Page 11 of Pyne

I pivot on my hip to face her, take the towel she’s offering, and gently press it against her wet hair. My fingers brush against her scalp, and I squeeze the water from her locks, moving the towel in slow, deliberate strokes. Her long, brown hair is soft, silky under my hands, and I’m aware of every drop of water that rolls down her skin. It takes all my self-control not to lean closer and lick her dry.

As I work, I can’t help but notice how her shoulders rise and fall with each breath, the way her back muscles flex and relax underthe towel. Her scent envelops me, making my head spin. I focus on drying her hair, trying to ignore the heat building between us.

My hands move lower, tenderly patting the ends of her hair, and she shivers under my touch. Leaning back, she rests her head against my chest, and I take a deep breath, inhaling the intoxicating mix of wildflowers and her natural, alluring aroma.

When I finish, I let the towel fall to the side, but my hands linger on her shoulders, feeling the warmth of her skin beneath my fingertips. The moment hangs between us, charged with unspoken tension, as I struggle to pull my thoughts back from the edge.

“Do you normally need help to dry your hair?” My voice is a husky rasp.

I’m not stupid. I think I know exactly what’s going on here, but before I cross a line and shatter something that can’t be put back together, I need to hear what she wants directly from her.

“No.” She reaches behind her, her palm softly stroking where it lands below my knee. “I thought it wouldfeel good.”

If this female were of any other species, I’d be on her right now, turning her toward me, capturing her lips with mine. But she’s human, and their sexual behavior is confusing.

“What else do you think mightfeel good, Becca?”

She moves her head side to side, lifting her shoulders as though she’s working out a kink. The pause is long and silent, but Idon’t protest. Just watching her like this, stretching like a feline, makes me want her even more.

Slowly, she twists to look at me over her shoulder. I wish I could take a picture of her facial expression—heavy-lidded, brown eyes full of desire, and lips glistening as she licks them.

“Why don’t we experiment together, Pyne?”

I don’t need to hear one more word to know this is an open invitation. In a swift move, I lift her and tug her onto my lap, her hip against my belly. Whether by accident or design, her towel is now bunched at her waist, exposing the most beautiful breasts, the most perfect dusky nipples I’ve ever seen.

Arousal flares through me, parching my throat and making pre-cum leak from my tip. I descend on her mouth, capturing her moan as her fingers clutch my shoulders. I’m frenzied, having been in such close quarters with her since the moment we met, wanting her, yet not being able to do all the things I’ve fantasized about.

Delving my tongue into her mouth, I don’t even try to stifle my moan as her sweet taste bursts on my tongue.

I pull back only long enough to husk, “Becca,” then devour her again as I explore her wet depths. The predator in me is palming the back of her skull to keep her from pulling away, though she seems to have no desire to do so. My other hand is firm on her waist, my fingers splayed as I tuck her against me. She has to feel my cock throbbing at her hip, but she seems far from offended.

Trailing my lips down her neck, I nip at the soft flesh, causing her to shiver and hum. “That’s it, sugarplum,” I murmur into her ear, loving the way she melts under my touch. She tastes so damn good, almost likemellaberriesfrom the high mountains on Verden.

My tongue dives back into her mouth again, tangling with hers in a fierce dance that leaves us both panting. With one hand still on the back of her head, I slide the other down to cup her ass and squeeze gently, pulling her against me. She whimpers into my mouth and I feel every inch of my length reacting to the contact.

My lips leave her mouth with a soft pop and trail along her jaw until I reach her earlobe. Her pulse races against my lips as I suckle and nip at it.

“You’re so beautiful,” I groan against her skin, nipping again just to hear her breath hitch. Her scent surrounds me—flowers and arousal mixed with the sweet, humid aftermath of her shower. My cock throbs in anticipation as I pull away from her neck, taking in the sight of her flushed cheeks and parted lips, yearning for another taste.

My heartbeat is thumping in my ears, my thoughts are flying in every direction as I plan the next ten steps: relieving us both of our towels, lifting her and opening her thighs as wide as they’ll go, then diving between them to taste the heart of her.

Before I make a move, klaxons clang in my head, slowing my racing thoughts so I can think. I remember who I’m in bed with, and with great effort, I force myself to recall my end goal.

I’ve had lots of sex in my life. As a gifted gladiator, I was rewarded with female flesh each time I won a match. Those couplings were quick, as there was often someone in line after me who was waiting for their reward. The females were paid to fuck me and usually didn’t bother to give the illusion that they had any affection or even desire for me.

Since gaining my freedom, as I traveled with the Galaxy Gladiators, I’ve used my pay at every port to buy companionship. Different from the females who were my rewards, many of these even pretended to enjoy my company—until they’d collected their credits.

But this is different. This is Becca, the sweet female slave who’s forced to cook in the kitchens of this hotel. No one is paying her to do this. She initiated this because shelikesme. And I like her. The last thing I want is to take her like a whore. We both deserve so much more.

My tongue retreats from her mouth and I replace it with sweet, smacking kisses on her pretty pink lips. She’s panting, a dazed look on her face. Her hardened nipples are pressing against my chest, her hands fisting in my hair.

After pulling back completely, her lids open, and she blasts me with a questioning look. I have to explain myself. The last thing I want is to make her think I don’t want her.

“Becca. I want to do this right.”

She shakes her head as though she’s swimming up from the ocean’s depths.

“I want to show you…” What do I say? I want to show you my affection? How much I care about you, though I’ve only known you a few days? No. The females on the ship would call me a “perv” if I said such things. I imagine they’d tell me no one feels this depth of emotion after such a short time.

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