Page 28 of Journey to the Forbidden Zone
Letitia’s rhythm changed immediately, following Carmen’s direction. Carmen tightened her grip, controlling the pace now. “Yes. Right there. Keep that exact pressure.”
The tension in Carmen’s chest loosened. Her breathing steadied. This – directing, demanding, orchestrating – this she understood. The brief loss of control evaporated, replaced by familiar territory.
“Faster now,” Carmen commanded. “And use your mouth. Get down there.”
Letitia shifted without hesitation, sliding down Carmen’s body. Her lips replaced her thumb, hot and wet, tongue flattening against Carmen’s clit. Carmen shoved her hand into Letitia’s braids, fisting them, holding her in place. She guided Letitia’s head, controlling the angle, the pressure, exactly how she needed it.
“Don’t stop.” Carmen’s hips lifted off the mattress, grinding against Letitia’s face. “Just like that. Exactly like that!”
Letitia’s fingers kept thrusting, stretching Carmen wide. Her tongue worked Carmen’s clit with practiced precision. Circling, flicking, sucking. She knew Carmen’s body, knew what made her gasp, what made her thighs tremble.
And Carmen directed her through it all, orchestrating every movement.
“More pressure with your tongue,” Carmen gasped. “Fuck, yes, like that.”
The tension coiled tighter in her belly. Carmen chased it with ruthless focus, her hand tightening in Letitia’s braids, her hips rolling in a rhythm she controlled. Every stroke of Letitia’s tongue, every curl of her fingers, responded to Carmen’s demands.
“I’m close,” Carmen panted. “Don’t you dare change anything. Keep exactly – Fuck! – exactly like that.”
Letitia obeyed perfectly, maintaining the same pressure, the same rhythm, the same angle. Her free hand gripped Carmen’s hip, holding her steady as Carmen’s movements became more erratic, more desperate.
The orgasm built like a supernova, that white-hot point of tension coiling impossibly tight. Carmen’s thighs began to shake, her breath coming in sharp gasps.
“Right there. Fuck, right there! Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t?—”
The climax ripped through her. Carmen cried out, loud and raw, her back arching off the mattress. Her thighs clamped around Letitia’s head, trapping her there as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over her. Letitia held steady, her fingers still buried deep, her tongue maintaining pressure on Carmen’s clit, drawing out every last pulse until Carmen’s body went limp, her grip on Letitia’s braids loosening.
The ship’s engines rumbled through the deck plating. Carmen’s ragged breathing slowly steadied. Letitia withdrew her fingers carefully, pressing a final kiss to Carmen’s inner thigh before climbing back up to lie beside her on the narrow bunk. Her face was flushed, lips swollen and glistening, her chin wet with Carmen’s arousal.
Something in her eyes – satisfaction, resignation, both – made Carmen look away.
She stared at the stained acoustic tiles overhead. The frantic panic was gone, burned away. Her thoughts moved faster now, sharper. The impossible decision about Mila clicked into place like a circuit closing. The certainty settled in her chest, heavy and absolute.
Carmen sat up, reaching for her pants. Letitia threw her a confused look.
“All right, fine,” Carmen said. “You win.”
CHAPTER 10
Nick Corso didn’t knock.He kicked the reinforced door to Maltese’s inner office with all the pent-up fury of the hyperspace sprint back to Alora. The heavy steel panel, designed to withstand small arms fire, buckled inward with a tortured shriek of stressed metal. It didn’t fly off its hinges, but it crumpled around the lock mechanism, hanging drunkenly askew.
He stepped through the wreckage, flanked by Hadley James and two of his best enforcers, Brask and Voss. James held a compact plasma cutter leveled at the room, her expression tight and focused. Brask and Voss had drawn heavy laser pistols, their eyes scanning the dimly lit space beyond the ruined doorway.
Maltese jerked upright from his sad, overstrained chair, his considerable gut managing to shove the steel desk in front of him forward a few inches. Shock ripped across his fat face as his enormous bodyguard fumbled for the disruptor holstered at his hip. Too slow. Way too slow.
“Don’t!” James snapped, the whine of her plasma cutter rising to a high-pitched keen.
The red targeting dot settled unerringly on his forehead. Brask and Voss had their weapons trained on the guard.
“Hands where we can see them,” James snapped. “Now.”
The guard froze, eyes wide. Slowly, with exaggerated care, he raised his empty mitts. Maltese’s dark eyes darted from the ruined door to Nick’s face, then to James’s weapon, calculating, searching for an angle that wasn’t there. Fear sweat beaded on his upper lip, glistening in the low light.
“Corso,” Maltese managed, his voice a wheeze that tried for affability and landed somewhere near panic. “This is unexpected. Dramatic entrance. What seems to be the?—”
“Where is she?”
Nick’s voice cut through the air like a knife. Low, controlled, vibrating with a rage that made the guard flinch. He didn’t shout. He didn’t need to. The absolute stillness of his body, the intensity in his pale eyes, was threat enough. He took two deliberate steps towards the desk, his expensive boots silent on the grimy floor.