Free Demonic Attraction by Kim Knox

Chapter One
    Anya Sigurdson stripped off her service suit and threw it over the console chair. She stretched, her tired joints popping. Moonlight silvered her naked skin and her gaze darted over the great curve of the moon the science platform orbited.
    A wry smile tugged at her mouth and she scratched at her tangled hair. She was at the end of her—what, sixtieth?—day on the Alpha-Volantis monitoring station with another thirteen days to go before she could head back for a brief week in civilization. She maintained the base so the lab rats back on Earth could monitor the giant white star’s monotonous activity. Lucky her.
    “Almost over,” she murmured, her voice echoing around the metal and shielded dome of her bedroom. “And I promise, I will spend a week on Theta-Scorpii’s third planet being as depraved as humanly possible.”
    She snorted and rolled her neck, easing out the kink from her spine. The array had a blip, an error, something that had her supervisor and his pet scientists squawking at her from a hundred and twenty light years away. She’d spent six hours chasing absolutely bloody nothing through the platform’s tight conduits. Anya let out a slow sigh. Yes, the pleasures of Theta-Scorpii-3 called to her aching body, where some hands other than her own would steal over her flesh to bring her pleasure.
    Tension coiled in her belly and she groaned. Every part of her ached and she didn’t have the energy to find relief. Her bed stretched out under the curve of the clear outer shields. She dropped onto the cool mattress, tugged at the sheet and rolled onto her stomach. The rasp of the bed sheet teased her hard, aching nipples. Anya cursed and crushed her eyes shut, fighting to sleep.
    The Academy of Sciences insisted on solitary assignments to their platforms. The reason given was too many staff engaged in illicit relationships that interfered with the performance of their duties. Anya snorted. Of course everyone knew it was the vindictive actions of the Academy’s director. His partner had fucked his way through his platform’s entire staff and the director hadn’t taken it at all well. So everyone else now had to suffer.
    She shifted over the sheets and the tension grew worse. Anya groaned and cupped her breast, her fingers pinching her nipple, hard. She sucked in a breath, the ache in her pussy deepening. “Thirteen days,” she muttered. “Thirteen and I’ll have a cock there.” Her hand snaked between her legs, teasing, playing, trying to ease the empty ache. “Or a tongue.” She swallowed. Shit. She could almost feel it. The lap of a hot, wet tongue sliding between the cleft of her ass, briefly teasing her hole before it sank, deep, deep inside her.
    Her heart pounded, her flesh tight at the incredible sensation. The idea of a pointed, rasping tongue had her pushing back against it. It pulled free and pushed in again and again. Orgasm flickered low in her belly and she had to be crazy as the idea of sharpened fingers gripping her thighs and pulling her wide flashed through her. The twisting tongue plunged into her pussy as long and thick as a cock. But better. So much better.
    Anya’s breaths came in short bursts, orgasm so close she could almost taste it. Was she asleep, half awake, delusional? She didn’t care. If exhaustion drove her to this, she would work herself to the bone.
    She turned her head to watch her hips bucking. The sheet shifted over her ass as the imaginary tongue fucked her well and hard, the fierce grip of clawed hands keeping her wide open. Clawed? All right, that was different, but really, who cared? Because the fantasy worked and she was about to come and come hard—
    The sheet caught on her knee. Anya didn’t care, there was only the moon, always watching, to see her naked, writhing, and she had no problem with watching her ass as an imaginary tongue fucked—
    Gone. The tongue, the hands vanished from her body as the sheet dropped to the metal floor.
    Anya