Starlight Cowboy

by Stephanie Beck

  She tossed her tote into the maintenance closet and followed her nose. The long, narrow halls encased her in gray. So much gray. Even their standard issue uniform lacked color. She entered the galley area, set up much more like a small family kitchen than military food station. Their clothes at this point were all issue, so Shields’ all-black ensemble matched her own, only he filled his out, all muscles and angles.

  “Chicken curry and rice.” He pulled out two pre-packaged dishes from the turbo-cooker, the small appliance able to turn dehydrated meals edible in seconds. “Nothing says let’s go do a nude painting like food that’ll burn you going down.”

  Her father would have laughed at the joke. Annalina refused. She wasn’t going to be Shields’ buddy for crude jokes. Nope. Not happening.

  “Thank you for preparing dinner. It looks good.” She washed up, thankful for the continuous supply of water on the ship. Scientists had rocked when they’d perfected quick osmosis. The gray, personality-less walls didn’t do much for her, but the compact space wasn’t meant to be anything more than functional.

  “Should be.” He handed her a plate.

  She took it and sat at the tiny table. He ate over the sink. Like a crumby co-ed afraid of having to wash a table.

  “Tell me why you like the wires gathered,” Annalina asked, accustomed to talking to his profile during meals.

  “Old habit. My father had a shitty airship. He’d take me out, and when the engine overheated, he’d yell at me to pull the nonessentials. After the billionth time it happened, I started zipping them together. One quick, clean pull.”

  He poured himself a glass of water and leaned against the counter, facing her. “I know these ships don’t have the electrical problems my dad’s ship had, I really do. But after these modifications, we’ll be able to shut down to bare power within minutes instead of hours. That might come in handy.”

  “I understand. I’ll continue working on the wires.” She dug into her food. They had loads of work to do, but most of it was mental or menial. Having physical tasks would keep her mind sharper.

  “Tell me more about painting.” He made no move to offer her water, so she abandoned her food and filled her own glass. “I could have gotten you water.”

  She shrugged, ignoring his contrite tone. “I enjoyed painting more than the other arts. Music is nice, but I’m pretty much tone deaf. I like the time a painting takes. It needs layers and attention to detail to reach full potential.”

  He nodded. “Interesting. Those are the reasons I’m not much of a painter.”

  Command required anyone who flew have some sort of hobby or outlet. “So what do you do?”

  “I sculpt. Badly.”

  She took her seat again, cold water in hand. “Really? What medium?”

  “There’s something about clay I can connect with. It starts so tough then with touch and heat it softens and bends. I mostly make snakes and bowls, but it’s about the process more than the outcome.”

  Was than a double entendre? She glanced up from her food for any signs of smirking, but he didn’t seem pleased with himself. If anything, his neck reddened and he avoided eye contact. Interesting.

  “Excellent. I’m glad you found a strength. The tactile nature of clay and dough are soothing, for sure. We could use some bowls around here.”

  “How about you paint me while I sculpt? We’d be killing two birds with one stone.” He rinsed his plate in the sink. “I don’t mind sculpting while naked. I bet it’ll be calming. I’m going to go shower and then get my clay out. Find me in my quarters whenever you’re ready.”

  He walked away, his long, limber cadence not a stride or saunter, but something different, unique to him. Why did he have to be such a thoughtless bachelor and so sexy? She stabbed at her chicken. And a good cook—rehydrated from a box, but always yummy. She finished slowly and then washed her plate. He’d had enough time to shower and get his stuff out. She still needed to get her supplies…and some resolve and self-discipline, so she could be cool and collected when she painted him. Naked.

  Chapter Five

  When Shields’ father had first learned of the fine arts side of the new flying program, he’d scoffed and put it down as soft-brained idiocy. Shields had paid little attention to the art classes until he failed one and was held back for a promotion. The higher ups took it seriously, so he’d attempted to do better. When he’d proven hopeless at painting and drawing, one of his professors had tossed a ball of flour dough to him and told him to make a snake. From then on, he’d made snakes and passed by the skin of his teeth.

