Page 82 of Starfighter’s Salvation

“No.” I caught his wrist and pinned it to the pillow beside his head. Then the other. He allowed it. His wrists were thick and warm under my fingers, and I felt the pulse in them slamming against my palms. Alive. So stubbornly alive. “You don’t get to give the orders tonight. I'm still mad at you.”

Something flared in his eyes. Not argument. Heat. “Then I am yours to command.”

I kissed him.

It was not gentle. It was teeth and fury and a sob I swallowed with his tongue in my mouth. He groaned and kissed me back like he had been starving for days, his hips rolling up under me, hard and ready against the wet heat I could not hide. His wrists strained once in my grip, testing. Then he went still and let me have my way, let me have him.

I tore my mouth away. “Tell me if it hurts.”

“Everything hurts.” His voice was raw. “I don't care.”

“Corvan—”

“If you stop, I will find another way to die.”

“That's not funny.”

“It is a little funny.”

A broken, furious laugh escaped me. I pressed my forehead to his, and the bond mark flared hot under my skin. All the days I’d spent at his bedside came crashing through me. The monitors. The antiseptic. The terrible silence of a room where the only proof he was alive was a green line on a screen.

“I counted your heartbeats,” I whispered. “The whole time. I couldn’t stop.”

He turned his face and kissed my cheek, my temple, the tear I hadn’t realized had fallen.

I let go of his wrists and slid down his body.

The bruises had faded to green and yellow along his ribs, ugly ghosts of everything that had nearly taken him from me. I traced the long scar with my lips, slowly, every inch of it, and felt his stomach clench under my mouth. I kissed every old wound. Every place he’d survived and never expected anyone to touch with tenderness.

“Gina.” My name came out in pieces.

I kissed the new bruise over his heart. Gently. So gently. “You took care of me. Let me take care of you.”

“I am letting you.”

“Not yet you aren’t.” I wrapped my fist around his cock. Hot. Heavy. Iron-hard in my hand. He hissed through his teeth, and I stroked him once, slowly, watching his face come apart. Then I took him into my mouth.

His hand dove into my hair. Not directing. Just holding on. The other fisted in the sheets, knuckles white, and the sound he made rolled through my whole body. I took him deep, hummed around him, felt his thighs lock and shake. Through the bond his pleasure hit me like heat off an engine, and knowing exactly what I was doing to him, this controlled, impossible, infuriating man, left me wet and aching.

“Enough.” He was breathing like he’d run a mile. “Gina. Enough. I want to be inside you.”

“Say please.”

His eyes flashed but he grinned down at me. “Please.”

I could deny him nothing.

I climbed back up his body and settled over him. He dragged in a breath as I positioned his hard length at the entrance of my hot, wet core. His hands came up to my waist. Steady. They didn’t guide me. They just held on, anchored me like he was holding on to the only solid thing in the universe.

I sank down. An inch. The stretch was glorious, bordered on pain, and I gasped. His jaw went tight.

“Still good?” he rasped.

“Don’t you dare ask me that right now.” I took another inch. Another. My thighs trembled. “I’m the one who should be asking you.”

“I am alive, Gina.” His thumbs pressed into my hips. “I am here. I am inside you. I could not be better.”

I took the last of him in one slow, shuddering slide, and we both groaned.