Excerpt from untitled futuristic (menage)

   She pressed her ear against the cold steel. Nothing. The apartment, she knew, would be small. The bedroom would be in the rear, through a combination sitting and dining area. Once she was inside, she would need to be quick and decisive.

   Taking a deep breath, she plucked the omnikey from her belt and passed it over the sensor. The door whispered open, and she slipped inside.

   And nearly stumbled over the prone form of Captain Havoc. Flat out, face down, he clearly hadn’t taken two steps before he’d thudded to the floor, too inebriated to even make it to bed.

   A rumbling snore shook his body. Sayal put her hands on her hips and sighed. Truly, this was the man to whom Fate had led her? Perhaps she was wrong about him, wrong about everything. She crouched beside him and, with great effort, for he was a large man, managed to get him over onto his back. His arm flopped limply to the side. His head wobbled. Even when she tapped his cheek, he continued to snore.

   She’d hoped not to have to make a connection until he’d agreed to her offer, but there seemed to be little choice. Placing her hand on his forehead, Sayal cleared her mind and let it fill with his energy. In her mind’s eye, his life force appeared like a glowing, whirling ball. She held it for a moment while her own life energy flowed into his body, purging it of hool toxins. At least for the most part. With a rush of breath, she mentally pushed the life force back into him then sat back on her heels.

   The room seemed to spin slightly, as it always did after such an effort. She had not the gifts of her mother, but they served her when necessary. After only a moment or two, Havoc snorted, moaned and then dragged his hands over his face. He blinked up at the ceiling. Then he saw her and startled onto his elbows.

   “Who the fu—”

    She held up a hand. “Captain Havoc. My name is not important at the moment. I have business to discuss.”

   He bolted upright, remarkably recovered and bristling with a dangerous energy she hadn’t anticipated. His eyes trained on her like twin laser beams. “I said, who the fuck are you, and how did you get in here? And what am I doing on the floor?”

    He was angry as a bastion tiger, and every bit as intimidating. Sayal’s fingers twitched toward her weapon while her heart raced. “I mean you no harm. I followed you inside and found you unconscious. You were drunk, Captain.”

   “Yeah?” His piercing gaze flicked from her. “Yeah, I was.” He turned back to her, the force of his glare nearly knocking her over. He jabbed a finger toward her, a bad and impolite habit. “Why am I not drunk now? And I’m not going to ask you again, who the fuck are you?”

   She liked him better with the hool mellowing his temper. Sayal swallowed hard and drifted her fingers to the hasp of her blade. Before she could blink, he seized her wrist and threw her onto her back. The knife came up with her hand, clutched in her startled fist, which he pinned beside her head. Havoc’s shin weighted her hips, his other hand pressed her shoulder into the hard floor. His tight, angry face loomed over her, his eyes steely and cold. Sayal’s mouth went dry. “This isn’t what you’re thinking.”

   “I’m thinking,” he said, slowly, dangerously, his narrowed gaze sliding over her black bodysuit which showed only her face and hands, “that somebody decided to settle up an old score.” He stared at her, leaning his weight on her so that her breath came short. “Who? Ulvik? Ferrus?” His grip tightened on her wrist until she thought her bones would snap. “It’s D’Parr, isn’t it? He’s making damned sure I don’t follow Keeva.”

   “No, no. It’s nothing like that.” She struggled to breathe, desperate to be up. She let the knife slip from her hand. “You see. I’m not here to kill you, or to harm you. As I said, I have a business proposition.”

   “At knife point? Chicky, we haven’t even gotten into negotiations yet and already you want to slit my throat.”

   Moving with infinite care so as not to set him off further, she pushed the wicked blade away from her as far as her fingers would allow. “I promise, our goals are the same. You want to go to the Zone to rescue your woman. I also want to travel there. I need a captain, a ship.”

    He laughed unpleasantly. “Well, then, you’re gonna be disappointed. You must be the only sentient being who hasn’t heard I lost the Ash Nova playing jarouk.”

   She nodded. “I know. I’m going to help you win it back.”

   His fingers flexed on her wrist while he considered. “Why?”

