Mandrake Company- The Complete Series
Page 149
Marat nearly choked at that image.
Ying’s bright smile wasn’t apologetic in the least. Her cuts had been healed, and her bruises had faded under the medic’s care, but the remnants of blood still smeared her skin in spots. He needed to offer her a shower and see if he could find her something better to wear than a sickbay gown, even if all he could give her was one of his shirts. Though he quite liked the image of her in nothing but one of his shirts, the hem dangling to her thighs.
“I’m sorry,” Marat said, shifting his gaze away from the leg that was touching his. “I’m being a poor host, and poor company. Do you want to use the shower? It’s nothing fancy, but it will get you clean. I can find you a shirt or something to wear until, uh...” He stretched his hand toward the gown, fingers groping. “I’ll talk to some of the women on the ship, see if we can find some clothes that would fit you.”
“Clothes can wait, but I’ll happily use the shower if you’ll join me.”
“I... what?”
“You smell like smoke, chemicals, and dead people.”
Marat wrinkled his nose and looked down at himself. He had taken off the fire suit, but his clothes were rumpled and worse for the wear. Yes, he would have already cleaned up, if he hadn’t been busy brooding about his future. Ying’s invitation piqued his interest, but he didn’t want to assume anything. He had no idea as to the extent of what she had endured with Wolf, and even if the medic had healed most of her cuts and bruises, she might have psychological as well as physical pain that remained. Still, her eyes twinkled as she regarded him, and the invitation had been fairly clear.
“It’s not a very large shower,” he said.
“I guess we’ll have to stand close then.” She winked and disappeared into the bathroom.
Marat swallowed, still having trouble believing he was reading her invitation correctly. Yes, they had kissed in that maintenance shaft, but that had been in the dark and the quiet, where nightmares lived and made people feel vulnerable and needed. Most of the rest of the time, he hadn’t been certain whether she liked him or thought he was an imbecile.
His uncertainty did not keep Marat from following her to the doorway, with hope swelling his chest. Something else swelled, as well, and he rolled his eyes at himself. They were both fully clothed and hadn’t even kissed. What was he, some teenage boy? But he remembered that kiss. The feel of her straddling his lap, her hot, lithe body pressed against him. He would be delusional if he didn’t admit that he had been attracted to her from the beginning. The thought of being able to do something about that titillated him. More than that, there was the idea that she might want him as much as he wanted her. No, he couldn’t blame his body for reacting.
“Marat,” Ying said, sounding more disgusted than titillated. “Not very large? This is a coffin, not a shower.”
“Sorry.”
He leaned into the bathroom. Large and luxurious, it was not, and it shared the same drab gray walls and floor that marked most of the rest of the ship, so it didn’t exactly inspire romance. He had never felt overly cramped in the shower, though, even with his big frame. If two wanted to be under the water at once, that would be a challenge, but with the bathroom door closed, the room was waterproof, so if one didn’t mind bumping into the sink or toilet, wayward spray wouldn’t matter.
“Believe it or not,” Marat said, “I’m fortunate to have a cabin with a bathroom, courtesy of a higher-ranking former roommate.” He decided not to mention that his roommate had been killed during the Nimbus battle, since that wasn’t a cheery pre-shower subject. “Not all of the sergeants warrant such opulent accommodations.”
“Opulent.” Ying snorted, but smiled over her shoulder at him. “I guess we can take turns.”
“That would be practical.” He tried not to let any disappointment show; he had been intrigued by the idea of a mutual shower. He turned to leave. “I’ll wait—”
Ying stepped back and caught his arm. “Stay.”
His heart sped up at her touch; he swore he could feel it drumming against his ribs. “Stay?”
“I’ve never bathed on your ship before. I may need help working the controls.” She flicked her hand toward the wall panel that controlled water temperature, activated the body dryer, and turned on the bathroom’s self-sanitizing function.
