Ellora's Cavemen: Tales from the Temple I Read online

  His cock…hell, his cock had become his entire being. All sensation focused on that damned organ, swollen now well beyond a normal erection. Hard as stone, hot as a furnace, throbbing with each gentle caress his jailer bestowed.

  He couldn’t really see her, not the way she remained in the shadows, but he’d learned to beg for her touch, learned to thrust his hips forward each time she stroked him. Her lips had caressed him, once only and for much too brief a time, but the feel of that soft mouth encircling the tip of his cock had been fire added to an already burning pyre. If only she would give him release!

  She stroked his hips, his belly, touching him gently as a lover might. His cock responded, damned traitor that it was. Suddenly she ran her fingers around his ass and penetrated him quickly, roughly. He jerked, clamping his lips together, fighting the need to beg. He would not beg. Never.

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  Barbarian

  “My sister was a sex slave. Was she one of yours?” Something else entered his ass, something big and hard and cold. “She didn’t survive. She died under the gentle tutelage of her first patron.”

  She thrust savagely but he welcomed the exquisite combination of pleasure and pain, his mind wrapping itself around her words. Sex slave. He knew about sex slaves.

  He let his mind go blank, unable to think beyond the rhythmic thrusts to his ass, the throbbing erection that had become an integral part of his existence.

  “She was only eighteen.”

  Eighteen. So young. So many young women. He opened his eyes, squinting against the glaring light. “Sorry,” he mumbled, wondering what part, if any, he had played in a young girl’s death. He barely recognized his own voice. “So sorry.”

  Whatever his captor thrust inside him was suddenly withdrawn. She moved into his field of vision, stepped within the circle of light, and stared at him.

  She was a tiny thing, barely over five feet tall, her hair a mass of honey brown curls spilling over her shoulders, her eyes wide and green as the sea. Her mouth was wide, her lips compressed in anger. Breasts small and round and so perfect. So very, very perfect.

  She clasped a wooden baton in her hand, the same one she’d violated him with only moments ago. “Sorry won’t cut it, you bastard! Not until you suffer like she did. Not until you pay.”

  She stepped closer, tossing the baton aside and grabbing his cock. He groaned as she stroked him, her fingers gentle now in a parody of lovemaking, teasing him closer and closer to climax. He moaned and thrust his hips forward, praying for the long awaited release, the release he knew she would deny him once again.

  A door slammed. Her fingers tightened, squeezing down on the base of his cock, then turned him loose. He sagged against his restraints.

  “Captain! What the hell are you doing?”

  “Teaching this bastard a lesson.” Her voice was ragged, harsh with unshed tears.

  “Do you know who he is?”

  “Yes, dammit! He’s the Barbarian. The most notorious sex slaver in this quadrant.

  I’ve been after him for almost two years. I’ve got him now and he’s mine.”

  “No, Captain. He’s ours. He’s one of our operatives. Good Goddess, woman.

  You’ve captured one of the World Federation’s top agents. If you’ve harmed him, if you’ve blown his cover…shit. I can’t believe this. Turn him loose. Now.”

  * * * * *

  “And that’s how I lost my commission. Not only did I blow the cover of our top field operative, I kept him shackled for over 15 hours while in a state of arousal.”

  39

  Kate Douglas

  “Good Goddess, Bry. The same man I told you about? He was one of ours?”

  “You got it. I did everything right, just the way we planned.” Bry stared at the ring of condensation spreading out around the bottom of her glass, ran her fingers through the moisture. What she’d done with those hands, the harm she’d caused…she blinked her eyes quickly then raised her head and looked directly at her friend. “Yep. Drugged his drink at a bar and hired a couple of thugs to carry him to my ship. Marty, looking back, I can’t believe I did what I did. It was one thing to plan his capture over a couple of drinks in a bar, but I used drugs on him, I restrained him against his will, I touched him inappropriately…”

  “Like there’s an appropriate way to sexually torture a prisoner?” Marty shook her short cap of dark hair, rolled her eyes and snorted. “C’mon, Bry. You didn’t know who he was.”