  Damned if working with clay or even bread dough didn’t do what his professor had claimed. The small, tactile movements helped him clear his mind without going deep into reflection. Just release. Like sex, without the involvement or cleanup. He set a brick of clay on the tiny table near his chair. Keeping his hands busy while she worked might even keep his mind in the moment.

  A light knock came from the door. Speaking of sex…he tossed aside his towel and sat on his room’s single chair, crossing his legs, and then uncrossing them. How did a person pose? He’d let Annalina be his guide.

  “Come in,” he called.

  The door slid open and Annalina stepped in, a large canvas blocking her from view. For the first time since he’d agreed to sit for her, apprehension hit. It was one thing to be painted nude. It was another to have his junk immortalized on a full-sized canvas.

  “I hope you’re ready.” She set up her supplies, but hadn’t looked at him yet.

  “Sure am. I even did a little manscaping.”

  Her head popped out from behind the canvas. “What?”

  “Landscaping.” He motioned to his chest and groin. “Shaved a few strays. Not all. I don’t do cue ball.”

  “Good lord,” she muttered, ducking behind her canvas.

  “You’re not going to get shy on me now, are you?” He’d seen a blush, he was certain.

  “Of course not. Are you comfortable? It takes me quite a while to do the initial lines.”

  “Is this how you want me? I can stand, if you want.” He pushed to his feet.

  She peeked out again. “You know, I prefer you standing.”

  Shit. He’d been calling her bluff, but now that he was up, he had to stay. He grabbed a small chunk of clay and squished it between his fingers. “All right. Get to work.”

  “What are you sculpting?” she asked, the scratch of her pencil on the canvas soft, scratchy and constant once she started.

  “Probably a snake. I mostly make snakes.”

  “Why?” Her eyes darted up and down, to him and then away, so he didn’t get a chance to gauge her reaction.

  “They’re simple, but keep my hands and mind occupied. That’s what my teacher said, anyway. Professor Landon taught me how to curl them up into a bowl, though, so more useful.”

  “A bowl, huh? I suppose that’s better than the more obvious sculpture.”

  He smirked. “Don’t worry. Plenty of my classmates got their own personal sculpture of dog piles. I signed them, of course. In case I hit the big time one day.”

  This time, she laughed. She didn’t usually. She was classy and professional, a lady. Some of the qualities he liked most about her. In little ways, Annalina reminded him of his mother. She’d had class, too, and had never taken any shit from him. He wished she’d lived longer—he might have turned out to be a gentleman if he’d had her influence past the age of fifteen.

  “Well, they are fortunate.” Annalina sounded like she was having a good time. Maybe the next two years would include a few laughs.

  “They were limited editions, but I’ll make you one if you want,” he offered.

  “Oh no. But a bowl might be nice. I have my barrettes and clips in a crowded drawer. A small place to set them would be nice.”

  She didn’t seem like the kind to ask for much. In their chats, he’d learned she was a middle child of a large family. Self-sufficiency came naturally to her.

  “
I can do a bowl, if you promise me first option to buy your painting when it’s done.”

  The pencil scratching stopped. “All right. Deal.”

  For the next thirty minutes, he listened to Annalina’s pencil, but neither of them had more to say. His hands stayed busy with the clay, and his cock behaved itself, staying steady at half-mast.

  “The clay does zone you out, doesn’t it?” Annalina asked, the first word between them in many long minutes.

  Surprising, that he didn’t mind being quiet with her. Silence usually unnerved him, filled him with the need to ramble, for the sake of having something in the air between him and another person.

  “I guess so.” He held up a half-executed bowl. “This a good size for you?”

  “Oh yes.”

  The response…much more visceral than he’d expected. He glanced up, but found she wasn’t looking at the bowl. His control over his dick evaporated. If her eyes were on it then he couldn’t be held accountable for what his body did.

  “So. We good for now?” he asked, but didn’t move.

