The Skypirate Part 21

"I owe you thanks." He was aware of the huskiness of his voice but unable to stop it. "As you said, I needed to talk."

Her tongue crept out to wet her lips, and Dax felt his body clench at the memory of that softness and how it tasted.

"I...You're welcome." Her voice was tentative, wary.

"We both hold each other's secrets now, don't we?" She drew in another audible breath.

"It makes trust an easier thing, doesn't it?"

"Does it?" he asked softly. "Do you trust me, Califa?"

"I..." She trailed off as he watched her intently. At last, with a rueful twist of her mouth, she said, "More than I should."

Somehow that answer, that she trusted him despite her doubts, forced him to rein in senses that were reeling with the vivid, erotic images that had been pounding at him since he'd come out of his emotional fog and become aware that the woman who held him was the woman he'd been fighting his response to since she'd come on board.

"I told you before to get out," he said gruffly. "I'm glad you didn't then, but I think you'd better now."

She looked blank for a moment. He resisted the urge to take that slender hand that had been gently stroking his hair and drag it down past his belly to feel exactly why she should leave now; he settled for shifting his hips so that his hardened shaft nudged her thigh.

She blinked. "Oh."

His mouth quirked. "Yes, 'oh.' You got what you came for, Califa. You'd better leave before you get more."

For a long moment she looked at him, and Dax could almost see the memory of that kiss, that hot, urgent kiss, come alive in her mind. Just knowing that she was thinking of it sent another burst of heat blazing along nerves that had come cracklingly alive, teasing him with need.

He should make her leave, he thought. He couldn't go through this again. Couldn't drive himself to the brink of insanity, knowing there could be but one result. But then she lifted a hand to his face, smiling slightly as she felt the stubble he'd neglected to use the eliminator on this week. "And if I were to...want more?"

"Califa," he said warningly, but his hand went out to stroke her cheek in turn, the backs of his fingers gentle on skin that seemed too soft to be real.

"I know," she answered softly. "This is probably a great mistake. But..."

"But what?" he prompted when her voice trailed away.

"I can't help wondering..."

He groaned, low and harsh. "Neither can I," he muttered.

And then he was lowering his mouth to hers, with the desperation of a man who didn't know if he was winning or losing the battle he'd been fighting. In the first instant he knew that what he'd half convinced himself of wasn't true; the first time hadn't been a fluke. He'd kissed women before after a long period of enforced celibacy, and it had been nothing like this. What was it about this woman, about her particular combination of intelligence, nerve, and beauty that so got to him? That made him want to forget all the reasons and G.o.d knew there were manyhe shouldn't be doing this, and made him want to pray that this time would be different?

He thought there was a chance; he couldn't remember ever being this hot, wanting so much, needing so much, At the least, he knew he could pleasure her, and if that had to be all there was, he would have to be content. That he'd never considered that enough before didn't occur to him.

When she parted her lips for him, he plunged his tongue forward eagerly, seeking her honeyed warmth. He slid his hands up the length of her rib cage until he could feel the soft curves of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s nestling against his palms through the fabric of the flight suit that barely contained them. She made no protest as he cradled the warm weight of her.

He let his thumbs caress her, circling, as his fingers and palms flexed over her flesh. He waited until she moved, arching slightly, as if urging him that last small but crucial distance, before he moved to rub the rising peaks of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. She made a tiny sound in her throat, a smothered cry that made his body nearly cramp in response; G.o.d, she was killing him, simply by responding to his touch.

He sucked in his breath when he felt her hands move over the bare skin of his chest, and gasped aloud at the darts of fire when she mimicked his actions and her fingers found and stroked his nipples. He captured her face between his hands as he slid one leg across hers to lift himself over her. He deepened the kiss, and after a moment her tongue rose to meet his, tasting then retreating in a dance that made a shiver race down his spine, oddly chill against the rising heat of his body.

