by Bex McLynn
"Well done with the Cuneiform desk," he said.
She smiled, but then shook herself loose, her hair flicking like a tail. "Oh, before I forget. Therion wants me to pass along my thoughts about Prykimis's repairs. I have no idea why."
"I am aware." No need to revisit her earnest attempt to connect with his brother on a personal level. He'd given up hope long ago. But still, he appreciated her effort.
"Thank you for showing me the desk." She blushed, and each time it mesmerized him. "And I hope I gave you useful information about the cargo. I'd hate it if your men are following a red herring."
"Red herring?"
"Misdirection. Perhaps the cargo and marauders are all a distraction."
"Ah, an ulóvka," he said in his native tongue, and cautiously let a smile bloom on his face. "Bulanii for 'misleading clue.'"
"Bulanii?"
"My homeworld. Bulan Ero. One of seven worlds that comprise the Teras Dominion."
Smiling in return, she said, "Well, in English, we call it a 'red herring.' It's a fish. And a misleading clue."
"Clever fish."
Seph laughed. "Fish do go to school."
He thrilled. She just laughed at something he said. Not Therion or Rannik. Him.
"Speaking of school, will Cadet Rannik be going back to Fleet Academe?"
Each time she asked about Rannik, she caught him off guard. The women he'd been with in the past never concerned themselves with Rannik. It was all about the arrangement. Place. Dates. Terms. A few hours in a brace with a woman, and he'd moved on. Some of those women he liked and revisited, but he never talked about his family before dipping his cock in a woman. Well, nothing beyond his typical questions. Had his grandmother made any threats or promises? Had she ever braced with his brother?
He eyed her warily. "Cadet Rannik will be stationed on Deleo for the time being."
"Deleo." He heard the disappointment in her voice. "Not back to Prykimis?"
"Not at this time."
"Oh, all right." Gods, she sounded just as dejected as his son about the whole arrangement. "Is it because he's no longer in my clutch? Because he's no longer obligated to be here?"
No, that was not the reason. If Prykimis was secure, he wouldn't keep them apart. "A cadet has no place on a ship like Prykimis, especially after there was a mutiny."
"Oh, god, you're right. I wasn't thinking," she said in a rush. "Do you think I could go see him?"
He heard it in her voice, saw how her body curled in on itself, that she still reeled from her earlier conversation with Therion. They stood on opposite sides of the hrast desk, and suddenly that was too fucking vast of a distance. He wanted to vault over the damn desk, but forced himself to walk around. Her eyes grew large at his approach, but she did not shy away from him.
He slid his hand behind her back, brought her close. Gods, she sidled right up to him and embraced him in her arms. She didn't hesitate, just clicked into place. He was pleased that she didn't hide her face, but gazed up at him. He told himself she needed the contact, the bolstering, as he imparted some hard truths.
"You're needed here, on Prykimis, for the foreseeable future." The Trine had already said as much to her. So he let her absorb that fact before continuing. "When the ship stabilizes, we'll get you to Deleo. From there, we'll find a way to get you home."
"I know," she said, and he thought she sounded huskier. "I need to be patient. Your first duty is to this ship."
She didn't know he surveilled her through her WristCune. Listened to all her conversations. Tracked her movements. He would not waste his time lamenting actions that ensured her safety. Especially when his intel enabled him to nip insidiously planted notions. Such as Lady Arana insinuating that he'd manipulate information about Seph's technopathic abilities in order to keep her in his house.
"But I made a promise to you," he said, his hands in constant motion on her back, palms pressed flat to feel the warmth radiating through the uniform fabric. "And I won't be the only one. Others will come lay their promises before you. They'll promise you power, wealth."
She shook her head. "I don't want any of that. I just want to go home."
"That's why I promised you shelter until I see you home." He already had reports coming from contacts within the Dominion. There was too much chatter about Seph and her future. "Which means you have my protection. And what is mine to protect, I protect fiercely." Thanemonger, indeed.
He saw her turning his words over in her mind. He said precisely what he meant to say. She would either draw the conclusion, or not.
