Chapter 27
Slayn gave the pill bottle a shake, rattling the capsules within. The sound sent a skitter up Fairchild’s back.
“My men found these in your suite,” Slayn said. “An interesting bit of pharmatech. My lab technicians tell me the contraceptive effects should wear off after twenty-four hours…”
He checked his gold watch, smiled.
“…It’s already been far longer than that.”
Fairchild’s heart stopped. Had she really been unconscious that long?
She knew she’d been drugged. The knockout punch Rook had given her back on the terrace would not have put her out long enough for Slayn’s men to bring her aboard this ship and strap her into this chair.
But had it really been over twenty-four standard hours?
Something in her gut told her yes, yes it had.
Slayn unscrewed the cap of the pill bottle. It was awkward with his injured finger, and it took him longer than it should have. He shook one of the metallic capsules into his good hand, then held it up to the light. He sighed.
“Such a shame to sterilize such a fertile specimen as yourself,” he said. “That’s why we’re going to be doing away with these pills…”
He dropped the capsule back into the bottle, replaced the cap, and secreted it back into the pocket of his sport coat. He looked at Fairchild with a deadly smile.
“No more birth control for you,” he said. “These three men are going to fuck you raw and unprotected. They’re going to come inside you and make you pregnant. And they’re going to do it over and over again.”
His smile widened.
“And I’m going to watch.”
There was something in Slayn’s voice that made Fairchild’s skin crawl, and a quick glance at the front of his pants revealed that they were tented with his sizable arousal, which only made the crawling sensation worse.
At least she knew he wasn’t going to try putting that part of his body inside of her—not after what she’d done to his finger.
She shot her eyes back up to his face.
“What makes you think I’m going to go along with your little plan?” she asked.
“Oh, you’ll go along with it,” Slayn said. “Inga.”
Rook was standing a few steps behind Slayn, her big arms crossed in front of her chest, her eyes fixed on Fairchild in a look of disdain.
At the sound of Slayn’s voice, she unfolded her arms and drew the massive handgun holstered on her right hip.
Fairchild thought Rook was going to point the gun at her, but she didn’t.
She pointed it at Dutton instead.
“We obviously can’t shoot you,” Slayn said. “Your womb makes you far too valuable for that. But when it comes to the other part of the equation…”
He turned and gestured toward the three male captives.
“…you could say we have an embarrassment of riches. I would prefer not to waste any of these exquisite specimens. However, I’m willing to do so if necessary.”
His smile stretched even wider.
“I have a feeling it won’t be. You’ve already lost one team. You’re not willing to lose another… are you?”
Fairchild felt the dull throb of tears behind her eyes, but she held them back. A Merc wasn’t supposed to cry, and she wasn’t about to give Slayn the satisfaction of seeing her do so now.
Why had her guys allowed themselves to be captured?
Damned overprotective fools.
Slayn moved over to the side of the room and slid back a metal panel to reveal a control pad set into the wall.
He started tapping buttons, and a low mechanical hum filled the air.
The upright metal slabs holding Fairchild’s teammate started to tilt until they were horizontal like beds—or morgue tables.
Rook kept the muzzle of her pistol pressed to Dutton’s head, but her eyes were on Fairchild.
“Now then,” Slayn said. “I’m going to let you up from that chair, but you have to promise you’ll behave yourself. One wrong move, and Inga will put a bullet through your boyfriend’s brain. Are you going to be a good girl, Fairchild?”
Fairchild nodded. She had no other choice.
“Good.”
Slayn pressed a few more buttons, and the metal bands holding Fairchild’s arms and legs snapped open. She could move again.
“Stand up.”
Fairchild stood. Her head still felt a bit woozy from the drugs, and her legs felt wobbly beneath her. She was naked, but she was too angry to be embarrassed.
“We’ll begin with the gentleman Inga is holding at gunpoint,” Slayn said. “Dutton, I believe. Climb on top of him.”
“And remember,” Rook added. “No funny business, or Loverboy gets it. I’m not bluffing.”
Fairchild glared.
“I know,” she said. “You obviously have no problem killing Mercs, you traitorous fucking bitch.”
“Now, now,” said Slayn. “Enough bickering. You promised me you were going to behave yourself, remember? Now climb on top of Dutton like a good girl.”
Fairchild hated to obey him—she hated it more than anything in the world—but she had no choice. She wasn’t going to let Dutton die.
She wasn’t going to let any of her men die.
Fairchild walked forward on trembling legs, and climbed onto the slab with Dutton.
