ALLYSON JAMES TALES OF THE SHAREEM JUSTIN PDF

Jan 24, Jeanne rated it liked it Allyson James is one of my favorite authors and I read this series mainly due to that fact. I was a bit surprised that for an erotica style book it had a decent story line and that the overall plot followed through the series. This is a quick, easy read with a lot of sex, but htere is still a decent story and the characters are fleshed out enough to allow the reader to connect to them. It is by no means in the same catagory as her Stormwalker series or as her Shifter series under her Jennifer Allyson James is one of my favorite authors and I read this series mainly due to that fact.

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Catch me on the way back. He was Shareem — of course he noticed. Justin had bought a ticket and already turned it in, like everyone else.

But patrollers liked hanging around hovertrain platforms harassing people, especially Shareem. He tried to stride around her, but the patroller got in front of him again.

The little sweetie was fast. Fuck this. Justin grabbed the woman around the waist, lifted her, swung around with her, and set her on her feet again. She gaped in shock as he plunked her down, too stunned to restrain him or even shout for help. Justin grinned, tapped the end of her nose, whirled away, and strode through the crowd and out of the station — fast.

The small female patroller would never out-stride a long-legged Shareem. A loud thrum vibrated through his body, and something hot bit into his backside. He heard applause. This Shareem—Justin—had been sold to a buyer a few years before the shutdown and shipped to a planet called Sirius III.

Justin, once free, had apparently decided to remain on Sirius. A few months ago, Justin had returned, of his own volition, to Bor Narga.

The Shareem represented all things sensual and sexual, qualities abhorred by most Bor Nargans. On Bor Narga, the forbidden Shareem were second class, restricted, watched, forced to take inoculations to keep them sterile and disease free. So why had this Shareem given up freedom and a home of his own to come back to this rock? Deanna studied the holopic that rotated slowly on her console. Justin had dark brown hair, hard, handsome features, and, of course, Shareem-blue eyes.

That was the man in her cell, all right. And he was strong. Clipping handcuffs over his thick wrists had given her a strange shiver of pleasure as well.

She was supposed to abhor the sexual as much as the next Bor Nargan woman, but damn. The Shareem was awake. She shut down her files, tucked her handheld into her belt, and left for the detention area.

Nutrition gels were issued through a slot in the floor every few hours, refuse taken away through another slot. That was it. The Shareem called Justin was in a cell halfway down an empty row. The guards had let him resume a loincloth that covered his privates, but nothing more. Apart from that, he wore only a black chain around his right biceps, the mark of the Shareem.

Those biceps were huge, his arms connected to equally huge shoulders, round and tight, above a chest as sculpted with muscle. He was male beauty, slick with sweat, on display for all to see. Justin raised his head as though he heard her com ing, though the cells had been soundproofed. In spite of appearing as though he could barely stand, however, he gave her an enraged look that could blow a hole through the foot-thick wall. He said something, lips moving in silence behind the soundproofed wall.

When Deanna flicked a switch to turn on the mikes between them, Justin closed his mouth, but he never took his eyes off her. Well, fuck you, sweetheart. But all Shareem must render identification when asked. His lips were pale and smooth, and the way he smiled made his tanned face delectable. His tongue moved with his words, red and moist. She dragged in a breath. It is my business. All Shareem had blue eyes, while native-born Bor Nargans had brown.

I looked it up. You patrol there. You should know that. Not because of crime, but because of the incessant complaints of the people who lived there. Nothing the patrollers did was ever good enough for them. You knew you could get arrested if you went up there again. So why did you? Maybe I felt like moving the sticks in their asses. So why was she doubting him? Justin grinned, and again his face deepened into something beyond handsomeness. Admitting she hired a Shareem? Are you kidding me?

Did he want to be terminated? No one has to know I spoke to her or that she hired you. She can trust me not to reveal her name. This beautiful specimen of a man would be injected with drugs until he lost consciousness and died, then his prefect body would be incinerated. Deanna reached to the transparent wall and spread her fingers across the cool plasti-glass. The gesture went against all her training, but for some reason she wanted to do it. She had to get through to him. I made the decision not to listen to them.

You were my bust, my prisoner. Not like this, not with murder in their eyes. Help me help you. Deanna started to back up in alarm, but she made herself stay in place. Not your fault—you followed the rules. Deanna Surrell, Patroller First Class. This had to be a first. A patroller saying please to a Shareem. Her brown eyes had warmed, and the hand placed directly over his fist was a sweet gesture. Lovely name. Justin could whisper it while he cupped her breasts, again while he slid his hand down to find the wet heat of her pussy.

His cock tightened, and Justin immediately shut off his thoughts. Not while Sybellie lived there. Sybellie, his daughter. Shareem were not allowed, on pain of death, to father children. If Justin had to be terminated to protect the knowledge that Sybellie was the offspring of a Shareem, so be it.

Sybellie did not know that Justin was her biological father and neither did her adoptive parents. He sure as hell would never let that knowledge out, because the gods only knew what the asshole women in the Bor Nargan government would do to Sybellie if they found out she carried Shareem DNA.

They might shut her away, experiment on her, dissect her, or simply kill her. But, damn it, she was his daughter. He wanted to see her. He needed to see her, even for a brief hour across a crowded street. That please again. It did funny things to his insides, even through his worry and anger. He could please her with a little screwing, maybe in her cubicle, on her desk.

Level-two Shareem were good at improvising. A patroller being polite to a Shareem. What a day. Deanna touched a button on the handheld and read whatever text was flowing to her, her mouth pursed. A sweet, red mouth, with moist, plump lips. Nice for kissing and other things that mouths were good for. It would make his inevitable termination all the sweeter.

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