Page 49 of Sunastara & the Venusian
“That’s exactly what Sonia said,” I replied. And we spent a silent moment thinking, processing, while I also might have fantasized about tracing the vein that traveled across his left wrist and up toward his elbow. But then something caught my eye.
I turned, walking to his wall, where he’d programmed an array of digpics. Scenes of Venus, mostly. One pic was of him as a child, maybe a few years younger than Sai. He stood between two people I assumed were his parents on a black sand beach, waves crashing against the rocks behind them.
“Those are my parents,” he said while I studied the pic.
He seemed so carefree in the moving image, so happy while his parents gazed down at him, a soft breeze rustling his mother’s loose blond curls. She was beautiful. No surprise there, considering how handsome he was.
Walking across his pod, I stopped at the table under his digital window. It was covered by a half-completed puzzle of some vivid, multicolored nebula, an empty coffee mug, and a small stack of leather-bound books—more poetry.
When I looked back at him, he was on his feet again, staring at me with a patient, dare I say, amused expression.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“Oh, just checking out your pod. It’s nice. Although, bring a stranger here, and I’m not sure they’d be able to tell if this pod belonged to you or to your grandfather.”
With a soft laugh, he glanced down at his bare feet.
I picked up one of his poetry books, leafing through the delicate pages. “Has anyone ever told you that you are very old-fashioned?”
He slid his hands into his pockets, still watching his feet. And there was something about a man who typically wore fine suits dressing down, looking so casual in sweatpants, so comfortable. I honestly couldn’t decide which version of him was more enticing.Why not both?
“It’s not such a bad thing, is it?” he asked. “Being old-fashioned?”
I almost laughed. Only someone so old-fashioned wouldbe insecure about something so indescribably sexy. Moving toward him, stopping a few paces away, I said, “No. It’s not a bad thing.” And then I was lost in his clear blue-gray eyes, drawn to his lush, pink mouth, remembering the press of his lips on my mine, the slide of his finger inside me. “I think Phoebe still has some unfinished business with Joshua.”
“You do?” He swallowed, his throat bobbing. “You don’t think we should talk more about the senator and…stuff?” His voice cracked on the word as I stepped closer to him. “Alert the crew?”
Deliberately, I licked my lips, rolled them together, then shook my head. “They’re all asleep. We can tell them in the morning.”
With every step I took toward him, he moved one step away, retreating until his back ran into his door, until I stood directly in front of him, until he had nowhere left to go.
My gaze dipped from his eyes to his lips, his throat, to the spot where his pulse leapt above his collarbone, down the broadness of his chest, lower. My fingers followed suit as I traced his pecs through his shirt, his abs. As I stroked the growing hardness of him over soft pants.
His eyelids fluttered closed, his mouth opening in a silent gasp. “This isn’t necessary,” he strained to say. “Joshua’s not expecting any?—”
“Shh.” I brushed a kiss over his lips, sinking to my knees, hooking my fingers into his waistband. “Phoebe insists.”
When I pulled, he sprang free, his sweatpants dropping to the floor in a puddle around his feet. I nuzzled him, pressing soft kisses onto his stomach, over the slope of his hip, inhaling him deeply. It must have been pheromones, because he smelled even more amazing down here, like fresh wash drying in a summer breeze.
He muttered something unintelligible as I took him in my hand, and then into my mouth, running my tongue over his soft skin, smooth as silk. I kept my pace unhurried, steady, methodical, as I savored him, memorizing the shape of him, learning what made his breath catch, noticing the moan I pulled from somewhere deep in his throat when I swirled my tongue over his tip.
True to form, he was a gentleman even now. He didn’t grab my hair or push into me or give me suggestions or orders like some lovers did. Instead, he became a statue against his door, his arms pinned at his sides, his hands clenched into fists, quiet as a mouse aside from that little moan and the occasional breathy praise he offered up to the ceiling, although I assumed it was meant for me.
He was perfect, always perfect.Tooperfect. It must wear on him, the pressure he put on himself to maintain his impeccable manners, his even temper, his kind and considerate demeanor. I wondered, on my knees before him, holding him quite literally in the palm of my hand, if I could pierce his perfect politeness here in the safety of his pod and give him permission to be, at least for a few moments, a little rude.
Slowing my pace, I lightened my touch. And after another whisper-quiet but decidedly frustrated moan, I smiled around him. Then I slowed even more.
“Please,” he begged, his voice strained, his fists balled so tightly his knuckles turned white. “Please.”
Even now, even with my teasing, he still asked so sweetly. So politely. So I pulled off him, and as he looked down at me with a pained, confused expression, I dragged my tongue over his slit.
He groaned, his hooded gaze meeting mine, dipping to my lips, finding my devilish grin. I slid my fingers up theinside of his leg, his knee, higher. When I reached the apex of his thighs, I stilled my hand, not yet touching him, and hovered my mouth directly over the head of his cock, huffing out a warm, wet breath.
“Please,” he pleaded again, not moving, not reaching for me, so restrained, so well-mannered.
Sliding my hand a bit higher so that my palm grazed him, I said, “Let go for me. It’s okay. I want you to. I can take it.”
His eyes fell closed as I finally made contact, cupping him, massaging him. When I took him into my mouth again, moving faster this time, his back arched, his head thudding against his door, and a thrill shot through me. Grasping his hips, I moaned around him, pulled him into me, hollowing my cheeks, taking him as deeply as I could. And then, as if unable to bear it one second longer, he let go, and I claimed my victory.
