He groans again, and then our bodies shift. A split second later, my back is on the mattress and he’s looming over me, dark hair spilling around us like a curtain. I hold his chin with my fingers and carefully angle my mouth over his.
“Let me show you how you kiss a girl,” I murmur, and slick my tongue into his parted mouth. I taste him, and he tastes sweet, like breakfast, and when his tongue flicks against mine, I can feel the ridges there. Oh, mercy. The kiss deepens, and then we’re lost in each other, him learning how to kiss me with every deep, questing stroke of his tongue, and me just trying to remember to breathe between kisses, because he’s so good at this instantly that it makes me lose all rational thought.
I was supposed to be the one kissing him, but it’s obvious that all he needed was a suggestion, because he’s taken over the kiss completely and is busy rocking my world. This time, when he drags his tongue against mine, I’m the one moaning. When his big hand slides to cup my breast, I whimper and arch against him.
“Tell me you want me,” Varrik murmurs against my mouth. “Tell me you want me to take these clothes off of you and taste between your thighs. Tell me you want to be mine in all ways.”
I suck in a breath, pulling away when he tries to kiss me again. “I’m already yours in all ways. I’m your slave, remember?”
Varrik sits up, his hard, kiss-wet mouth frowning down at me. I want nothing more than to drag him against me again, tease the frustration from his face. But if I do…I’m digging my own grave. “Are you telling me you don’t want this between us?”
“I do,” I pant. God, do I ever. I’ve been lusting after it for what seems like forever. “But we can’t.”
“Why not?”
“It’s the power imbalance.” I shake my head. “It just…feels weird. I’m sorry. Even if we go forward, there’s always going to be this weird little spot in my mind that’s going to tell me I can’t refuse because I belong to you. Because I’m property.”
Varrik traces a finger along my jaw, staring down at me for so long that I worry I’ve offended him. “If I free you,” he murmurs, “you are worse off, Milly. Trust me. Confiscated humans are made to disappear, sent away to backwater planets where the government doesn’t have to deal with the situation. I can’t free you and let that happen to you, not when it’s my duty as your male to protect you.”
He’s mine? I smile at him, warm at the thought. “So what do we do?”
“On your world, how would we become equals? Mates?”
“Mates?” I laugh. “You’d have to marry me or something.”
Varrik thinks for a moment and then stands up. Before I can ask what he’s doing, he turns and leaves the room.
19
VARRIK
Mates. Marriage.
Of course. The answer is a simple one…and woefully complex with its ramifications.
I want my sweet Milly. I’ve wanted her from the first moment I saw her, and it’s turned into the most pleasant, delicious ache of need as the days have passed. I love her spirit, her vibrant personality, how she says outrageous things to try to get me to smile. I love her fearlessness and how she wants to protect my reputation.
Get rid of her? I’d sooner rid myself of this entire planet and its simpering nobility.
Marriage is the answer. Most of my people don’t have official ceremonies anymore—matings are simply sanctioned on a few legal documents. The older families like mine sometimes have extended parties and festivities to celebrate a union, but we no longer call it “marriage.”
The other noble houses will shun me if I mate a human. I’ll be a pariah, no longer welcomed in polite circles here on Homeworld. My political connections will die and take down anyone associated with me.
The thought makes me smile.
How long has it been since I’ve enjoyed this life? How long since I’ve looked at any sort of party or meeting with anything but apathy? Milly has brought joy into my world, and if she needs marriage to feel safe with me, then marriage is what she will get.
It will mean leaving Homeworld behind. It will mean leaving society and galas and these endless robe changes behind. It will mean self-imposed exile on one of my many remote estates, and my family name will be whispered with scorn.
It will mean Milly in my arms every night. Milly’s smiles over breakfast. Milly’s hot mouth on mine, spurning all sanitary laws.
The choice is obvious.
I’m barely down the hall before Aldar is rushing to meet me. “My lord?” he asks, a question in his gaze. “You are not dressed for the party. Your hair. Your boots—”