Chapter Eleven
TESSA DIDN’T hold out for long. She wriggled and squirmed and shouted and cursed him, but her tone was more husky than angry. Sometimes she even giggled and urged him on. In fact, Kahn suspected she was enjoying her wedding ceremony more than she would ever admit. He certainly was.
He took pleasure in slowly building her up, stroking her heat, touching her wherever and however he wished. She possessed the most marvelously smooth skin, and although she appeared delicate, she had a ferocity of spirit that he couldn’t help but admire—even as he enjoyed taming it.
“Kahn, I need you.”
“That sounds more like a demand than a request, woman.”
She raked her nails down his leg, the only part of him she could reach since he held her over his lap. He could have blocked her attack with his psi, but he wanted an excuse to retaliate. However, his own impatience got the best of him, and he heated her bottom with his psi instead of his palm.
Her lovely round bottom turned red, and she moaned. “I want you. Please.”
He picked her up, and she immediately parted her legs to straddle him. At the same time, she shoved him onto his back on the dais. Her aggressive move took him by surprise. She meant to . . . ride him.
With her dark hair flung over her white shoulders, her back arched, and her breasts lifted high, she was a vision of wantonness which both excited him and irritated him. She kept forgetting her place. But she felt so good, he had difficulty thinking.
“This . . . is . . . wrong.” He grabbed her hips. “The man should be on top.”
“Hold me.” She seized his hands, placed them on her breasts, all the while gyrating her hips, teasing him, taunting him.
No man could be expected to recall every Rystani rule when his head was about to explode. Need battled with tradition. He couldn’t let her . . .
With one thrust of psi, he turned on their suits’ null-grav and floated them. She shrieked in surprise as they gently bobbed in midair, but she adapted almost instantly. Clutching him with her knees, she never stopped moving, spinning them, rotating.
There was no longer up and down. No longer someone on the top or bottom. There was only him and her. And pleasure.
Locking her knees to his hips, her hands gripping his shoulders, she pivoted, swirled, and rocked. Wild and incorrigible, she took him inside her, murmuring, “Yes. Yes. Yes.”
When she spasmed around him, her pleasure rushing at him through her tempestuous psi, she took him with her, bursting with the force of a star gone super nova. With his heartbeat so rapid it repercussed like a drum against his ribs, his breath as ragged as if he’d competed in the fight of his life, he couldn’t think, only hold her against him as they floated.
She recovered first. Lifting her head from where she snuggled against his shoulder, she kissed his neck. “Thank you. You were spectacular.”
“Thanking me is not necessary. It is my duty to keep you happy.”
“Well, you succeeded splendidly.”
“You are not sore?”
“Umm.” She tightened muscles where she still clasped his tavis. “Pleasantly sore. However, if you give me a few minutes to recover, I could be convinced to go a third round.”
“You are incorrigible.”
She sighed. “Just making up for lost time.”
He let the comment pass. She had pleased him too much to argue. Besides, he liked the way she cuddled against him, like a feline seeping up heat. When he shut his eyes, he could pretend she was a clingy Rystani female, overwhelmed by her first sexual encounter, but trusting that her husband had done the right thing—not a brazen Earthling who had thanked him for pleasuring her.
They napped, and he awakened with her peering at him with a happy grin. “I never fed you the rest of the wedding feast.”
“There’s more?” His stomach rumbled, reminding him that he could use additional nourishment.
“Dessert. If you’ll set me on my feet,” she requested, “I shall see to the preparation.”
“What is dessert?” The translator didn’t seem to have an equivalent Rystani word. He set her down and headed back to the table.
But she shook her head and pointed to the dais. “Dessert is an after-meal sweet.”
He sat on the dais and watched her open the cooler. When the cold air came out, her breasts tightened to tiny hard nubs, a pleasant reminder that she had yet to learn how to operate her suit’s temperature control, which he had set on automatic. Tomorrow, he must begin their training sessions in earnest, but for now, he simply enjoyed the sight of her sweet-tipped nipples.
