Title: Sasha's Calling
Author: T. C. Archer
Genre: Erotic science fiction
Publisher: Set Publishing
Length: 128 pages
Spy for hire Sasha Smirnov has stolen classified data. One man stands in her way of escape: sexy diplomat Dirk Roscoepilot. A sizzling kiss burns him into her memory—and her body. She stows away on a spaceship, only to find Dirk is the pilot. She doesn’t count on the passion that explodes between them, or the choice that forces her into his bed. If she is to save her planet, Sasha must get as far away from Dirk as possible.
A man waiting for an elevator came into view up ahead. Sasha slowed. A nervous flutter closed around her heart. If the Pinks got too close, she might be able to use this man. His golden hair cut precisely at the nape of his neck gave him a surgical look that didn’t—couldn’t—detract from broad shoulders emphasized by the fashionable lime green Nauru jacket he wore. He stood a head taller than her one and three-quarter meters. A triwheeled robot like those ambassadors used as aides waited two paces behind him.
The man shifted and Sasha slid the bodysuit zipper down another fraction of an inch as he turned. The bot followed suit, stupidly mimicking the movement. The man’s gaze met hers and her breath caught. The ambassador either wore contacts or had surgically implanted chrome irises, but the polychrome eyes that followed her approach didn’t disguise the intense stare. Despite the fact her breasts strained against her suit, his gaze never wavered from her face. Damn her luck. She’d encountered the only male on Centor who had morals.
The footfalls of the Pinkertons behind her grew louder and more footfalls sounded from around the curve ahead. She flicked a glance down the corridor. No doors or branching hallways were visible, only the elevator that hadn’t yet arrived. Her pulse spiked. Trapped.
Sasha slowed to a stroll, the ambassador’s gaze still fastened on her. She could almost see herself in his eyes. Centorians were known for being loose. She was about to test just how loose. Sasha stepped up to him, seized his lapel-less jacket, and pulled him down so they were face-to-face. If nothing else, she was an opportunist.
Lips crashed onto lips. His were firm, hers demanding. She pressed closer, her pistol nestled out of sight of any passer-bys, and drove him back against the intersection between the elevator and the wall. His tongue touched the seam of her lips. She startled. Well, well, her savior was an opportunist too, and not so moral after all. She thrust her tongue into his mouth. Moist warmth tasted faintly of anise and green tea. Desire rippled through her.
A low groan rolled from his chest and straight into her sex. His erection stirred against her belly. Oh yes. She rose on tiptoes, and he bent. Undulating her hips, she envisioned his solid cock sliding between her legs. Firm hands cupped her ass, and her breath caught when he lifted her more intimately against the promised goods. Lust pooled in her belly.
A formation of ten uniformed Pinkertons rounded the curve as five more came running around the other side. Watching the reflection in the ambassador’s chrome irises of the scene behind her, Sasha saw none of them wore battle armor. They weren’t the ones looking for her, but were probably running to some other emergency. They rushed past without giving her and the ambassador—Hey! The ambassador was staring back at her.
She narrowed her eyes, not breaking the kiss. He clenched her ass and pulled her tighter. The feel of his hard cock sent waves of warmth pooling between her legs. Gods, he knew how to kiss. She pressed closer. The Pinkertons passed out of sight an instant before he closed his eyes, and another moan reverberated through his chest. That was more like it. Now if she could just keep him busy until—
The elevator dinged. The ambassador released one hand but kept a tight hold on her with the other. The elevator doors began their slide open, wedging her body deeper into the corner between the door and the wall. Sasha ripped away from his grasp, her breath coming in heavy gasps. He jerked upright, her gun gripped in his right hand. The elevator doors slid open to reveal an empty interior. They were alone, and he had her Omegatron leveled on her, his mirror eyes expressionless.
About the Author:
T. C. Archer is comprised of award winning authors Evan Trevane and Shawn M. Casey. They live in the Northeast. Evan has a Ph.D. in electrical engineering, and Shawn is a small business owner. Their collaboration began on a lark with the post WWII film noir story The Pickle My Little Friend, and has evolved into nearly a dozen works, which includes their new series The Phenom League, and Daphne Du Maurier winner the romantic thriller For His Eyes Only.
Tour Schedule:April 22nd- Herding Cats & Burning Soup (Review/Giveaway)
April 23rd- We Love Kink (Extended Excerpt Post/Giveaway)
April 25th- The Many Muses of MaryLynn (Review)
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