Page 67 of The Captain's Bounty
“No one will take you from me, Lissa.” That was neither a yes or a no, which made it an answer all its own. “You are mine, and only mine, forever.”
“Kind of romantic,” she granted. “Just a bit murder-y.”
His thumb caressed up from the side of her neck to stroke along her jaw. It raised goosebumps. She couldn’t fight back the shivers any more than she could stop her nipples from tightening into needy peaks that begged for his next touch.
“I will lead you until we both die,” he softly told her.
“That’s more like a stalker-suicide. Again, almost romantic, but not quite there.”
“I will promise to do my very best to ensure I never have to kill you.”
“Oh,” she said, smiling in spite of him. “We are going to have to work on our romantic banter.”
He tipped his head, his gaze dipping to her lips. “Yes. But not now.”
She looked at his mouth too, the hard handsome line of it pulling at her, warming her from the inside out.
“I can smell how much you want me,” he said, a slow smile drawing at the corners of his lips.
Her belly flinched, a single low throb making her pussy come to life.
His hand on her throat caressed down to her chest, the heat of his palm burning into her skin between her aching breasts.
“I feel your need in the quickening beat of your heart.”
Her heart raced under the press of his palm, pattering that much harder when he leaned over her.
His hand moved down and already her back twitched to arch, her hips freezing mid-squirm against the wall as he followed that invisible path down her belly, over her warming abdomen, to hermound. The suit she wore might not have been there at all. The press of his fingers, although not skin to bare skin, halted right there, on the flesh of her pussy, where the seam of the stitches in her suit met the seam of her sex, where the drops of moisture were already gathering, just millimeters from where she so badly ached to feel his touch the most.
“Does it offend you that I ache to touch you thus?” he asked, that throaty growl of his making her throat tighten and her breath catch.
She shook her head. “It offends me more that we’re not both naked when you do.”
She realized her mistake when he smirked.
“No, no?—”
Grabbing the collar of her suit, his forearms and biceps bulged as he ripped it straight down the front.
“I don’t have any clothes!” she protested.
His hand was back on her throat, holding her pinned while his other shoved down into the torn remnants of her suit, forcing its way between her legs, taking ownership of her there now as well. Her protests dissolved with a gasp.
“Is that a problem?” he asked, parting the folds of her labia, finding her already wet. Already swollen. Already aching for him so fiercely that that first caress brought her right up onto her tiptoes. Her back bowed, her heavy breasts singing as they brushed his chest. The most accidental, inconsequential of caresses, and yet her greedy nipples needed more.
“No,” she whispered.
The ship rattled, shaking all through the walls and floors, just before they jumped. Every inch of her body hummed to the bone-shaking, nerve-quaking hum of moving that fast through the jump corridor. His growling chuckle didn’t help. Neither did the way he took hold of her clit, pinching just hard enough to make her moan.
“I didn’t think so.” He bent, kissing the side of her neck, his fingers stroking until her hips were rocking, grinding in time with his circling caress.
The loss of his touch was painful when he took his hand out of her pants.
“Strip,” he ordered.
Her hands were shaking, but she only lost her balance a little when the ship jolted as it fell out of jump. Where they were, she had no idea. She didn’t care either. She left her torn suit in a puddle on the floor at her feet, she kicked out of it so fast.
“Knees,” he ordered.
