Page 17 of Escape Velocity

“Your clitoris. Or your clit. It’s the center of a woman’s pleasure.”

She nodded, then said in a whisper, “I think you had no pleasure.”

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“I’m fine,” Max said, hearing the strained quality of his own voice. He should get up and leave the damn bunk, but he was thinking he wasn’t going to be very steady on his feet.

Amber rolled to her side and put her hand on his swollen cock. “I do not think you are fine.”

“Don’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“I’m already charged up enough.”

“I know what to do about that.”

“How?”

Instead of answering, she pushed him to his back and undid the zipper at the front of his pants.

He caught his breath as she pulled out his throbbing cock and clasped him in her hand, squeezing and releasing with the skill of a Port City whore.

“What . . .”

Before he could get out the rest of the question, she leaned over, taking his swollen rod in her mouth, moving her mouth up and down his length while she sucked on him with shocking expertise.

His hands dug into the sheet as she compressed her lips and took more of him in. He knew this was wrong, but she’d caught him by surprise, and now that she’d started pleasuring him, he was helpless to do anything besides go with the moment, feeling his supercharged body build toward orgasm. He was so hot from bringing her to climax that it didn’t take long. His hips jerked, and he groaned as he came in her mouth.

He saw her lift her head, saw her swallow his semen with a little grimace. As he watched, he couldn’t help questioning everything she had told him.

“You’ve done this before,” he said, his tone gritty.

“Yes.”

“You said no man would want you. But that was an excellent blow job”

Her voice was low, but her gaze was steady. “No man would want to do it in the proper way. But some come to the slaves in the night and make them do what I just did for you. They clamp their hands on your head and force you to—service them. And if you do not do a good job, they . . . punish you.”

He struggled to process her words. “They hate you, but they use you like that?”

“You have not heard of men who use animals for their pleasure?”

He’d been questioning her veracity. Now the matter-of-fact way she spoke about her status cut into his gut like a knife. He felt torn between rage and despair at the way she’d been forced to live.

“You did not hold my head,” she said in a low voice.

“I would never do that to a woman.”

“Why not?”

“It’s not something a woman should be forced to do.” Just like a lot of things she had said, that idea made him sick. “Sex should be a choice—not forced on a woman. Or a man.”

She flopped back onto the mattress beside him. “That is the first time I ever wanted to do it—or had a choice about it.”

“Why did you want to?”

“Because I could tell that touching me was making you need . . .” She stopped and lifted one shoulder. “What men need.”

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