It wasn’t complicated, but he would be more than happy to stay and assist her. “All right,” he whispered, his voice hoarse. He was already imagining her naked body, with water beading and running down her curves.
“And I’m sure we’re both stiff and sore after our respective battles,” Ying added. “We may need to help each other clean the hard-to-reach places.”
An image flashed into his mind of sliding a bath sponge along the curves of her butt. If he had been swollen before, he ached now, uncomfortably restrained by his trousers.
“All right,” he croaked again, fumbling as he reached for the rack that held clean sponges and washcloths. He handed her the sponge. “Let me know when you’re ready for me.”
“Oh, I will.” In one motion, Ying shucked her gown and tossed it onto a peg.
Marat’s breath caught. Even though he had seen her naked before, it hadn’t been up close, and she was even more sleek and beautiful than he remembered. He wanted nothing more than to reach out and touch her, but he averted his eyes, feeling that he was invading her privacy, that ogling her might make her feel uncomfortable or remind her of the humiliation of standing naked in front of all those people at the auction.
Ying touched his hand as she accepted the sponge, but she did not slip into the shower right away. She faced him, resting a hand on his chest and looking up into his eyes.
“You can look all you like, Marat,” she whispered. “I want you to. I want you to want me. And I want to give you...” Her gaze lowered to his collarbone. “Nobody has ever risked his career, his everything for me. And you did that, for hardly any reason at all. It’s not like I... Look, I know I’m not the easiest person to deal with. I’m not muscular and imposing like your Sergeant Hazel. Being bristly is the only way I know to defend myself, to make a wall so people leave me alone and can’t hurt me. But you make me feel like I don’t need the wall.” She chuckled and leaned her forehead against his shoulder. “That sounded maudlin. I’m not good at feelings.”
“No,” Marat said. “I’m glad. That you don’t need a wall, I mean. I wouldn’t hurt you.”
Ying tilted her head back. “I know you wouldn’t.”
She lifted her lips toward his, and he leaned down, eager to meet them. At first, he kept his hips back, leaving some space between them, so she wouldn’t have his spear jabbing her through his clothing, but she did not seem amenable to this. She leaned closer, linking her arms around his shoulders, then surprising him by rising up and hooking one leg around his waist, almost purring as she encountered his hard bulge.
The realization that she truly wanted him heated his body—and his emotions too. His last year had been so lonely, so devoid of meaning and pleasure. He cupped Ying’s ass as he deepened his kiss, slipping his tongue inside of her, reveling in her heady taste and in the fact that she had appreciated his help, however bumbling it might have been. He groaned, impassioned by her eagerness, by her smooth willing flesh as she wrapped her other leg around him. He was barely aware of moving until her shoulders bumped against the wall. He had pressed her there, picturing himself driving into her right there.
Ying chuckled softly and nipped at his bottom lip. “I knew there was a tiger in there,” she murmured, her lips against his. She shifted from nipping to sucking, and pulses of sensation shot through him and down to his cock.
“I want you,” he said.
“Good.” She pulled her head back slightly, grinning that mischievous grin again. “But you still stink, fire boy.” Disappointment welled in him when she lowered her legs to the floor, but she didn’t go far. “Let’s get you in that shower.”
“I thought you were going first.”
“No,” he said, tugging his shirt over his head and throwing it in the corner. If she wanted to see him naked, he would cheerfully comply, even if the idea of waiting even five minutes while he showered sounded torturous.
While he unbuckled his belt, she dropped to her knees on the bathmat to unfasten his boots. When he freed his cock, the eager shaft almost thumped her in the face, and he blushed with embarrassment at his timing. But she merely gazed at him, a smile curving her lips as she lifted a hand to stroke him, as if she were examining some precious stone. Fire raced through his body, and his every muscle quivered. For a moment, he forgot what he was doing, and all he could do was clench his fists as she touched him. Images of taking her against the wall surged into his overheated brain again. Then she returned her hands to his boots, and he remembered he was supposed to be undressing. He shoved his sagging trousers down. He lifted his foot so she could remove the first boot. As she did so, she nuzzled his cock, rubbing his balls with her chin.
