Mistletoe Madness (Red Velvet Christmas)
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Copyright ©2013 Mikala Ash
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A new world, a new life, freedom!
I breathed in the clean, fresh air and thanked God we'd made it. The relief of my party, as they descended the ramp behind me, was palpable. We'd been cooped up in a leaky space ship for five months, and whether we'd live to see this world was never certain. But we were here now, standing beneath a wide lilac sky, our feet firmly set on orange dust, and our collective gaze captured by jagged mountains in the distance. Beyond those dusky peaks was our new home.
For many minutes I stood silent, completely mesmerized. My senses were overwhelmed by the vibrant colors made almost garish by the crystal clear air, the unfamiliar scents, and the feel of cool wind across the face. Behind me, the excited voices of my party marveled at the new wonders.
Friends and lovers hugged each other in sheer joy. Laughing children scooped up the orange dust and let it fall, like talcum powder, through their fingers.
Surrounding the primitive spaceport was a crowd of locals who stared at us in open fascination. The women wore attractively long colorful skirts with fetching waist-length overjackets, while many of the men wore khaki leggings, and drab knee-length coats over white shirts. Every man wore a broad-brimmed hat on their head, and a gun belt at his hip.
A tall man detached himself from the group and strode toward me. I must admit I held my breath, because he was really something. If this was what this planet had to offer -- in the way of men, that is -- then my decision to come here had been justified -- a hundredfold.
My pussy, long deprived of cock, gave a throb of desire which sent a flush of warmth rippling through me, making my mouth dry, and face hot. The exuberance of my physical reaction both surprised and embarrassed me.
He was slim-hipped, long-limbed, and wearing smart-looking clothes clearly made from animal hide. He walked with an attitude of supreme confidence, as if he was part of this rugged landscape, not enveloped by it, as we newcomers were. I shook off the odd thought as he came to a halt before me.
Close-up he was stunningly handsome. Possessing a rugged clean-shaven and suntanned face, he was the epitome of the self-reliant frontiersman. He had a determined nose which had been broken several times. This defect didn't detract from his desirability, rather it enhanced it in a perverse sort of way. Pale blue eyes, so pale as to be almost clear, considered me with an appraising and, I was pleased to note, appreciative gaze. He tipped his hat. "Ma'am. Can you direct me to your leader?"
Despite the cascading waves of desire, I bristled at the question. Obviously he did not see in me what I clearly saw in him. Oh well, good looks is one thing, but good sense in a man is something else. I'd been foolish to think men out here on the Margin would be any different to those elsewhere in the galaxy.
I kept my voice level, unemotional. "That would be me."
"I'm the elected leader of my people. Christina Rose."
There was a long beat before his lips creased in a bemused smile. "Well, I'm pleased to meet you, ma'am." He held out his hand. "Brandon McCloud, at your service."
The feelings of desire rushed back, and I felt my face flush. So this was our wagon master and trail guide. I could have done worse. The warmth of his smile made me forgive him his sexist assumption. Perhaps I'd been unfair. When arranging our arrival I'd signed all subspace communications Chris Rose, so it was probably no surprise he had taken it for granted that I would be a man.
His tone of voice had changed slightly, from surprise to devastatingly charming. He was certainly adaptable, this Brandon McCloud.
I took his hand. My level of desire went up another notch, and we held hands for a few beats longer than acceptable in polite company. He must have had the same thought at the same time because he quickly released me, cleared his throat in seeming embarrassment, and lifted his gaze above my head. His expression became puzzled.
"What is it that troubles you, sir?" I asked, though I was pretty sure what it was.
"I see no men."
"That's because there are none."
"Are you hard of hearing, Mr. McCloud?"
He ignored my playful chiding. "Why, no, ma'am. But, forgive me. Did you say there are no men?"
"That I did, sir."
His expression became thoughtful. "How many are there in your party?"
"Seventy-one souls, sir. Fifty-two women and nineteen children aged between two months and eighteen years. Seven of those children are male. Did you not read the contract?"
He returned his pale gaze to me, but his consideration had become flint-like, and his smile had disappeared. "It made no mention of gender."
"Should it have?"