This was what we called “dry humping” back in high school, she thought deliriously. She had been a good girl back then, not wanting to get into any kind of pregnancy trouble but she had done her fair share of this kind of activity in the backseat of her boyfriend’s car. Nobody had ever done it quite like J’are was doing it, however. He was grinding against her, rubbing the silky little panties right into her pussy and driving her absolutely crazy with the way he was nuzzling her neck.
If he doesn’t stop soon, I’m going to come! Imani realized, feeling dazed with pleasure. He’s not even really touching me—well, not skin-to-skin anyway—but I swear I’m going to come!
Inside her head, she knew this was wrong and the little voice of her conscience was screaming that there was no way she could do this with a client. But her body wasn’t paying any attention to what she should or shouldn’t do. Her clit was throbbing and aching and God, J’are smelled so good as he rubbed his big, hard, muscular body against hers…
Suddenly she was up and over the edge of orgasm, though she tried desperately to hold it back. Waves of pleasure flooded through her and Imani threw her head back in a moan of pure release.
“Oh!” she heard herself gasping. “Oh, J’are! You…you shouldn’t…”
But of course he didn’t stop. He just kept rubbing as she quivered against him, until at last he seemed to sense her orgasm was over.
“Oh,” Imani murmured again, but this time her voice came out in a weak moan. “Oh, J’are. We…we shouldn’t have… shouldn’t have done that.”
She could barely get the words out. After such a powerful orgasm, she felt exhausted—her whole body limp with the sudden relaxation of tension.
The big Nightwalker seemed to sense this because he climbed off her and pulled the covers over both of them. Then he settled Imani in the curve of his big body, spooning her protectively.
“Holding now,” he growled softly in her ear. “And sleeping.”
“Yes…” Imani yawned and snuggled back against him. Though she knew she shouldn’t spend the night in the arms of her client, she was so tired from all the excitement and stress of the day, not to mention the intense orgasm, she was barely awake. She felt she couldn’t have left J’are’s side even under the threat of being disbarred.
“Lights…off,” she heard him growl and the dim golden light which lit the bedchamber was extinguished, plunging the room into darkness.
But not complete darkness, Imani realized sleepily. There was a very soft glow coming from somewhere. Looking down, she saw that the black tattoo-like markings on J’are’s muscular arms, were no longer black. In the dark room, they were glowing a pale, shimmering silver.
It wasn’t bright enough to disturb her rest. Actually, it was quite beautiful.
He has his own nightlight, she thought fuzzily and then sleep swallowed her whole and she knew no more.
Seventeen
J’are woke with a clear head for the first time in months and the feeling that he’d been doing something he shouldn’t do.
At first he wondered why he was so comfortable. The concrete sleeping tube he’d been assigned in the hole was rough and dank and dirty, but he was lying on a soft, giving surface that cradled and cushioned his entire body.
And speaking of bodies, a female one was cupped in the curve of his own. But that must be a dream—he was never destined to have his own female—not here on Yonnie Six. No matter what old Mother Hownow had said.
Opening his eyes, he looked down and saw that it wasn’t a dream after all. The girl in his arms was lying on her side, sleeping deeply. She had creamy brown skin and long black eyelashes that curled on her high cheekbones. She had luscious curves too, he saw with approval—he’d never liked a female without something to hold on to.
The girl looked familiar somehow and he had the feeling he’d seen her somewhere before. Maybe in his dreams when he’d been buried in the hole?
But that whole experience seemed like a bad dream to him now. How long had he been in there? How long had his feral side had free rein? A week? A month? Three months? A year?
J’are couldn’t remember. It was all just a dark, nightmarish blur of beatings and starvation and fighting for his life. In a situation like that, it was easier to let his feral side take over—it was much better at keeping him alive than his fully-functioning cognitive mind.
Then she had come.
He looked down again at the girl in his arms. Seeing her in the courtroom had been like seeing a candle in the darkness—a candle glowing just for him. J’are had known she was his savior from the moment she Claimed him as her own.
Wait—had she Claimed him? Or had that been another dream? A misunderstanding by his feral side?
He frowned, his forehead wrinkling as he tried to remember. He could only get vague flashes of the night before…
The Goddess damned Horvath guards using pain prods on him and chaining him up so they could drag him into the courtroom…a judge with blue hair…seeing that yellow-haired bitch, Mistress Bittlebum, who had locked him in a pain collar and then sold him to Lady Zangelo, who was even worse.
She had used the pain collar and the pain prod on him over and over again and then he woke up, covered in her blood and they said he’d killed her. But had he? J’are couldn’t remember it if he had, he only knew that he’d been thrown down into the hole with all the other killers and scum, waiting his turn to be executed…
Wait…J’are shook his head. He was losing his train of thought here. Everything was a big muddled mess. He was trying to reconstruct what had happened to him last night from the confusing images
