Unbound (8 page)

“Harder. I’m not fragile, you know.” She ran her hands over his shoulders, relishing the strength beneath her fingers. The tat registered as a slight roughness to the touch, as if the dark ink had left a scar.

He gasped, his breath warming the slopes of her breasts, a shudder rocking his body—and hers. Panting, he closed his eyes as she traced that fascinating roughness. Such an extreme response to a light touch, it enticed her to linger there and explore the possibilities.

A low moan caressed her skin, damp heat like velvet over the sensitized flesh. It sank into silence, muffled against her breasts. His stubble prickled, the abrasion a sweet ache that drew an answering throb from between her thighs.

His hot mouth closed over her left breast, sucking hard as though he sought to drink her down whole. The carnal heat of his suction flooded her veins, all melting seduction and virile power in that one contact. She shivered, feeling the pull to the tips of her toes. The pressure grew, a hunger for his touch, his care, his strength.

Delight was a tangible thing unfurling beneath her skin like an exotic flower opening for the sun. Here was a man who could pleasure her to the fullest, one who knew how to use his body as it was meant to be used.

 

 

Asrial moaned,
her body writhing as she gave herself up to his expert touch. She pressed herself against him, her mound a rough caress as she clutched at him. Her hands tugged at his thighs, insistent. Did she want him to mount her?

It seemed that way. Her motions called to him, tempted him—almost like a living invitation to pleasure.

She quivered under his hands, her fingers digging into his shoulders with an urgency that seduced. What man could resist the sure knowledge of a woman’s willing welcome?

But, no, he could not believe she wanted him to mount her—he dared not. He was djinn, not an ordinary man. He had failed too many times. One such as he was not worthy of such trust. If she knew what he had done, she would not want him. He could not betray her confidence.

“Romir, come on.” Asrial urged him with voice and hands and mouth, a flood of sensual invitation that sapped his resolve.

Only she did not know what he was. The thought of her horror once she knew the truth prevented him from succumbing to sweetest temptation.

He could not bring himself to take that final step. All he could do was focus on bringing her to ecstasy. Surely she would allow him this gift.

Ignoring her protest, he dropped lower and kissed her belly, tracing the firm slopes and lines of muscle with his tongue. Strength and gentleness all in one woman. Too gentle for her own good. Unable to resist, he nibbled on her, capturing tender skin between his teeth.

She giggled, plunging her fingers into his hair and grasping the back of his head. “That tickles!”

Such a carefree sound. It lightened his heart and drove back the darkness lurking in tattered memory. He wanted to hear more of it. He rubbed his cheek on her inner hip, feeling the tug on his jaw as the stubble caught and rasped.

“Ah!” Though she flinched, another gurgle of laughter followed her gasp. “D-don’t.”

“How about this, then?” Spreading her thighs, he made a place for himself in their cradle, holding her wide with the span of his shoulders.

She murmured something incoherent that trailed off in a moan she muffled against her fist. The sight of her sprawled across the bed open and eager for his attentions, so beautiful in her vulnerability, sent a pang through Romir.

He delved between her wet folds to find the hard nub hidden in her curls. Further proof of her honest desire, a dark red jewel beyond price. He took it into his mouth, stroking it with his tongue and sucking down. She tasted so good, he couldn’t resist licking her, nibbling on her, immersing his senses in her desire. The salty sweetness of her arousal was slick on his lips, and more spilled over his questing fingers. He slid a thumb over her folds, spreading her cream across that tender flesh.

The musk of Asrial’s excitement spiced the air, a woman’s perfume that was uniquely her own. It etched itself deep into his memory, into his very essence—so deeply that he feared she would be the one memory he could not bear to lose.

The possibility cut to the quick, shaking him to his soul.

Another moan escaped her, thready with need. Her hands grasped at him—his hair, his shoulders, his arms, everywhere she could reach—feverish touches that should have branded him.

