Survivals Price Read Free Page B

describe her power. He didn’t know how she did accomplished it, but feeling this black-haired witch’s body rubbing against his clothed cock was the most erotic experience of his life. Now the lady collapsed against him, seemingly as overwhelmed as he was.
    He wrapped his arms around her, lifting her and carrying her the few steps across the room to the couch. He could feel how startled she was when he lifted her; her entire body tensed. He expected her to soften, though, so it came as a surprise to him when she pushed against him. She didn’t want to be held.
    He lowered her to her feet and watched as she smiled up at him seductively, as if to erase the brief moment of tension. How interesting.
    She didn’t like to lose control. The thought brought him up short, filled with implications. Did she enjoy performing, experiencing orgasm with a client because it genuinely felt good, or was it because of the rush of power it gave her? He thought about the room full of men, chanting, following her with their lustful gaze, throwing credits up on the stage. No wonder she had come so powerfully before them… It was sobering.
    “It’s my turn,” he said suddenly,
    “What do you mean?” she asked, her voice playful. “Do you have some special request? Shall I do something for you? To you?”
    “No,” he said. “I want to do something to you. It’s my turn to give you pleasure.”
    That brought her up short.
    “I’m afraid I don’t understand,” she said softly. “I’m here to work for you. That’s what I do. My pleasure is really no concern of yours.”
    “Oh yes, it is,” he said, his voice low and smooth. That facade of hers cracked again, and he held back a smile. She was genuinely uncomfortable, and completely off base.
    “You’re here at my pleasure for my purposes. This is what I want.”
    She shook her head, tensing even more, and for the first time he realized something wasn’t quite right. She really didn’t want him touching her.
    “What’s going on here?” he asked, his voice suddenly serious. Her eyes darted away from his and instincts honed by his years of survival kicked into play. Where a moment earlier she had smiled seductively, now she whirled on him, whipping an almost invisible silvery thread that had been hidden in the seam of her thong. Ionic whip, his mind whispered, and he leapt back. She held one of the most dangerous and difficult weapons he’d ever seen, a whip only a handful of molecules thick. Sharp enough to slip right through almost any substance.
    He backed up against the door, too startled to do more than fumble at the latch, but it wouldn’t open. She must have locked him in. Adrenaline rocketed through his body and his mind raced through possible plans of action. This time when she came for him, he was ready.
    He dodged her once more, feinting to the left.
    She moved quickly, adjusting automatically for his new position, and the whip snapped out with deadly intent, faintly humming.
    He cursed, leaping again, then rolling across the floor in a blur. He had to disarm her or he wouldn’t survive the next 60 seconds. She wielded the whip as if born to it—he’d never seen anything like it.
    Except in holos of his own practice sessions.
    As he sprang back to his feet, he reached down and pulled his own whip out of his boot. Light, undetectable, infinitely dangerous, it was the perfect weapon—no security device invented could detect one. He always carried it with him, even in portside strip clubs. You just never knew when you’d come under attack.
    As she raised her arm to lash out again, he flicked his hand and a second humming noise filled the room. He saw her eyes widen, first with pure shock and then delight. She burst out laughing as their whips clashed mid-air, tangling and sizzling as they wound around each other like angry snakes.
    The only thing that could neutralize an ionic whip was another ionic whip.
    “You’re better than I imagined,” she said lightly.