  Annalina swallowed so hard he heard it then hid behind the canvas again. “Sure. It’ll take a few more sittings, but I like the start I have. What do you need to do with the bowl to finish it?”

  He shrugged. “I’ll put it in the engine room for a few days to dry it out then bake it in the turbo-cooker.”

  “Is that enough?”

  “Well, it won’t be sealed, but it’ll work for dry storage.” He stretched, leaving his towel on the floor.

  Her eyes widened, but quickly averted. This was fun. He strode toward her. She jumped away.

  “Easy,” he said. “I just want to look. Wow.”

  The sketch was much more detailed than he’d anticipated with the lines faint, but exact and showing exquisite detail. Even without paint, it embodied art.

  “I researched the meaning of your name because I thought it was pretty. The ‘grace’ part is showing right now. This is some graceful art.”

  “Wrong Annalina meaning.” She covered the canvas with a cloth. “My parents picked Annalina from the Swedish meaning light—or I guess graceful light. I was born the same night as a star shower.”

  “That’s interesting—about your name, I mean. Your art, though, that’s interesting all on its own. You understated your talent.” He glanced up to see her replacing her pencils in their box. “Why didn’t you pursue this as a career?”

  “Because flying is my dream.” She grabbed the easel and canvas. “Always has been. My father would say I stuck with it because I’m good at it. I never stick with anything I don’t excel at.”

  “Why would you? Unless you loved it,” he said. “Your parents were onto something when they named you. Not everyone lives up to their moniker, but here you are, a graceful artist who flies among the stars.”

  She met his eyes this time. “You make it all sound predestined and romantic, when the facts are simple. I like drawing and painting, but flying in this airship to the Jup moon is what I’ve always dreamed of doing. When I can combine my passions—well, today was a great day. I’ll leave you alone now. Thanks for posing.”

  “No problem.”

  She hightailed it out of his room, not even glancing back. Shields scowled down at his dick, still hard. “You made her run away. Jerk.”

  Chapter Six

  Why oh why had she let Missy’s hints goad her into checking out Shields’ penis for herself? Annalina shoved her pillow on top of her face to muffle her groan. She was so horny, her toes hurt. And if she thought about how much her clit hurt, she’d explode. Two rounds of masturbation had exacerbated the problem, and her alarm clock would go off any second.

  She’d have to face him over breakfast, knowing what he had in his pants. And that stuff about her name? The man didn’t have a smooth bone in his body, yet she’d been reeled in and flattered by his curiosity. The fact he saw some fairy tale, fate piece…was total panty charming. Yet, he’d attempted no move.

  Bird lips, she forced herself to focus on his less than handsome face. With tiny lips like he had, he couldn’t possibly give good oral. Nope. None at all. Her clit would get no lip loving from him, so why bother?

  Because, with the equipment he sported, she could cowgirl up and ride for hours, that’s why bother. Her alarm sounded. In the deep quiet of space and the night mode of the ship, the tiny buzzing assaulted like cannon fire. She slammed the tiny snooze button and rolled out of bed, unplugging the offending clock. Idiot machine wasted power…she glance back to it which pulling out clothes. She’d plug the damn thing in before her shift.

  She’d shower, attempt getting off again, and hope for the best. She programmed the water pressure and waited, but only air emerged from the tiny holes.

  “Fuck.” She checked the diagnostics panel to find that she had a clogged filter. “Already? Bullshit.”

  A clogged filter would take an hour to replace by the time she found a new one. If there was a new one. The filters were supposed to last five years. She grabbed her towel, soap, and a new uniform and headed to Shields’ room. He’d showered the night before. There wouldn’t be a problem.

  She crossed the hall, and slammed her fist on his door. It opened within seconds. Shields—naked Shields—squinted at her. His hair standing on end and his eyes fuzzy.

  “What the hell? What’s wrong?”

  “I need your shower. Now.” She strode past him.

  “What? Why?”

  “Filter is out on mine.” Her jaw hurt from clenching.