If he drew out this pleasure, perhaps he would be branded in truth. That risk was too great. Already, he ached, carnal hunger a blunt force pounding inside him.

Circling her nub with his thumb, Romir slid a finger inside her, coaxing her to give him more of her sweetness. He added a second finger to thrust vigorously, augmenting the motion with his tongue and thumb around the entrance of her wet and willing body.

Achieving his goal did not take long.

With a shout of surprise, Asrial melted over him, spilling the cream of her pleasure, her tender flesh quivering against his mouth, sweet as festival candy. Her thighs gripped him tight as she cried out in ecstasy, arching up again and again, her hips rising off the bed from the strength of her release. She shook and shuddered in his arms, her heels digging into his sides.

Another wave of orgasm had her body rippling around his fingers. He closed his eyes, the better to savor her delight. Letting her pleasure seep into his senses. Impressing it into his memory.

This was enough.

It had to be enough.

Victory was a painful throb in his loins, the heavy drumbeat of desire, a mockery of life. Romir sucked in unnecessary air, calling on the habits of a lifetime lost in the gray mists to suppress the torment of carnal hunger.

 

 

Pleasure ebbed slowly,
sinking deep into Asrial’s cells and leaving her replete. Not a single muscle left tense in her body. She sighed happily. What a difference a real lover made compared to a pleasure wand!

The weight between her thighs eased up.

Romir lowered himself to the floor, as if settling in for a long wait—or for the night. He did so quietly, behaving as though it were a matter of course. Were grounders so submissive?

He couldn’t be serious! She couldn’t imagine making the man who’d just pleasured her so well spend the night sitting on the floor beside her bunk. Only a slave would have accepted such treatment; no spacer would have stood for it. Asrial frowned down at him, uncomfortable that he’d done so without objection. “You can use a bunk in one of the other cabins.”

He shook his head. “I have no need for sleep.”

She stared at him, but he just sat there, as if it were nothing out of the ordinary. Rather like how she might imagine a slave would behave. He hadn’t even mentioned the possibility of him taking release. “I can’t sleep with you like that.”

The silence stretched out, while cryptic thoughts flickered behind his silver eyes. “As you will.” He came to his feet with that unnatural fluidity, his face blank of emotion. Once again, the door slid aside without him touching the lock panel.

Asrial made a mental note to add checking the electronics to her unending list of things to fix.

“Lights, off.”

She snuggled down and tried to sleep. Though her body continued to hum, replete with pleasure, her mind was too busy to power off. It just felt awkward having a man in her cabin, much less one sitting on the floor like some frigging slave. But inviting him to share her bunk would have been just as awkward. Most times, when a man warmed her sheets, it was on station, and she made sure he left the
Castel
before she slept. Though insisting Romir use one of the other cabins seemed callous when he hadn’t even finished, it was the least distasteful of her options.

But his face haunted her, that lack of expression after their intimacies. There’d been no anger nor offense, all emotion carefully swept behind a wall of calm. His measured dispassion stood in sharp contrast to his shock at her invitation. That reinforced her impression of sincerity. Despite that other night, he clearly hadn’t expected anything more from her. Certainly he didn’t act like he believed it had given him a right to her bed.

But why hadn’t he mounted her? She’d thought her invitation clear in that respect. She hadn’t expected him to service her like some pleasure bod. What man wouldn’t seek release for himself, especially when he’d already brought her to orgasm?

Was that a clue to his history? Had he acted that way because of training? Had he escaped service as a pleasure bod? Was that why he’d been on Maj? Her suspicions seemed to fit the pieces. It would explain why he knew nothing about space.

Had she mistaken his willingness to share pleasure with her? Had he serviced her simply because he’d thought she expected payment?

No, Romir welcomed her invitation. She hadn’t read that wrong. He’d been shocked but not upset; she would have wagered the
Castel
on it. She pummeled her pillow in search of the proper softness to lure sleep, wishing it would silence the doubts, too.

