Close Encounter of the Carnal Kind

by Delilah Devlin

  “I choose my own vessels. And right now, you’re convenient.”

  Convenient? Marika’s head jerked back, and she halted in mid-step. Unfortunately, too close to the Royal Menace to avoid collision. Only he didn’t slam into her, it was more a steady slide which pushed her against the bulkhead next to her cabin door.

  With her chest flattened against the wall, she was all too aware of what prodded her bottom.

  “Here, then?” he whispered, his breath feathering her cheek. “How do I open this outfit?”

  Could her wardrobe provide her the means of averting his intentions?

  “If you don’t tell me, I’ll just rip it, cher.”

  Stars, did he have to say it in that sexy growl? “It stretches, just slide it—”

  He tugged at the neck, slipping it downward, and then he pressed a kiss to her bare shoulder. “I knew it. Your skin’s as soft as a baby’s,” he said, sliding his lips over her shoulder, up her neck, then tugging her earlobe with his teeth.

  Marika closed her eyes and leaned her forehead against the bulkhead, glad he pressed against her body to hold her there, because she would have melted to the floor.

  He pushed her uniform lower until the opening slipped beneath her breasts. His hands reached around and cupped her.

  Her nipples tightened into pointed barbs, stabbing at his palms. The scrape of his roughened skin sent a shudder through her body.

  “You’re so good, cher, so responsive.” He pushed the fabric lower, trapping her arms against her sides, while her upper chest and belly were exposed to his roving hands. He leaned her back, and her head fell against his shoulder. “Lovely, coffee-colored nipples.” He twisted the tips with his fingers then flicked them with his thumbs. “Will you taste bitter? Or are you sweetened with milk?”

  She moaned. Why did he have to talk? His words tightened her belly, drew moisture from her body to dampen the crotch of her uniform.

  He shoved her clothing farther down, past her buttocks, cinching her legs closed. His palms smoothed over her ass and around to her…

  She struggled to free her legs, to widen them. She needed his touch there. Needed him to soothe the fire licking at her sex. She wriggled against him. “Please…”

  “I will.” So quickly she swayed on her booted heels, he turned her in his arms. “But first, I get to play.” He quirked an eyebrow. “Tit for tat.”

  Whatever that meant, it couldn’t bode well for her—not accompanied by the wicked smirk twisting his sexy mouth. With his arms encircling her to hold her arms close to her sides, and her uniform binding her legs, she yelped as he hoisted her over his shoulder and entered her cabin.

  Dizzy, breathless with alarm and something a great deal more thrilling, she wondered when he’d learned to use the identi-locks. And who had programmed them to accept his palm prints?

  Chapter Three

  ‡

  Etienne strode into Marika’s quarters and flung her onto the narrow mattress, ignoring her yelp of alarm. Anger had built inside him for hours—surprisingly free of pain or regret. Instead, it was an empowering fury that found its target in the form of one slim girl—a stunning creature who stared up at him, wide-eyed and huffing.

  Good. He hoped she was also a little worried about the direction of his thoughts. He grabbed for one foot and tugged off a boot then quickly stripped her of the other.

  She shimmied on the mattress, elbowing her way to a sitting position. “I’m captain of this ship—a fighter, not a pleasure-giver.”

  “Cher, I know you’re not a whore. Carillon filled me in on just exactly who and what you are. Also told me where you learned that nasty little technique for extracting semen.” He pulled her uniform off her long legs and tossed it over his shoulder. “You don’t want to remind me now that you used it on my uncle, too.”

  “Jacques wasn’t cooperating…desperate measures—”

  “I said don’t remind me. Kinda takes the nice off my edges.”

  “What nice?” she bit out.

  He smiled at her tart response. “Exactly.”

  “You’re insufferable.”

  “First time I’ve been called that—but it’s better than some insults.” He knelt on the mattress and crawled on his hands and knees until he was poised over her. “Let me look at what I’m getting.”

  Her gaze tossed daggers his way. “You haven’t gotten anything yet.”

  “Glad you added that last word. Tells me your mind is headed down the same road.”

