Free A Solid Core of Alpha by Amy Lane Page A

the right places, some medication that his sister, the space-counselor, had on hand, and it was all good. Those nice people could go on their merry way, and C.J. had another story to tell, and the world kept turning, and space kept being just hilariously fucking weird. The long-term stuff, well, that got turned over to a long-term counselor, someone more able to deal with things deeply rooted in the psyche. (Someone like, say, the big-thumbed, handsome fucker who was currently burying his thumb in C.J.’s ass while getting his girlfriend to spread her thighs and warm herself up. Jensen, you— oh, God, yes, don’t stop —asshole!)
    The basic space things? Hyperdrive side-slipping so that time turned back on itself in small increments? Spaceships developing a fear of space and needing a total memory wipe to start up again? Time-space parasites that dicked with the wiring? Electronics overdosing on a blue sun’s rays and recording stuff that didn’t happen? The basic, nuts— c’mon, Jensen, don’t forget those… uh, yeah… good —and bolts, give-’em-a-dose-and-a-sympathetic-ear stuff?
    C.J. was great at it.
    “What’s right up my alley?” he asked, and he pretended to ignore Jensen’s evil chuckle as something went up his alley that made him want to pant. He was glad he hadn’t triggered the video on the monitor—Cassie would never let him live it down.
    “We’ve got a guy coming in from… Jesus, do you remember that mining colony that got destroyed? Like, ten years ago? You were still at university, squandering your education….” She paused for a second to see if he’d rise to the bait because she had more letters behind her name than he did. He had Jensen, pulling his thumb out and adding two fingers and spreading them, while his erection rubbed up against Jensen’s hairy thigh and Molly caressed his backside. Who needed letters behind him?
    “Go on,” he said, trying to sound bored.
    “C.J.,” Cassie said suspiciously, “what are you doing?”
    C.J. took a shuddering breath and spread his thighs a little more. Molly’s hand snuck down and grasped his cock, and he wriggled in appreciation.
    “Trying to figure out why you’re bothering me on my month off,” he said, thinking his voice sounded firm.
    “You’re having sex, aren’t you?”
    “Not. Yet.” Molly squeezed, right at his head, exactly when Jensen plunged inside his ass with three thick fingers.
    “Oh, for God’s sake. We’ve got a guy who’s been in space for ten years without a soul to talk to coming in three days. He’s apparently tricked out his ship in ungodly ways to make the journey. Do you want the case or not?”
    For just a moment, C.J. forgot that he was in the middle of having sex. “Hell yes!” he said, and then, oh hell yes! as Jensen’s thick finger found his gland and began to massage.
    “Good. Then finish your little orgy and be on the next shuttle to the station, you hear me?”
    “When…?” Oh God. “When is that going to be?”
    “Three hours.”
    Oh thank the gods. “I’ve got time,” he moaned, and then he switched off his communicator and turned to Jensen’s girlfriend, Molly, of the mischievous green eyes and the slender, cool hands.
    “Molly, shift over here a little, ’kay, darlin’?” She did, and he adjusted his position, spreading his knees as Jensen pulled his fingers out and positioned a hard cock at C.J.’s happy, stretched entrance. Molly’s thighs were open and inviting, and her labia were wet and swollen, and ohmigod , Jensen’s cock was big, and it looked like breakfast was served.
     
     
    T HREE hours later, he was on the shuttle, relaxed, happy, and well fed with real food—in fact, some out-of-this-star-system pecan pancakes that were Molly’s specialty and a big thank you from the both of them for coming down planetside and providing a little recreation.
    Jensen may have been one of the best head-shrinks for three star systems, but he was also one kinky bastard,