75. Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fourteen
Z oey
It’s been dark for hours, so several of us have been issued laser flashlights as we travel what amounts to a long city block to our destination.
We arrive and take our seats in the newly renovated area we worked on. Ar’Tok said there were only two acts left. I guess one of them will be Steele. Instead of staying seated, Steele pulls off his black leather sash and kilt, laying them neatly on the bench near me. He’s just wearing his loincloth as he walks to the arena floor at the bottom of the steps.
“Females and males,” Ar’Tok says into the mic. “I’m told that on Earth this is called parkour. Frankly, I have no idea what that means. Let’s all watch Steele.”
Parkour? I’m from Earth and I have no idea what it means. I guess I’ll find out soon enough.
Steele shouts, “Ho!” and begins a stunning routine. He bounds head over heels in three swift, successive roundoffs that take him to the middle of the arena. He turns, recreates the same forward-facing round offs as he returns to where he started, then takes the steps three at a time to the tower at the top of the steps where the announcer’s booth looms three stories in the air.
When he gets to the base of the tower, he jumps, puts the soles of his boots on the side of the building, then somersaults back to a standing position.
I never knew what the name of it was, but I’ve seen parkour dozens of times in action movies where people quickly lever themselves between buildings, walk on walls, or make jaw-dropping leaps from rooftop to rooftop then make their way to the ground with gymnastic grace and sheer courage.
“Amazing!” I hear Petra say from behind me.
“How did he ever learn to do that?” sedate Grace asks from my left.
I don’t know how anyone could climb the announcer’s tower without suction cups on their hands and feet, but Steele effortlessly makes his way to the top, then climbs halfway down before jumping onto the inch-wide steel railing that runs from the arena floor to the top of the steps.
I watch his beautiful metallic silver body as he exerts himself in leaps and jumps. Every muscle is visible beneath his skin as he reaches, bends, and almost flies from seat to seat and light pole to light pole.
I love him, of course I do. Who could escape falling for the kindest male in the galaxy? But right now, my love takes a backseat to lust. It flies through me from my heated core to my warm cheeks. My nipples are pricked so hard that even the silky material of my bra feels rough against their swollen surface.
I want him. I may have trouble coming, but I have no trouble getting aroused. I’m proud of him, attracted to him, and on fire for him.
He’s been exerting himself for long minutes. Now when he leaps and lands in a handstand on the metal stair rail, he grunts with the effort.
As a grand finale, he runs at the tower, and walks up it as if he has the power to walk on walls. Forcing himself into a mid-air somersault, he lands on his feet, then holds out his arms, and says, “Ho!”
We all get to our feet in a round of applause so loud I wonder if the folks at the fair an hour away might be wondering what the noise is.
“Wow!” Beast says as Steele walks modestly back to take his seat next to me.
He’s grabbing huge gusts of air, his chest heaving like a horse who just ran a race, but his face is beaming with pride.
There’s one more burst of applause, and Ar’Tok announces, “I guess now we know what parkour is. Perhaps another name for it should be magic. I don’t know how you did that, Steele. I’d ask you to tutor me, but I think I’ll stick with comms.”
This pulls a few giggles from the stands, but most people are waiting to see what could top that amazing display to merit being the last exhibition of the night.
“The Grand Finale, females and males, brought to you by Justus, our explosives and demolition expert. Pyrotechnics!”
I don’t know Justus well. He lives on the Devil’s Playground and I’ve never had time to do more than say hello.
He stands nearby as he uses a computer pad to set off a fireworks display choreographed to music—some human and some from various planets.
Steele is still panting as he slings his sweat-slicked arm around my shoulders.
“What did you think, Zoey?” he whispers in my ear, his breath fanning my cheek.
The fireworks are loud as they explode over our heads, their glow changing the color of his metallic skin each time they explode in a different color timed perfectly with the crescendos of the music. Right now, his silver has a reddish hue as he dips his head, waiting for my pronouncement, as if the amazement of his friends is inconsequential. He wants to know what I thought of his performance.
How do I tell him he’s magnificent, that I have never and will never see anything as wonderful as that in all my future days? How can I tell him that and then send him away on the Fool’s Errand without me?
“You were amazing, Steele,” I tell him truthfully. “How did you learn that?”
He softly kisses my cheek, then focuses his eyes on the sky, “Watch the pyrotechnics, Love. They’ll be over soon. You don’t want to miss them.”
As I turn my gaze to the sky, he scoots even closer and says, “I taught myself. My cell on Aeon II had three stone walls with only one wall of bars. The ceiling was high. It began as play, something to pass the time. Then I took it seriously. I truly could walk on walls and once or twice almost made it across the ceiling until I fell.”
His hand strokes the small of my back, just a small swath from my waist to my bra strap. His palm incites a riot of sparks along my skin.
“I nursed the hope that someday my skill would allow me to escape. That never happened, but I enjoy it. When I can’t sleep at night, sometimes I go to the ludus and practice. I never knew it had a name. I thought I invented it.”
