Page 165 of Alien Burn

Then her hands were at his trousers.

“Wait,” she said. “You too.”

He stopped at once. She worked the fastening open and wrapped her hand around him.

For a moment he couldn't breathe.

She watched him while she stroked, learning the pace he wanted from the involuntary movement of his hips. He had spent days being looked at by this woman. He was beginning to understand how little mercy her attention contained when she decided to enjoy herself.

She guided him against her, along the wet heat of her, and rocked.

He caught her waist.

“Not inside. Not yet.”

She stopped. “Did I hurt you?”

“No.” He had to swallow before he could continue. “The knotting. I want you to understand before we do that. I won't make it a decision we have to explain afterward.”

Sereya held his gaze. Then she nodded.

“This?” Her hand moved over him again.

His breath broke.

“This is very much welcome.”

She smiled, and he kissed her while he returned his hand to her body. Her movements grew less careful. She pressed down against his fingers, her mouth open against his cheek, and when he curled them inside her she cried out.

He held her through it, feeling her tighten around his hand. Her face pressed into his neck. He could hear his own name, breathless and unguarded, against his skin.

She was still trembling when she drew back.

“Your turn.”

Her hand closed around him again. She stroked him with the sure rhythm she'd discovered, and his head fell against her shoulder. He tried to hold on, tried to make it last, but her other hand moved over his risen armor and he lost the effort entirely.

He came with her name against her skin.

For a while afterward they stayed where they were, tangled together on the window seat. Sereya traced the back of his neck. He rested his palm against her side, feeling her breathing settle.

“That,” she said eventually, “was the least composed I have ever been. In either life.”

He kissed her shoulder.

“I intend to treasure the memory.”

“Only the memory?”

He looked up. She smiled at him, a little shy now and entirely pleased with herself.

“Tomorrow,” he said, “we'll go back to the garden and talk. Then you can tell me whether you're ready.”

“With the briefing.”

“With the briefing.”

She brushed her mouth over his.