The dish she took out of the cooler looked odd. Scoops of creamy snow with a dark sauce on top and then over that a cloud-like, fluffy substance. But the food didn’t interest him as much as those pointy nipples.
“You look good like that. Perhaps I should alter your suit to keep your nipples cold.”
She stumbled as he put words to action. He expected her to complain. Instead, she dipped her fingers into the “dessert.” Her fingers came out covered with the cloudy stuff, the dark sauce and the snow. Then she flicked her wrist and flung cold droplets at him.
Annoyed, he reacted as any husband would have done. “Woman, you will clean up this mess—on your knees.”
She chuckled, the glint in her eyes telling him she’d expected his response but was pleased by it. Setting the dessert on the floor, she immediately dropped to her knees, and then she began to clean him—with her lips and tongue. The cold substance and the heat of her mouth combined with her playfulness shocked him into silence. What was he to do with her?
He didn’t understand her. She never reacted the way he expected. She should be begging his forgiveness. Instead she was enticing him to . . . He groaned as she licked a droplet from the inside of his thigh.
“Stop,” he ordered.
“Okay.” She agreed, but then she nibbled her way from his hip to his stomach.
“You should not—”
“I know.”
But she kept going. When she had cleaned up every morsel, she reached for the dessert with the tip of her finger and placed the cloudy stuff on each of her nipples. Then she leaned back on her palms, arched her spine and dared him. “Want to taste?”
“You are acting like a ritha.”
“I am acting like a wife who wants her husband’s mouth on her. Didn’t you tell me your duty as a husband was to keep me happy?”
“I did.”
“Well, I’m not going to be happy until you eat the dessert I prepared for our wedding feast.”
She could have tried the patience of a holy man, but Kahn had never been of that persuasion. He liked women too much to ever think of taking a vow of celibacy. Although she’d twisted his words, although he was giving her too much power by adhering to her wishes, he simply could not resist her enticement.
Instead of bending his head to her, he again used his psi power to lift her to him. This time he locked her in the pose she’d used to captivate him so that she couldn’t move. He shot her a heated glance and enjoyed the flare of interest in her eyes. “Ah, so tempting.”
Then he licked her breast, knowing the heat of his tongue combined with the cold of her suit would shoot tingles straight to her core.
“Oh . . . my . . . God.” Her eyes widened at the sensation.
He grinned. “This dessert is good. I could acquire a taste for such sweetness on a regular basis.” He reached for the dish and held it up.
“We were supposed to share.”
With a laugh and a psi thought, he parted her legs and floated her before him. “Oh, I intend to share.”
Then he lifted her dessert and began to decorate her, dribbling the concoction over her lips, her neck, her breasts and back. With a small psi adaptation the sticky mixture stuck to her, yet he made sure she could feel every droplet. The sauce at the bottom was rich and thick. He poured it between her parted thighs and watched her eyes go wide, the pupils dark.
Her breasts heaved and she licked her bottom lip, but he saw no fear on her face. Only desire. Perhaps he’d finally found a way to gentle his wild wife. He would pleasure her until she couldn’t resist him. While a woman from his world would have immediately capitulated to his will, Tessa would match him every step of the way, and surprisingly, he looked forward to what she’d do next.
With such pleasant steps to take, Kahn was suddenly in no hurry. He enjoyed his dessert, her moans of pleasure, her frantic need to have him again which he quite happily satisfied. Finally they slept, wound around one another in null-grav and despite his reservations, he found himself sated, almost content—until he remembered that he had promised to train her as he would a man.
TESSA STOOD facing him in the room he’d cleared of all objects, ready for her first combat lesson. She’d used her psi to change her suit into a simple white tunic and pants similar to the ones he wore. Obviously, she couldn’t fight in a skirt, but Rystani women did not wear men’s clothing. Kahn said nothing, again breaking the rules for her, his heart heavy with trepidation over this experiment.
