He was her perfect match.
Stories she’d heard from her mother, tales of perfect mates and true love, darted into her head. She might have snorted in disgust, but she couldn’t focus. All she could do was push back at him, again and again, their bodies slapping together with a force that should have rocked the entire station. Her heart pounded, and for one shining instant she thought she might die.
Suddenly it hit her with all the force of a sun exploding, wave after wave of release, pleasure beyond anything she’d experienced before. This was far more than the end of gnawing tension, far more than the relief of her own hand working in the night.
Certainly beyond any cock she’d ever felt.
Every fiber of her being cried out to her, telling her she needed him, she had to keep him close. She had to protect him. Where had that come from? She collapsed forward, feeling him pump into her, working toward his own pleasure. She knew she should help, but she couldn’t. She had no energy, no drive. She’d become a husk, a limp remnant of the woman she’d been two hours ago. She’d been bested by him physically and blown away by him sexually.
This wasn’t supposed to happen to her.
He came with a shout, his body shuddering and covering hers, his hot seed hitting her cervix with such force she felt every surge. Then he collapsed over her, apparently as stunned as she was, and the sound of their harsh breathing filled the corridor.
“What the hell was that?” he asked softly after a long silence, and she shrugged her shoulders. She had no damn idea.
“Oh shit,” she muttered suddenly, closing her eyes in disgust. Now would be the perfect time to kill him. He might still be covering her, but there was no way he’d be able to stop her. His entire body was limp, defenseless as a child’s. He was hers.
She looked up at him and smiled, touching his face with one hand. His gaze was almost tender.
Just do it, she told herself. This is your job.
Her hand hardened and chopped toward his jugular. He blocked her without so much as blinking. It was only luck that she managed to buck him off an instant later. She leapt to her feet, and took off down the corridor. She darted a glance back to see if he was following, and didn’t even see the wall when she hit it. She dropped like a rock, unconscious.
* * * * *
How many hits could a woman survive without sustaining permanent damage? She was nothing like any woman he’d ever met, and he didn’t have a clue how to judge her strength… Of course, based on what he’d seen already, she wasn’t even human, Damian thought wryly. He picked up her limp body carefully, checking for a pulse as he smoothed back that thick, long hair.
He was pretty sure he knew who’d hired her. He’d taken five cargoes off Vaspar Bendren in the past year alone, and the man was close to bankruptcy. That didn’t bother Damian one bit. Bendren and his family had made their credits trading slaves before going legitimate, and he had no sympathy for them. Still, they were more desperate than he’d realized. Hiring an assassin was the act of a desperate man, one who didn’t have the strength to fight his own battles. He’d thought Bendren had balls, but apparently he’d been wrong.
At least Bendren chose well; she wasn’t the average assassin. Very few people knew how to wield an ionic whip. The discipline took training from the earliest years onward, and only those from families where the whip was an established tradition had any hope of mastering it. Who were her people?
Now wasn’t the time for answers, Damian reminded himself. He threw her over one shoulder and started back across the port toward his ship’s berth. It would be easier to interrogate her there, not to mention safer. He didn’t know what kind backup she might have, but he didn’t doubt she’d already paid off at least some of the port guards. Of course, so had he, but he didn’t want to test their loyalty. He’d always believed that a man easily bought once could be just as easily bought a second time…
The sight of a man carrying an unconscious woman through the port drew eyes, but a glare was enough to discourage those foolish enough to consider approaching him.
Still, it would only be a matter of time before the station guards arrived. He wanted to be on his ship, fully disengaged from the station’s locks with his weapons powered, before that happened.
That, along with an appropriate bribe, should be enough to smooth his way.
His crewmembers were wise enough to keep their mouths shut when they saw her.
He gave a terse order for his second to recall their men from the station and then took her to his cabin. Time to get some answers.
When she opened her eyes he was ready for her, sitting back in a comfortable chair, just waiting to see the look on her face when she realized her little game was up.
She didn’t disappoint him.
She came awake and tensed, her gaze darting around the room before coming to rest on him with malevolence and something like respect. She didn’t bother testing her bonds, at least not that he could see. She knew it was over.
“What do you plan to do with me?” she asked softly.
“I plan to do all kinds of things with you,” he said slowly. “But first, I’d like to know who sent you. I’m sure he had spies on the station and they’ll know that you’re my prisoner. Once he finds out, you’re nothing but a liability to him.”
“Let’s make a deal,” she said slowly. “I know you want me, and to be honest, I want you. Why don’t we call a truce and take advantage of the moment. This killing business is tiresome.”
“A truce can only come once I have the information I need,” he said. “I’m prepared to be generous. I’ll offer you the same amount he did, just for his name. You give it to me and then we can explore our…other…options.”
She smiled, and shook her head.
“You’ll get his name when I’m safely in a neutral place,” she said quietly.
“Otherwise I have a feeling I’ll never get off your ship. I want to live; you have to be able to understand that. After all, you’ve just spent a great deal of time and energy trying to preserve your own life. You can’t expect any less of me.”
He smiled, knowing she was right. It would be foolish of her to give up what little leverage she had, not that it mattered in this particular case. Of course, he didn’t plan to hurt her. Not unless she asked him to… But he still wouldn’t be letting her go. He’d never met a woman as magnificent as her. Letting her escape would be a crime against his ancestors.
He closed his eyes, savoring the image of her swollen with his child. What incredible children they could make together! Together they could take over the Empire…
He shook his head, letting the thought go. He’d find out who was trying to kill him when the next assassin struck. Until then he would bide his time, allowing her to think there might be some way to escape.
“That seems fair enough to me,” he said, running his heated gaze across her supine form.
The tattered remnants of her pants still hung from her hips, and the tunic exposed a tempting view of her muscular arms and lush cleavage. Without thinking, he licked his lips, and she smiled.
“Truce,” she said softly. She lifted her hips invitingly, and he grinned.
“Truce,” he repeated, and for some reason he believed her. She might be an assassin, but he didn’t think she’d try to hurt him after crying truce. There was a connection between them, and he knew instinctively that she felt it as strongly as he did. She wouldn’t try to kill him right now because she didn’t want him dead yet. It was as simple as that.