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by Roxi Romano
Lazarus Stone’s sort had been bred for sex, hardwired to respond to the dictates of lust. Which is why his cock twitched at the crude invitation issued from the dark alley. But he passed the street-sexer, his step not so much as faltering. He was thinking with a more evolved head tonight. He had to. He needed to find the one man who could get him off this foul outpost of a moon before someone figured out what he was and sold him to the highest bidder.
That’s why he’d come to the underbelly of this Goddess forsaken moon in the dead of night. Men who did business on the edge of the law did their business in places where even the law didn’t venture after sundown.
He turned up the collar of his greatcoat and strode through the smog hanging between the buildings, his target the faint glow of a streetlamp that marked the corner. There were a half dozen more dives yet to check, three of them on the next block. He hoped to find Marco in one of them.
The debris gathered against the curbing of a street built in an era that accommodated wheeled vehicles rustled ominously and Laz’s greatcoat billowed around him. Nice as it was to have his heated body cooled, any time a breeze blew across this barren moon, it meant a storm was brewing.
He lowered his head as he stepped into the dim glow of the corner mounted streetlamp, letting his hair fall around his face like a dark veil. Sometimes light wasn’t a man’s friend. The thought had barely crossed his mind when a girl with wild ribbons of blonde hair skidded around the corner, stutter-stepped to halt just short of running into him and grabbed him by his coat front.
"You gotta help me," she demanded.
"I don’t have to do anything," he said, tugging at the hold she had on him.
Footfalls echoed off the buildings lining the side street, muffled by the smog bank that hung over the city night and day. He glanced over her head at the corner. From the sounds of those rapidly falling feet, there were at least two of them and one of them sounded decidedly large. They were fast closing on the corner. Laz scowled. He didn’t have time to play the rescuer. Hell, his own freedom was at stake here.
"If you don’t help me," she panted, "they’re going to catch me."
He looked down at the girl, her forehead barely reaching his chin, well short of the women whose company he kept. A pair of huge waiflike brown eyes pleaded up at him. Maybe she was younger than he thought—a child even. The feet of her pursuers pounded closer. He groaned.
By the Goddess’ blood, he was going to regret this.
But, before he could take action, she yanked him by the lapels into the nearest empty doorway. He stumbled against her, flattening her against the door with his own body. High, firm, developed breasts pressed back against his chest. Definitely not a child.
She settled him back on his heals with ease. Strong, too, for such a bit of a female.
The next thing he knew, she was on her knees, her mouth level with his crotch. Cloaked by his greatcoat, they no doubt looked like any other couple having street sex. He silently conceded it was a better plan than the one he’d had…which was to fight her assailants while she ran.
Two men rounded the near corner and skidded to a halt behind them. One of them stepped up close.
"You see a little blonde run by here?" the man asked, his foul breath snaking over Laz’s shoulder and slithering across his nostrils. Laz winced.
"Hey, I asked you a question, Dick Brain." The man dropped a thick hand on Laz’s shoulder. This is what good deeds got a guy. Laz tensed, readying himself for the inevitable fight.
"Wait yer turn gents," the blonde on her knees at his crotch said. "I’ll be done with this one in short time."
The foul-mouthed hood’s fingers flexed on Laz’s shoulder, diverting the flow of blood to his groin where a hot wet mouth breathed promise of release against his cock. It had been two days since he’d released. Not long for a normal man. But he wasn’t normal.
Laz growled over his shoulder, "Back off."
The thug growled back, "I could pop your head like a fat pimple."
Laz’s muscles coiled for the fight. But the blonde’s teeth slid open over the cloth covering Laz’s shaft and her breath bathed his cock in a heat. He groaned, sagged against her mouth and caught himself with flattened hands against the door above her to keep himself upright. Though bred and trained to be ever on the ready for service, he’d also been taught restraint…and he had a reputation for phenomenal restraint. Yet, this girl all but brought him to his knees?
The hand on his shoulder tightened, dragging his attention from the mouth heating his cock. Laz stiffened. The mouth on his cock moved up and down, sliding its teeth lightly the length of him—making him swell against the chamois-like micro fiber of his britches. He bucked and groaned.
The other man, the one not touching him snorted. "Leave ‘em be, Dickie. A nuclear blast could go off and that guy wouldn’t notice."
The beefy hand lingered a moment longer on his shoulder, then slid away accompanied by a snarled, "Just a couple filthy street-sexers."
Then they were gone, nothing more than two sets of heavy footfalls fading off in the direction he’d come. Almost immediately, the girl kneeling between his legs released his hips and started to her feet.
Lazarus’s knees gave at the sudden withdrawal of the girl’s mouth. He staggered, caught himself and demanded, "What the hell was the blow job through the pants about?"
"To get you to sound like a man having sex," she snapped, fumbling around inside his coat.
He felt a tug on his OxyCan.
Snagging her by the wrist, he hauled her out from under his long coat.
"You weren’t thinking of stealing my oxygen canister after I helped you out, were you?"
