I can never give up enough thanks to the day I found myself sitting next to a pool on holiday, with a glass of wine, and my lap top, when the guy in the next suite asked what I was writing.
The upshot of that conversation was DK FFrench decided to bite the bullet and submit a story to Breathless Press. Thank goodness!
And wow...
Captain Saker Hawkings and
First Mate L'Wren James agree to keep the mission and passion separate, but
with two beautiful alien empaths onboard, it's not only planetary peace
negotiations that are in danger of breaking down.
~~~~~*****~~~~~
L'Wren James and Saker Hawkings
know that there's no room on a starship for a captain and first mate to indulge
their passion during a dangerous peace mission. The fragility of the cease-fire
in the gender war on the divided planet Ourania threatens the stability of subspace shipping lanes, and the
starship Sulaco's mission is to get
the negotiating team there and deliver them safely back.
When they take onboard
Anchises and Cytheria, mysterious empath negotiators from the secretive world
of Turaceona, they find their commitment to duty and to each other a struggle
to maintain in the sexually heightened and emotionally charged atmosphere.
But Anchises's and Cytheria's
struggle to keep their secret and the loss they cannot speak of hidden leaves
one dangerously injured and the other missing in action. Only the truth about
the man he is and the woman she is can save them.
Can Hawk and L'Wren face up to
the challenges of duty, passion, and sexuality and still save not only their
relationship but the peace process itself?
The
silence of the inner tent greeted her ears as her eyes grew accustomed to the
subdued lighting, again from candles and lamps but in here even softer. The air
was suffused with a heady mix of fragrances from discrete oil burners—jasmine,
an undertone of a muskier, more sensual smell, akin to sandalwood, and a hint
of being in a deep forest, of leaves and mosses.
"Cytheria
of Turacoena, welcome. I am Sarkare Khanome." From the shadows, a woman,
not so tall as the guards but matching Cytheria in height, emerged. Her silver-white hair flowed free over her shoulders. Her eyes
were a striking blue, as bright as a sunlit, clear summer sky. She was older
than the guards, but her body was young and fit with lean, taut muscles. Only
the lines around her eyes spoke of anything other than youth and power. Her long, softly flowing robe in a myriad shades of
blue celebrated the same
figures and scenes from the tunnel friezes and the outer tent. Her confidence
hit Cytheria like a wave crashing on the shore but one
that broke over her rather than crushing her. It was
followed by a depth of compassion and caring that almost brought tears to
Cytheria's eyes. There was fear as well, but not borne of doubt. A fear that
was aware of itself and knew its boundaries.
Then it hit her—the
intense depth and power of sexual allure and hunger that all but defeated
Cytheria's self-control. Her pussy reacted suddenly, getting wet and even
hotter. Her clit almost throbbed with an ache to be touched. Her breath was
suddenly rapid and shallow. She'd learned that this might happen from the
briefing on Halo Five and from her extensive reading of Ouranian culture. The Naranari
bonded and shared sexually as a way of formalizing their status. She had to
play this situation correctly or her credibility, and hence her bargaining
position in the peace talks, would suffer, or worse, be blown out of the water
altogether.
"I
greet you, Sarkare Khanome, from my mother to your mother, sister to
sister," she managed to get out.
Sarkare
Khanome smiled and nodded. She walked around Cytheria and looked her up and
down. She came back to face Cytheria and stroked her hands over her hair then
held her chin in her long, slim fingers. Cytheria knew, like a physical presence, that this woman was sexually in charge and was
used to being in total control of those around her.
I am Cytheria.
"And
you are here to help us, sister, to aid our struggle against those...animals."
It
wasn't a question. Cytheria's pussy was wet and clenching, her clit almost
buzzing. If she could just touch it, she'd come in a second.
I am not you.
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