by Joanna Wylde
He played the same game with the other nipple before starting down the length of her torso toward her stomach. There were another 153 freckles along the way to her belly button. She almost jumped off the bed when he stuck his tongue in it, and her muttering grew louder.
Her clit hardened beneath his fingers, and he could tell that she was getting close to her orgasm by the fluids collecting between her legs. He pushed two fingers up inside her opening, stretching her and prepping her for his cock. There was nothing more wonderful than the moment when a woman swallowed his length whole. Just the thought of pushing his cock inside that hot opening was enough to make him grind his hips against the bed, and for once second he considered simply pushing her jumper off and thrusting into her. She was ready, he could tell from the little noises she made and the way she gushed against his hand. He could bring her over the edge with his cock in seconds.
But he held back, reminding himself that this time was for her. She’d earned a little consideration. So he steeled himself as he kissed lower, using both hands to push her jumpsuit down her shoulders. Her hips lifted to help him, and he slid the clothing down her legs. He followed the fabric to the floor, kneeling between her legs and hooking them over his shoulders.
He leaned forward, inhaling her scent, and then touched the tiny, hard knot of her clit with his tongue experimentally. Her legs clutched him closer and she moaned. To tease her, he pulled back a bit and blew on the stiffened nub. He flicked it once with his tongue, and then flicked it once more. Then he started laving it slowly, stiffening his tongue and swirling it around her clit slowly and deliberately.
Her entire body clutched and stiffened again, and he increased his pace. She was like a wonderful dessert, something to be savored and suckled. She bucked against him, and he had to clamp his arms around her legs to hold her still for his ministrations. She muttered something in a guttural tone of voice before her hips twisted and she exploded around him. He felt her orgasm in her legs and between his lips, her body falling limp.
He raised himself and sat down behind her. Her expression was sated, filled with pleasure and smug in a way that he would normally associate only with a feline.
She rolled her head to one side and looked up at him.
“Damn, that was good,” she said in a low voice.
“Am I forgiven for the other night?” he asked softly.
She laughed a little, and then shook her head.
“Nope,” she said. “Not before I get a couple more like that one. You’re talented, Captain.”
He laughed, and fell down on the bed. He’d be more than happy to give her a few more like that one, providing he got some relief of his own along the way. He was about to rupture.
He lay next to her, unwilling to make the next move. He wanted to jump on her, take her fast and hard. Doing that would wipe out everything he’d accomplished, though. He needed her to understand that he could be a compassionate lover, not just the kind of man who spent himself like a boy. Her pleasure mattered to him; he’d prove that to her, even if it killed him in the process. He closed his eyes, listening to her breath come slowly beside him. Then her hand touched him and sensation curled through his body.
She ran her fingers along his arm, her touch so soft and gentle that he wondered for a moment if he imagined it.
He could feel each little hair standing up, and then her fingers lifted, just grazing the tips of those hairs rather than truly touching his arm. He pushed his arm toward hers hopefully.
She seemed to understand, because she gave a low laugh and then her hand grasped his arm more firmly. He felt the bed shift as she sat up. She pulled his arm up above his head, then grasped his other hand and did the same to it.
“Now it’s your turn to hold your hands still,” she said in a low voice. He shivered, following her instructions willingly. He started to open his eyes, but her fingers grazed across his lashes.
“No peeking,” she said. “I think that this time is for me—you’ve already done your damage here.”
He shook his head in denial, but he did as she asked. If it involved her touching him, that was good enough. He didn’t need to see her so long as he could feel her. He clutched the edge of the mattress with both hands, holding himself breathless as he waited for her to make her next move. It came a moment later when her weight shifted again.
One leg slid over his, and then she straddled him. He could feel the heat of her body cradling his cock, and cursed himself for not taking off his clothes earlier. Then again, that had probably been for the best. If he’d been able to feel her bare skin against his, he would have lost it.
Still, this was torture.
She wiggled on top of him, grinding her pelvis down over his. He pressed back up at her, for the first time realizing how cruel his little game had been. Having her so close, feeling her touch him without the chance of touching her back was maddening. He wanted to grab those soft, rounded hips and thrust up into her so high she screamed.
Instead, he simply lay there trying not to whimper. Each movement pressed her heat against him. Each twist of her pelvis imitated the dance he wanted to perform so desperately he thought he might explode. Then her fingers pulled open his shirt and he thought he’d died and gone to hell.
For a moment she stilled, and he couldn’t breathe. If she didn’t touch him he would die. If she touched him it might be just as bad. His cock was so hard he thought it might split. Worse yet, he might explode on her again. Fuck, he thought in disgust. He should have jacked off first. At least that way he wouldn’t be like a teener in heat. Then her fingernails touched his chest and he forgot to think altogether.
She trailed them down the length of his chest, moving between his nipples toward his belly. She trailed them across the rippled muscles of his abdomen, and he twitched. She flattened her fingers across him, and then massaged him lightly, rocking back and forth across his cock at the same time. He shifted uncomfortably, trying to find some relief. Just as it became more than he could bear, she lifted her fingers and grew still.
