Page 163 of Seven Oars
Her entire being rebelled at the thought.
She took a deep breath and let go of her braid.
One small step. Then another.
He didn’t say anything; he hadn’t moved a muscle.
She took yet another step and found herself nearly flush with his body. The tips of her small breasts touched his chest.
Closing her eyes, she allowed herself to tip forward, falling into him like a scared diver finally taking the plunge.
She hid her face in his chest, inhaling his muskiness.
His powerful arms came around and pulled her closer, enveloping her completely in the safety of his strength.
Whether or not it was right, it was home.
“You’re so fragile. I’ll break you,” he mouthed into her hair.
“You won’t,” she said and looked up at him.“I trust you not to.”
He leaned down, pressed his mouth to hers, and drove his tongue past her lips, claiming her with fierce intent.
She welcomed the intrusion, the force, and the dominance. As much as he took, he gave back.
She breathed his air, dizzy with a new, electric kind of buzz.
She whimpered when he abruptly broke contact, but he shushed her, a promise that made her weak in the knees.
The passageway was a blur as he took her to the Dome.The shutters were down, hiding the breathtaking view of the cold world outside the station.
Ripping his shirt over his head, he pulled her back into his embrace, and she touched his bare skin, exactly what she craved.
They kissed until she had no breath left.Her hands explored his shoulders, his back, his sides—lean, tight muscle beneath a velvety fuzz. So different from her, yet so intoxicatingly alive.
She kneaded his shoulders, urging him closer. Her gaze snagged briefly on dark-blue tattoos at the base of his throat.
“Will you ever tell me what those mean?”
The tiny blue hieroglyphs fascinated her. They were beautifully drawn and deeply symbolic. She imagined they were imbued with some mythical meaning.
She pressed her lips to them, tasting his hammering pulses.
“Most Rix have them,” he replied, his voice strained.
“But what do they mean?”
“They show lineage.”
“Like a family?” She kissed each one.
“Yes. And status, achievements, and rank. They tell how I fit in my world.”
He captured her hand and sucked her fingers, one by one.
“Here, my marks mean nothing,” he murmured into her palm.
They still mattered, she was sure of it. But she let it go, too absorbed by tracing the raised designs with the tip of her tongue.