Such pleasure scorched him that he did not know how long he could handle the teasing. As she removed the second boot, she ran her tongue along his length, finding all of the sensitive nerves and sending waves of desire through him. His head fell back, and he barely noticed that it clunked against a hook on the wall.
Ying stood up, his boots and trousers now in the corner with his shirt, and pointed toward the shower. He groaned a protest, wanting nothing more than for her to return to what she had been doing, but she planted her hands on his chest and pushed him toward the small enclosure.
Marat slapped the controls, hoping to wash to her satisfaction as quickly as possible. Water sprayed down on him, and he grabbed a washcloth to scrub his pits.
For a moment, she watched him as she leaned her hip against the sink, the sponge held in one hand. Then she said, “You’re not doing it right.”
“What?”
“Too fast, not enough foam.” She stepped toward him, her hips swaying, her pert breasts jiggling, the dragon tattoo wrapping around her calf seeming to shimmy as she moved.
Water ran into his wide, staring eyes, but he barely noticed. He couldn’t have torn his gaze from her if acid had been dripping from the shower head.
She, too, was staring at him, her lips slightly parted. He hoped she liked everything she saw as much as he relished what he saw. Never taking her gaze from him, Ying found some liquid soap and squeezed it into the sponge. Water splashed off him and sprayed her shoulders and breasts, the fine droplets gleaming on her bronze skin. She applied the sponge to his chest, following the contours of his pectoral muscles. Her other hand slid up to his shoulder and down his arm. His nipples hardened as the texture of the sponge rasped across them.
She was close enough that her thigh nudged his erection, close enough that he couldn’t have kept from touching her if he had wanted to. As she washed him with the sponge, leaving trails of fire everywhere it roamed, he grasped her hips with his hands and lowered his head. He nibbled her earlobe, teasing it playfully before dropping his lips to her neck, the taste of her mingling with the water droplets running down her throat.
Ying leaned into him, her hard nipples pressing against his chest. He wanted to taste them, to cup her breasts with his hands, but he clunked his elbow on the wall when he tried. As she had pointed out, the shower wasn’t very big.
“Do I smell better yet?” he asked.
“Yes.” She slid the sponge down to his crotch, the material slightly rough as it whispered over his damp skin. His body throbbed in response at the delicious sensation. “I’m just not sure I can stop touching you,” she added, kissing the length of his jaw, then finding his lips. She crushed them with her own, hungry and demanding.
He found himself panting, his body trembling. He drove his tongue into her mouth, tangling with hers, needing to be inside of her. The sponge felt so exquisite as it scraped against his flesh that he was already on the edge. He wanted to come inside of her, though, not in her hand.
Ying broke the kiss, almost shaking as she pulled back. Her chest was heaving, too, as if she couldn’t catch her breath. “My turn.” She smiled and pressed the sponge into his hand.
Though disappointed that she had stopped, the idea of exploring her flesh soon drove that feeling away. They shifted, hips brushing, until she stood in the water’s flow, her back to the shower wall. Finally he had access to her perfect breasts. He cupped one, stroking his thumb across her tight nipple as he rubbed the other gently with the sponge. Steam filled the air, obscuring the view, but he saw enough and drank her in with his eyes until he couldn’t resist the urge to taste her any longer. He brought his lips to her nipple, hardly caring that water sprayed the side of his head. He slid his tongue around her areola, then drew her into his mouth.