Anyway, what was she supposed to do with him? She could understand why he stowed away on the
Castel
—it was his best chance to get off Maj—but he didn’t seem to have any destination in mind. He didn’t mention any plans for after he left the
Castel
.

Asrial turned over, troubled by the course of her thoughts. She couldn’t simply dump him in the first station she stopped at. He looked like a grounder and acted just as clueless. Only the Spirit of space knew what would happen to him if she did that. Despite herself, she couldn’t help feeling responsible for him. If she just abandoned him, he’d probably end up a pleasure bod in some backwater station or in the hands of slavers. Again?

He had that look of weary defeat of someone who’d hit a grav well and was falling into the star. Like he was struggling only because he didn’t know what else to do. She knew the feeling well, having tangled with it a time or two.

She at least had Amin and her cousins to help pull her out. He didn’t have anyone. That look tugged at her heart, another weight to that already burdened organ but one she couldn’t seem to avoid.

The darkness pressed in, filled with only the normal noises of the
Castel
in flight. It didn’t sound as if she wasn’t alone. The night cycle sounded entirely normal. But the knowledge that Romir was out there leavened the solitude.

Sleep claimed her without her realizing.

 

 

Romir forced himself
not to return to Asrial’s side. He did not want to leave her—and that alien desire kept him where he was. He could not afford the weakness of preference, of emotional attachment. Of thinking his wishes could change this uncaring universe. Bitter experience had shown that to be a lie.

The walls winked at him seductively, hinting at hidden knowledge, at new horizons . . . at challenges to his skill—things that had long been lost to him. In truth, they were things that were still lost to him, trapped as he was in this existence.

Drawn to their mysteries, to the unfamiliar weaves within arm’s reach, he walked the corridors with new eyes, no longer looking for the hand of the Mughelis. In the past, he might have given in to temptation, tested the limits of his knowledge. But the time when he was free to indulge his curiosity was gone.

He could not trust this dubious freedom. His prison continued to call to him. And if he should succumb, anyone who possessed his prison would master him.

So he walked the corridors, waiting for Asrial to wake. His feet led him to the plant room. Of all the rooms in the starship, the plant room was the only one that did not make him feel lost. Though most of the plants were nothing he recognized, the smell of green and growth was a reminder of familiar things. The abyss between worlds, the starship, the sparkling walls, the harnessing of that vortex—these were all beyond his ken.

This night the smell of the room was different.

Several plants bloomed in the low light, one of which offered a sweet fragrance. He filled his lungs with its scent, realizing only now how much he had missed such things. His prison was a deprivation of the senses. He walked down a row, trying to find the source of that fragrance.

So much had been taken from him; others he had surrendered. He had forced himself not to care; if he did not care, it would have no meaning. And yet he found he still cared, if only for his loss. The smallest things still mattered.

He touched a slender white petal, marveling at its bristly texture—another memory that would taunt him should he return to his prison. The flower snapped shut around the tip of his finger, its petals clinging tight. A surprise. Rather like the woman who flew this starship.

But this memory was better than the others that awaited him in the mists. The faces of the vyziers who had commanded him were blurs lost in a miasma of bitter self-disgust and helpless rage. If only he could forget the results of his betrayal.

Entire cities melted beneath his weaves, slain by their refusal to surrender. The graceful spires of Xabun, the ancient arches of Gavor, the stone lace of Yalixo, and countless others too many to name, the proud and ancient strongholds of Parvin all fell victim to his failure to resist his masters. He had destroyed them—them and the Parvinese who had remained, trapped within their walls.

Their deaths were a stain on his soul that could never be washed clean. A damned traitor such as he had no business touching someone like Asrial.

“You don’t have
to have sex with me, if you don’t want to. I don’t expect you to pay for your passage that way.”

Asrial’s pronouncement took Romir by surprise. Surely his enthusiasm last night had been plain? But her face was set, intent on distasteful duty.