  “We’re in deep space,” she replied, her tone resentful. “We don’t have roads—we have azimuths, coordinates—”

  “Shall I map your coordinates?” he growled, his gaze honing in on the delta of her honeyed thighs before he glanced back up to catch her stare. “Just to make sure I can find my way?”

  Her mouth opened, but only a weak gasp escaped. Her eyelids dipped, and her lips trembled.

  “That’s right, I need to reconnoiter,” he said softly. He glanced down again, amused when she clamped her legs shut.

  The woman was one long, cool drink of water to his parched senses. Cream-colored skin, dusky brown nipples, a thatch of dark curls between her legs. Would her pussy’s tender flesh be pink—or darker? He shoved away the need to find out now. First, a little “tit”…

  With new appreciation for his mother’s quaint saying, he slid his knees along either side of her hips and sat down.

  Her eyes rounded, and her hands covered her breasts. “S-sire?”

  “Etienne, when you’re naked.”

  A small frown furrowed her brow. “And when I’m not?”

  He smirked. “Lord and Master.” Not for the first time, she’ betrayed a hint of annoyance. He liked that. All that wide-eyed adoration made him uncomfortable. “Now remove your hands from your breasts, cher.”

  “Because you command it?” she asked sulkily.

  “Got that right.”

  Her hands slid away and fluttered like she didn’t know where to put them.

  He guided them down to the pillow beside her head. “When you figure out what you want to touch, go right ahead.”

  She mewled then. A little, throaty moan that told him everything. He leaned down and kissed her mouth, a soft brush of lips.

  Hers opened immediately. She’d learned. He’d taught her something new. Now, she asked wordlessly for him to deepen the caress.

  Etienne was more than ready to oblige her. He slanted his head and probed her mouth with his tongue, licking the rim of her teeth, stroking deeper to lap at her tongue until hers joined the dance.

  His body hardened, all his male parts cramming against the fly of his jeans, his thighs tensing, his belly clenching with the need to get to the fucking part as fast as he could fly out of his clothes.

  He broke the kiss and took a deep breath to slow his thudding heart, avoiding her sloe-eyed gaze.

  “Tit” first, he reminded himself and scooted lower down her body.

  At the first touch of his tongue to her pouting nipple, her fingers threaded through his hair and clutched him tight. He smiled against her breast and swallowed the nipple, tonguing the tip while he suckled.

  Her hips bucked beneath his spread thighs, and he growled deep in his throat. Her voice broke on a strangled moan. “Please, harder.”

  He bit the hard button of her nipple, and then licked it to soothe away the little pain.

  Her head thrashed on her pillow, and he looked up to see the tangle of her hair brush her cheeks, her nose. Her mouth opened around a soundless moan.

  Growing harder by the moment, he moved to her other nipple and tortured it in like fashion until her body writhed beneath him. He dipped his hips and rubbed his clothed cock against her soft thigh, rutting to ease the ache swelling his loins.

  “Etienne,” she groaned.

  “I know, sweetheart,” he said, pressing his lips against her ribs and sliding lower. “Just a little more reconnoitering.” He sat up, now riding her closed thighs. His fingers raked
the soft hair on her mons.

  Her back arched, and her eyes glazed over. “I can’t stand it.”

  He slid a finger between her tight, closed lips and drew moisture to rub against the hard little knot buried at the top of her cunt.

  At his first touch, a high, thready keening erupted from her.

  He circled her clitoris, watching her writhe, his thighs fighting to keep her legs anchored to the bed. When her fists bunched the bedding and her back arched high, he lifted his injured knee and nudged open her thighs.

  Eager now, she spread her legs, making room for him to climb between. He slipped his hands beneath her ass and knelt low, inhaling the fragrance of her arousal. Arnaud had been so right. This was what he’d needed—feminine cries to lift his soul out of the darkness, glazed passion to coat his tongue and lips, a woman’s softness to sink inside.

  Her pussy lips were as flavorful as melted chocolate. He sucked them, wringing shallow sobs from her. Then he licked lower, stabbing into her channel as far his tongue could reach to lap at the salty dew he’d inspired.

