Page 44 of Jarran

He stopped. “Am I hurting you?”

“No.” She exhaled. “Keep going. Slowly.”

He pressed deeper. She focused on breathing, on relaxing around him, and the initial stretch softened into fullness. Her pussy accommodated him as the pressure shifted from overwhelming to good. He seated himself fully inside her and held still, his forehead pressed against hers, his breathing ragged.

“Stars,” he whispered. His eyes were shut. The word sounded like a prayer.

She pulled his mouth down to hers and kissed him as he began to move in long, slow strokes. His hips rolled against hers in a rhythm that built heat from the base of her spine upward. His hands gripped the thin mattress on either side of her head. His arms shook with the effort of restraint.

“Harder,” she said against his mouth. “I won’t break.”

His rhythm shifted. Deeper. More urgent. His hips drove into hers and she met every thrust, her legs wrapping around his waist. The bed groaned beneath them, and that would have been funny if she’d been capable of humor at that moment. She wasn’t. Every nerve in her body screamed for more. His cock hit a spot deep inside her that made her entire body seize, and she cried out as he drove her deeper into ecstasy.

His tail tightened around her thigh like a restraint. The grip was firm and possessive and she loved it. She loved the heat of him, the weight of him above her, and the sensation of being full and desired and held. His mouth found her neck and she felt his teeth scrape her skin, gentle even now, careful even while his hips snapped hard against hers.

The second orgasm crashed into her without warning. It ripped through her core and out through her limbs. She came apart under him, her pussy clenching around his cock, gasping his name. He felt it and his control fractured. His thrusts turned desperate, fast, and she held onto him as his rhythm broke and his body went rigid. He buried himself deep inside her, one last powerful stroke, and she felt him come, a rush of heat filling her as his groan tore through the tiny room. His arms gave out and he caught himself, barely, before crushing her. He collapsed to the side, pulling her with him, still inside her, his body wrapped around hers.

They lay tangled together in the narrow bed, breathing hard. The sheets were damp. The room was too warm. The bed had survived, which was frankly miraculous.

His hand found her hair. He stroked it away from her face, his fingers clumsy and tender, and he pressed his lips against hers in a rough breathless kiss. She felt his pounding heartbeat under her palm where it rested against his chest. It slowed gradually, evening out, and his breathing settled. He slid out of her with a sigh.

She curled into his side. His tail loosened its grip on her thigh and settled against her leg, heavy and relaxed. His arm tightened around her and she let herself sink into him, let herself stop thinking about what came next. About what he would face when they left here. About the very real possibility that this wouldn’t end well for them.

Right now, in this moment, there was just this. His hand tracing lazy circles on her shoulder. The quiet hum of the way station settling around them. She imagined waking up like this every morning. In a real bed, in a real home, with his warmth against her and his arm around her and nowhere to be except right here. She imagined coffee and sunlight and the domestic mundanity of arguing about whose turn it was to cook, and the image was so vivid and achingly specific that it hurt.

She loved him. She’d known it for a while, somewhere underneath all the logic and professional boundaries and the very good arguments for why this was a terrible idea. She. Loved. Him. And she wanted to be his. The thought settled into her like it had been there for a while and she was finally accepting it.

She pressed her face against his chest and closed her eyes. His breathing evened into sleep, slow and deep, and she felt the rise and fall of it against her cheek. She didn’t say it yet. There would be time for that. She held the words inside her, warm and certain, and let them be enough for now.

His arms tightened around her in sleep, as if even unconscious he didn’t want to let her go. Evie closed her eyes and let the steady beat of his heart carry her under.

NINETEEN

Jarran watched Evie eat her morning meal from across the narrow table in the galley. It was the same table they’d sat at the night before, and his chest felt fuller than it did the last time they were here. She was working through a tray of the gray-brown lumps with determination. Her hair was damp from a shower and she’d pushed it behind her ears. She wore the same clothes from yesterday, but that couldn’t be helped. He wore the same outfit, too.

She looked up and caught him staring. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re doing it again.” She pointed her utensil at him. “The staring thing.”

“I like looking at you.”

“You’ve been looking at me for weeks.”

“Yes.” He held her gaze. “And I like the view more every time.”

Color rose in her cheeks. “I don’t mind my view, either.”

He smiled and ate the food, which was no better than it had been the night before, but he barely tasted it. His body was still humming with the memory of her. Her skin under his hands. The sounds she’d made. The way she’d pulled him closer instead of pushing him away. He was still in awe at how she’d looked at him afterward, with her hair wild and her eyes soft and her mouth swollen from his. He’d known then with absolute certainty that he would walk through fire for this woman.

He didn’t regret it. He could not regret a single second of what had passed between them in that small room. For the first time in his life, he had given himself to someone freely, with no one watching, no one controlling, no manipulation or programming or ulterior motive. But the morning brought clarity, and clarity was not kind.

He loved her. He would love her until the very last breath left his body. And because he loved her, he had to tell her what he’d done. What he’d set in motion while she slept in the shuttle, before they’d even reached this way station.

She finished her tray and pushed it aside. “Okay. That was marginally better than a protein cube.”

“High praise.”