"Andrew J. Offutt - Spaceways 09 - In Quest of Qalara" - читать интересную книгу автора (Offutt Andrew J)

excitement she made an error, groaned and corrected and re-tapped, thought
just a moment and added another command, waited for onscreen affirmation from
Ship's Inboard Processing and Computing Unit (Modular), and released herself
from the big chair. She stood, in the same black-sashed red jumpsuit that
Cinnabar wore. It looked a lot better on Quindy, who was constructed with a
brain for the con and a body for bed. With her back to the console and her
eyes on Trafalgar's, she broke the snug suit's closing field. It separated all
down the front-and under, and halfway up the back- to show him an enticing
vertical line of gleaming skin. Black, true black, dyed at the cellular level
and broken from chin to crotch now only by the scarlet of her bandeau. And the
sash. "An old-fashioned bra? You? Theba's pectorals Quindy- why?" "The ring's
outline shows right through the jumpsuit," she said, in a quiet voice. She put
her hands to the knot of her sash. He leaned up enough to catch one of its
dangling ends. He hung on while he leaned back. Because she was willing, she
was pulled forward into a controlled fall. Onto him. He let go the sash in
time to get his hands on this and that, all Quindaridi of Ghanj. "Uh!" she
grunted. "Brute!" she added, in a small and entirely artificial voice. She had
put on a pitiful look, gazing up into his face. "Uh-huh," he murmured, and
slapped his hands onto the rounds of her backside to urge her against him. She
was tugged up along his seated body until their mouths came together. His
hands clamped, kneading. Hers were more restless on him, and just as busy. So
were her 55 lips and tongue, alive and warm and seeking. Fine strands of
yellow hair slid, separating, on her shoulders and back. The roughness, the
slapping of those hands onto her and now their firm and possessive palpating
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of her rearward cheeks; these were a part of her sexuality which he was more
than willing to accommodate. After that time of her disgrace, she had denied
herself men and joined Hellfire both as ship's second and as lover. Their
sexuality had been that of Hellfire as domina, always in firm control, usually
rough and sometimes brutal. The relationship had pleased both Quindy and her
volatile captain, for Hellfire was or had been admittedly and unashamedly
cruel by temperament. With Trafalgar, it was still a matter of the domination,
the illusion of use needed by Quindy's crippled confidence and old feelings of
guilt. With him it was less rough, however, and never cruel or brutal. The
"old Hellfire" had left stripes and toothmarks and occasionally worse,
breaking the skin with her whip or leaving bitten nipples or labia bruised for
a week. Trafalgar left only fingerprints, an occasional bruise, and a satiated
glow. He had sustained a few bruises, too, in coping with this woman's
passionate responses. Even within the framework of submission she wanted and
needed, she was an aggressive lover. She was now. Tugging at him hungrily, her
hands ever amove; making a sound between a hum and low growl. He called it her
sex-purr. It was more, because of its urgency. She was also imitating pelvic
thrusts with her tongue in his mouth while grinding her body almost ruthlessly
into his in an apparent attempt to meld them both into one body, one person,
one glowing unit. The ancient violence of their race underrode the rising
passion of them both. They were breathing hard in seconds and panting in a
minute. Heat and need raced upward like the color of a thermometer dipped in