She straddled his hips. Even in this life or death situation, her body responded to the masculine presence beneath her, a man who had become so much more to her than a brother-in-arms. Her nipples tightened with involuntary arousal.
A shameful wetness spread between her legs.
She could see that Dutton was struggling to restrain his own male arousal.
His penis was half hard already, and Fairchild suspected it was only through sheer force of will that it was not fully erect.
As a Merc, Dutton had a certain degree of control over his autonomic nervous system.
He could alter his heart rate and blood flow.
Fairchild looked into his eyes.
He didn’t need to speak for her to know what he was thinking. The gun, his eyes told her. Go for the gun. He knew he would die if she did that, but he also knew it might give her a chance to save herself and the others. He was willing to sacrifice himself. He wasn’t afraid.
Fairchild sent back a silent message of her own: Negative.
She wasn’t going to lose anyone she loved. Not today.
She’d already lost too much.
Rook nudged the muzzle of the gun against Dutton’s head. “Quit stalling,” she said. “Make it hard.”
Dutton continued staring up at Fairchild, his eyes searching hers for any sign that she might change her mind.
She gave him none, and after a moment, his cock started to rise.
In the space of five heartbeats, it was as hard as the rest of his body, and the veins along his shaft were ticking with his strong pulse.
“Put it in,” Rook commanded.
Using one hand to hold it steady, Fairchild raised herself up and worked Dutton’s head between her folds. When the tip found her entrance, she carefully lowered herself onto him, letting him fill her inch by slow inch.
It felt good. Even in this terrible situation, it felt so good.
When she was all the way on, she paused for a moment, looking into the eyes of the man who was inside her, raw and unprotected.
They had done it like this dozens of times over the past weeks, but always with the pills.
Now, without her birth control, Fairchild felt more naked than she had ever felt before, as if Dutton were touching some new and tender part of her that was only being exposed for the first time. A second virginity.
The pistol prodded Dutton’s head.
“Well, don’t just sit there,” Rook growled. “Ride it. Ride that dick like the little slut you are.”
“Now, now,” Slayn said. “There’s no need to be rude.”
Fairchild didn’t look at them. She kept her eyes locked with Dutton’s, and she started to ride, slowly raising and lowering her hips, gliding the lips of her pussy up and down the Merc’s hard shaft, coating it from tip to base with her warm, wet arousal.
“Beautiful,” Slayn murmured. “Absolutely beautiful.”
Rook said nothing. She just kept the end of her gun jammed against the side of Dutton’s head.
Fairchild suppressed a shiver of disgust. The sensation of Dutton’s hard cock sliding in and out of her body was harder to ignore. God, why did it have to feel so good? She needed a clear head. She needed to think.
“Faster,” Rook commanded. “Ride it faster. We don’t have all day.”
Fairchild picked up the tempo and glanced at Rook’s gun. It wasn’t quite within arm’s reach, but it was close. If Fairchild made a quick dive for it…
No.
Too risky.
All Rook had to do was pull the trigger, and Dutton would be dead.
What Fairchild needed was some way to distract her. Even a fraction of a second would be enough. But how?
Fairchild looked around, desperately searching for anything she might use to create a diversion. She looked at her other two teammates lying on their identical metal slabs beside Dutton’s. Nash was next in line. Then Reece.
Nash… then Reece.
Fairchild’s heart thumped inside her. She had an idea.
There was just one problem. In order for her plan to work, she would have to finish with Dutton. She would have to let him come inside her without protection, without birth control. She would have to let him make her pregnant, or at least risk it.
She was okay with that.
More than okay.
Fairchild began to ride Dutton even harder and faster, letting his cock slide as deep as it could go. The skin around his pelvis was slick with her arousal, and it made a wet, slapping sound as she bounced up and down. The air was thick with the scent of their mating.
“Yes,” she gasped, staring straight into Dutton’s eyes. “Come inside me. Come deep inside me.”
It should have been impossible, but somehow his cock seemed to grow even more rigid within her. Her walls fluttered around him, begging for his seed.
He gave it.
Dutton’s body tensed beneath her as he came, spine arching, muscles flexing beneath smooth skin. A rush of liquid heat flooded Fairchild’s body, triggering her own intense climax. She tossed her head back and moaned, coming while Dutton came inside her.
A lot leaked out—a lot—but there was more than enough inside her to do the trick. There was a good chance she was pregnant now, or at least she would be, as soon as Dutton’s sperm had a chance to reach her unprotected egg.
She was going to be pregnant with her teammate’s baby.
One more reason to survive.