  Her thighs trembled against his shoulders, and her cries grew harsh. She was nearing her release.

  He rose and stripped his T-shirt over his head, flinging it to the floor.

  Marika watched him, her chest rising and falling so fast her breasts shivered.

  “Will you deny me?” he asked, toeing off his boots.

  “Sire, I’m yours to command,” she said, her voice shaky and small.

  He gave a sharp shake of his head and flicked open his pants. “Do you want me?”

  She swallowed and drew in a ragged breath. “Yes, Etienne.”

  He shoved his pants down, stripping them off, and then returned to her, settling his sex between her legs. “Touch me, Marika.” He lowered his head to her shoulder, waiting for her soft hands to draw him closer.

  She smoothed her palms over his shoulders and higher, lifting his face then bracketing it between her hands. “Give me your seed,” she whispered, and reached up to take his lips.

  Etienne groaned into her mouth and prodded her sex with his, until he found her moist entrance and thrust hard inside her.

  Marika tensed beneath him, emitting a scratchy scream.

  Too late, he realized he’d torn her hymen. Christ! He reared back, his cock still impaling her tender flesh. “Dammit to hell! Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Tell you what?” she asked, her body shuddering beneath his. “Why did you stop?”

  “You’re a virgin!” he gritted out, still so hard he felt ready to burst from his skin.

  “Was…a virgin,” she said with a shaky laugh. “I’m a fightership commander. Sex is detrimental to our performance.” She smoothed her hands down his back and squeezed his buttocks. “Are we finished?” She sounded disappointed.

  “If I were a stronger man…ah hell!” He pumped, a shallow preliminary thrust. He watched her expression, gauging for discomfort or pain.

  Instead, she sucked in her breath, and her eyes half-closed. Her hands squeezed harder, pulling him closer, deeper.

  His jaw set as hard as stone, he pulled out a little way and slid back inside. Then he repeated the motion, keeping the pace slow and steady.

  Marika planted her feet in the mattress and countered his motion, learning his rhythm.

  “That’s it, baby,” he praised her, dropping a kiss on her lips. “Slowly now, when we meet, grind your pussy against me.”

  She blinked at the suggestion, but she was a fast learner, tilting her hips upward when he drove deep, rubbing her clitoris against his groin, their hair producing a scratching sound that grew sharper, harsher as the friction built between their bodies. Soon, her breaths became more jagged. “Etienne?”

  He leaned down and kissed her forehead. “It’s all right, cher. Go with it. I’m here.”

  Her eyes squeezed closed and her mouth opened around a silent scream, and suddenly her hips bucked beneath him, awkward jerky bursts, out of sync—pulsing faster.

  Etienne hooked his arms under her knees to control her movements and slammed into her, delivering powerful, full-throttled thrusts. When her orgasm clamped around his dick, he hammered at her cunt, his own release intensified by the loud, long scream that ripped from her throat.

  When his hips finally slowed, he sank down onto her body until the trembling that shook his belly and legs came under his control. He lifted his arms to disengage with her legs and pushed her thighs down to lie alongside his. Then he rose on his elbows to look into her face.

  Marika’s eyes were still closed. Perspiration dotted her forehead and upper lip. Her expression was so peaceful he might have thought her sleeping, but for the hands that swept lazily up and down his back.

  Loathe to move away from her, Etienne settled his head into the crook of her neck and let her soothe him with her soft hands. Beneath his ear, her heart beat steady and reassuring. Her body’s warmth, made more so when added to his, soon had his eyelids drooping. He snuggled his face closer, feeling more relaxed than he could ever remember.

  Only he wouldn’t give Arnaud credit for being right about what he needed. Arnaud, horndog that he was, wouldn’t have understood it took one special woman to annihilate the darkness in his soul. No one else’s pussy would have done. Only Marika’s. Etienne smiled against her neck.

  “Etienne, are you sleeping?” she whispered.

