing her lips. Her face contorted as she came beneath him.

For a moment he thought he might come, too. She stilled beneath him, though, and the surge of his arousal came under control. That was a good thing. He wanted to savor the experience when he finally made it inside her body. He didn’t question whether that would happen, just when and how. Preferably with some kind of restraining strap to keep her from killing him…

“So what do we do now?” she asked after a long pause, her voice raspy. He studied her, thinking.

“Tell me who hired you,” he said abruptly. “And tell me how much you’re being paid.”

“I don’t think so,” she said, a funny little smile coming over her face. “I have a feeling that might be the only information keeping me alive right now.”

“Oh, no,” he said softly. “You’re alive right now because I want to fuck you. The information would just be a bonus.”

She smiled again, and nodded her head.

“Yes, I guess I can feel that,” she replied, wiggling her hips. “I’m impressed. Most men can’t keep it in their pants this long.”