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I’m momentarily distracted by the suit I hold in my hands. It’s surprisingly light. I also never imagined it would crinkle like any other fabric. I guess my understanding of armor is tied up in primitive Earth imagery of medieval chain mail. It brings to mind a ludicrous thought of Kalla dressed in a sparkling suit of armor.
“I’m guessing this can’t go through the laundry?”
“You’d be right. Toss it in that crate there, and I’ll deal with it later,” he tells me.
After I’ve done this, I have no more distraction from the naked Adonis on the bed. He’s been left with nothing but his underwear. And aliens don’t wear boxers, apparently. No, he’s wearing what I can only describe as a black jockstrap— a thong that must only serve the purpose of keeping his equipment from flopping around inside his suit. My hands start shaking, because I can’t look anywhere but at his body, corded in muscle and decorated with scars. I was aware he was big and strong, but I wasn’t prepared to see him like this. I’m not sure anyone could prepare for that.
And of course there’s his bulge, which frightens me to death despite being completely flaccid. There it is, with nothing but a black fabric prison between my eyeballs andit.It’s no wonder he needs a jockstrap for his third leg. No one could accomplish assassination with that thing on the loose.
He breaks his dead-eyed grimace to quirk one side of his lips up.
“Little flame, is something distracting you?”
“No!” I jolt to attention, grabbing for the healing cream that I took out hours ago and purposefully placed on the dresser top. I pop off the cap and resolve to get started on his wounds without losing my head like some kind of prude. Couldn’t he wear some fucking bike shorts instead?
His smile grows.
“I’ll admit, I had hoped that the first time I found myself naked before you would be more romantic than this,” he says. “But the results are just as pleasurable as I’d hoped.”
My cheeks burn. I squeeze out ointment and dab it on the bruise forming under his arm.
“D-do you always wear that?” I ask.
He shrugs. “Only when I’m wearing the armored suit.”
I nod, as if this is entirely normal small talk.
“Why? Do you like it?”
“I wasn’t expecting it.”
“Were you hoping that when you stripped me, my cock would be out for your enjoyment, then?”
“No!” I blurt. I frown, refusing to look at his face.
At least his mood has improved. Whatever made him change his mind must’ve been serious. What frightens a notorious assassin?
“If you don’t want me to tease you so much, then you shouldn’t look so cute when you’re embarrassed,” he tells me. Here I am trying to heal him, and he’s being a shameless flirt.
“Did you clean that before you bandaged it?” I ask, pointing at the shoulder injury.
“These bandages do all the work,” he says. “And they’re waterproof, so why don’t you help me get in the shower?”
“Do I look like I was born yesterday? Isn’t that the oldest trick in the book?”
“Throw around whatever charming Earth phrases you like, but this was your idea. And I think I’m suddenly feeling weak in the knees. Help me. You wouldn’t want me to trip and then drown in the bathing room, would you?”
“How about I drown you myself? I’ll claim your bounty for my troubles. What’s the price on your head, exactly?”
He throws back his head and does a belly laugh. The way that laughter puts every muscle on display… The masculine profile of his neck does something to me. There’s no reason to hold back from him, especially when he made it so clear he means to please me. He’s made up his mind for us to part ways. Where’s the harm in exploring this sexual tension between us? I was willing to bind myself to him, let him have everything he wanted from me.
I want him. Badly.
If his cock didn’t give me the shivers, I might be kissing him right now, throwing myself at him.
“I’d say you can have it your way,” he wheezes as his amusement simmers down. “But I don’t plan on hitting the ash pile without a taste of that cunt, little flame.”
I stand beside him, starkly aware of my burning red face.
