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by Josef Koelbl III

    He lay on the bed, sheet covering his stomach, arms up, head resting on his hands. He turned his head to look out the large sliding glass door, over the balcony and out into the night sky. He could see one of the horns of the huge statue of Talos and beyond that the swirling blue-green force field wall that separated Talos Island from Skyway City. He looked at his ceiling, flame escaping from his eyes, and sighed as the wall’s churning colors strayed through the open drapes.

    Tropic waited, unmoving, concerned but not worried. She had been gone most of the day, attempting to make things right among her Sisters, to take back the Knives from “one not worthy” as she was so fond of saying. He frowned, noticing the time on the glowing clock by his bed. One a.m. He exhaled heavily from his nose. He would wait until daybreak, then investigate...discreetly. He did not wish to get involved but if she were...well...worry about that when I need to, he thought.

    The fiery hero heard the click of the glass door in his living room and then the happy yip from the little dog. He smiled quickly, his lips returning to their usual grim set. She had returned. He lay still, unmoving.

    The bedroom door opened and she stepped in, all heat and anger and rage and power wrapped within her small, hard body. She was barely five feet two, a coiled spring of danger that thrilled him each time he saw her. Sister Hecate walked to the bed and rested her sword against the wall. Her skintight grey stealth suit was torn in several places and splotched with fresh dark blood. Tropic stared intently for a moment, relieved to see that none of it was hers.

    “Its done, then?” he asked, turning his flaming eyes once more to the ceiling.

    “For the most part,” she nodded, bending to scratch the little dog behind its ears. “There will be more to do...but things are set right.” Hecate unbuckled her belt, crossing to the chair by the door. The master bedroom was large, one wall dominated by the glass door, the king sized bed against another, two white-washed wood night stands on either side. A dresser with a large mirror, the chair next to it where she placed her belt. A television in one corner, no pictures on the walls, a door leading to a bathroom on the remaining side. She unstrapped the sheathes and knives from her legs, placing them on the chair. Her boots were tossed beside it.

    She turned to him and smiled. “I need a shower. I stink.”

    “I was too polite to say anything,” he answered.

    “Ha...polite,” she grinned and headed toward the bathroom, pulling the top of the suit over her head as she walked away from him.

    Tropic watched her go. Her body was covered with fine white scars, the badges of a thousand thousand battles fought and won. His face hardened as it always did when he saw the others. Three deep, long, angry scars, crossing her back by her shoulders. He had seen enough to know they were the hard marks of a whip. Before the Goddess Artemis had given her her long life, she had been severely beaten. Every time he saw the old wounds he wished he could return in time to that moment and give her tormentor a lesson in ‘torture’. He shook his head and stared at the ceiling once more as she closed the door behind her. He heard the water run, washing the grime, sweat and blood from her. Silence, except for the rushing water, and he watched the aqua colors dance over his walls.

    “Una Paloma Blancaaaaa...aieeee...eeeee....”

    The sound rent the air. Tropic and the little dog both started violently.

    “I’m just a bird in the skyyyy

    They both turned and looked at the closed door to the bathroom. She was singing in the shower, loudly and horribly off key.

    “Una Paloma Blanca....

    Tropic looked at the dog. The little fellow stared at the bathroom door for a moment, then at Tropic and then ran underneath the chair, covering his face with his paws.

    “Coward,” the fiery hero smirked. He winced as she began the next stanza but mercifully the water shut off and the room was filled once more with blessed silence. Tropic lay back again, hands behind his head, fiery eyes staring upward.

    The door opened and he glanced over. She stood in the bathroom, a towel wrapped around her, under her arms and touching the tops of her thighs, vigorously drying her short blonde hair with another. She tossed the towel aside out of view and walked slowly into the bedroom.

    Hecate stopped next to the bed, arms by her sides, a small half-grin twisting her pouting lips. Tropic turned his head to her. Their eyes met, his full of fire; hers hooded with desire. She grasped the towel covering her lithe form and dropped it to the floor.

    The assassin stood naked before him, her hands caressing her hard, tight skin, moving down until they reached her muscled thighs. Her right hand strayed to her sex, her finger dipping between her hairless folds, slowly, gently stroking. Her other hand traveled up, cupping, squeezing her left breast, her nipple now hard, her thumb and forefinger pinching and pulling the taut, sensitive nub.

    Tropic stared intently, expressionless, as she took the moist, glistening fingers from her core and rubbed her right breast, her wetness now visible as she covered her areola and nipple with her desire. She smiled, an evil little grin which only served to highlight the need evident on her face.

