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An Excerpt From: CRAVING'S CHINOOK
© Copyright CHARLOTTE BOYETT-COMPO, 2008.
All Rights Reserved, Ellora's Cave
“I think you’ve had enough. You need to lie down,” she said in a tone that brooked no disagreement from him.
It was as though all the fight had gone out of him. He nodded, lowered his head like a little boy having been chastised by his mother. He was wobbly on his feet, however, and the nod made him stagger again.
“Easy does it,” she said with a grunt for his weight leaning on her wasn’t insignificant.
Slipping an arm around his waist, she led him out of the bar and toward the bank of elevators. The eyes of every person in the bar were locked on them. She remained silent though he was back to mumbling to himself again—words she surmised were being spoken in Chalean for she did not understand them.
Thankfully they were alone in the elevator as it took them up to the deck reserved for visiting dignitaries and high-ranking officers. He slumped against the wall, hanging onto the rail, still muttering to himself. When the doors opened, the captain of a starfreighter stepped back, astonishment flickering across his face.
“My compliments, Captain Rede!” he said. When he realized the man he’d greeted was three sheets to the wind and unaware he’d spoken, he looked to Tessa. “Do you need help, lass?”
“No thank you, Captain Bartlett,” she replied. “I can manage.”
“You’re sure? He looks to be a handful.”
“I’ll take good care of him, sir.”
“I’m sure you will, dearling,” Bartlett said with a wink.
She guided Ryn from the elevator and down the corridor, stopping at the room Sheila had told her had been assigned to him. Pressing her hand to the security panel by his quarters’ door, she steadied him for he was weaving worse now, the liquor finally having taken its toll.
“Ta me are meisce,” she heard him complain.
“What?”
“I’m shitfaced,” he translated.
“Yes you are,” she agreed as the automatic lights came on in the quarters.
She maneuvered him through the sitting room and into the bedroom. Managing to turn him around, she pressed him to sit on the mattress. His muscular body hit the bed with a resounding thud and he flopped backwards with an oomph, his hands to either side of his head as he stared up at the ceiling.
Tessa groaned for he was half-on, half-off the bed—his long legs splayed open. Because he was dead weight, it took some effort on her part to swing those legs onto the bed, turn him so he was laying the length of the mattress instead of across it. Urging him up so he could lay his head on the pillow, she tugged off his boots and socks.
“I shouldn’t have let him have the bridge,” he muttered again, flinging an arm over his eyes.
“Can I get you anything before I go, Captain?” she asked quietly.
“My coat,” he said, letting his arm fall behind his head. He glared at her. “Where the hell is my gods-be-damned coat, woman?”
She sighed. “I’ll fetch it for you. Do you want anything else?”
“I want my coat,” he said like a petulant little boy. His lower lip was actually thrust out in a pout.
“I’ll be right back with it,” she said, starting away again.
“No!” he snapped. “Have them bring it to me. You stay!”
Tessa almost groaned, caught herself before she did. She had no choice but to do as he ordered and went to the Vid-Com to call down to the bar.
“Is he out yet?” the barman inquired.
“No,” Tessa.
“Chaleans can hold their liquor better than most,” the barman said. “He’ll pay for it tomorrow.”
“I haven’t had supper yet, Ismael,” she told the barman. “Would you send up a sandwich and a glass of lemonade, too?”
“Sure thing. I don’t suppose he wants anything, does he?”
“No, he doesn’t!” came the denial from the bedroom. “He just wants his gods-be-damned coat!”
“I heard him,” the barman said with a laugh, terminating the call.
Tessa kicked off her shoes, headed for the couch but the captain ordered her back into his bedroom.
“Yes, sir?” she said as she stood in the doorway.
He had pushed himself up in the bed and was pulling his shirttail from his trousers. He growled as he fumbled with the buttons on his uniform shirt.
“Don’t work,” he said. “Wretched things won’t come undone.” His head wobbled on his neck as he looked at her. “Think they’re broken.”
She hid a smile as she went to the bed. Brushing aside his fingers, she made quick work of the buttons, undid his cuffs and helped him get his uniform shirt off. Surprised to find numerous large tattoos up and down both arms and one on his right pectoral she was shocked also to discover both his nipples were pierced, sporting small gold rings that matched the one in his left ear. She tried not to stare at them.
“Quit looking at my chest,” he mumbled. “Gods-be-damned women are always looking at my chest.” He looked down at himself. “What do they find so gods-be-damned interesting about my hairy chest?”
His hands were on the buckle of his belt but he wasn’t having any more luck with it than he’d had with the buttons.
“Here, let me,” she said.
He looked up at her with a smirk on his chiseled lips. “Can’t wait to get ‘em off, huh?” he said, eyeing her lewdly.
Not responding to the goad, she unbuckled his belt, worked the buttons of his fly open then put a hand to the center of his chest to push him down so she could pull the pants from his legs.
“You women are all alike,” he said, crashing back to the mattress with a grunt. “Always in a hurry to get my pants off.”
If she was shocked that he wasn’t wearing the regulation white underwear, she didn’t allow it to show. She was sure he was watching to see her reaction as his manhood sprang free of the pants. He was not a small man in that department and he was fully erect.
“Now look whatcha went and done,” he muttered, lifting his head to stare at the erection that was standing a full-mast.
Accustomed to men behaving like randy adolescent boys, she ignored him, taking his clothing over to the closet where she pushed them down a chute to be cleaned before morning.
“You can’t leave him like this,” he told her.
It was her job to please men, to pleasure them. She was a highly sought-after courtesan who earned a very respectable amount of money for what she did aboard the three R & R vessels—working thirty days on one, taking thirty off, then moving to the next ship. She was skilled at what she did, having been trained to be one of the very best at her craft. Nothing surprised her; nothing offended her. Whatever her client wanted, she would provide although she drew the line at allowing the men—and occasional woman—to hurt her.
“What would you like me to do, sir?” she asked.
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