Her gaze dropped to his chest. Her brow furrowed. "So you only gave the Trine so much data."
He said nothing.
"Data they probably already had."
Gods, he held his breath, waiting for her to finish.
"Anything else, I would have to tell them myself." She groaned and rested her head against his chest. She was so small, not even brushing against the underside of his chin. "Because the better I get at this... Shit. They'll try to convince me to stay."
Yes, at first they'd try to woo her. Then coerce her.
She sighed and sagged against him. "God, so even though meeting with the Trine was one of your terms, I still determine the interaction. I get to choose."
"The Athela always chooses." He learned that at his grandmother's knee.
"So the Athela always chooses?" she asked, shifting in his arms, brushing against him.
He grunted. Indeed, the Athela was in control.
"Then, can I choose to kiss you?"
Chapter Fifteen
God, Seph hadn't realized how much she had missed Zver until she saw him. Because if he had been with her all day, she would have held steady. She wouldn't have worried about her future. Her thoughts wouldn't have drifted to wondering what would happen to her if she didn't make it home. He always bulldozed her wretched moods. He'd seen her be nonsensical, frustrated, and vulnerable, yet unilaterally treated each incarnation with cool reserve. His 'hold steady' mien was like a hand-up after a stumble. Solid. Firm. Appreciated. Needed.
She didn't choose to be taken from home and separated from her child. She didn't choose to be lost in space or to have rare technopathic abilities. She didn't choose any of this crap. And the fact that Zver had still given her choices while thaning everyone else, well, that touched her.
If she got to choose, then she chose to kiss him.
Zver, that wonderful man, didn't hesitate. He scooped her up and her ass landed on the desk. Large hands cupped her face, and her next breath was swallowed by his hungry mouth.
He dove in, like an icy wind, and stole her breath away.
"You choose me?" he asked, growling the words.
"Choose you." She gasped.
He swelled over her, his entire bulk engulfing her. His lips connected with hers, infusing her with a cool, minty sensation that shot a chill through her. A pulsing heat chased the chill, tingling her limbs and igniting her core. Just like that, he had her wet and melting.
His hands slid further back, his fingers burrowing into her hair, searing her scalp with dual sensations of coolness and warmth. The joints in his hands cracked open and flexed, like he wanted to hold her tighter and barely restrained the urge.
As he deeply scented her hair, a low, pained rumbled pulled from his chest. "What you do to me, Seph. I don't clutch."
Her mind tried to absorb his words. She knew he didn't clutch. Did that make this more? Less?
Those thoughts were pushed aside as he devoured her mouth again. Swept his tongue deep inside.
His large hands dropped to her thighs, hooked her behind the knees, and spread her wide. He dragged her forward as he stepped into her, their bodies colliding at their cores.
Seph moaned and rose up to meet him. He tasted like that first sip of chilled chardonnay, mouthwateringly dry, yet left her parched for more. Any flesh that his hands could find—her cheeks, her neck, her scalp—blazed to life as the cool touch of his fingers sensitized
her skin. She wanted those icy hot sensations everywhere—swirling around her nipples, stroking through the folds of her pussy.
"Off." Seph gasped. Her fingers fumbling at her own collar, trying to work the unfamiliar fastenings. Shit, if her uniform was a buttoned-up blouse, she would have had it off and swinging around her head like a lasso by now. She started tugging. "Get this off."
He gently batted her hands away, his voice thrumming with tension. "Cease."
"Ceasing." She leaned back, arms straight with her palms flat on the desk, and offered herself up to him.
He accepted her offering with an impressive yank that tore her uniform, bounced her breasts, and kicked her heart rate up another notch.
Eyes locked on what he unwrapped, his hands slowly descended on her. "Seph."
Her name, rumbled so ravenously, had her legs spasming—wanting to close, to wrap around him. But he loomed over her with his shoulders rolled forward and legs braced apart, his hard cock pressing against her center. Seph, desperate for stimulation, pumped her hips and grinded against him. Mere brushes. Not enough.
