Page 59 of The Lottery

When he takes another step, I move.

I follow.

I’m not sure if anyone sees me go into his suite, but in the heat of this crazy moment I can’t imagine anyone cares. If they do, we can talk about it later.

The door closes behind me, and all is still. Marek and I stand in the center of his room. Our gazes are locked, and the poet in me imagines we are staring into each other’s souls. Perhaps we are.

I want to lose myself in this moment. To pull him into the bed, into me...

Then I remember we are not living the alternate reality where he enters The Lottery and we are paired and we live happily ever after.

There are others to think of.

Or… one other at least. “Robert might wonder--”

“Metis,” Marek says, cutting me off, “please notify Robert Rackman that Azalea was directed by crew to a safe landing position outside her suite.”

“Message sent,” Metis responds.

Just like that, we’re alone, with no one waiting for us on the other side of the door.

The room is dim. Marek is cast in shadow and light, a study in contradictions that together form something beyond beautiful.

“Metis,” Marek says again, this time his voice softer and more sultry. “How long until the ship reaches landing coordinates?”

“The ship will begin descent in seven minutes and fourteen seconds.”

The moment she answers, Marek reaches his arms around my waist, pulling me against the length of his body as he does. His kiss is hot, deep, dark and almost brutal in intensity. It is everything I need.

My lust feels frantic, driven by desperation, fear, desire, maybe even love, if it’s possible to gauge such an emotion in a life or death situation like this. Whatever that biological correlation is between fear and arousal, it’s on full display in me right now. Every second that this ship isn’t actively crashing is a moment I must have him. My entire being is fevered by my need for him. His hands roam my body like they are hungry for me and only me. Every part of my skin he touches leaves a trail of fire.

His tongue slicks against mine, a promise of more to come.

My heart is a crazed thing, drugged up on Marek, thumping erratically. Like the sound of the ocean in a seashell, I hear the crash and whoosh filling my head. My lips feel bruised from his kisses, and I just want more and more and more.

He obviously feels the same drive to connect in this small window we’ve been granted. His hand squeezes my breast, his thumb rubbing over my hard nipple, and I moan into his mouth.

This makes him jerk, his muscles responding involuntarily. His fingers dig into me as he clutches me more closely.

I just can’t stand it anymore. I don’t know what happens when these seven minutes are up. I don’t know how many, if any, moments we’ll have together after this. I need him inside of me. Now.

I drop to my knees and his protest turns to gasps of pleasure when I unzip his pants and free him from his constraints.

The sight of his very proportional, very sexy body is enough to make me wet.

My fingers slide ever so gently over his shaft as I bring my mouth close enough to let my breath tease at the sensitive skin around his head.

As I follow the line of my fingers with my tongue, his hands dig into my hair, and I feel his whole body tense as he resists the urge to shove himself into my throat.

I appreciate the restraint. He’s going to take me a bit of foreplay to fit… well, anywhere.

Not that I’m complaining. I am up for the challenge.

But… I need to make sure he is too. Not the challenge of fitting into me, but of what that would mean.

My lips brush against his straining shaft as I ask, “Is this okay?”

There’s a deep growl under his breath before he says. “Da. Yes. I want you, Azalea.”

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