Kahn’s people had chosen him as their Challenge candidate for many reasons. First, his father had succeeded in Rystan’s initial Challenge, and his peoples’ hopes rested on the belief that Kahn’s similar genetic makeup would again lead to success. Second, he was Rystan’s best warrior. From birth, his father then his grandfather had trained him to use the suit until tactics in null-grav had become second nature. But last year Kahn hadn’t competed in the Federation’s Ultimate fighting championships. Food had been so scarce on Rystan he’d spent the time hunting to bring in the meat his people required to survive another long winter. However, two years ago, Kahn had won the competition, defeating a wily Endekian in the quarter finals before routing a muscular Dullaxian to take first prize. Kahn had faced dozens of opponents but never a woman, certainly not a wife. His stomach knotted into icy cords at the idea of injuring her.
She spoke evenly as if understanding the difficulty he must now surmount. “Kahn, I know you find the idea of sparring with a woman disagreeable, but have you forgotten how I defeated you without the suit?”
He sensed she’d spoken the words to help him follow through on his promise. While he appreciated her gesture, he had to get past his aversion to fighting a woman.
She hadn’t bragged, either, simply stated the facts as she saw them. And he was having trouble reconciling the lover he’d held in his arms during their wedding night with the one who now spoke and acted with the courage of a warrior.
From their first meeting when she’d awakened in his arms instead of the warming chamber, Tessa had done the unexpected. When she’d defeated him in battle without the suit, she’d astounded him with her skill. She had to have undergone years of practice to attain her expertise, but he didn’t understand how one little female could have so much spirit.
“Kahn, there is much honor in training me to win the Challenge. Let me remind you that I have practiced fighting techniques my entire life. Rarely has a day passed that I have not sustained a bruise on my arms from blocking a blow or to my shins when an opponent blocked a kick.”
Tessa placed her hands on her slim hips, a gesture he’d begun to recognize as one which revealed her argumentative state of mind. “If Earth had chosen another candidate, you could be training a man who had no fighting skills.”
“That’s not the point.”
She was female. All woman. After the night they’d shared, he couldn’t forget the softness of her mouth, her smooth creamy skin, those lean legs that wrapped around him. His intimate familiarity with her wonderful body kept him from seeing her as anything but a desirable and feminine woman. And the fading bruise around her eye reminded him of her vulnerability.
“You would have had to begin training that man from scratch.”
“I was prepared to do so.”
Her eyes flashed a challenge. “Would you have killed him with your lack of skill?”
He shook his head. “Of course not.”
“Would you have broken his bones?” She persisted with a fierce logic that he couldn’t deny.
“Perhaps.” Accidents happened.
She shrugged. “Broken bones heal.”
“We have a bone regenerator on the ship.” The words slipped from his mouth before he realized his mistake. His instinct to protect her meant he couldn’t let her worry unnecessarily—even if that was counterproductive to discouraging her.
“So,” she paused, her tongue licking her bottom lip, “if you are skilled enough to prevent permanent damage, what’s the big deal? Pretend I’m a man.”
He snorted. “I did not marry a man. I did not promise to protect a man. I did not make love to a man last night.”
“You missed the operative word here. Can’t you pretend?”
“No.”
She rolled her eyes at the ceiling, clearly upset with him. “I like being female.”
“That I do know, or you would not have squealed with pleasure in my arms during our wedding—”
She lunged forward to punch him in the jaw, trying to force him to fight. He could have used his psi power to repel the blow but instead shifted to the side, automatically following his mental preparations to teach this first lesson.
“Again,” he instructed, realizing he could school her in the rudimentary fighting techniques without once raising a hand against her.
She came at him with a kick to his side.
“Too slow. Again.”
Knowing she probably wouldn’t call up her psi powers until she’d totally exhausted her physical energy, he’d planned to taunt her. Frustrate her. The technique to train warriors to use their psi had been designed to cause ultimate failure, similar to causing the sexual frustration used on women.
Tessa spun, back-fisting the spot where his head had been. Displaying an extensive knowledge of two-dimensional tactics, she’d anticipated his next move, and her foot collided with the psi shielding of his kneecap. After she’d attempted to sweep him from his feet, he implemented his null-grav and floated into the air. If not for her spectacular balance, she would have fallen after his abrupt repositioning.
