Scrolling through the Shadownet newsfeed, with one eye on the floor, where a dancer wearing nothing but a glittery gold thong was wrapping herself around a pole, Keisha read the latest stories and notices.
Halfway down the page, she froze.
The brunette who’d just left her pleasure house stared back at her. The woman had tried to hide her face, but the Horn Punch had made her careless; her hood had slipped back when Keisha approached their booth just before.
It was definitely her.
Keisha breathed a curse.
She’d heard about the attack on the Mir-Brennan ambassador on Aura Terminal a few days earlier—but she hadn’t seen a picture of Jenna Mir-Brennan herself until now.
The Mir-Ferrins had put a bounty for forty thousand credits on her.
Keisha’s mouth curved then, excitement fluttering under her ribcage.
Her money worries could be over.
Pushing herself off away from the counter, she sashayed her way back out onto the common room floor. A punter beckoned to her, holding up an empty glass.
Keisha ignored him.
Instead, she made for a table at the back where four human males lounged. One of them had a woman perched on his lap. His hand thrust roughly between her thighs as the dancer squirmed, trying to free herself of his hold.
“Stop it, Merv,” Keisha snapped. “You know you pay extra for that.”
The man sneered, even as he obeyed her.
Keisha stepped closer to the table, lowering her voice. “Listen up … I’ve got a job for you boys.”
The tunnel outside the pleasure house was dimly lit, the air cold and musty. Ropes of lights stretched overhead, casting an orange hue over the pitted rock, although some of them flickered. There was no heating in the outer tunnels, for they were far from the central hub.
Jenna thought the cool air might clear her head, might ease the tingling in her limbs, the ache deep within her womb—but it didn’t.
Still grasping her hand, Malik led her away from the gaudily lit façade ofThe Hook and Horn. The tunnel was empty, although, in the distance, the sound of drunken laughter echoed against stone.
However, they’d only gone around two hundred meters when Malik stepped into a side passage, pulling Jenna with him.
The next thing she knew, he’d pushed her up against the wall, and his mouth was on hers.
Malik’s kiss was hot, hungry, and demanding, and she gasped, her lips parting. Jenna writhed against him, desperate to taste him, touch him.
Groaning low in his throat, Malik pressed his hips against hers, and she felt him—rock-hard against her lower belly; his erection was painfully evident, even through the material of his cargos.
Unable to stop herself, Jenna let out a needy whimper.
Whispering a curse against her mouth, Malik gripped her by the hips and lifted her up, sliding a leg between her thighs to spread them.
An instant later, he was grinding himself into her.
Jenna arched against him, yearning for more. She didn’t care that they were standing in a dark passage, that the rock was cold against her back, or that they were still fully clothed.
She wanted him. Here. Now.
Malik let her slide down the long, thick length of his erection, in a slow, sensual movement, and she shuddered, the pulsing ache in her womb almost unbearable now.
She pushed her hands under his cloak and dug around under his padded jacket and t-shirt, her fingers exploring the hot skin underneath.
All the while, he devoured her, his tongue tangling with hers.
