Authors: Zoe Archer
He moved his hand from her buttocks, stroking over her hip, over the curve of her belly. She couldn’t hold back a long, low moan when his fingers dipped lower, and, when he discovered how wet she was, he growled.
She writhed against him as he continued to tease and pinch her nipples while his other hand stroked through the folds of her pussy. Each caress sent streaks of pleasure through her. His fingers were broad and calloused, his skin rough. Awareness dimmed. She knew only where he touched her, where he drew forth such fathomless pleasure.
He touched her with an expertise born from familiarity. He knew her body. Knew what she wanted, what she craved. He knew that pressing his thumb just
there
on her clit made her gasp, and he knew that sinking two fingers into her passage made her scream. And when he worked her, thumb on her clit, fingers thrusting in and out and pressing against that one exquisitely sensitive spot within, she felt his claim.
“Only I know you like this,” he rumbled against her throat. “This is what I give you, Lulu. Me, and no one else.”
“Kit, yes.” Control burned away. She abandoned herself to pleasure, the pleasure he created.
The orgasm hit her with a tidal force. She threw her head back to scream her release, but his mouth on hers swallowed the sound. Surge after surge crashed over her, and he drove them on relentlessly, release after release, his hand locked intimately against and within her.
Finally, as her limbs shook and sweat coated her body, he took his hand away. One by one, he licked his fingers.
“As delicious as ever,” he murmured.
Heavy lidded, she watched him, and it amazed her that, after so many climaxes, her desire burned just as bright.
“I need to know if you taste the same, too,” she whispered.
His jaw looked made of stone as she slid down his body, then knelt before him, their gazes locked all the while. He moved just enough to grab the pillow from the berth and slide it under her knees.
“Always so considerate,” she said with a wicked smile.
He seemed incapable of speech—a very good thing. He did growl, however, when she unfastened the buttons on his breeches. And when she reached in his drawers and pulled out his cock, the rough sounds he made were inhuman.
She took her gaze from his to stare at his cock. Her guess had been correct. His transformation had affected all parts of him. He was most assuredly bigger. Not that she’d had any cause for complaint before, but . . . well . . .
The wonders of science.
Hands clenched at his sides, he strained toward her. Yet she merely let her breath mist over him. She licked her lips, then rubbed them against the head of his cock. Moisture beaded at the tip, and when she licked her lips again, she tasted its saltiness.
“Lulu, damn it.” His voice was a rumble.
It was time to end her play. She leaned closer and took him into her mouth.
Words that were half swears, half prayers tumbled from him.
The head was broad, and she ran her tongue around it before taking him deeper. She couldn’t fit all of him in her mouth, so she gripped his shaft, pumping, as she sucked him. Oh, he tasted the same, male flesh and musk, and the feel and flavor of him stoked her excitement.
Tension vibrated through him. She felt him holding back, fighting to keep himself under control. Glancing up, she saw his eyes were tightly shut and the cords of his neck stood out as he struggled.
She pulled back. “Let go.”
“I can’t,” he ground out.
“Kit. Look at me.” When he pried his eyes open, blue fire in the darkness, she said, “I’m on my knees for you. I’m giving you everything. And I want you to do the same for me.”
He was still for a moment. Then, as though his bones had rusted, his hands slowly came up to cradle the back of her head.
“
Yes
,” she whispered.
He guided her. She opened her lips, and his cock slid into her mouth. Yet she did not move. Simply waited.
His hips went back, then forward. She breathed in deeply, forcing herself to relax, as his cock filled her mouth completely, hard and thick. He moved again, thrusting into her mouth. She made a soft noise of arousal and encouragement. A noise that meant
More.
With a growl, he gave her exactly that. His thrusts deepened. He held her immobile, hands and cock, and she closed her eyes as sensation pulsed in every part of her.
It was a kind of penance for the hurt she had caused, kneeling before him, allowing him to use her mouth so roughly for his own pleasure—but she did not feel subjugated by it. She knew her own power. It couldn’t be touched. This moment was for him. And for her.
Opening herself to him like this, no sense of self, no will but the need to give and receive pleasure . . . her arousal knew no boundaries.