But he shuddered and groaned as his hands closed over her naked breasts and caressed them.
"Ah!" Seph jackknifed underneath him. Dear god! The cold shot bowed her. Heat raced to her stimulated flesh, puckering her nipples.
She latched onto his thick forearms, her hands floundering for purchase.
"By Direis," he said, baring his teeth. "So warm."
If his hands felt this amazing, then his cock would be... Their gazes locked. The titillating notion took root in her belly as his eyes sparked coolly with wicked intent.
They both exploded into action, attacking their own clothing. Seph thumped back into the desk, struggling with her sleeves. Zver started with his jacket, huffed as if realizing the absurd irrelevance of removing it, and started on the seam of his pants.
The second he loosened his pants, he reached for her. Worked a free hand down the front of her uniform and into her curls. With a single-minded determination, he sought out his final destination.
"Oh, my..." Seph dissolved into bliss at the first swirl of his fingers through her wet folds, firing up every nerve ending in her pussy. He hadn't even found her clit yet, and she lost the ability to finish her damn sentence.
A broad finger found her opening, and Seph closed her eyes and braced herself, her hands trying to gain purchase on the sleek surface of the desk.
She readied herself for his next touch, the one that would rocket her further into outer space.
Nothing. Seph felt absolutely nothing.
She opened one eye to peek at the massive man clinically assessing her undercarriage.
A different kind of cold, not Zver-sensual-flesh-tingling cold, but cold-shower cold, washed over her.
She reconnected with reality. She was an alien. Distinctly other.
"Seph?" he rumbled, sounding fascinated. "Does this pain you?"
He was poised at her entrance, barely a knuckle deep.
"Um, no. Not at all." Her conversational tone was just another buzz killing the mood.
When he made no reply, she glanced up to see his skeptical expression. Well, since he didn't believe what she said, she simply wiggled a bit, and his finger sank further into her primed, slick pussy.
He jerked his hand away and reared back, seeking her face, looking for... What? Pain? Discomfort?
She rose up onto her elbows, keeping her legs open for inspection. She arched a brow at him, part permission, part challenge.
He studied her, approaching tentatively—a side of him she'd never seen before. Was this Zver being uncertain, of all things?
"Here," she said gently, taking his hand.
She guided him to her and helped him slide a finger inside. His guttural moan was colored in astonishment and arousal. A shudder coursed through his massive frame.
"Gods, Seph, you're deep." His voice hitched. "And narrow."
Feeling rekindled, Seph adjusted him, having him add another thick finger. He slid into her, filling the empty ache inside.
"How?" He breathed heavily. "How do you?"
Seph reached for him, his astonishment leaving him pliant to her tugging. His eyes broke their focus on her bared core, looking to her for an explanation. She placed her lips a breath from his ear. "I stretch."
"Stretch?"
She nipped his lobe, causing him to shudder again. "Length and girth."
He froze, hovering over her. "Fuck. Say that again."
Seph suspected she knew which one got him off. She licked his ear before whispering, "Length. I can take it."
"Hold me," he said gruffly.
She obeyed.
Snatching her off the desk, large hands grasping her ass, he snarled. "Brace."
Oh, she was braced. And primed. And so, so ready.
He stormed over to that horribly ostentatious chair in the corner. The one Prykimis had termed 'House Brace.' If this was its purpose, now she knew why Rannik had cleaned it with stiff, self-conscious swipes and ears tipped blue with embarrassment. Even after it was cleaned, no one sat in it. But Zver now seemed determined to use it.
He dropped hard into the chair, yet held her up and away just enough so that she barely felt the impact. He kept her there, poised above him, and she moaned and squirmed in frustration. She reached for him, framing his face with her hands as she leaned in to take his mouth.
He turned away.
"Straps." He bit out the word, a tendon popping on his jaw. "Now."
She sucked and laved at his neck, at the pulse point on his jaw. The fact that he held her above him easily, displaying his incredible muscular strength, spurred her on.
"Zver." She whimpered.
"Straps," he said again, arms shaking. "Fucking strap me in, Seph."
