I step closer to him, watching his every move as I roll the top of my leggings between my fingers and begin to push them down. I step one foot out, then another, and without hesitation, remove my panties and bra. My breasts feel fuller than normal, my body tight with the tension that rises between us. This room is so tiny, there’s hardly any space between us at all, so when I stand in front of him, no longer clothed, he only has to reach out a hand to draw me to him. My breaths mingling with his, we’re sharing the same space, the same air, but more… the intimacy of this moment. And he’d have to be made of granite to be immune to this pull between us, our attraction as inevitable as gravity.
When he touches me, I lose my resolve to outwardly obey but remain detached. Hell, did I ever have that much control? I can’t be angry with him when he touches me like this, his rough hands at the small of my back, pulling me between his legs, as if he’s meant to touch me there. To hold me like this. As if I’m his, like my body’s grooved to fit his touch and when he holds me, we’re one. My throat tightens and my breath hitches. I’m dancing between logic, desire, and a need so desperate my heart is being rent in two.
Without a word, he dips his head to my shoulder and kisses his way along the slopes to my neck. My head falls to the side, granting him access to the tender skin. I moan when his tongue trails along my collarbone, followed by a sensual suckle I feel straight to my clit. The tenuous hold I had on my resolve crumbles.
Pulling his mouth away, he groans. “Fucking gorgeous,” he says in a husky voice. “Jesus Christ.” I thrill at the sound of his voice. I love that I affect him like this. I wish this were another place and time. It’s my every single fantasy come true when he runs his hands up and down my back and over my aching ass, palming each cheek in his firm grip, dragging me even closer until the roughness of his clothes scrapes my naked skin. His blue eyes blaze with hunger, his large, muscled body vibrates with energy. I’m no fool. This is no act.
“Taara,” he says hoarsely. “Ty boginya.”
“Tell me what that means again?” I whisper. I have a vague recollection but want to hear him say it.
He drags his hands up my back, pulling me closer, fluttering kisses anointing my bare skin before he groans, “It means you’re a fairy, a mystical, whimsical feature from another world come to steal my heart.”
“I’m not,” I say, my cheeks flushing in embarrassment just seconds before he squeezes my ass in disapproval.
“Stop that,” he chides, but the corrective tone of his voice wavers. “Your only response here is yes, sir, or yes, master.”
“Yes, sir.” I like that better than master, which sounds weird and stilted, but it still doesn’t feel quite right. Something is a little… off with the title. But I push the thought away. This whole situation is off.
In silence, he holds me to him, kissing the valley between my breasts before he worships the fullness and curves of each one, palming and stroking and weighing them in his hands. I stop breathing when he leans forward and grasps my nipple between his lips.
I buck and moan when he laps and suckles. I’ve never felt anything like this. He’s working my body like a master should. He’s never even kissed me before this moment and it’s not the kind of kisses I’ve imagined, but I’m not complaining. Of all that’s happened in the past day, this is almost worth it.
Almost.
He’s still a fucking jerk, and a little sexy times isn’t changing that.
“Good girl,” he murmurs in my ear, and the words unexpectedly thrill me. Oh, God, I love when he approves of me like that, his words appealing to a need hidden deep, deep within me. I once again try to remain detached and aloof. I tell myself this is necessary for me to prove my loyalty to him, and this is no more than a job. I’m like a prostitute of sorts or… something. We can’t pretend to be a couple aboard this ship without touching each other. Hell, I may even have to whore myself in obedience to him, so that he knows he can trust me. So that I can convince him we’re on the same team.
Caroline told me to convince him, and I trust that woman.
But right now, this is no act. I don’t fabricate the little moans that escape my lips, the way my knees buckle, and I fall sitting onto his lap. The way I lean against him when he cradles me in the crook of his arm and tips me back, granting him access to the most sensitive parts of my body. The way my heart hammers in my chest when he holds me close and dips his mouth closer to mine.