The crack of fireworks brings my attention to the heavens, but my mind is on his fingertips as they glide over my dress. His skin is so warm, I feel every inch they travel as if I wore nothing at all.
Nuzzling my neck under my ear, he croons, “I think my Zoey liked my performance a lot.” To leave no doubt in my mind what he’s talking about, he breathes in through his nose, telegraphing the fact that the scent of my arousal didn’t escape him.
After our disastrous coupling the other night, I find it hard to believe he’s flirting with me right now. But as his fingers dip lower, violating the unwritten boundary of my panties and sliding low on my bottom, it’s obvious he is.
His hand might be on my ass cheek, but it’s my core that tightens in need.
Would it be so awful to ease him tonight? It will be our last night on Fairea. Our last night together. Sadness arrows through me at that thought. Of course I want to make love with him tonight. It doesn’t matter if I find release. I want to give him a night to remember.
I reach out and boldly stroke up his naked thigh, not stopping like I usually do. I slide my fingertips all the way to his loincloth. In order for the garment to work, it is by nature too tight to slip my fingers under. I don’t let that deter me. I graze my fingers over the fabric and boldly cup his cock with my palm.
Maybe it’s that his demonstration was so sexy, or the fact that everyone’s faces are tipped to the display in the sky, or perhaps it’s that I’ll never see him after tomorrow, but everything is suddenly different.
I’m bolder than I’ve ever been, holding his gaze as my fingers explore the bulge under the coarse muslin cloth.
He sucks in a breath through his teeth even as I feel a zing of lust bolt to my core.
“So brazen,” he says, his eyes burning with desire.
For a split second, I wonder if he’s censuring me, but the look in his eyes is far from critical. If anything, he wants more.
“You’re hard for me,” I say, feeling my pulse beat between my legs.
“Always, Love.” He edges even closer, his lips grazing my ear as he says, “You’re filled with desire tonight.”
“Yes,” I admit. It would be ridiculous to lie, and even though I’ll be rejecting him tomorrow, I want to give him this. Years from now, when he replays this moment in his mind for the hundredth time, he’ll know that no matter how firmly I insist we can’t be together, I really, truly loved him.
“I’m going to make love to you tonight,” he says, his serious gaze on mine. I barely move to protest before he places one finger across my lips. “I won’t take no for an answer. Your body’s already preparing.”
Yes, it certainly is. My core is quivering for him.
“Watch the pyrotechnics, my Zoey. That’s an order.”
I was always good at following directions, so I cast my gaze to the sky. But my attention is on my mate. His lips nibble from beneath my ear, down my neck and to the column of my throat.
“I love this part of you, mate,” he whispers into my skin.
I have to strain to hear him over the cacophony of music and the thunder of the fireworks.
The tip of his tongue dances along the shallow furrow at the front of my throat.
“I lose my train of thought in the ludus sometimes just thinking of it. I’ll be bench pressing and picture this delicate, vulnerable, tasty spot and I’ll have to set my weights down and sit up to hide my erection.”
He nips one of the chords of my neck. Sparks fly from that point to the tips of my breasts and then down to my clit.
“Did you know that, Zoey?”
He’s pressing me to talk, even though dirty talk has been an unspoken boundary I’ve enforced since our early days. I managed it last night. I can do it this one last time.
“I’m picturing it, Steele,” I tell him, my voice deep and breathy. “I can see you on your back on the bench and your cock straining against your loincloth.”
“That’s right, Zoey. You’re picturing it? Like now?”
He grabs the hand I’d removed moments and ago and laid sedately in my lap. Placing it on the impossibly hard rod under his loincloth, he asks, “When you imagine it, is it this hard?”
His hand is pressing my palm against him hard. Harder than I’d ever think would feel good. He yanks me against him even more forcefully when he asks again, “This hard, mate? Or harder?”
He’s forcing my palm up and down his length. I stifle my urge to pull back. I order myself to allow it. What would be the harm in consenting to anything tonight? It will be fodder for my fantasies for the rest of my days… and nights.
I gasp with the sensual feel of it. His strong hand forcing me to stroke him. The thin muslin fabric is inconsequential, as if it isn’t even there. I can feel every bump and ridge, and the searing animal heat of him.
“Tell me, Zoey. Do you like my hard cock?”
Something changes inside me. No, not changes, something unleashes. Maybe metamorphosis is a better word. It’s as if everything that was Zoey crumbles and is lying in rubble at my feet. I’m not sure what will happen, how I will rebuild, but one thing is certain, nothing will ever be the same again.
We’re still in public, so I reject my urge to straddle him on this hard bench so I can rub against him. But I don’t control myself from placing my lips to his ear and saying, “Do I like this hard cock, Steele?” I grasp him more firmly. “This magnificent cock of steel? Yes. Do you want to know what I think of when I wash the pots in the kitchen?”
His head tips as his blue eyes search mine. It’s as if he just met this unusual Earth female and doesn’t know what to make of her.
“Yes. Tell me.”