Her weight shifted once more, and he felt her hair brush across his chest. He imagined what she would look like leaning over him. Hair dangling, breasts just above his flesh, nipples hard and ready for him. He gasped at the thought, a sound that turned to a moan as she nipped his right nipple sharply.
“No peeking,” she reminded him. Her tongue darted out to lave the small wound. He shivered, and let his head fall to one side. The temptation to look at her was too strong. He knew without asking that if she caught him, he’d be sleeping alone that night.
After a moment her hot little tongue lifted. The cool air hit his nipple and it tightened. Something flicked across it—her finger? He moaned again.
“You’re going to kill me,” he muttered after several long seconds of teasing.
“Tempting,” she said lightly. “But perhaps a bit premature. I haven’t figured out how to fly the ship by myself yet.”
“You’d better save me, then,” he said softly, thrusting his hips up at her. “If I have a stroke you’ll be all alone out here.”
She laughed, and then lifted herself enough to scoot down his body. Her clever fingers worked at the fastening to his pants, and then he felt the cool air hit the length of his erection.
Before he could say anything, she shifted again and sheathed herself suddenly on his length. After all the slow teasing, the sudden shock of her heat was enough to make him cry out. She seemed to enjoy his shock, squeezing him tightly with her internal muscles. Then she stilled, seated on him with her hands braced against his chest.
“So, what now?” she asked.
“What kind of question is that?” he asked back. He twisted beneath her, vainly trying to create some friction between them.
She laughed, deep and low, then pulled herself up and abruptly seated herself again.
“It’s a question of technique,” she said. “Do you want hard and fast, or long and slow?”
She punctuated h
er question with brief demonstrations and he nearly exploded on the spot.
“I think fast and hard is probably the best at this point,” he managed to whisper. He clutched his hands more tightly into the mattress. Everything in his being cried out at him to grab her, clutch her tightly and roll her beneath him. He wasn’t used to giving up power, in bed or out. Oblivious to his internal struggle for control, she rocked back and forth across him, each movement tight and controlled. He bucked his hips up at her, wanting more, but every time he started to move she stilled.
So he concentrated on holding himself as still as possible, gritting his teeth as she slowly stroked across him.
She was hot and wet around him—had been from the beginning—but he could tell she was getting more excited as she moved. She seemed to grow wetter and hotter over him, and after a while her movements became less controlled. Her fingers clutched his chest tightly before she started riding him in earnest.
Perhaps she’d intended to go long and slow, but soon it was clear she had as little control over her body as he had over his. She moaned and gasped each time she sheathed him. He could feel the tension spiraling up within him, and every muscle in his body tightened in anticipation of his completion. He bit his lip to hold it back, realizing instinctively that she was only seconds away from her second orgasm.
He felt something warm and salty fill his mouth and realized it was blood. He didn’t care. All that mattered was holding back the explosion threatening to overwhelm his system. His pulse roared in his ears, his fingers went numb from holding the mattress. Still he held his release back.
Again and again she took him. Suddenly she leaned forward, changing her position slightly. Then she screamed and her nails dug into his chest. She detonated around him with such force that he lost control. His hands flew to her hips, slamming her down over his cock as his seed flew out and up into her. Again and again he pulled her body against his, shuddering with the force of his release. Then he was spent, and he seemed to completely lose his ability to move. Simply breathing became an effort.
She lay down over him, her body cradling his as they relaxed. He wrapped his arms around her, marveling at how right she felt with him.
He wanted her to sleep with him.
It was ridiculous, of course. She had her own cabin for a reason. He knew he’d get tired of her, knew just how annoying it was to be trapped with a woman in bed. The main reason he paid prostitutes was to avoid such situations as this. That, and he was tired of women asking questions about his scar. It didn’t seem to bother her at all, though, and he wasn’t even sure how he felt about that. Why didn’t it bother her? What did that say about the other women he’d been with?
What did it say about her?
He shook his head, wiping the thoughts away. This was crazy—he didn’t want to think about things like this.
She shifted, and then yawned.
“I’m wiped, let’s turn off the light and go to sleep,” she muttered, rolling toward him and tucking herself against his side.
“Your own cabin,” he muttered without thinking.
“What?” she asked, turning to look at him.
“Your own cabin,” he said again. “I think it’s better for both of us if you sleep in your own cabin. That way we won’t get confused.”
Any more confused, he thought darkly. He wanted her, wanted her to want him. But this was just a little more than he’d pictured. She rolled off the bed and stood stiffly. Every line of her body radiated affronted dignity, and he sighed in disgust. He’d just made a fool out of himself again.
She started to walk out of the room, and paused as she reached the door.
“You know, Jerred,” she said. “You almost made me believe you’re a human being tonight. Thanks for the reminder that you’re not.”
Then she stalked out the door and it slid shut behind her.
“Shit,” he muttered to himself. He really was an ass. Hell, he deserved to sleep alone.