Of its own volition, her hand drifted between her legs. The other plucked at her nipple. She moaned around his cock. Almost at once, another climax tore through her.
His strokes grew quicker, his breathing ragged. Everything within him tensed. His own release loomed. His hands eased from around her head, and he moved as if to pull away, but she wouldn’t allow it. Opening her eyes, she looked up and their gazes held. A question in his eyes. She answered it silently by keeping him in her mouth.
His body went rigid. A groan ripped from deep in his chest. His seed poured into her. Eyes closed in rapture, she swallowed—eliciting another groan from him.
He pulled out of her mouth and scooped her up in his arms. In two strides, he stood next to the bed and gently laid her down. She drifted for a moment, floating on echoing currents of sensation, and came back to awareness when she felt a wineglass pressed to her lips. Grateful, she sipped at the dark, rich wine. Eyes opened to slits, she watched as he drank wine as well, then set the glass aside. Drowsiness began to set in.
“Can’t sleep yet,” he cautioned with a wicked smile. “We’ve got more to do.”
“But you . . .” She glanced down at his groin and was amazed to see that he was still just as hard and upright as he’d been before.
“Still want you.” He pushed the braces off his shoulders and undid the buttons lining the front of his shirt. The shirt was dropped to the floor, and she saw again the astonishing musculature of his arms and torso, limned in starlight. The telumium implants gleamed on his shoulder.
He pulled off his boots, which thudded to the ground, and then stripped out of his breeches. He was naked.
She levered herself up on her elbows, no longer sleepy. The muscles of his thighs were thick and carved, his calves solid. And when he turned to shove all of their discarded clothing aside, she couldn’t stop the gasp that sprang from her lips.
“You could charge admission to look at your arse.” It was rock hard, with beautifully defined divots on each buttock.
He slanted her a grin. “Good to know I’ve a plan if my naval pension isn’t enough.”
Yet both of their smiles faded. They both seemed to realize at the same time that the prospect of a pension was unlikely. Neither of them believed they would survive the next twenty-four hours.
Lying back on the bed, she opened her arms to him. He went to her at once, sinuous and powerful, and stretched out beside her. The berth was narrow, but they pressed tight against one another, flesh to flesh. She always loved the contrast of their bodies, and now that the differences were even greater, she reveled in the sensation.
Braced on one elbow, he leaned over her. His fingers curved over the back of her neck, his thumb against the pulse drumming in her throat, and he kissed her deeply.
“I dreamed,” he rumbled, “but never dared to hope. To have this with you again.”
“Every night, I wished for you.” She felt her heart in her gaze as she looked up at him. “It was my own fault I was alone, but that couldn’t stop me from wanting. I would lie in my bed and ache to have you next to me, inside me. I’d touch myself and try to pretend it was you. Your hand on my skin. On my breasts. My sex. I’d come, crying your name.”
His breathing became jagged, and he took her mouth again in a deep and searching kiss. She gripped his biceps, arching up to him.
“Did you think of me?” she whispered against his mouth. “Would you take your cock into your hand and stroke it, imagining it was my hand that gripped you? My pussy around you?”
As she spoke, she reached down and wrapped her hand around his cock, stroking him in time with her words. He groaned.
“Tried to deny myself,” he said through his teeth. “So angry after you left. Tried to picture anyone else. That I was fucking some other woman.”
She hadn’t the means to be outraged over his confession. Her actions had been shameful.
“But I couldn’t,” he said. “It was you I imagined in my bed. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t get you from my mind.”
“Or your cock,” she added, scraping her fingernails down his shaft.
He sucked in a breath. “Damned traitor—it wanted you even when my heart was bleeding.”
“You can’t know how sorry I am.” Tears choked her throat. “For the suffering I caused us both.”
“We’ll not talk about that now.” He stroked over her breasts, her belly, his touch both reverent and commanding. “These hours belong to the present, and I won’t waste them on regret.”
In response, she kissed him, sweeping her tongue into his mouth that she might drink him up. His tongue rubbed against hers, and they fell together into sensation, a long, liquid spiral.
