Part 3 (2/2)

Maggie stopped for a minute, stunned. ”You...but can't you...uh, do it yourself?”

”Still weak.” His eyes fluttered closed as though in exhaustion. ”Please...can't move until...all the dust is gone.”

Maggie took a deep breath. Well, she hadn't gone into this rescue expecting to handle some stranger's business but that was hardly the point. She had started this and now she had to finish it. And besides, maybe she could just pour the water over him without touching anything at all.

That was what she intended to do, anyway.

Her hand shook as she raised the loincloth and she gave a little gasp at what she saw beneath. Even only half hard, he was big. Way bigger than anyone else in her limited experience-especially Donald whose equipment reminded her of a shy, skinny worm afraid to come out of its hole. In contrast, the prisoner had a python between his legs.

Trying to put the size comparison out of her mind, she concentrated on the matter at hand. As he had said, the prisoner was coated with the gray dust from his hip bones all the way down to his upper thighs. Clearly it had to come off.

She reached for a hand full of water and dribbled it over his naked hip but it barely touched the thick dust that coated him. Well, great-that clearly wasn't going to work. It was going to be a hands-on job, whether she liked it or not.

Taking a deep breath, Maggie got another handful of water and began to rub the area vigorously. But the prisoner caught her wrist in a surprisingly strong grip.

”Careful,” he murmured, opening his eyes to look at her. ”That's...sensitive territory. Be gentle.”

”Oh, of course! I'm so sorry,” Maggie exclaimed. Feeling even more nervous, she scooped up double handfuls of water and poured it over his crotch. But though the silver-gray dust ran off his flat hipbones in rivulets, the central area-say it, Maggie, she thought, his shaft-was not coming clean.

The prisoner seemed to realize this because he looked up at her again.

”Sorry, blondie...looks like you're going to have to touch it.”

”I...but I...” Maggie looked at him helplessly.

”It's all right.” He gave her a taunting little grin. ”It doesn't bite. I promise.”

”All right,” she said at last, her heart drumming in her ears. ”I...I'll try to be careful.”

”I know you will,” he murmured. ”You've got a gentle touch.”

”Thank you,” she whispered awkwardly. Reaching for a handful of water, she took a deep breath and stroked it gently along the length of his long, thick shaft.

The rod of flesh seemed to pulse in her palm but her hand wasn't nearly large enough to cover his entire length. She reached for more water with her other hand and spread it over his thickness, using both hands to work on him now.

The prisoner groaned low in his throat and his hips pumped once, almost involuntarily. Maggie felt her cheeks heating-it was almost like she was jerking him off!

But I'm not-not really, she told herself hastily as she got more water. I'm just getting rid of the dust. That's all. But if that was so, why was she now working in rhythm, stroking his shaft up and down, letting it slide through her curled fingers as the prisoner moaned and pressed up into her hands? And why was he now completely erect, a pearly drop of prec.u.m beaded at the thick head of his straining c.o.c.k?

”So good,” he groaned as she added more water and rubbed him even harder. ”G.o.ds, your touch is amazing. Your sweet little hands...”

”That's enough!” Maggie stopped abruptly. ”You're all clean now,” she went on, when he looked up at her uncertainly. ”You...you should be able to get it up. I mean, get up,” she amended hastily, her cheeks burning. G.o.d, how was she going to explain this to Donald? What would he say when he knew what she had been up to?

This wasn't part of the plan, she thought wildly. None of this was. I was just supposed to get the doc.u.ments and go back to the s.h.i.+p. So how had she ended up kneeling on the floor, jerking off a man she'd never seen before except in her dreams?

Maggie had no idea but she did know somehow that this wasn't over yet.

He looked up at her, her adorably flushed cheeks and her tousled curls. Her oculars were slipping down her nose and he could almost make out the color of her eyes. He wanted a closer look but he sensed she wouldn't be up for that right now.

G.o.ds, her little hands had felt good on him! So soft and gentle and tentative but strong too, when they needed to be. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been touched in such a way. Mostly all the females that had been sent to him while he was still fighting were for breeding purposes only-none of them stayed long enough to form much of an attachment.

But this little one-the girl of his dreams-wasn't hardened or jaded like the females he'd been with in the past. She was innocent and sweet yet very brave. Touching him embarra.s.sed the h.e.l.l out of her but she'd done it anyway, because she knew it was the only way to help him. If only she'd helped him a little longer, he was certain he would have lost control completely.

Maybe it's better she stopped when she did, he thought darkly.

Wincing, he put his fingertips to his throat, where the black leather inhibitor had been for so many years. What would he be like without it? He only dimly remembered the incident which had prompted his master to make him wear it in the first place but it hadn't been pretty. He had never been allowed to take it off-not even in the arena when he fought at the Blood Circuit. He would never hurt this sweet, shy girl who had saved him-not on purpose, anyway. But without the inhibitor, he wasn't sure what the h.e.l.l he might do.

Well, the first thing to do is get out of here before Pope'nose shows up. True enough, and if his rescuer was really as innocent as she seemed, she might need some rescuing of her own to get out.

Shaking off the morbid thoughts, he rose to his feet and held out a hand to her.

”Come on.”

She looked up at him uncertainly. ”What, you're better? Just like that?”

He shrugged. ”You washed off the verium. My strength is returning.”

”Uh-huh.” She looked skeptical but allowed him to help her to her feet.

”Good.” He nodded. ”Let's go-you're coming with me.”

”Wait a minute, go where?” she protested. ”I never said I would go anywhere with you. I...I don't even know your name.”

He sighed. ”This isn't the best time for introductions but I was called Korexiroth during my time at the Blood Circuit.”

”Ooookay,” she said slowly. ”That's quite a mouthful.”

”It means The Demon.” He watched her closely, wanting to see if she was afraid of him. But though his fighting name had struck terror in the hearts of countless opponents, she still showed no fear. Brave little thing.

”That's...interesting,” she said at last. ”Maybe I could just call you Kor for short? Unless you go by something else when you're not in the, uh, Blood Circuit, whatever that is?”

”Before I was The Demon, my master just called me 'slave.'” He shrugged. ”I don't have any other name.”

”Kor it is,” she decided.

”Kor it is,” he repeated gravely. He wondered if she knew that the giving of a name const.i.tuted owners.h.i.+p. She had, in effect, just claimed him. Kor didn't know how he felt about that-though he'd been raised a slave, a part of him had always remained free. What was it about this little female with her blonde curls that made him think she could tame that part and make it her own?

Don't be stupid, he told himself firmly. She's just a girl. True, you dreamed about her and she rescued you but there has to be some explanation for that. Maybe something to do with that d.a.m.n Dream Gas they're all using here all the time.

”So what's your name?” he asked, trying to move on.

”Maggie.”

”Maggie...Maggie...” He rolled the name on his tongue. ”I like it. What does it mean?”

”Mean? Uh...” She shook her head. ”I don't know. We don't...names don't always mean something where I come from.”

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