Page 38 of Rogue Starfighter

“Because they heard you.” I glanced at his sensor display. He had opened our comm channel for less than a second, let the simulated enemy capture his order, then killed the transmission. "Not that I mind, but that's cheating.” Totally unfair. And my man was a genius.

“There are no rules in combat.”

“But there are rules in a qualification sim.” I didn't want Captain Wroxxon coming up with some lame excuse to ground me. I was going on my first real mission with Vesh and that asshole wasn't going to stop me.

“Not anymore.”

I grinned and found the next flight corridor. The last of the Scythe fighters died in under four minutes. When the display went black, the cockpit filled with the sound of my breathing. Mine was fast from adrenaline because, holy shit, that was fun.

Vesh's slow, silent breath must be because he was irritatingly fit and apparently carved from alien stone. Not fair. But I did hate to exercise, like, a lot. Especially if it involved sweating.

Based on the fact that I felt like my heart was about to beat its way out of my chest, I might have to bite the bullet and find a treadmill or something. Because I was not giving up flying.

The sim's analysis report appeared across the main console.

MISSION COMPLETE. NO DAMAGE. ALL TARGETS DESTROYED. PILOT VIOLATIONS: 11.

I pointed at the first three lines. “Perfect.”

Vesh pointed at the last one. “Eleven violations.”

“Not violations. Suggestions.”

“One was an explicit warning that your maneuver would kill us.”

“But it didn’t.”

“In the simulation.”

“Which is the thing we’re discussing.”

The bay lights came on. The cockpit opened with a hydraulic hiss, letting cold air wash over us. It smelled like scorched coolant, metal, and the electrical tang of equipment pushed too hard. I pulled off my headset and turned toward him. “Admit it.”

“No.”

“You don’t even know what I’m asking.”

“You want praise? For nearly getting yourself killed?”

No. I wanted him to throw me over his shoulder and carry me straight to bed for being reckless. I wanted that almost as much as I wanted him to rip the flight suit off my body, shove me against a wall, and bury his hard length so deep inside me I'd never get him out. I wanted him to curse me for being wild, beautiful, and perfect. That's what I wanted.

“I want an honest, professional evaluation.” I was such a liar. Although, I did want to know his professional opinion as well. Just not as much as I wanted those other, more personal, things.

“You were reckless.”

Not really. It was a sim. I was testing out their version, comparing it to my gaming set-up back home. Luckily for me, they were nearly identical. So, of course I had to test a few things.

I had to trust that the sim was going to be exactly like the Wraith would be. I had almost no real flying time in the actual ship and I had to know what she could do.

That was so three minutes ago. Now? There was nothing professional about the thoughts filling my mind. Or the wet heat between my legs. Or the air burning through my lungs hot enough to incinerate every logical thought in my head with the need to push his buttons until he lost that cool, calm, controlled, I-don't-care-about-anyone bullshit persona.

“I am never reckless.” But I wanted to be, so damn bad. I wanted to crawl over the console and ride his lap like a rodeo cowgirl fighting a wild bull. I wanted him hot and hard inside me. Filling me up. Making me whimper and beg until I fell apart in his arms. Then I wanted to do it again.

Vesh, it seemed, was completely unaware of the chaos going on inside me. “You created three openings I did not detect until you were already moving toward them. You used an enemy missile to destroy its own formation. You anticipated my false command without being told I was transmitting it.” He removed his headset and placed it very carefully on the console. “You flew that sequence better than I could have, Priya.”

My entire body lit up. “Say it again.” Was that really my voice? Even I heard the sex kitten invitation in those three words.

He went still. “Priya.” There it was. My name in that warning tone. Low. Rough. More effective than it had any right to be. He was not immune to me. Thank god. I was about to lose my mind here. Unfair if he got to keep his.