“Oh, Roark…” she breathed softly when he broke the kiss and dropped to his knees before her. “Please…”
“Have to test your sensitivity,” he murmured and then he was sucking her aching peaks, taking her nipples deeply into his hot mouth as Sammi moaned and carded her fingers through his thick, black hair.
Then his hands were on the button of her jeans and suddenly both jeans and panties were down around her ankles.
“Oh!” Sammi gasped as he pushed her backwards until she fell back on the mattress, which had been stripped and was now bare on the bed frame. She’d made arrangements to leave most of her furniture here, since her suite on the Mother Ship was furnished much more nicely than she could afford on her own. Now she was glad the bed had been one of the things she’d agreed to leave, since she was lying on it half naked with the big Kindred between her legs.
“Take these ridiculous things off,” Roark growled, tugging her jeans and panties out of the way.
Sammi moaned as he spread her thighs with his broad shoulders and her pussy lips with his long fingers. The little black half-sphere of the clit shield was still in place but it was clear how hot she was from the way her pussy was wet and swollen with need.
“Roark, please!” she moaned. “What are you doing?”
“Checking your wetness,” he growled. “Seeing if you’re ready to be fucked.” He slid two long fingers deep into her hungry depths and Sammi gasped and writhed against him, her clit throbbing under the little black shield.
“Please!” she gasped. “Oh, please Roark!”
Without warning, he pulled the black remote out of his pocket. Pointing it at her, he pressed a button.
All that morning the clit shield had been teasing her gently—the slow, patient lapping that kept her stimulated but didn’t actually make her crazy or bring her to orgasm. Now its intensity jumped from a one to a ten in an instant.
“Oh!” Sammi’s hips bucked involuntarily and she cried out from the sudden stimulation. “Oh, Roark, what are you doing?” she gasped.
Roark made no answer except to remove his fingers and replace them with his tongue. He wrapped his arms around her thighs and buried his face between her legs, his warm, wet tongue penetrating her to the core as he fucked into her as deeply as he could.
Sammi moaned and writhed against his hot mouth. She kept feeling like she was going to come at any instant but the damn clit shield kept changing patterns, vibrating her intensely for a moment and then gently lapping and then nothing at all for a few seconds just as she was right on the edge. It kept her from reaching orgasm while pushing her so hard she thought she would die if she couldn’t come. And all the while, Roark kept tongue-fucking her, lapping at her honey greedily as he pressed deep into her quivering pussy.
At last he drew back, his mouth and chin wet with her juices and his eyes still blazing.
“Roark…Roark I can’t stand this anymore!” Sammi begged brokenly. She hardly knew what she was saying—she only knew she needed to come so badly she felt like she was going to go crazy if she didn’t reach orgasm soon. “Oh please…please fuck me!”
He gave a short, sharp nod, as though to himself.
“Yes,” he said. “You’re ready.”
He stood up abruptly, staring down at her. His chest was heaving as though he’d just run a marathon and the bulge in his trousers was evident—clearly he was as turned on as she was, Sammi thought distractedly.
“Roark—” she began.
“Get up and get dressed,” he ordered, frowning at her. “I’ll bring the rest of your things to the shuttle. We’re going straight back up to the Mother Ship to strap you into the inseminator. It’s time—you’re ready to be fucked.”
Twenty-Nine
Sammi didn’t know what she had expected the prototype of the machine he’d been telling her about for so long to look like. But it certainly was nothing like what appeared when Roark finally unlocked the door to the very last room in his lab—all the way in the back—and showed it to her.
The inseminator was an intimidating device—made of thick black metal that curved down from the ceiling. It was centered over a lighted table, like his worktable, only this one was completely bare.
Black leather straps with metal rings and hooks hung from the curving metal bars and there was a kind of arm at one end—an arm attached to a piston, Sammi saw.
“You’ll be strapped in here,” Roark told her, drawing her into the room and pointing to the harness. “The machine will hold you in place as you kneel on your hands and knees on the table.”
“What’s this?” Sammi asked, pointing at the arm with the piston. Her voice was breathless in her own ears, as though she’d forgotten how to talk.