Desert World Savages Part 2: Falling: A SciFi Alien Serial Romance by Lisa Lace Page A
Authors: Lisa Lace
Tags: Romance - Fantasy
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rubbed her wrists - they were red from the handcuffs. She looked him up and down. He was just as imposing when she was standing up! Not only did he stand a good six inches taller than her, he had the broad shoulders and muscled arms of a man that spent a lot of time in the weight room.
He put his hands on her waist. She breathed in sharply, head spinning with memories of what those hands did. Last night his fingers had reached deep inside her, and his thumb slid around her clit at the same time. No man had ever touched to her so well and so good. She rode his hand until she broke apart.
She shook her head to clear her mind. Focus, she told herself. This was a life and death situation. It wouldn't do to get all hot and bothered about one of her jailers, even if he was hotter than Brad Pitt and George Clooney put together.
"Whoa there buckaroo, what do you think you are doing?"
"Helping you off the table. Hurting yourself would not be in your best interest."
"I can't image why a man holding me prisoner would care about my best interest." Disdain dripped from her words. His lips, his kissable lips, formed a tight, unhappy line.
He lifted her and set her gently on the metal floor. Firmly, he spun her around to face a wall yards in front of her and gave her a gentle shove. "See that blue sign above the door? That says it's the convenience. You said you needed to use it. When you're done I have to secure you for the night."
"You won't cuff me again, right?" she said in a warning voice.
"No, go use it." He made an emphatic gesture towards the door. As she started walking to the bathroom, Tracy looked over her shoulder. He was watching every move she made.
"Damn it." she muttered. She wasn't sure if she was annoyed because she wanted him, or because she shouldn't.
The 'convenience' did not look like a regular bathroom. A depression in the wall appeared to be a sink. But when she put her hands under the faucet, instead of water coming out an electric sensation passed over her skin.
A bench ran across the back of the cubicle, with a wide circle in the center. When she stood close to it, the circle slid to the side, and a faint but unmistakable odor rose from its black depths. She pinched her nose and fanned the air with her hand.
"Whoa! They must eat a lot of fish here." For all she knew they were on a commercial fishing boat. She'd seen them on television, and they were huge. It wasn't a stretch to think that this ship was co-opted to haul a more lucrative, human cargo as a sideline.
Tracy sat and considered her options. Mr. Hunky was far to big for her to take on by herself. That was obvious. Could she find a weapon and hit him on the head with it? Once she had him distracted with pain, she'd keep swinging at him until she subdued him.
Yeah, that was a plan. A plan that sucked, but it was the only one she had.
The door leading back to the large room opened and Tracy looked around for a weapon sufficiently heavy with which to brain Mr. Hunky. All she saw around her were metal counters with machines sitting on them. There wasn't a single piece of clutter. Then she spotted a dinner tray of half eaten food, complete with utensils. A knife would work.
Her teen years of sneaking into her bedroom at night after curfew were finally going to pay off. She carefully approached the tray. Mr. Hunky was still intent on watching whatever grabbed his attention on the electronic displays before him. She reached for the knife with her back to the tray, her hand stretching to the blade. But she misjudged the distance, and the noise of metal hitting metal, unmistakable in the large cavernous room, made Mr. Hunky's head spin around.
"Tracy," he said. "What are you doing?" He advanced on her quickly, and yanked at her arms, dislodging the knife in her hands. Her heart started pounding. She twisted violently to break his grip. As soon as she freed her arms from his wrists, he had his arms clasped around her once more.
She struggled and
He put his hands on her waist. She breathed in sharply, head spinning with memories of what those hands did. Last night his fingers had reached deep inside her, and his thumb slid around her clit at the same time. No man had ever touched to her so well and so good. She rode his hand until she broke apart.
She shook her head to clear her mind. Focus, she told herself. This was a life and death situation. It wouldn't do to get all hot and bothered about one of her jailers, even if he was hotter than Brad Pitt and George Clooney put together.
"Whoa there buckaroo, what do you think you are doing?"
"Helping you off the table. Hurting yourself would not be in your best interest."
"I can't image why a man holding me prisoner would care about my best interest." Disdain dripped from her words. His lips, his kissable lips, formed a tight, unhappy line.
He lifted her and set her gently on the metal floor. Firmly, he spun her around to face a wall yards in front of her and gave her a gentle shove. "See that blue sign above the door? That says it's the convenience. You said you needed to use it. When you're done I have to secure you for the night."
"You won't cuff me again, right?" she said in a warning voice.
"No, go use it." He made an emphatic gesture towards the door. As she started walking to the bathroom, Tracy looked over her shoulder. He was watching every move she made.
"Damn it." she muttered. She wasn't sure if she was annoyed because she wanted him, or because she shouldn't.
The 'convenience' did not look like a regular bathroom. A depression in the wall appeared to be a sink. But when she put her hands under the faucet, instead of water coming out an electric sensation passed over her skin.
A bench ran across the back of the cubicle, with a wide circle in the center. When she stood close to it, the circle slid to the side, and a faint but unmistakable odor rose from its black depths. She pinched her nose and fanned the air with her hand.
"Whoa! They must eat a lot of fish here." For all she knew they were on a commercial fishing boat. She'd seen them on television, and they were huge. It wasn't a stretch to think that this ship was co-opted to haul a more lucrative, human cargo as a sideline.
Tracy sat and considered her options. Mr. Hunky was far to big for her to take on by herself. That was obvious. Could she find a weapon and hit him on the head with it? Once she had him distracted with pain, she'd keep swinging at him until she subdued him.
Yeah, that was a plan. A plan that sucked, but it was the only one she had.
The door leading back to the large room opened and Tracy looked around for a weapon sufficiently heavy with which to brain Mr. Hunky. All she saw around her were metal counters with machines sitting on them. There wasn't a single piece of clutter. Then she spotted a dinner tray of half eaten food, complete with utensils. A knife would work.
Her teen years of sneaking into her bedroom at night after curfew were finally going to pay off. She carefully approached the tray. Mr. Hunky was still intent on watching whatever grabbed his attention on the electronic displays before him. She reached for the knife with her back to the tray, her hand stretching to the blade. But she misjudged the distance, and the noise of metal hitting metal, unmistakable in the large cavernous room, made Mr. Hunky's head spin around.
"Tracy," he said. "What are you doing?" He advanced on her quickly, and yanked at her arms, dislodging the knife in her hands. Her heart started pounding. She twisted violently to break his grip. As soon as she freed her arms from his wrists, he had his arms clasped around her once more.
She struggled and
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