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“They’re still on Tharethe, but they’ll be fine,” I sigh. “Forget all that. I’m concerned about you. What happened? Are you hurt? Have those rutting thieves touched you?”
“Rutting thieves, huh? And what does that make you?”
“Answer the questions, or I’ll strip you and perform a medical check,” I threaten.
“I’m perfectly fine.”
“Where are your shoes?”
“I was barely through the door when I realized I wasn’t alone. One of them almost grabbed me when I walked in, so when I got away, I took the shoes off because they clacked on the floor.”
“Ah.” I kiss the top of her head. “Very clever choice.”
As she continues her story, I gently lay her on the bed in the center of the room and climb in beside her.
“There was some scary hide-and-seek, but they were busy trying to get the ship flying. I ran inside here and locked the door behind me, but this one managed to get through the adjoining room. And I guess he locked the others out because . . .” She glances at me, and I suppose she finds my expression too furious to continue that sentence. “Anyways, not to worry. He tried his best, but I stabbed him.”
Tried. His. Best?
I fume like a beast. If those idiots were more competent—
“Hey,” she whispers softly into my neck. “Everything’s fine.”
“I’m trying not to think about how close you came to death just now,” I admit to her, letting my eyes shut for a moment to re-calibrate my emotions.
“This handsome, irresistible pirate once gave me a magic knife that cuts through scales, thick skin, and bones like butter,” she says, running her fingers across my chest. “I’m never giving it back to him.”
“He wouldn’t want it back,” I growl in response. I run my fingers over her body, needing to feel her skin and verify her health and safety from head to toe. I start with her cheek, caressing it sweetly, before letting my thumb trace the line that runs from the cleft of her chin to the hollow of her throat. She’s watching me patiently, allowing me my hungry touches.
Does she see that the mating beast is in control? Is she merely giving in to the black eyes and their power? Or does she want this too? Does she crave the comfort of her mate after what happened? I have savored every taste she’s given me of her body, but I want more than her “casual” playtime. I want her to need me.
There’s a light spattering of blood across her chest, just above the swell of her breasts. I don’t think; I lean down and lick it away. It tastes bitter.
She jerks in surprise. “What are you doing?”
“Cleaning you,” I tell her. “Their blood is not worthy of your body or your perfect skin.”
I tongue the valley between her breasts. There’s no more blood here, but I will wash away the taste of it with her sweat and scent. She doesn’t argue, doesn’t turn away. She sinks her fingers into my hair and moans quietly.
And since she is not fighting or saying a word to remind me of the reality that awaits us outside of this room, I slip my hand inside the fabric of her dress.
Then I tear it away.
A sharp feminine intake of breath. The sound of ripping threads. A deep groan I can’t control.
“I need you,” I rasp. “And I need this off.”
It’s torn already, and it’s covered in splotches of that disgusting Plax blood.
“Go ahead,” she urges, eyes darkening as I make quick work of the garment.
The gauzy top sags off her easily, but the tight-fitting thing underneath must be peeled off. I drag the straps down her shoulders, revealing her firm, round breasts. Those sweet brown nipples are tightened to points already. I taste them as I tear the rest of the fabric away.
“I need your body,” I tell her. “Don’t deny me, not now.”
“Does this look like denial to you?” She helps me finish the job by lifting her hips and shimmying her last undergarment off.
She lays back. There’s a smugness in her eyes, the confidence of a female who knows just what she does to me. She likes the way I look at her with all the hunger of a starved predator. The smell of her arousal fills my nose, driving away the scent of death and stinger blasts.