Flames of need coursed through her. “I want more,” she gasped. “I want you inside me. Where you’ve always belonged.”
In a blur of movement, he shifted, kneeling between her legs. He gripped her hips, angling them up. The head of his cock nestled at her entrance. A heartbeat passed. He stared at her as though with sight alone he could devour her, and she gazed back as they shared a brief eternity. This was a ship of war, he himself was a weapon, but this . . . this was theirs.
He surged into her. A single, thick thrust. She bowed up with a cry, hands pressed to the bed. Ah, god, he filled her. Completely. Almost to the point of pain. But it was exquisite.
More sounds of ecstasy tore from her as he stroked in and out of her. Her pleasure climbed even higher, watching the flex and movement of his muscles, the metal on his shoulder supple and gleaming, as though some fantastic creature from ancient myth made love to her in the depths of night. And the noises he made verged on bestial, exciting her to madness.
She threw herself into the pleasure they made, pushing against the bed that she might take him further, deeper. Still, she wanted more.
As he did. He suddenly gathered her up, his arms supporting her beneath her buttocks, and stood. He was still buried deep within her as he strode to the bulkhead and braced her against it. With the bulkhead firm against her back, he sank even deeper into her. She cried out, and wrapped her legs around his waist.
“Wanted this,” he growled. “So badly.” He kept one arm supporting her from below, holding her up with his incomparable strength. With his other hand, he gripped her wrists, stretching her arms up over her head and pinning them to the bulkhead.
The posture sang with the truth: She was his. Unquestionably his. That had never changed.
“Kit,” she moaned. “I love you.”
His gaze flared with pleasure. He kissed her, hard, consuming her gasp as he thrust into her. Again and again, he sank into her welcoming depths, gaining speed and strength with each stroke. Here again, the benefits of his transformation, for he moved as no ordinary man could, piston-fast. Overwhelmed, lost to ecstasy, she could do nothing but feel, and what she felt was pleasure, devastating pleasure.
Release was incendiary. It utterly destroyed her. She bit down hard on his shoulder to muffle her scream. He snarled in approval. And as she came and came again, he continued to move, creating even greater pleasure.
Then the climax had him, and his whole body went rigid with release.
It could have been moments or years later when he let go of her wrists, and her arms slid bonelessly down. She barely had the strength to lift them so she could wrap them around his shoulders.
He carried her back to the bed, and there they lay down together. She draped over him. He cradled her close, murmuring wordless endearments against the crown of her head. It was almost like how it used to be after a night of intense lovemaking, when they would lie in each other’s arms, drowsing and sated, content and secure.
She felt herself slipping into sleep. Never had she been more replete. But she couldn’t feel content, nor secure. A perilous mission loomed just beyond the sunrise, and she could only wonder—had she found Christopher again, and the truth of her own heart, just in time to lose everything?
S
LEEP WAS FOR ordinary men. Since receiving his implants, Christopher had discovered that he needed less sleep. Three or four hours, rather than six or seven, were all he required to be at optimum capacity. At first, the change had been unsettling. By force of habit, he’d make himself get into his berth and stay there for the whole of the night. This became phenomenally dull, and he had soon begun to use those hours to write in his log or patrol the ship. Sometimes he even took the wheel from whoever had been assigned night watch.
After the chaos of his days, he’d started to enjoy the quiet and solitude of night, when the ship felt like his alone, and the canopy of stars seemed adorned for his private delight. It could be lonely, however, those long stretches of solitude, and those had been the hours when his thoughts had often turned to Louisa, reawakening a slumbering pain.
He was grateful now that he didn’t need much sleep. It meant he could bask in the pleasure of holding her one final night without a moment wasted.
She lay in his arms, softly asleep, her breath feathering across his chest. He wanted her again—but she needed her rest. And he wasn’t entirely certain her body could withstand any more. That he hadn’t hurt her seemed miraculous. Had she made the slightest sound of pain, he would have stopped immediately, agonizing though it might have been. Yet she’d reveled in him, in the almost brutal way he’d loved her. The bite mark on his shoulder ached pleasantly, evidence as to just how much she had enjoyed herself.