She groaned and arched toward him. He ran the sponge down her flat belly to her dark curls, then traded it for a soft washcloth. He slid it between her legs, feeling her heat through the material. She gasped and gripped his damp shoulders with her hands, fingernails digging in, the sensation sending a fresh surge of desire through him. He wanted to claim her right there, to back her into the corner and take her under the water’s flow, but all that she had gone through flashed into his mind then, and a wave of tenderness swept through him, subduing his lust. No, he didn’t want to leap onto her like an animal. He wanted to make sure she enjoyed this, enjoyed him. If Fate somehow allowed them to stay together on the ship, he wanted her to want him every night, and only him. He growled as he thought of all of the other men in the company, men who would be competition if she stayed aboard. For more reasons than one, he would make this wonderful for her.
“Marat,” Ying groaned, almost climbing onto him. Even as he’d been thinking of wanting to pleasure her, he’d kept stroking her back and forth with the washcloth, slipping it between her folds, gently teasing her most sensitive parts. And she was panting as she spoke, grinding against his hand. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, her teeth scraping his throat, then finding his ear. “Faster,” she panted. “Please.”
He obeyed. Knowing that area was sensitive, he kept his touch light, but he stroked her more quickly, with more intensity, guiding the washcloth with his fingers. She squirmed against him, almost thrashing, and his hips twitched toward her. Again he had to sublimate that urge to take her with more than his hand. Finally, she tensed, then released, great shudders taking her body. Ying’s fingers curled into his short hair, and she rested her face against his throat. He kept his body still, stroking her back, though he still ached for a release of his own.
A beep came from the control panel, informing Marat that they had used their allotted water supply. He snorted, hit the body dryer, and gathered Ying in his arms.
“Are we clean enough for the bed now?” he asked.
“Yes.” Her fingers still twined in his hair, she raised her head to look him in the eyes as he carried her out. “You’re a good man, Marat.”
He made a face. The captain certainly wouldn’t think so, not now.
His expression only made her smile. She shifted her hand to the side of his face, her thumb rubbing the stubble on his chin. He should have shaved while they had been in there, but he had been slightly distracted.
“I’ve never been with a good man before,” Ying said.
He didn’t feel all that good, especially when he kept imagining parting her legs and sinking into her to sate himself, so he only offered a noncommittal “Hm” as he strode across the room, enjoying the feel of her in his arms.
When he laid her on his bed, he was relieved when she pulled him down with her.
“If I’d known mercenaries were different from pirates, I might have applied to join years ag
o.” She smiled and ran her hand over his chest, letting her fingers trail down his abdomen.
His groin tightened. He resisted the urge to push her hand lower, and the even greater urge to roll atop her. Instead, he propped himself on one elbow, enjoying the display of her body stretched out beside his, and lowered his mouth to her breast.
“How are we different?” he murmured, tasting her clean, warm skin.
“Much more fit.” While she let one hand descend lower, brushing the top of his groin, she slid the other over the swell of his shoulder. “And sweet.”
“Please don’t tell the other men you think I’m sweet.” Marat cupped her other breast with his hand while he lifted his mouth to kiss his way up her chest to the hollow of her throat. “Or good. Unless it’s describing prowess with a weapon. Or in bed. Otherwise, they’ll have another reason to kick me out of the outfit.” He kissed his way to her lips, pausing when her exploring hand found his shaft. He swallowed. “Ying, I need you.”
“Good.” She pulled him down for another kiss as she guided him atop her. “I want to see this prowess.”
* * *
Ying expected Marat to thrust into her immediately, to take his own pleasure. He’d been ready for that before they’d removed any clothing, so waiting must have been torture, but even when she invited him to do so, he did not rush. He stroked her hair as he kissed her, treating her like a treasure, as no one ever had. Who else would have stormed a dangerous pirate ship for her? Charged into the captain’s quarters to rescue her? Tried to save her from a life of slavery before he had even known her? The emotions welling inside of her were such a jumble that she couldn’t have explained them if she had tried. Desire and lust, she had known those before, but the tenderness she felt toward him, the raw satisfaction of knowing he cared for her... If it wasn’t love, she could see it becoming that. Already the thought of being parted from him, of not seeing him again, made her grip his shoulders tightly, determined to keep him close.