Star Wars: Eclipse of the Black Sun (The Corsair, Xanaphia)

[Xanaphia]

This shouldn't happen again.

It was hours still, before her senses acclimated to the implants. Hours filled with insatiable need and unspoken yearning. The rigorous training and conditioning of a Jedi clashed against the years of repressed desire, and the more Aurianna gave in, the more she wanted.

This can't happen again. The words, the warning repeated in her mind, every time they stopped to breathe. Each climax, each breathy recovery, drawing them both to satisfaction, until that little warning slithered into her mind again. They only had this night, this excuse of losing themselves to situation to explore everything they had to offer. Once they were back in their right minds, they wouldn't succumb again. They wouldn't risk everything for another night of pleasure. This shouldn't happen again.

The words were less convincing as she wrapped her legs against Jeoram's hips, pulling him into her again. Drawing her nails down his back as her own back slapped against the wall, a sweat-slick rhythm of enduring hunger. This can't happen again. Drowning in his eyes, his cool blue irises, would be too easy to give in, again and again. Closing her eyes, she pulled him into a kiss, imprinting the memory of his taste and his passion in her mind, in an attempt to inoculate herself from her fantasies. She'd had him, now. It would be enough. It would have to be enough.

Another orgasm, and she'd be satisfied. Another climax, another burning jet of his seed inside her. Just one more, and she'd be satisfied. She'd have to be satisfied, now.

This can't happen again.

 

[TheCorsair]

Mustafar

“Your predecessor,” Quentin remarked over his datapad, “was far too lax about things.” He bit into his smoked grythe on toast and chewed thoughtfully. “He let people get away with shit.”

“True,” Tiphane agreed, starting in on her second steak. “I told him that all the damn time.”

The harsh light of Mustafar’s sun burned at them through the polarized windows of the Vigo’s private dining room. The three of them - Linora, Kaydia, and Quentin - had been joined for breakfast by Tiphane, who had stayed the night. She was currently dressed in Linora’s borrowed white blouse and and grey slacks, sleeves and legs rolled up in a way that made her look like she was playing dress-up.

“I’ve been busy trying to consolidate power,” Linora admitted. “What sort of things.”

“Let’s see.” Quentin slid his thumb along the screen. “For example, we’ve got people trying to shake down or intimidate the prostitutes at the biggest brothels we run.” He scrolled further. “People refusing to pay up on bets and loans. Dealers getting hit and having their stash looted.”

Linora grimaced. “Great. Any suggestions where to start?”

“All of them?” Tiphane proposed with an innocent-looking grin of pure delight. “I round up a few of my heavies and start making examples of people?” She laughed, a sound like clear bells. “It’s amazing how cooperative people get once you’ve broken a few fingers, pulled out a few teeth, and tossed someone out a window.”