James Axler – Freedom Lost

Not that he needed to have a picture drawn for him. His senses began to ignore his aches and pains from the sec-droid battle and devote their attentions to a new manner of bodily caress.

Krysty took him in her mouth, gently, softly lolling her tongue around and around the swelling corona of Ryan’s rapidly extending manhood. He groaned. A gentle suction pulled at him as Krysty inhaled, while still keeping her tongue in rapid motion like a trapped hummingbird.

Such a move would raise an erection from a dead man, and even though he was beaten around the edges and his back had felt better and his shoulder hurt like a viper had bitten into it, Ryan was far from being deceased. Thanks to Krysty’s ministrations, he was feeling more alive by the minute.

“I thought you were taking a bath,” Ryan breathed, his own carnal desires starting to fully awaken. There was no hiding his interest.

“Later, lover. After we’re done,” Krysty said, her voice thickening as she stood and removed her outer shirt. She then playfully unsnapped her bra from the back, releasing the twin cones of flesh previously housed inside. “You like the topless look?”

“Come here and I’ll show you.”

Ryan allowed his eye to feast on the sight. He followed each indentation left in the sensitive skin where the straps of the bra had bitten into her voluptuous upper body. He wanted to trace each groove with his mouth and kiss away the reddish lines left in her pale flesh.

Krysty posed provocatively under his gaze.

“Why, Mr. Cawdor, I do believe you intend to take indecent liberties with me.”

“That’s the plan.”

Krysty pouted, then strolled over, her boots gliding sinuously along the thick pile of the room’s carpeting. She crossed her arms and placed her hands over her breasts, hiding the pink tips of her jutting nipples, but allowing some of the large areolae to peep through her splayed fingers.

“Think you can handle both of these?” she asked, bending at the waist and using her hands to create a plunging cavern of cleavage.

“I prefer to take one at a time,” Ryan replied. “Like this.”

He nuzzled her neck, working his way down to the tops of her bare breasts. He flicked his tongue along one nipple while using his fingers to lightly stoke the other. Fast, then slow.

“Mmm,” Krysty breathed. “You ambidextrous little devil, you.”

Ryan didn’t respond. His mouth was busy with other, more-important tasks.

Krysty felt his hands at her waist, feeling around her belt and the snap of her pants. She was about to reach down and assist in their removal when Ryan was able to unlatch the buckle one-handed and flick the snap open in an easy, fluid motion. She squirmed out of the jeans and panties as he held on to their waistbands, pulling them down as she moved.

“I’m ready, lover,” she breathed, looking down at him through half-lidded eyes glowing a dusky green. “From the looks of things, I think you’re ready, too.”

And then she was on top of him, joining him as their lips and genitals met in a lusty embrace of passion that began as a slow, steady rhythm. Soon, however, the motion broke out into a whiplash ride of thrusting that brought them simultaneously to the peaks of paradise.

RYAN WAS AWAKENED from a gentle doze by a light knocking at the hotel door. Instantly his senses came to full attention. Trouble normally didn’t come with a knock, but one never could be too careful. “You order room service?” he asked Krysty.

“No, but that’s not a bad idea,” she said drowsily. “Breakfast in bed.”

“Still night,” Ryan said, glancing at his wrist chron. “Not even eleven yet.”

The big man reluctantly untangled his arms from around Krysty’s sumptuous body, his bad shoulder drawing a wince across his face. He stood up carefully, pulling the covers over her splendid nudity.

“Who is it?” he called while picking up his SIG-Sauer from the nightstand. Ryan crouched at the base of the door and cocked the handblaster, waiting for whoever might answer.

“Me, Dad. Sorry to bother you.”

Ryan relaxed and stood up. “Just a sec, Dean,” he said. Ryan looked around the room, spotting and inventorying his shirt, coat, boots, then remembered he left his well-traveled trousers in the tiny hotel bathroom. “Let me pull on some pants.”