Home > Survival's Price (Saurellian Federation #3.6)

Survival's Price (Saurellian Federation #3.6)
Joanna Wylde

Chapter One

Daverna Transit Station

Year 5342, Saurellian Calendar

Damian needed to get laid.

His c**k was hard as a rock, and he wanted to sink it into warm flesh.

He took a long slug of his drink, scanning the room for prey. It was an easy enough place to find women—hell, he’d been here a thousand times for the same reason. He surveyed the stage, judging each dancer carefully. It was a tacky place, the kind of bar where men went for one reason and one reason only. Sex. Cheap sex. The women dancing on the stage weren’t looking for commitment, and they certainly weren’t interested in relationships. They wanted cash. Fortunately, he had credits to spare.

His men had already found companions, but he held off for the moment. For some reason none of the girls looked all that good. They all seemed worn, as if they’d been dancing too long. He might not be fool enough to expect his companion for the night to truly enjoy his company, but he wanted one who at least took the time to pretend.

He took another drink, then stood and sauntered across the room. He sat down at the edge of the stage, hoping proximity would pique his interest. The woman before him gyrated listlessly, and he tossed her a credit chit, hoping it might make her come alive. It didn’t. She scooped it up without smiling. The music changed, and she stood, bowing briefly to the crowd before walking off stage. He sighed, wondering if he’d end up alone tonight after all. Bedding down someone like her would be more like masturbating than having sex. He’d jacked off too much for one lifetime already. A new woman sauntered out.

She caught his attention instantly.

She was tall, with long dark hair and dusky skin. She wore a spacer’s coverall, although he’d never seen a spacer wear one that tight. Her lips were rounded and pouty, and her br**sts swelled like two plump fruits just waiting to be squeezed. His c**k leapt in response.

He wasn’t alone in his interest. Every man in the room perked up, and she smiled seductively at all of them as she stuck one long, slender finger into her mouth and sucked on it, apparently judging the crowd.

Her face held a speculative look. He wanted to know what was happening in her head, he thought suddenly. She seemed so much more alive than the women around her.

She walked forward, swaying with the music, rubbing one hand up and down the front of her coverall while still sucking delicately on the other. She was still fully clothed, but there was something so incredibly sensuous, so dirty about the way she touched herself that her motions held more eroticism than anything he’d seen on the stage.

Her hips swiveled sensuously as she strutted down the runway. Here and there poles pierced the floor, rising up to the ceiling, and occasionally she stopped rubbing herself long enough to grab one, swinging her body around it as she moved. His breath caught in his throat as she came to a stop near him, backing herself into the nearest pole and rubbing against it with her ass as she slowly slid down to the floor. She crawled forward on her hands and knees until she faced him directly. She pushed herself up on her hands, thrusting her br**sts toward him, then licked her lips, allowing her heated gaze to trail across his face and down his body.

He swallowed, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. His pants were suddenly far too tight for this.

She blew him a kiss, then sprang back up to her feet and swung around the pole.

As she did so, she reached up and pulled apart the fasteners corralling her br**sts in the coverall. They swelled forward, barely contained by a red bustier. She turned away from him, grasping the pole with both hands and rubbing up and down it. She leaned back so far that her hair dangled against the floor.

Her br**sts pulled down out of the bustier, and for a moment he glimpsed her areola peeking out. She pumped up and down against the pole, her eyes closing in what appeared to be truly satisfying, personal pleasure. The music pumped in time, and he felt himself growing warm. He’d never seen anything so hot in his life.

After a moment she swirled back up, her face flushed, her breathing hard. He could have sworn there was a darkening patch between her legs. She hovered on the edge of orgasm; it was obvious to everyone watching. Rather than looking embarrassed, she seemed to revel in her sensuality. He realized with a start that she wasn’t there to titillate them, her audience existed to heighten her own experience.

She swaggered back up the stage, her back to the crowd, then turned her head to look flirtatiously at the men surrounding her. With a shrug, she let the coverall fall down across her shoulders, leaving her upper arms, shoulders and back exposed. She rolled her shoulders, and then pulled one arm free from the dangling coverall.

Raising it above her head, she turned back to face the audience, her body stretching and thrusting her br**sts out of the bustier once more. The thing was just a bit too small for her. She shrugged her other shoulder free, allowing the coverall to dangle down around her waist, the opening exposing just a tiny taste of her lower belly. Her hips, full and lush, seemed just rounded enough to hold the garment up.

His breath caught; he couldn’t wait for the moment when she’d shimmy it down, revealing what he knew must be a spectacular ass and endless, muscular legs.

Unwilling to lean forward like so many of the men around him, he propped one boot up on the stage, reclining back in his chair. She owned the room, there could be no doubt, and a part of him rebelled against that. He didn’t want to be owned, not by anyone.

He wanted to own her .

She swaggered back down toward him, as if reading the unconscious challenge in his stance. Halfway there she dropped to her knees again, dragging the drab coverall behind her. How could such an ugly garment be so sensuous? The closer she came to him, the tighter his breathing grew. A sudden desire to leap up on stage, to rip off her coverall and plow his c**k into her, hit him. Instead he took another long draft of his drink, forcing himself to breath slowly in and out.

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