She scowled and rubbed her temple with her free hand, her hair streaming over her hand and down past her shoulders like pale ribbons. "Is that what whacked me in the head?" She fingered his coat open. "What all ya got in there?"
He released her and took a step back from her prying fingers. "Nothing that is any business of yours."
She drew a ragged breath. "I could use a hit off that OxyCan. I breathed in a lot of this bad air running from those guys."
He eyed her short tight skirt and the stacked platform shoes she’d been running in…and the shapely legs that stretched between shoes and skirt. The overall package didn’t fit with those waiflike eyes that had pleaded for help. Street whore or party girl?
"What’d those guys want with you?"
She shivered and rubbed her arms through the slick fabric of a red blouse. "They wanted to party and I didn’t."
There was something about her answer that didn’t quite ring true. Maybe it was the way her eyes didn’t quite meet his as she’d answered. Or maybe it was the fact the lipstick-red blouse had been unbuttoned far enough to expose the upper edge of a red lace bra and a plump cleavage that didn’t match with the youthfulness hinting from beneath the heavy make-up.
Then there was the scent of her, a sweet, musky fragrance of female sex, strong even through the metallic odor that clung to this ore laden moon. Yet, there was also the rancid scent of fear about her. Working girl who knew how to barter or kid in trouble?
"So, do I get a hit off that OxyCan or not?" she asked, head cocked to one side and all-too-knowing eyes slanting challenge his way.
"It’ll cost you a couple credits," he tested.
She frowned then glanced down at his crotch. "I could finish that job for you. A hit of oxygen for a hand job."
He twitched involuntarily. No working girl had ever tempted him beyond control.
He studied her more closely. Without her platform heels, she had to be a full head shorter than him. Was that it—her unusual short stature? Most grown women on this moon hovered around the six foot mark…not much shorter than the average man height and he was average in height. This one wasn’t much bigger than… Goddess’ Blood, please tell me you didn’t allow some early-developed child to do this to his body.
"I usually get a hundred credits for that," she said, obviously misreading his hesitation.
She sidled close, the scent of her sex spiking, and stroked him with the palm of her hand. "Help me get off this rock and I’ll even blow you."
So much for her being a kid in need of help. Stature aside, she wasn’t anything the word girl conjured for him.
He resisted the urge to lean into the warm curve of her palm. "I just saved your ass, Kid. If anyone owes anybody anything, it’s you who owes me."
"Okay," she all but purred, giving a head toss that made her ribbons of hair bob around her shoulders. "I’ll do the hand job as a thank you. Then I’ll blow you for a hit of oxygen and fifty credits."
She snatched her hand away from his crotch, her coyness fleeing. "I’m not blowing you for a lousy hit of oxy--"
She started to cough, the dry kind resulting from poor oxygen absorption. "Go to hell," she hacked out, stumbling toward the corner on coltish legs.
He groaned. Goddess’ Blood, he was a soft touch.
Plucking the OxyCan from its inside pocket, he called, "Wait."
She paused beneath the streetlamp and looked back at him. He held out the OxyCan. She hesitated.
"What do I gotta do for it?" she asked, her voice raspy.
"Nothing. You can have a hit."
She eyed him suspiciously.
"Now," he commanded, advancing on her. "I’ve got places to go."
He held the OxyCan up in front of her. She closed her hands over his on the can and fit her mouth to the inhaler. Simultaneously, she hit the trigger and inhaled.
Her eyelids drifted shut and her head lolled back as she held the oxygen in her lungs. Directly below the streetlamp, he took the opportunity to look her over more closely.
No telltale dark roots. A natural blonde. That was an oddity in this world, an oddity that could make her a sexual commodity on this dark moon. She could well have been telling the truth about why the two thugs were chasing her.
Then there were the tear tracks furrowed through the makeup on her cheeks. Apparently she wasn’t as tough as she pretended to be. Or maybe she was more scared than she let on. She was young, though not as young as the wide eyes she’d lifting pleadingly to him had suggested.
She blew out the breath, opened her eyes, and tottered. He caught her by the upper arm. "Steady there. You took a pretty big hit."
"Yeah," she dreamily sighed. "It sure was good."
She blinked up at him, her eyelids at half mast and a loopy little smile on her plump lips. "I could still thank you."
She flexed her fingers in the air by way of explanation. His dick strained at the offer. But, between her unusual petite size and the mane of blonde hair flying about her head, this girl stood out like a laser beam. Even worse, somebody wanted her bad enough to send a couple thugs into this hell hole of depravity in the dead of night to chase her down. He had enough trouble of his own without being seen with a fugitive temptress.
Or seen at all, crawled the thought up the back of his neck.
He muttered a curse and glanced up at the tiny camera fastened high to the light pole and aimed down the street. Big Brother liked to keep an eye on all its neighborhoods and he’d been careless. If his face had been seen out in the world after curfew…
He took out his laser and shined it up at the lens of the camera. No reflection. Someone had painted over it. His luck had held. But he wasn’t taking any more chances.
He shook his head, released the girl, and stepped around her. "You’re on your own, Kid."
Copyright © 2005-
Roxi Romano. All rights reserved.