She had no idea what he was talking about. All she knew was that she wanted in his lap, his cock inside her, now. Right now. Post-freaking-haste now. She redoubled her squirming, not caring that he held her hips so tight that there would be bruises.
"No straps." She went after his pants, wanting him in hand. She had felt him grinding his cock against her, thick and hard. If Fate wasn't cruel, she hoped to find reasonably recognizable bits and pieces. And if not, screw it. She'd wing it.
"Seph. Seph, don't. Not without—fuuuck."
She had him. Dear god, did she have him. Bulbous head, turgid shaft. She slid her grasp down his cool length, her palms heating so much that the rest of her shivered. At the base of his cock, where on a human man would be coarse hair, she encountered—well, not hair—but a cluster of blindly seeking stout filaments, like a stubby version of a flower stamen.
"Those..." She gently brushed her fingers over them, their structure and texture reminiscent of tiny tongues.
"My anthers," he said, strained.
"... are going to feel so good." She moaned, danced her fingers over them again, and was headily rewarded as he vibrated beneath her.
"Straps, Seph."
She could hear his resolve crumbling and knew what she had to do. She reversed her squirming and pulled away, rather gratified that he released her with a reluctant sigh.
She kicked off her boots and shimmied the battered uniform down her legs and onto the floor. When she looked up at Zver, he sat riveted, fisting the armrests of the chair, the wood creaking under the intense pressure. His eyes frosted over and his huffed breaths misted from his nostrils like tendrils of smoke. He was a smoldering ice dragon.
Shaking in anticipation, Seph climbed back onto his lap.
"Don't want to hurt you." His voice sounded rough, and his eyes pleaded with her. To stop? To not stop?
"You won't," she said tenderly as she began her descent. "You won't."
Just as they were about to connect, white light exploded behind her eyes. Pain shot through her entire body. She was launched, then tumbled mid-air as Zver encased her. They hit the deck hard.
"Seph! Seph!"
Dazed, she blinked and shook her head
, which only made things worse. An alarm. An alarm blared.
"Seph!" He jostled her.
"I'm good. Good." Not true. Her head felt like it was trapped in a vice. "What? What was—"
Zver shot up, pulling her to her feet. "We're under attack."
Chapter Sixteen
Un-fucking-forgivable.
For the first time that Zver could remember, he willfully ignored his technopathic data feed. He was so caught up in Seph—her warm flesh, her decadent moans, her musky arousal—that with each message he received, he replied 'stand by.' Over and over. Until an internal explosion rocked Prykimis.
Data streamed in. His spires already engaged a fleet of marauder ships. Strike teams swarmed rioters, and the Trine's cruiser had fallen back into the defensive corona of the flotilla.
The second he broke comms silence, Furiero, his second-in-command, began running him through the sit-rep. "Spires have engaged marauder ships. Explosion in the berths on Prykimis and rioting. Minor altercations on Deleo already neutralized."
"I see Ahkera falling back. Is the Trine reporting any issues?"
"Negative, Thane. Ahkera reports secure."
He was pleased to see the moment he released Seph's hand, she had hustled to redress in her uniform. The front was a hopeless cause, though, hanging open, leaving her skin exposed.
He deftly undid the remaining fastenings on his jacket. He palmed his C-Cune off the collar.
Offering the garment to Seph, he tucked her curls behind her ear and whispered to her. "Here. Wear this." Then into his C-Cune. "Does Deleo have a firing solution on the marauder fleet?"
"Yes. Seventy percent neutralized," said Vapen, his weaponsmaster. "Spires are dominating the arena."
Damn all. Even with the fighters thinning the attacking fleet, and Deleo opening fire, his crew already estimated thirty percent of the marauders would achieve objective, which they could only assume to be boarding and pillaging. Ideally, the strike teams could handle those numbers, but the marauders engaged them on two fronts—boarders and mutineers.
Mutineers. He suspected those rioters were truly marauders who either had infiltrated Prykimis's crew or were crew members who defected. Either way, they wreaked havoc on both of his ships.