He figured she’d soon lose her mental cool, but instead, she grinned. “I have got to learn that trick.”
She didn’t appear frustrated, but excited. He suddenly realized his basic tactics weren’t creating the emotions she required to tap into her psi. She was too smart, too experienced to lose her temper or become frustrated—unless he fought back. He should have known nothing with her would be done the easy way.
“Attack, again,” he ordered, wondering how long she would continue to obey him. “Do not stop.”
She shot an elbow to his protected ribs, stomped where his foot had just been, then followed through with a feint to his groin. “You realize it will take a full hour to wear me down?” That she knew he needed her frustrated was not good. Her knowledge would slow the learning curve. Stars! She was forcing him to up the stakes.
Annoyed, he taunted her. “You overestimate your conditioning and your skill, woman.”
She side-thrust kicked, recovered, and lunged full force with a forearm strike to his neck. “I’ll bet you another ritual bath that I last an hour.”
He shifted aside, letting her knuckles skim his flesh to give her a taste of success before he smacked her down. “What do I win if you fail to last the hour?”
“What do you want?” she countered.
“To train you as a female.”
“No.”
“No? I thought you were sure of your skills?” he pressed hard, hoping she’d take his bait.
“I don’t wager what I cannot afford to lose.”
By the Stars, she was too smart for her own good. However, perhaps after this session, she’d change her mind—that is—if he ever worked past his distaste enough to strike her. Every time he thought about her slender curves, her perfectly shaped breasts, or the way she’d spasmed with pleasure in his arms, he found the idea of hitting her abhorrent.
As if reading his mind, she taunted him. “This will take forever if you don’t counterstrike.”
“Prepare yourself,” he warned. But he was the one who needed preparation. He told himself to go easy. She had no idea of the force he could bring against her or the necessary skill required to counter him. The next time she closed the distance between them, instead of retreating, he shifted forward. Where previously she’d met air, this time she rammed into his full mass. His move was the equivalent of placing a wall in front of a charging masdon. He expected her to go down.
She did.
He expected her to stay down.
She didn’t.
Rolling, she smoothly shoved to her feet and attacked again, still doggedly obeying his previous orders. Not only didn’t she appear fazed or hurt, her eyes glittered with the challenge. She actually seemed to be enjoying herself. The more difficulties she faced, the more she thrived.
“I’m okay,” she assured him. “Do that again, please.”
“No.” He didn’t want her anticipating his moves or attempting to counteract them with the skills she already possessed from her Earth training. He needed her frustrated so she’d resort to her psi quickly, efficiently, automatically. However, she obviously had a higher tolerance for combat-frustration than he’d guessed.
“Is that all you’ve got?” She mocked him while knowing full well that he could hurt her, yet obviously trusting his skill and savoring what he would teach her.
Under other circumstance, he would have delighted in her spirit, but her core confidence increased the difficulty of the lesson he must teach. Once again, he’d have to push her harder than he would have liked.
Summoning his courage, he waited for her to advance. Picking his moment, his spot, and his angle, he gently blocked her attack. Her body shuddered as his mass stopped her cold, but like the trained warrior she was, she bounced, spun, and attacked repeatedly.
She didn’t break. She didn’t even hesitate. She just kept advancing, showing him a multitude of strikes and combinations, some so innovative he’d never seen them before. Using psi, he had the supreme advantage. If he’d stood rock still, she couldn’t penetrate his shields. Nor could she move at anywhere near psi speed. In comparison to the speed of thought he was capable of achieving, she moved as slowly as a prehistoric amoeba. Most importantly, the suit permitted him to see psi movement. Until she learned to use her psi, she couldn’t even see his movements. To her, he would appear to pop in and out of space. But once she opened her psi vision, she would “see” him go through space.
Yes, she’d used her psi before. But it took too long for her to concentrate and call up the skill. She needed to be able to use her psi as easily and instinctively as she used her muscles.