  “Am I too heavy for you?” God, he hoped not. His cock was still burrowed in her heat, and her body was softer than any mattress. Their contact—skin-to-skin—wasn’t something he was ready to give up. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

  “No. I like this,” she said, stroking down his back, then stopping to cup his buttocks and squeeze. “Will you want to do it again?”

  “When I have more sleep, I promise. But I’ve been up all night.”

  She was silent for a long moment, and he started to fall into slumber, when, “How long will you sleep?”

  He groaned. “Are you eager for me, cher?”

  “I was hoping for more regenerations,” she said slowly.

  The cobwebs lifted with a single snort of laughter. “We’re going to work on your vocabulary.”

  “Regenerations isn’t the correct word? You used it.”

  “I was being sarcastic.”

  “Then what would you call it?”

  “Fucking.”

  “But that doesn’t sound as pretty—it doesn’t roll off the tongue.”

  “No, it’s blunt, descriptive—a little nasty.”

  “So fucking as a noun—does it encompass everything we did?”

  “No, fucking was just the part where I put my cock into your cunt. Do you need explanations for those terms, too?”

  “No, cock is in the translator’s dictionary. Cunt I can guess from the context of the sentence.” Her cunt pulsed around him, as if the mention reminded her body how it was currently employed. Marika’s legs moved restlessly along his. “I would have used pussy. It sounds softer.”

  “Good point, yours is…cuddly, like a pet. But cunt is nastier, gets my engines burning faster.”

  “Then by all means, call it cunt.” She sighed and rubbed her cheek against his. “So, fucking was only that last part. What do you call the rest?”

  “Reconnoitering.”

  “Ahhh…” She kissed his ear. “I thought you were being clever.” He heard the smile in her voice.

  “I am. Now, go to sleep.”

  Her cunt pulsed again, and he realized she squeezed him on purpose. Already, she was learning to use those sexy little muscles to arouse—the woman was anything but slow.

  Gradually, his dick regenerated, filling, stretching her channel as it nudged its way to full arousal.

  Her body reacted, coaxing him with a wash of fresh encouragement that surrounded him with moist, fragrant heat.

  “If you are tired…” she began.

  “Too late to change your mind,” he growled. “Something’s awake.”

  “Thank the
gods!”

  *

  Marika woke in the darkness, her body still joined to Etienne’s, her bottom resting snug in the cradle of his thighs. Even in sleep, he kept her close, a wondrous hand cupping her breast, a solid thigh bracketing hers to keep her where he needed her to be when he awoke.

  And oh, how he needed her! What had begun in anger and bitterness due to loss of power over his destiny, had quickly turned urgent and greedy for contact, for respite from the shadows that had haunted him. She’d sensed that, over their hours of loving, he’d relinquished the horrors that stained his soul.

  How she knew this wasn’t exactly clear. But somehow, she could see into his soulful eyes and reach into the heart of the man. In just hours, she felt connected to him, part of him. But did he feel the same way for her?

  And what would become of this blossoming connection when they reached Euphrazha? Already, Carillon would have sent the encrypted message to the Queen, informing her that her son was found and on his way. He might be swept away from her in the homecoming. When he was no longer near, would she still feel he was part of her?

  Marika bit her lip and blinked away tears. Foolish girl! Her importance in the larger picture was as the deliverer of their salvation—not as bride or consort. When the time came, she would simply fade away and return to her post—fulfill whatever destiny remained for her to complete in this life.

  That she had served as his vessel for a short time was a privilege and a joy she would hug close to herself for the rest of her life. As a fightership commander, she’d never had any expectation of falling in love. This short, glorious time with her king was a gift for which she would be forever grateful.

  Etienne stirred beside her, murmuring softly in his sleep, and his arms tightened around her as though he couldn’t let her go.

  Marika closed her eyes and let the tears leak onto her pillow.

  His mouth brushed her shoulder. “Cher, what’s wrong?” he said, his voice a low, sleep-filled rumble.

  She sniffed and forced a little laugh. “Nothing. But I need to rise.”

  “I already have,” he said, proving his point with a sexy surge that pushed him deeper inside her.