Excerpt: Sexarchate: The Hot Equations
The space warlord Tel Zair was a magnificent woman—both in her shining carapace of battle armor and out of it, strapped naked to a remaking table in the Sexarchate’s most secret dungeons. Her jet-black hair streamed over her toned shoulders; her tawny olive breasts heaved, full and unconstrained, with every rapid breath through clenched teeth. Odd, Solace thought, had thought, how every tiny imperfection (broken nose, lightning-strike stretch marks) only made her more exquisite.
Solace stood over her at attention, hands behind her back. “Any last words, traitor?”
“You will never be free, dear girl,” Tel Zair murmured, a cruel smile twisting her full lips. “Not of their rules, their boundaries, their schedules and shame. But most of all—”
And she ripped free of the cuffs to press against Solace’s carotid artery, to grab her hair and yank her mercilessly close— “You will never be free of me,” she whispered.
Solace felt the power behind each word, and her body trembled.
“No one can make you come the way I can. No one can make you weak the way I can. They hail you as liberator of a hundred planets, the finest military mind in existence, but I know you. Secretly, you cherish your weaknesses.”
The dream changed.
They were in Tel Zair’s private quarters above her shuttle, luxurious with fur and velvet, ornamented with holograms of planets they’d claimed as their own. Tel Zair had just stripped out of her battle suit. She wore leather leggings and a casually open shirt. Solace was bare and exposed except for a pair of synthsilk shorts with no panties, left on only because Tel Zair had wanted to see her needy cunt soak them through; as she ground desperately against Tel Zair’s powerful thigh, she was sure they were dripping by now.
Tel Zair’s hands on her hips stilled her. “When we’ve freed this whole planet, I’ll let you come.”
“I can’t think like this,” she’d whispered, squirming desperately, trying to place even a breath of friction on her throbbing clit. “Please—”
Except Tel Zair had smiled at her, lazy and lingering, and all thoughts of safewording had flown at lightspeed out of her head. “We both know you do your best work like this,” Tel Zair said, and plundered Solace’s mouth with an unhurried kiss. “Give me something to come home to after this next battle. Something to think about while another liberated village is reciting tedious odes to your name.”
“All right,” she’d whispered, and Tel Zair had kissed her and stroked her hair until she could move without gasping from sheer burning arousal, and helped her dress.
But now they were back in the chamber. And between Solace’s hands balanced the net of delicate mesh and syringes of custom-made viruses that would reduce the warlord’s brain to a tractable state, make her nothing more than a human fucktoy, a curiosity on some backwater world, or a trophy for one of the Sexarchate’s many museums.
And unlike Solace, Tel Zair had refused to beg. Even chained and captured and helpless, about to be stripped of all memory, all thought, all but the base sexual drive.
Her dark eyes flashed- not with power, but with sheer burning hatred.
“You’ll never be free,” she repeated. But this time she sounded a little uncertain.
“It doesn’t matter,” Solace answered. “The concept of freedom is a lie.”
And she put the cap onto Tel Zair’s head and flipped the switch.
Solace awoke alone in the darkness, tears in her eyes. She gasped for breath, but quickly brought herself under control. She was in her luxurious private suite on a Sexarchate fleet flagship, between silk sheets of a bed so large she could have called in an entire squad of Warriors and hosted an orgy. The plan was progressing as she’d envisioned it. Everything was fine. The nightmares would fade with time and sedatives.
Except. As Solace lay there in the darkness, bringing her breathing back under control, she realized she was throbbing with arousal, dripping wet.
Suppressing an exhausted groan, she flopped onto her stomach and slid a perfectly manicured hand down her cotton drawers. Solace was the third-best fencer in twelve galaxy sectors, with a body to match: finely honed muscles, perky B-cup breasts, and a flat, toned stomach. And below that?
She was slick. Dripping. She could even smell her own arousal.
How long had it been, anyway?
Well, whispered the traitorous little voice at the back of her mind, how long has it been since you betrayed your last lover?
She ground down against her palm, hearing her own fast, needy breath, and moved to slip a finger inside her wet cunt—
“Solace,” the house AI of her villa chimed.
“Checking in,” she groaned, letting herself yawn. “What is it?”
“Your vitals have spiked in a manner consistent with unsatisfied sexual arousal. Would you like to requisition a sex worker?”
Blinking blearily in the light the AI had turned on, she wiped her hand on the sheets. “I can manage to find someone on my own. Thank you, AI.”
She was still throbbing. Still pulsating with want. But now? Fuck it, she was too exhausted to make getting off worth the effort. Not with the guilt creeping in every time she twisted her pale amber nipples or yanked her dark, sleek hair.