   “I told you, I—“”

   “No. I meant, why me. There are a dozen other captains floating around Aleut Station. Any one of them would take you, for the right price.”

   Sayal almost groaned from the intimidating weight of his body on hers. “Please, Captain. I can’t breathe. Let me up so we can speak properly.”

   He took his time thinking about it. “That’s an Asaki blade. Where’d you get it?”

   “I stole it.” It was the truth.

   “You should never pull a weapon you don’t intend to use.”

   “I didn’t mean to. You frightened me.”

   His jaw worked. Leaning on her even more heavily, he released her shoulder and reached over her to pick up the long, lethal weapon. The dim light caught its sharp, blue-black edge. With a flick of his wrist, he threw it, and the famed Asaki steel buried itself to the hilt in the wall. “Sharp,” he said, one eyebrow raised.

   Before she could respond, he flipped her again, onto her belly this time, her arms pinned behind her back. Sayal had never been manhandled so. Between the panic and outrage, her pulse raced like a wingbat and she kicked her legs. He pressed a hand between her shoulder blades and shushed her until she calmed. The heat of his hand burned through the black silk of her body suit. “Do you have any other weapons?”

   “No,” she said, her voice muffled as her face was half-pressed into the musty carpet.

   “Good.” His hand trailed down her spine toward her buttocks, leaving a trail of prickle flesh. His voice was level and firm. “I’m going to check for myself. If you’re clean, then we talk.”

   And if she wasn’t… Well, she was, but still, she did not like this feeling of helplessness. It was not what she’d trained for. Yet if she truly desired his aid, she had to submit to his groping.

   He moved his hand over her shoulders, down her arms, down the tense muscles of her back, her spine, her buttocks. Holding her crossed wrists against the small of her back, Havoc shifted and parted her legs with his knee. Sayal almost snapped in outrage, but then remembered her mission, the importance, and forced herself to be still.

   His searching fingers trailed down to her ankles, felt around the tops of her boots where an assassin might hide pin knives or darts. Finding none, he quested along her calves, the inside of her thighs. Sayal tensed. His hand lingered over her pussy, the palm hot and firm--surely, he didn’t think she hid anything there--then moved on a second before she had reason to suspect more than a weapons search was underway. For some reason, her body reacted to his touch. The panic, the adrenaline surging through her, made her flesh hypersensitive. Yes, that had to be why her nipples were peaking, grinding against the short carpet while he shifted again, straddling the backs of her thighs.

   He drew off her hood, slid off the clip holding back her hair and threaded his fingers through the length.“Surely, Captain,” she said, hating the breathiness in her voice, “you don’t think I keep weapons in my hair.”

   “Stranger things have happened,” he replied. As if she were a rag doll, he flipped her again so she looked up at him where he straddled her. The position brought his crotch in contact with her dampening pussy, and she was glad for the black color of her suit, lest he saw how her nipples had hardened. He caught her wrists and held them in one hand above her head. “Keep them there.”

   If he felt any arousal, he hid it well. His expression was as hard as ever. Spreading his fingers while she obediently kept hers clasped, he felt around her waist, over her belly then, as she’d known he would, over her breasts. She swallowed dryly as his palms skimmed over her taut nipples. No hiding them now. By the fates, she hardly minded that the pads of his fingers lingered over the aching tips. The light pressure felt exquisite. It rippled down to her swelling pussy lips, almost making her writhe. Yet she forced herself to lie rigidly, and he seemed unmoved. 

   “Open your mouth,” he said.

   “What?”

   He caught her chin with his thumb and forefinger. “I said open your mouth. Gotta make sure you don’t have any spit darts.”

   “Oh.” She did, and he inserted a thick finger, sliding it over her tongue, over her teeth, over her lips, wetting them as if in a kiss. Between that and the pressure on her mound as he moved over her, Sayal’s head began to swim. Perhaps she’d absorbed more of that hool than she’d thought.

   Abruptly, he tapped her cheek and got off of her. “You’re clean, at least clean enough for me.”

   He stood and held out a hand to help her up. “What did you say your name was again?”