ë Archer - Collision Course

“But it’s yours. It all belongs to you, and only you. Your life, your ship.”

She did look at him then. He stared back, and the understanding in his dark eyes rocked her. No one had ever given her as much. She felt something inside her break and fall away. Leaving her open.

Raw. She could only manage a nod.

A wry smile shaped his mouth. “Expectations don’t last, not where we’re concerned.”

Oh, he had the truth of it. Neither of them who they were supposed to be. Exiled royalty turned scavenger and a former street brawler turned 8th Wing hero.

He rose up from the bed, sleek and strong. Their gazes held as he stripped out of his remaining clothes. She allowed herself the pleasure of looking at his nude body, the shapes and surfaces of his muscles, and the play of jewel-colored light over his skin. He was wondrous to look upon.

When he held out a hand, she could not refuse, and he gently pulled her up to standing.

He kept silent as he slowly, carefully began to remove her clothing. She started to help, but he shooed her hands away, so she could only stand, motionless, as he divested her of everything. He unbuckled her gauntlets and placed them on a nearby table. His long, blunt fingers undid her corset with surprising dexterity, and this, too, he placed on the table. The same for her blouse, her skirt, until she stood before him entirely nude, save for her boots.

She shook with desire.

He knelt before her and undid her boots, taking his time as each buckle slid free, his concentration total. Her heart threatened to tear from her body, to see this powerful warrior kneeling before her, tending to her so carefully, as if she was someone precious. Not a scavenger. Not a pawn.

A woman who deserved to be cherished.

It was all an illusion, she knew. The same illusion she’d felt briefly as they’d made love earlier.

Their time together was fleeting. If they survived this mission, they would never see each other again.

They were too different, their lives completely opposed. But for now, in this place, at this time, he gave her the momentary gift of being treasured.

At last, she was as naked as he. And he was as aroused as she, if the upright, thick stance of his cock was any indicator. Yet he did not take her back to the bed. Instead, he led her into the hygiene chamber, and she watched as he turned on the shower, adjusting the temperature until it met his standards.

He stepped into the shower and drew her in with him. “Let me clean you, princess.”

Water sluiced over their bodies. She did not know if her eyes clouded from the steam or something else, but she gave him a regal nod and he began.

He washed her thoroughly, tenderly, his big hands stroking over her slick body until she moaned.

He saw to himself with much more speed, clearly impatient to touch her again. As soon as he was satisfied with her cleanliness and his own, he shut off the shower and toweled them both off.

He adjusted the lights in the room to low, then led her back to the bed. Still, he spoke not a word, not even when he lay back and opened his arms to her. The silence felt deep, profound, and she preserved it. As silent as he, she came onto the bed and straddled him.

She held herself poised above him, the smooth, wide head of his cock just at her entrance. For a moment, they simply stared at one another, lost in each other’s eyes. Tension rolled from him, and she knew it took every microgram of his control to keep from surging up into her. Instead, he lay back, his hands on her waist, and waited.

If he had controlled their last bout of making love, this was hers to command. He was hers to command. A giddy, vast sensation that she prolonged as long as she could endure.

She could not endure much, wanting him too badly. She sank down onto him and gasped. He felt exactly right.

They went slowly, as slow as they had been fast before. Learning each other. Feeling the slide of skin to skin. His hardness. Her pliancy. Without intending to, their breathing synched, so they moaned together, drew air together. She felt herself floating, in her own orbit of sensation and pleasure.

This was new. This was different. She usually liked her sex fast and rough. Here, she and Kell created new worlds through deliberate, languorous movement. She wanted it to go on forever.

Her body had other demands. She could not stop herself from moving faster, taking him deeper and harder into her. His hips rose to meet hers, and his eyes closed as he became forged metal beneath her. Their gentle breaths changed to ragged panting.

She shifted so that her clit ground against him with each thrust. Fire shot through her, and then, arching back, she came in a dizzying, obliterating storm.

Groaning, he surged upward with his release. She watched him, feeling him empty into her, and through the haze of her own satiation, she saw that he was tough and beautiful.

They fell asleep this way, with her atop him, his body still within hers. Peace and safety cloaked them. Yet here was another illusion. Everything was danger, chance—the mission, the feelings between her and Kell. Questions and risks. Sleep was a temporary balm, yet nothing could ever truly withstand the perilous uncertainty that loomed like encroaching shadow.

He’d expected she would be beautiful in sleep. He was correct. Ambient light from the restless, lurid city filtered into the room. It traced the curves of her body, the angles of her face, finding a kind of poetry. He watched her sleep and wondered what she dreamed about—lost palaces, maybe, or sheltered courtyards. But she mumbled and stirred, her brow creased, her hands tightening into fists. If she dreamed of her former life as a princess, the dreams were not pleasant.

A remembrance lingered darkly in his mind. Once, an 8th Wing pilot had been captured by PRAXIS. Kell had led the rescue mission. By the time they’d gotten to the pilot, the man had been tortured—Telemian leeches. Black Wraith Squad brought him back to base, but his torment hadn’t ended with the rescue. Months went by before the rescued pilot could sleep without being restrained.

Without the restraints, the pilot would have torn the skin from his body. Every psych protocol was used to finally cleanse him of the memories.

