Page 42 of Fifth
“If you say affirmative, it binds for life,” he said, no softness in the truth. “You may withdraw your affirmative, and I will release you. Iwill not hold you by force.”
Hannah let the picture of Earth fade. She chose the room she was in, the man in front of her, the years she hadn’t believed she could’ve. “I’m not withdrawing,” she said. “I’m choosing. From this point forward, for the rest of my life, Ichoose you.”
For the first time a grin swept across his face. “This is quite satisfactory. Iaccept.”
“Good.” She pushed him until he rolled to his back, then swung over his hips and settled. Heat licked through her. “Then let me love you my way.”
Her thighs wrapped his hips and set the rhythm first. He answered with three brutal-perfect strokes, then went flat at her shove and let her take it the way she needed. She caught his wrist and pressed it into the bedding above his head. He held for her while she worked him deeper, dragging his other hand to the back of her neck. He cupped there, warm and sure, not pushing, only claiming.
At her nod his fingers tightened just enough to send a shiver down her spine. At her tug he eased, leaving the lead in her hands. Each drop dragged the pulsing mounds along his length over every tender place inside her, the ring rubbing her clit whenever she rocked forward.
His gaze burned up her body, feral heat leashed for her. “Show me what you want.”
She showed him. Hips rolled and found the exact angle that made pleasure spear up her spine. Palms flattened on his chest and she rode deliberately to experience every pulse of those mounds, then faster, chasing the rasp of that ring across her clit. Sweat dampened her temples and breath hummedlow.
He lay open beneath her and watched, possessiveness sharpened by hunger. Then he curled up under her to taste her throat and mouth without breaking her rhythm. She kept him deep inside until the world smudged at the edges. Heat climbed, locked. The knot swelled at the base and caught, holding her down on him for a breathless stretch.
He steadied her hips while the pulsing mounds squeezed in a punishing rhythm, milking her through the fall. She broke and clung, shaking around him. Only after the clamp eased didhe soften his hold and let the knot release, and the way he whispered her name afterward set something deep in her finally, blessedly right.
Eventually hunger of the ordinary sort returned, heavier and insistent. Locus touched two fingers to the wall panel and a soft chime answered.
“Food,” he ordered. “Protein cooked, salted greens, root mash, pale fruit.” A seam in the wall breathed open and a service tray drifted out, steam curling in thin threads, the room filling with the bite of spice and a sweeter note beneath.
They propped themselves against the pillows. He set the tray between their thighs and carved a strip of seared meat, holding it to her mouth. She took the bite from his fingers, juice ran warm across her tongue, savory and clean. Her stomach answered with a groan she couldn’t hide.
His eyes went darker at the sound. “Good,” he said. “Eat.”
Her turn—she speared a wedge of the root mash and a length of blistered greens, brought both to his lips. Salt caught on his lower lip. She brushed it away with her thumb and fed him the next bite leisurely, just to watch the way his throat worked. He hummed, low, and cut fruit into thin crescents, pale and dripping, tipping one to her mouth and then one to his. The rhythm settled: fruit to her, greens to him, meat shared. They ate until the tray was nearly bare, laughter coming easily between mouthfuls and the scrape of forks, heat ebbing to a soft glow that sat warm under herskin.
“Do your parents know you were captured by slavers?” Locus asked, thumb warming her knuckles. “What do they currently believe?”
“I don’t know,” Hannah admitted. Sheset the fork down and stared at the last wedge of fruit as if it could tell her the right order of things. “It’s been two weeks since we last spoke. They have to be frantic. Idon’t know what they think happened. An accident. Worse.”
“How did they take you?”
“The last I remember, I was at a bar with friends. I woke up in a cage.” Her gaze fixed on him. “And then you showed up.”
Locus didn’t reach for the fork. He reached for her fingers. “We shall make a plan for seeing your family.” His tone turned practical without losing warmth. “First, we contact them shortly. Your voice, not mine. Abrief message to say you are safe and will call. Today.”
She nodded, breath catching. “Okay. Second?”
“Second, we decide what to tell them about the past two weeks.” He studied her face. “Do you want them to know about the slavers?”
Her stomach lurched. “I’m just not sure. Iwant to tell them the truth. Ialso don’t want to watch my mother break. Maybe we play it by ear?”
“Perhaps we give them a true thing that is not the whole thing,” he said. “Medical quarantine after a violent incident. We focus on the need to evacuate you for treatment. You are cleared and coming. Details in person. Once we see them, you can tell them the truth about the slavers if that seems more tenable.”
She let the words settle. They tasted possible. “Third?”
“Appearance,” he said. “Do you want me to look Earthen?”
She pictured her parents’ faces if a seven-foot amethyst-eyed warrior walked into their kitchen. “Yes. Earthen.”
“I will adapt,” he said. “We can tell them that I rescued you from the accident or from slavers, if that becomes necessary. They will believe that, given my size.”
“Fourth,” she said, finding the rhythm with him, “what do we say about us?”
He held her gaze. “Do you want to tell them we are mated?”