  “I should have, dammit. We both should have. You, at least, had the sense not to participate in my stupid scheme.”

  Bry McKenzie clutched her drink in both hands, unwilling to look at her companion. Taller, stronger, her self-assurance and sloe-eyed, dark-haired looks a polar opposite to Bry’s, Marty had been the one to point the Barbarian out to her. They’d both believed him to be exactly what they thought—the leader of a sex slave cartel.

  “It’s illegal to treat a prisoner the way I treated this man…do you have any idea what the penalty is when you do it to your own field operative?”

  “I heard you lost your commission—the Nautilus?”

  “Yeah. Actually, I resigned. I didn’t want to give them the chance to can me.

  Goddess, how I loved that ship, but I was lucky. I could have spent thirty years in the brig…” She bowed her head. “That’s the worst of it. He refused to press charges. Said he understood.”

  “I heard about that.” Marty spun her glass between her fingers, then glanced sideways at Bry. “Do you know why?”

  “No. I have no idea.” She hung her head, still sickened by the sense of shame she carried with her. “I can’t get him out of my mind. His face haunts me. As much as I hated him, something happened between us while I held him captive. He was absolutely beautiful…dark hair, dark eyes. His body was gorgeous. Marty, I looked at this man and wanted him!”

  Bry glanced at her hands, realized they were shaking and clasped them tightly together. “It’s sick. I believed him to be evil incarnate, a man who sold young women from all over the galaxy as sexual slaves, the most depraved soul on the face of the earth, yet while I was hurting him I was aware of some dark sexual satisfaction of my own.”

  She wrapped her arms around her middle, felt the hard ridges of her ribs, realized her entire body trembled. She’d sweated clear through her skinsuit so that the fabric clung even tighter, and she shook all over like she had some sort of palsy. Damn. The memories still ruled her life, destroyed her dreams.

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  Barbarian

  Aroused her.

  She clenched the muscles between her legs, unable to ignore the lush sense of need.

  Her body shamed her, responding to images of torture and degradation. Grew wet and ready when she remembered. Bry forced herself to relax, placed her hands, palm down, on the table and willed them to be still. She took a deep breath, let it out.

  “At one point, I actually forgot what I was doing. Marty, I went down on him! The minute I tasted his cock, a little bit of sanity returned, but I wanted him as much as I hated him. I kept thinking of the Barbarian as a fallen angel, that it was my duty to punish him. The more I hurt him, the more I wanted him…and the angrier I got at myself.” She shook her head. It still seemed unreal. “I took it out on him…my own depravity. Goddess, Marty…he had to be lowered to the ground. His legs wouldn’t support him. His cock was swollen and his balls were hard as rocks. When they tried to lay him on the stretcher, he screamed.”

  Marty nodded as if she understood and briefly covered Bry’s hands with one of hers. “You’ve never struck me as a cruel person, Bry. Do you have any idea why you went to such extremes?”

  Bry rested her head in the palms of her hand. “I must have snapped! When Janie died, I saw the coroner’s report. I knew what they did to her. The Barbarian’s cover was so good, so thorough, I thought he was part of the cartel that kidnapped my sister. I had no idea he was working against them. I blew his cover and put a good man through torture.”
She shook her head, the tears falling faster than she could wipe them away.

  “I’m sorry to dump on you like this, but I had to tell someone. I can’t forgive myself. I tried to find him to apologize, but he’d disappeared again. They wouldn’t give me his real name. I needed to tell him I was sorry, that I would do anything to make it up to him. Now I can’t.”

  Bry choked back a sob. “I don’t think I can get through this.”

  Marty put a comforting arm around her shoulders and squeezed. “You’re tough.

  You’re a survivor. You’ll be okay.”

  “Not without his forgiveness.” She turned to stare at her friend through tear-filled eyes. “I left my humanity behind when I did those things to him. I gave away a part of what makes me who I am. I want me back, Marty. He is the only one who can give me back that part of myself. That part I lost over two years ago.”

  “Then find him.”