* * * * *
Giselle woke up the next morning feeling out of sorts, and more than a little hung over. That Imperial wine might taste pretty good, she thought as she examined the circles under her eyes, but it packed a hell of a punch. Or maybe that was just Jerred.
She’d never felt anything like what she’d felt with him last night. The man was incredible, a force of nature.
And a complete jerk.
“Remember, it’s all about survival,” she muttered to herself as she showered. He might be the biggest idiot she’d ever met, but at least he was pleasant to look at. More than pleasant. Every time she thought of last night her entire body clenched. Even if he was a jerk, being trapped with him on the ship could be a hell of a lot worse. He could cook, for one. And he was better in the sack than anyone she’d ever been with.
As a woman who didn’t have many of options, things could be worse.
She finished in the fresher quickly then looked around her cabin. There was no way she’d be able to spend any extra time in here. It was simply too small. His cabin had been small, too. For a man who lived on his ship and enjoyed his comforts, he certainly hadn’t put much time in designing his cabins. Then again, he was a smuggler. Perhaps the smaller cabins allowed him to hide more cargo.
Not that she’d ask.
Smugglers were just a step above pirates, and she didn’t want to know the details of his little business operation. Only a fool asked questions like that. She pulled on another jumpsuit, realizing she needed to retrieve the other from his cabin. He really could have picked out nicer clothing for her, she thought in disgust. These jumpsuits were functional, but hardly attractive. Not that she wanted to attract to him, of course. But she always liked to look her best. It was just a point of pride.
She opened up her door and walked out in the main room. He was nowhere to be seen.
She stuck her head in the small library and then made for the galley. Hangover or not, she was hungry. The night before the lights and the holo-projectors had hidden things, but now she could see that his galley was unusually well stocked, especially for a ship. Among other things, he had a stasis chamber. She’d never seen one of those outside a restaurant, and she ran her fingers over it lovingly. She’s always wanted one. But even when she’d owned her bar, she couldn’t afford it. His smuggling business must do very well, indeed.
She rummaged through the cold storage, surprised to find a wide selection of foods. Within a few moments she had a nice plate of food ready, complete with what looked like fresh bread and fruits. She took the plate with her into the main room, and then sat down the couch and flicked on the vid screen.
“Jenna, please show our course and current destination,” she asked.
“I’m sorry, but that information is not available to you at this time,” the computer replied in smooth, modulated tones.
Great.
“Where is Jerred?” she asked.
“The Captain is in the cockpit,” the computer replied. “Would you like me to call him for you?”
“No,” she muttered, focusing on her food. She’d go and talk to him herself when she was done eating. She wanted to know where they were going and when they’d get there. Time to start researching her new home, and figuring out whether or not she needed to find another ship to a better destination. She’d signed on to crews more than once to get transportation, and for the most part it wasn’t a bad way to travel. Lots of work and crappy food, but she’d survive.
She finished up her breakfast and dropped the plate into the galley’s cleaner. Then she marched purposefully toward the cockpit. The door was open, and she stepped in without asking permission. He sat in the pilot’s chair, apparently waiting for her to arrive. Just looking at him was a shock—every time she saw him, his face surprised her. It was as if her mind’s eye never remembered his scar, the way it slashed across his face and twisted his expression into a perpetual snarl.
Why didn’t he get it fixed?
She almost asked the question, but
managed to catch herself in time. Just because he was an ass didn’t mean she needed to act like one, too.
“Where are we headed?” she asked, settling herself down in the co-pilot’s chair as is if it were the most natural thing in the world.
He turned away from her, studying his instruments for a moment, then he spoke.
“It’s probably better if you don’t know,” he said finally. “I’m meeting with someone, and it really isn’t relevant to your situation.”
“Well, I think it’s rather important,” she replied. “I need to do some research, find out if it’s a good place for me to settle for a while.”
“It isn’t,” he replied coolly. “You’ll need to stay with me a bit longer than just this first stop, I think.”
“You may think that, but I’d really like to judge for myself,” she replied firmly. “I agreed to give you sex in exchange for a ride. I didn’t agree to become your indentured servant.”
“I’m well aware of that,” he said slowly. “But in this case, you won’t be able to get off quite yet. We’re meeting in open space—it’s been planned for months. There’s nowhere for you to go.”
The way he said it was so smug, so annoying, that it made her teeth clench. Smug bastard.
“Maybe I’d rather go with whoever you’re meeting,” she said pertly. Instead of getting angry, though, he just burst out laughing.
“I sincerely doubt that,” he said finally. “This guy makes me look pretty damn good. I think you’d be better off if you just stay out of sight while he’s here.”
“Afraid I’ll like him better than you?” she asked.
“No,” he said slowly, “I’m more afraid that he’ll kill one or both of us to protect his identity. He only expects me to attend the meeting, and he’s not a trusting kind of man.”
She shivered, and fell back in the seat, unsure of what to say. Jenna chimed a warning, and he turned to her.
