Beloved Captor Jez Morrow

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.Jess Laren was in there.Desdaine had to face the man he wanted andadmired.The man he’d tried to kill.The man locked up and offered to him as captive flesh.Desdaine didn’t think he could move.It occurred to him that Laren might not know why he was in there.Desdaine couldn’t explain that to him.For a few moments, Desdaine really couldn’t move.He knew he had to force himself.He wasn’t moving.Get this over with.Go in.Get your guts reamed.Get out.He had never been more horrified in his life.Beloved Captor - 35At last he opened the canopy of his flyer.The air was piercing cold.He descended from his flyer into arctic winter.Snow crunched hard under his boot soles.Overhead, curtains of ghostly green and red light waved across the starfield.The bitterest wind ruffled the fur of his coat.The soft edges of his fur hat caressed his cheeks and brow.Desdaine approached the door on the window-less side of the cabin.His hand hesitated on the door handle, paralyzed again in fear and shame.He inhaled air as sharp as blades and opened the door slowly, in case his prisoner attacked him.Desdaine expected a roundhouse kick to the head or maybe a thrown chair.But the only thing that met him in the doorway was a billow of warm air on his cheeks.He stepped inside and shut the door behind him.He was standing in a small foyer of stone and timber.Ahead of him, through a narrow archway, he could see a warmly lit great room.Tall windows filled one wall.And he could see a man’s reflection in the windows --an unmistakable, tall, lean, wide-shouldered figure, facing out to the frozen wasteland.Jess Laren’s back was to Desdaine.A rush of emotion hit Desdaine in a staggering wave.It made him unsteady on his feet.His heart felt like it was expanding too big for his chest.It hurt.Jess Laren appeared strong, vulnerable, and exquisite as a twelve point buck in a woodland glade.Desdaine called from the foyer, “Are you all right?”Laren spoke without turning.“Nothing that a bullet in the brain wouldn’t fix.”“You are suicidal?” Desdaine asked.“Your brain, not mine,” Laren said.“Of course,” Desdaine said.“My mistake.”Beloved Captor - 36Jess Laren spoke toward the window, his voice cold as the view.“What is this?”And there was the question.Desdaine thought it might actually be possible to die of shame.“You don’t want to know,” Desdaine said, amazed at how level his voice came out.He advanced to the great room, going through casual motions, shaking melting ice off his fur hat.He tossed the hat onto a leather divan.The place was warm and masculine.“I came to see if you need anything.”“A way out,” Laren answered.“Can’t give you that,” Desdaine said.He let his gaze roam around the room, anywhere but at Laren.He crossed the wide, hand-woven rug toward the big stone hearth.“Is there something I can do for you without getting myself executed?”Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Laren lift a forefinger to signal an objection.“Well, wait a minute.Back up.I’m good with that last option.”Desdaine started over.“Other than a muzzle for your mouth, what do you need?”“An answer,” Laren said.“What am I doing here?”Of all things his prisoner might have asked for, why did he have to ask that? Desdaine tugged off his fur-lined gloves with all the nonchalance he could muster.He took a breath, then, like wrenching a broken bone back into place, he met Laren’s eyes and said flatly,“Apparently you’re my sex slave.”Shock brightened Jess Laren’s face.His clear gray eyes flared wide.“Oh really? And you think that’s going to happen?”Pain and shame stabbed so intensely that Desdaine’s senses went into blank white out.He answered, toneless,“It just did.Baby, you were great.”Beloved Captor - 37Laren gave a confused cough.“I don’t get it.”“You only live so long as you serve a purpose in the empire.So you’re serving.Just in case anyone asks.”Desdaine shrugged out of his fur coat.He shook the melted ice droplets off it, walked back to the stone-paved entryway, and hung the coat on a wrought iron hook.He strode into the kitchen.He found a highball glass, found the bar, and poured himself a stiff one.“I am glad you are alive.”Laren came to the kitchen archway.He was painfully attractive.He leaned forward, his shoulder on the stout log pillar, and looked in, watching Desdaine.“Can’t say the same about you.” His eyes flicked downward at Desdaine’s hands.“Pour two.”Desdaine took down a second glass.He poured, relieved to see that his hand didn’t shake.He corked the decanter, took up both glasses, and offered one to Laren.Laren accepted the drink from Desdaine and didn’t throw it at him.That was a good start.Desdaine clinked his glass to Laren’s.“Salud,” he said.“Drop dead,” Laren said.Desdaine’s first round went down quick.He poured another drink and swept past Laren back into the great room.Laren moved with him.Desdaine looked up and feigned a great interest in the strings of tiny, white lights that lined the stout timber crossbeams -- anything to avoid looking at Laren.Real wooden logs crackled and settled in the fieldstone hearth.A robot fire tender remained discreetly out of sight.Laren dropped backward, letting himself flump into a deep, overstuffed, leather chair.He hung one leg over a wide, padded chair arm.He was barefoot.Apparently Beloved Captor - 38his jailors hadn’t given him shoes.“So, what’s the trick here?” He licked his hand where he’d sloshed his drink.The motion of his tongue caught Desdaine’s eyes.It made him hard.“Run for it,” Desdaine said, turning his gaze to the window.“What happens then?”Desdaine nodded at the frozen landscape outside.“Have you looked out there?”Outside was cold and forbidding as all hell.Laren gave a quick nod with a tight smile.“Noticed that.What do I have to do to stay alive? Really.”“Nothing [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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