    Hecate crawled into the bed, up on one elbow next to him and kissed him ruthlessly, her soft full lips pressing hard, her tongue forcing itself into his mouth. Tropic felt her teeth as they nipped at his lips, her tongue and his entwined, together, joined. She pulled away and he felt her hand as it traced its way down, under the sheet and over the hard defined muscles of his abdomen.

    She smiled as her hand closed around him, thrilling to his hardness. Hecate grasped him tightly, feeling the hot thrumming of his heartbeat as she stroked him slowly. She looked at him from the corners of her eyes, her breath catching as she felt him grow harder in her hand. “C’mon,” she whispered, “you can’t tell me you don’t want to.”

    He lay motionless, staring into her half closed pale blue eyes. Then, suddenly, he grabbed her shoulders, lifting and pulling her over him to the other side of the bed. Hecate flew through the air with a squeal, laughing as she landed next to him. Tropic kissed her, the fire flowing from his eyes lighting her face. They lay facing each other, side by side, and his leg came up between hers, his thigh bumping heavily into her hot center. Hecate moaned as she felt the weight pressing into her sex and her hips moved involuntarily, rhythmically, feeling the pleasure spread throughout her body. The assassin moaned again as she pressed her smooth womanhood into him, her desire wet between her legs and smearing onto his muscular thigh.

    Tropic’s mouth was still clamped to hers, letting her pleasure herself, enjoying the feel of her. He broke the kiss and rolled over her, spreading her legs wide and kneeling between them. He looked down at her, her short, spiky blonde hair still damp, her lips parted. Her small breasts rose and fell with each heavy breath, her nipples hard and tight with need. She was spread wide before him, her beautiful center hot and wet in her unashamed eagerness.

    Hecate watched him closely, her eyes sensually caressing his red skin, seeing his erect member bounce with each pulse of his heart. She reached for him, closing her hand around him once more, squeezing tightly and fondling him with long, hard, deliberate strokes. His lips parted, the pleasure evident on his face as he watched her. Her hand stroked him once more and she let it trail away, her fingertips tracing up his length to the tip, already glistening with his clear, slippery ardor.

    “C’mon,” she whispered hoarsely.

    Tropic leaned forward, bending over her, hot tongue licking over her belly, between her breasts, her neck and finally over her lips. Then he was on top of her, pressing himself into her with one long, slow, deep thrust. She gasped as he filled her and moaned as he began to move inside her, feeling him not only at her Venus but throughout her body. Hecate wrapped her legs around him, her heels pressing against him, trying to pull him in further, deeper. Her hands gripped his shoulders, her mouth kissing his chest, his neck, his face.

    “C’mon,” she grunted urgently, her hips grinding faster.

    Tropic quickened his pace, faster, deeper, driving himself forcefully into her velvet center. Her arms went around his back, her legs wrapping completely about him. She buried her head in his shoulder as her hips gyrated recklessly.

    Her body tensed, pushing hard against him. Her head flew back, eyes half closed, mouth open and her body jerking involuntarily as she peaked, the massive spasm rocking her senses. Tropic continued ruthlessly, unrelentingly pounding into her, feeling the bands of her sex tighten and release and tighten again with her pleasure.

    “Wait...wait...slow...,” she breathed, still twitching beneath him.

    He slowed but did not stop. His warm hardness moving gently inside her as she rode the waves of her orgasm. The assassin lay before him, her arms dropping away from his shoulders, her breath coming in great gulps as her body still shook every few moments with the receding tide of her manumit.

    Hecate stared deep into the flaming orbs of her lover and smiled a feral little grin, her flashing white teeth showing. “C’mon,” she grunted again, kissing him so hard it almost hurt, her tongue forcing itself deep into his mouth.

    Tropic grunted into her mouth and plunged deep into her. She squealed again at the suddenness of his entry, at the feeling of his hard length inside her. He banged into her, faster and faster, and she could feel him grow larger inside her wet canal. She felt the wave beginning again, rising from her toes to her stomach and she whispered against him, “C’mon...”

    Tropic drove into her faster, deeper, harder, feeling the warm bubble of his desire nearing its destination. With one final thrust he clamped his lips to hers and released himself within her, pulsing again and again, groaning against her mouth. She peaked again as she felt his thick fluid fill her and she pressed tightly against him, trying to force him deeper.

    They lay together, kissing lightly, holding each other close, their bodies still joined, one inside the other. Tropic still moved slowly within her, Hecate still trembled beneath him, both thrilling in the feel of the other.

    Finally, Tropic rolled to his side, his arm under her holding her close, his spent member slipping from her wet folds. Hecate curled up beside him, her head resting on his shoulder, one hand gently caressing his chest. He stared at the ceiling, the churning blue-green of the force field wall still dancing overhead.

    And as they drifted off to sleep, he heard her say softly, “See...I told you you wanted to.”


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