Page 223 of Starside

“Fuck,” I say, after my third try at getting it off. Raker tied it unreasonably tight. I could ask an attendant for help, I guess.

I peek my head out into the hall, but it’s empty. Even if it wasn’t … they all seem terrified. I doubt anyone will help me. My gaze drifts to the door beside mine.

This is a bad idea. I know it is. Still, the lack of air in my lungs wins out against my better judgment.

My knock echoes through the hall. My hand is still raised when it swings open, surprise forcing me still.

There he is. Hoodless.

Shirtless.

I swallow. I try very hard not to drop my gaze from his face.

He doesn’t try at all. Raker’s eyes slip down to my dress, and the way the top is hanging down from the few unraveled ties I was able to reach. He blinks slowly.

“I need help,” I explain hastily. I turn around and show him the back, looking at him from over my shoulder. “You tied it so tight I can barely breathe.”

With a sigh, he drags his massive hand down his face. That hand. Why am I admiring a hand? It’s like a work of art, though. Callused in all the right places. Strong. Perfect for wielding a sword. Perfect … for other tasks …

I need to fucking get it together.

He shakes his head. I am clearly the biggest inconvenience he has ever come across. But instead of telling me to find someone else to help, or somewhere else to be entirely, he opens his door the slightest bit. An invitation.

I slip inside before he can slam the door in my face.

“Your quarters are much smaller than mine,” I say, looking around.

“Are they,” he says, not sounding shocked by that fact at all.

Raker’s eyes drift across my neck, as if marking the absence of the diamond necklace currently on my bedside table. Something about his air seems entirely too pleased.

I give my back to him.

For a moment, he doesn’t move at all. I wonder if I’ll just stand here like a fool, waiting. But just when I’m going to look over my shoulder to see what’s taking him so long, I feel his warm hands against my skin.

I go very still.

My entire awareness narrows to that one place. His moves are careful, like he’s trying to touch as little of me as possible, but when his callused fingers finally scrape against my spine, all my nerves ignite in a rush. I hold my breath. Then, I hear the first stitch come undone.

Air kisses my back as the bodice is opened slowly, slowly. His fingers are long, battle-hewn, but featherlight across my skin. I’m breathing again, and it sounds too loud. Too labored. The fabric is brushing against my all-too-sensitive chest. This room feels smaller than it did moments ago.

His rough knuckles gently graze my back as he works intently on one spot. “It’s caught,” he says harshly, as if to explain why it’s taking so long. And I’ve never been so damned grateful for a caught thread.

Carefully, he tries to undo it, every time his skin scraping mine. I can hear his breathing now. It’s almost as loud as my own. He ducks to get a better view, and I feel the heat of his exhale on the back of my neck. My skin prickles everywhere.

He growls in irritation, and in a quick, frustrated movement—

Fabric tears. My lips part in a gasp. I look over my shoulder to see him glaring at the corset like it’s an enemy across a battlefield. He ripped it by accident. I wonder if it was his strength or his temper that did it.

“It’s ruined now,” I say lightly, knowing I have little use for this dress during the rest of our travels. “Might as well rip the rest.”

I didn’t mean for my words to be so heavy, or to come out so breathy, but slowly, Raker’s gaze slides up the bare expanse of my back, before crashing into mine.

And there’s something in that look—something half crazed. Something dangerous. Something wanting.

This is just another duel. Another test of wills—of testing limits. Of seeing who will bend first, who will concede, who will win. But neither of us looks away. Neither backs down.

His hands grip the fabric.