After fifteen minutes, her attacks had yet to slow. In thirty, she still wasn’t breathing hard, although a light sweat shined on her forehead. He had to give her credit. Her conditioning and stamina were excellent. Her effort clearly revealed that her fighting spirit was as much a part of her character as any warrior’s. He had to put aside his personal prejudices that no woman should have her skills and be grateful that she was willing to work so hard to find her psi.
“Kahn, you haven’t showed me a new trick in the last ten minutes.”
She jolted him from his thoughts. He’d been thinking instead of training her.
“Nor have you countered another attack,” she complained. “Surely you can do better?”
Knowing she was correct, he blocked her next ten blows. “Happy now?”
“I’d be happier if you’d fight back.” She grunted. “I’m fighting a shadow. This fight is boring.”
She deliberately goaded him, but he held his temper. “You’ve used your psi once before. Go to that place.”
“Can I stop and meditate?” she asked.
“No. Find the place you seek between punches,” he instructed.
“How can I tap into my psi while I’m attacking?” She still spoke easily, but perspiration shined over her forehead.
Her difficulty was his fault. He had not frustrated her to the necessary level. He chose among several options and raised her suit’s temperature.
She noticed almost immediately. “So that’s how you knew I wouldn’t last an hour. Take care, Kahn. At this temperature, I’ll dehydrate fast.”
She didn’t complain. Just issued him warnings.
“If you don’t like the temperature, do something about it.”
“How?”
“Use your psi.”
She front kicked his stomach. He grabbed her foot and swept the other leg out from under her. She went down hard. Grunted. Came back for more.
Circling him, eyes focused, she used the same kick, in the same place, as if daring him to try the counter move again. With ease, he repeated the technique and tried not to wince as she fell hard for the second time. She got up a little more slowly, but she didn’t hesitate to repeat the move for a third time.
She’d fallen twice, taking more punishment than he’d intended to inflict. But it was not enough. Instead of grabbing her foot, he deflected the kick with enough force to send her stumbling.
“You fight like a little girl,” he insulted her, knowing that he needed her to push through the discouragement and pain, or everything they’d done would be for nothing. He couldn’t permit her to stop now.
By now she should be drawing on energy she didn’t know she possessed, but she wasn’t tired enough yet. She launched a flying side kick at his head. He spun her in midair and slapped her bottom hard before she hit the ground.
“You just went back on your word.” Furious, she struck with a knife-hand attack to his throat, but even as her eyes glittered with anger she continued to obey his orders. “You would not have slapped a man.”
She was correct, and he didn’t like what he had done, especially since she’d followed his orders without question or complaint. However, the thought of using his fist on her still didn’t sit square with him, but she’d left him no choice. Either he taxed her to the maximum and drained her energy, or she would fail.
Reminding himself that failure was unacceptable, he threw a slow psi punch to her stomach. At the last instant she swiveled her hips, lessening his blow to a powder-puff tap.
She fired an it’s-about-time-you-did-that glance at him but saved her breath. Breathing evenly, she remained balanced on the balls of her feet.
By the tiniest degree, he increased the speed of his next psi punch. At the same time, he directed, “Raise your shield.”
His fist met no resistance except the conditioned muscles of her stomach tightening to protect internal organs from the punch. Ignoring the sick roil in his gut, he increased the pace. “Defend yourself.”
She moved to the right. He caught her with a blow to her shoulder. She lunged left, and he tripped her. Instead of rising to her feet, she attempted to sweep him down.
“Use your frustration. I’m thinking and fighting in slow motion, but you need to keep up.”
With a strange yell, she thrust a fist into his stomach. She’d used her psi!
He blocked with his shield. “Don’t lose that anger. Hit me,” he demanded, not letting up, despite the quivering he could see in her legs, the exhaustion in her eyes. “Faster. Harder. Use your mind.”
She breathed raggedly now. Sweat streamed down her forehead. “How much longer?”
“The lesson has just begun.”