  “So you slam in here, thinking you’ll use mine? What if I need it?” He jumped in front of her, blocking the door.

  She froze, willing herself not to reach out and rub his bare chest. “You showered last night.”

  “I shower a lot. It’s a public service—guys stink. Even if I’m not running around, I have a running level of sweat even deodorant and antiperspirant can’t completely demolish. The funk chases me, even in my sleep. I’d rather have your stink around this place than my stink.”

  “You are disgusting. How can you be so hot and so gross? Do I look like one of the dudes to you? Do you not see an attractive woman right in front of you, half-naked, three steps from your shower? And you stand here talking about body odor?”

  He blinked. “What?”

  She dropped her towel. “Naked, horny, sexy.” She waved at him. “Naked, obviously hard, and disgusting.”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa.” He backed away, eyes wide open. “I didn’t even know sex between us was an option. I would have brushed my teeth and peed already. Instead, you woke me from a dead sleep where I was dreaming of scaling fish, and you expect me to be charming? Fuck, I’m barely charming when I’m awake, functioning, and holding flowers.”

  She had to cut him a break. He was right, and she was making a ridiculous scene. “I’m sorry. I’m going to shower, and I’ll be gone before you know it. If you need to pee, my bathroom toilet works fine.”

  She started to close the door, but he caught it and shoved it open.

  “I’m not done. I’m interested in this sex business, but didn’t think you were. You don’t seem to like me.”

  She shrugged. “What’s liking have to do with it? It’s just fucking. You look equipped and willing to comply.”

  “Rules?”

  It hadn’t occurred to her to think so far ahead, not with her pussy throbbing, but he made a valid point. They couldn’t have sex spill into everyday life. It would dirty up their working relationship. Yet, his bobbing dick spoke of the same sort of problem she dealt with.

  “Shower only. What happens there, stays there. We do this, walk away, and go about our day. No pillow talk, no casual kissing, no ass slapping, and no bullshit.”

  He nodded. “I like it.”

  “And nothing kinky.”

  His eyebrow shot up. “What if I’m good at kinky?”

  She’d been afraid of that. “We listen and respect boundaries. Damn it.”

  “Deal.” He
held out his hand.

  She rolled her eyes. “Just get your ass in here and fuck me.”

  Shields had thought his dream of fishing in Alaska would be the highlight of his day. Annalina had sauntered by him, not really sauntering…what was a word for pissed off sauntering? Whatever it was, Annalina walked it, and they were going to have sex.

  “Shields. Let’s do this.” She switched on the water and stepped into the cubicle. One more nondescript room in a spaceship full of them, but at least his shower was functional with multiple showerheads. He was sick of all the gray already, but Annalina brightened the space with her caramel skin and fire-filled eyes.

  He ruffled over his messy hair. If he’d known horny company planned to visit, he’d have woken sooner, would have brushed his hair, would have brushed his…teeth. He grabbed his toothbrush from its holder and slammed it over his teeth to get rid of the night funk.

  “This showerhead is going to take care of things instead of you, if you don’t get your ass in here.” Annalina sure knew how to make a guy feel “loved.”

  He tossed his brush aside and jumped in. Annalina already had the nozzle off the bracket. Water dripped from the ends of her hair and cascaded down her curvy, dark caramel-honey skin. He swallowed twice. At the angle she stood he only saw half her breast, but even side boob was freaking amazing.

  “Come on.” She pressed one hand to the wall, the showerhead was grasped in her other, teasing her shoulders and breasts.

  “How do you want to do this?” He stepped in behind her, his already morning-hard dick going rigid.

  “If I have to tell you where to put things, we’re in more trouble than I thought.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Just go.”

  He might have started with kissing, cuddling, caressing, but far be it from him to deny a lady. Her sweet curves welcomed his fingers. One touch and he caught her infectious desire. She’d be addictive from the first taste, no doubt about it. Strength and softness combined under his fingers, but before he could take it all in, her ass brushed his dick. Not so much brushed as slammed.