Mara did not have to be restrained, yet, as she slept, she wrestled with memories painful enough to make her gasp and writhe. Her hands knotted into protective fists, warding off unseen enemies.

“What have you endured, Mara?” he whispered.

She did not answer, mired deeply in sleep.

He hated to think about it. Hated to think how brutal her education had been.

As she twisted and muttered, Kell drew her into his arms. “Come here, princess.”

At once, she quieted. But his thoughts did not. He dozed, briefly. Most of the night, he kept a watchful vigil over her. The locks on the door to their room gave him no confidence. Even though they’d deactivated or destroyed all the listening bots, he felt he needed to be ready for anything.

Beskidt By roused the animal of vigilance that had been an integral part of him on Sayén. Instead of safeguarding himself, now he safeguarded Mara. Cautious. He had to be cautious, his motive greater than ever before.

The odds she had survived…She could take care of herself. Of this, he had no doubt. Yet she incited in him a fierce protectiveness despite, or because of, her own ferocious will to persevere.

They were both feral, but usually his uniform hid the nature of his beast. Now he lay in a bed on a smuggler’s planet, holding Mara close to the protection of his mind and body. Stripped of his gray uniform, stripped of everything. His nakedness revealed a truth he’d never known; only with her was he truly himself.

The thought wove like smoke in his mind as he held her throughout the night.

They stood outside the lodging, squinting in the glare.

“Morning doesn’t flatter Beskidt By,” he murmured.

“Nothing does. Only unconsciousness.”

Yellowish light cast by the storm bathed the city and threw the dirt-streaked buildings and streets into high relief. The streets themselves held fewer people. Most of them were likely still passed out somewhere. A few vendors stood with their vend-pods, moodily selling kahve and rolls to red-eyed citizens. Everyone seemed to be nursing a hangover.

Except Kell and Mara. They moved through the maze of the city, the only two people with clear eyes and sharp minds. He couldn’t remember feeling this energized and alert in some time. He never gave the 8th Wing less than everything, yet somehow, this morning, he felt sharp as a laser, ready to meet or cut down any obstacle in his path.

Strange. He hadn’t even slept very well.

As he and Mara walked, she cast quick glances toward him—guarded, contemplative—the same glances she’d been giving him all morning. Something had changed between them. Neither spoke of it, yet it was there. The air was fraught with this change, the biggest uncertainty in the midst of the mission.

He growled to himself, fighting the jumble of his thoughts. He needed to focus on the goal: find Lieutenant Jur and her ship. Get them both unharmed to the 8th Wing base. He added another objective: keep Mara safe. Nothing else mattered. Once he set a goal for himself, the only thing that could keep him from fulfilling it was death.

He hoped like hell it didn’t come to that.

People thronged in the elevator bay leading up to the club. Most were bleary, and surly, elbowing each other as they jostled into the waiting elevator.

“Seems it’s worth crawling out of the gutter for this merch,” Mara said under her breath.

He found himself wedged tightly into a corner, but didn’t mind so much since Mara was pressed against him, chest-to-chest. Her body felt as delicious and sleek as it had last night. And his hunger for her hadn’t decreased. Knowing the sharp little sounds she made when climaxing, the hot silk of her surrounding him, only fueled his need.

Something had to be wrong with him, because, during the long, crowded elevator ride up to the club, he seriously considered hiking up her skirt and stroking her to completion, feeling her come against his hand.

I’ve gone mental. Over a dozen people in here with us, and I want to seduce her.

Despite his attempts to control himself, he hardened, his cock pressing into Mara’s belly.

The damn witch felt it and smiled at him, wicked provocation in her eyes and lips. She even wriggled against him, teasing him into aching need.

“What did I say about provoking the wild animals?” His low words were for her ears alone.

“Didn’t learn my lesson.”

“I’ll teach you again—later.”

Her eyes gleamed. “Never been a good student. Some one-on-one tutoring— that will get the job done.”

Finally, the elevator reached the club. Everyone rowdily filed out, and he wished he had a coat or missile silo to cover his giant erection, but he didn’t, so he slowly, stiffly made his way into the club.

Fortunately, everyone was too preoccupied with the impending announcement to notice his state of arousal. Only Mara saw, and gave him a heavy-lidded stare that nearly set him off. It had been decades since he’d come without being touched, but she lit him like a plasma charge.

He did eventually get control of himself and took in the scene. Today, in the morning, the club lacked the desperately carnival atmosphere. Tinted glass in the windows muted the daylight, yet the details of the place—its grime and disrepair—still appeared. Same with the people. These smugglers and scavengers lived hard, and it showed in their hard faces, their tense, weary bodies and greedy eyes.

Dangerous people who would do anything to survive.

Would Mara look the same in five, ten years? Embittered and callous? Assuming she was still alive.

He drew close to her, wrapped a protective arm around her shoulder. At her raised eyebrow, he murmured an explanation. “Pleasure slaves see to the protection of their mistresses.”

Maybe she believed him, or maybe she saw this as the justification it truly was. Pleasure slaves weren’t bodyguards. Still, she nestled closer against him, her own arm circling his waist. Slim and warm, she felt precisely right, and he tried without success not to imagine future days with her exactly the same way—tucked against him, taking his strength, but having her own too.