  “It’s too late. He’s dead.” She stared at the stains on the barroom table. “I blew his cover and they killed him.”

  41

  Kate Douglas

  Chapter 2

  One week later…

  Jacob Hart kept to the shadows, nursing his third brandy of the night. He watched the young woman with the mass of tawny curls, just as he’d watched her every night over the past week.

  She was drunk—again. Sloppy drunk and a danger to herself, should she leave the bar alone. He could only protect her just so much without blowing his cover. Tonight would be tough. Two star cruisers had docked and the bar was filled with predators.

  Men too long alone with one another, searching for an easy piece of feminine ass.

  Maybe, though, it was time. He’d waited now for two years. Two very long years.

  Marty’d said Captain McKenzie was in bad shape. Jake wondered if the captain knew her best friend not only worked for internal affairs, but that Marty was also assigned to her case? He hoped not. Bry’s self-esteem was already shot.

  She stood up, swayed a moment, then caught her balance. Damn. Frowning, Jake tossed his brandy down his throat, threw some credits on the table and followed her to the door.

  Three other men appeared to have the same idea.

  He gauged their size against his own, decided surprise and his skill would have to make up for the difference in weight, and quietly fell into step behind them.

  The woman walked slowly, head down, feet stumbling. Jake drew his eyebrows together, watching her. She’d lost even more weight. She looked almost childlike, a skinny little wraith moving slowly away from the bar. The pattern of her footsteps altered and she cursed. The atmosphere on this mining outpost was thin but breathable, and sound carried oddly, magnified by the iron-rich ore that made up the bulk of the planet.

  Jake paused, slipping into the shadows, keeping the figures ahead of him in sight.

  The three men waited until the woman was far enough from the bar that no one would hear anything, then grabbed her and dragged her behind an old shack.

  She didn’t scream. As far as Jake could tell, she didn’t even try to fight them. He stepped around the corner, whipped out his high intensity light and flashed them. He knew they’d be momentarily blinded, surprised by his quiet approach.

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  Barbarian

  She was already naked from the waist down, the top half of her filthy skinsuit ripped away exposing her thin body, her breasts marked with red welts from grasping fingers. There was no fear on her face. Merely a look of resignation, of despair.

  It was the despair that tipped Jake over the edge. He kicked out with his left foot, catching one of her captors between the legs. The bastard went down, clutching his balls and screaming. The other two cursed, shoved the woman roughly to the ground, and charged. Jake grabbed one man by the throat and stopped him in his tracks. At the same time, he threw a punch with his right fist, catching the other assailant in the nose.

  That one dropped like a rock, without a sound.

  Jake tightened the fingers of his left hand around the last man’s throat and slowly forced him, gasping unsuccessfully for air, to his knees. He held on just a bit longer than necessary, then released his hold. The man fell to the hard-packed ground, gurgling and retching.

  The one he’d kicked in the balls lay curled up in the fetal position, moaning and hugging his crotch. A dark stain spread along his inner thighs.

  Shrugging off the adrenaline, Jake turned and grabbed Bry out of the dirt and threw her over his shoulder. He planted his hand firmly against her ass to hold her steady, sliding his palm over the slim-fitting skinsuit and slipping his fingers into the warm crease between her legs. He told himself he was merely trying to get a solid hold on her, but damn, she felt good.

  He tightened his grasp, imagining her wet and needy, then bit back a growl. Like he didn’t know needy? Shit. Gritting his teeth against the sudden ache in his balls, Jake took off at a slow trot for the docks, jamming his fingers tightly against her crotch as he headed back to his ship. She didn’t react when he groped her, merely hung limply along his back, arms bouncing off his buttocks and her hair swinging behind him as he carried her back to his ship.

  He knew there was nothing waiting for her at her room. Nothing but memories and hopelessness. He had his own memories to heal. Memories of her soft hands on his cock, her fingers teasing him, violating him, leaving him unsatisfied and unfulfilled.

  He took a deep breath and readjusted her small weight on his shoulder. Marty said the captain wanted his forgiveness. Well, he wanted something from her, as well. The orgasm she’d denied him when she’d held him prisoner over two years ago. Two Goddess-be-damned years.

  He hadn’t been able to come in all that time.

  43

  Kate Douglas

  Chapter 3

  Bry awakened slowly, squinting against the morning light. Her mouth was dry, but the foul taste she usually associated with a hangover was missing. Her hair felt damp, as if she’d actually remembered to shower last night…

  Last night? Men…three men, grabbing her, squeezing her breasts, their boozy breath in her face, one fumbling with his pants to…

  Heart racing, adrenaline surging, she jerked herself fully awake. Entirely aware that…

  …Someone had bathed her, washed her hair, brushed her teeth…and tied her naked body very securely to a bunk. Not her own bed. N o. What the hell…? She jerked her head from side to side, arms and legs flailing against the restraints, panic rising like bile in her throat. Air whistled through her flared nostrils.

  Gasping, fighting panic, Bry drew on her training, forced herself to observe, banked her spiraling hysteria to a manageable level. She swallowed, then swallowed again and took a deep breath.

  Okay. You can do this. Breathe in, breathe out, in… blinking, willing a calm she didn’t feel, she looked around her, shocked when she realized the familiar lines and angles of the room meant she was on a small space ship, a Class Three Falcon, similar to her own beloved Nautilus.

  Her ears popped with a slight pressure change and she swallowed back a new level of fear. Whoever had imprisoned her must have just left the meager atmosphere of Argon 9. A klaxon sounded, the ship shuddered and steadied, and Bry’s body tingled with the passage into hyperspace. The captain of the ship would most likely go to autopilot any minute. She stared at the closed door, eyes wide, blood pounding in her ears, waiting.

  After what seemed like forever, footsteps sounded just outside the cabin, paused, and the door slowly opened. Air rushed into her lungs, her heart seemed to stop in mid-beat. Lips parted on a gasp, vision narrowed to a single shaft of impossible light, she stared into the eyes of a dead man.

  The Barbarian…her fallen angel, alive.

  She closed her mouth, opened it again, and tried unsuccessfully to swallow. It can’t be!

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  Barbarian

  She narrowed her eyes and willed her body to find its center, praying her heart would beat, her lungs continue to function, th
at he not discover what was in her mind…or her heart. She studied him, calming herself as she searched out the subtle differences from the memories she carried. He was still darkly beautiful, but there was no anger in him, no outrage. Instead, she sensed about him a deep and unrequited sadness, like a ghost trapped on the wrong astral plane.

  “You’re dead.” Her heart skipped, then settled. Tugging lightly at her restraints, projecting a calm she didn’t feel, Bry licked dry lips and frowned. “They told me you were dead.”

  He shook his head. When she’d seen him last, lying on the stretcher in agony after they’d cut him down, his hair had been black and matted, stringy with sweat, his face darkly shadowed with a day’s growth of beard. Now his face was closely shaved and his hair hung smooth and shining to his shoulders, a deep chestnut brown that matched his dark eyes.

  He took a step closer. She searched for the anger she fully expected. There was none. His expression was bland, almost disinterested. “I only wanted to die. You did that to me.”

  The room was small. His massive body made it even smaller. Bry felt vulnerable, but, for some reason, no longer afraid. The calm she’d searched for descended on her like a protective blanket.

  “You owe me,” he said. Again, there was no expression, no sense of what he felt.

  What he thought. His voice was deep, rumbling up out of his chest without threat. He merely stated a fact. “I’ve decided it’s time to collect.”

  Bryony sighed, accepting the truth. He was right. She did owe him. Maybe, once her debt was paid, she could get her life back. She licked her lips and nodded. “I know.

  I was wrong. What I did was cruel and unforgivable.” She swallowed again, forcing the memories away. “Why did they tell me you died?”

  He seemed to relax with her question. “It was part of my cover. It allowed the Barbarian to return, to finish what he’d started. The slave cartel no longer exists. We rescued what girls we could. It was too late for many of them, but your capturing and torturing the Barbarian actually aided my cover.”