He threaded his fingers through the short cap of her hair; it felt like the silkcloth fiber he'd thought of when he'd been studying her that night as she sat alone on the observation deck. His own hair fell forward, and he felt the sensuous tug as her fingers matched the actions of his own, as if she'd again been waiting for his move before she felt free to make her own.

The idea made him freeze. He lifted his head, his eyes heated as he gazed down at her. Her hands fell away, as if she were afraid of what he would do now.

"Not in this, snowfox," he whispered hotly. "There is no leader in this."

Her eyes widened. "But"

"If you are here because you feel you must, that it is...your place, because ofthat" he snarled as he flicked a finger at the collar"then go. Now."

"No," she whispered. "It's because, for the first time since...even before the collar...Iwant. Truly want. I didn't know I could."

Something let go inside him, some last remnant of doubt or hesitation. "I want, too, Califa. So touch me. As you wish, not at my lead."

She hesitated, as if she'd forgotten what to do with such freedom. Then she lifted her hands once more, tangling them in his hair.

"I've wanted to do this," she said. "It's like the mane of an Arellian steed, thick and long and sleek to the touch."

Dax nearly blushed, but his embarra.s.sment at her fervent admiration did nothing to cool his heated blood. Nor did the image her words called to mind: her riding him as she perhaps had once ridden the famous steeds native to her home world.

"And this," she continued, sliding her hands down over his shoulders, slowly, as if savoring the feel of his skin as he had savored the feel of hers.

At the thought, he was seized with the need to touch more of her, and without the interference of cloth. He reached for the fastener of the flight suit she wore, and tugged it down. It parted easily, driven partly by the swell of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. But when he moved to push it off her shoulders, he felt her go very still.

If she had changed her mind he could stand it, he supposed. He'd certainly had enough practice at frustration. In fact he didn't even know why he was doing this, when he was so painfully certain of what the end would be, except that he seemed to have no choice.

"Califa?"

She bit her lip. He leaned down to kiss her, forcing her to stop the savaging of that tender flesh.

"What is it?"

"I...I'm scarred, you know. Badly."

One corner of his mouth lifted wryly. "I have a few of those, myself."

"Not like this."

"And you think it matters?"

"I never did, before. I was still who I was. I would have sliced the throat of anyone who said otherwise," she admitted honestly.

He gave her a lopsided smile. "Did I mention a snow-fox also fights like a demon when cornered?"

She looked at him for a long moment. She lifted one hand as if to touch the comer of his mouth that had quirked upward. Then she let it fall back.

"When I was...made a slave, it mattered. I had always accepted that, about slaves. That it lessened their value. I never thought about...Eos, I just never thought."

He didn't want this reminder of who she'd been, what she'd doneand Dare. He didn't want to think about it now, when his blood was running hot and the woman who'd driven him nearly mad with sudden, reawakened cravings was in his arms.

"There is no place for those thoughts in this, either," he said, his voice taut as he shifted once more, until she instinctively parted her legs for him to slip between. "No place for anyone else. Only us."

He heard her sharp intake of breath as his weight came down upon her. She hesitated, then reached for him again.

"Only us," she agreed in a whisper.

And then she was kissing him, her slender body arching beneath him to reach his mouth. The movement compounded the pressure on his already aroused flesh, and he groaned low in his throat. He kissed every bit of pale skin he unveiled as he slid the flight suit down her body. She wore nothing underneath, and the knowledge that she'd probably had nothing to wear did nothing to cool the fire that leapt to life in him again. He caressed her, cupped her b.r.e.a.s.t.s and lifted them, watching with heated pleasure as her pink nipples peaked under his gaze. He heard her low moan, and looked up to see her eyes had closed as she lay there, open to his hungry gaze.

"Califa." She moaned again, but her eyes remained closed. "Open your eyes, snowfox. I have to..."

When she still kept her lashes lowered, he broke off for a swift flick of his tongue over one taut nipple. She gasped, and her eyes shot open. "I need to see your eyes," he said hoa.r.s.ely. "I need to know that you want this."

A look of understanding, crossed her face. She smiled, a smile so nearly tender it made his knees weak; if he'd been standing, he thought, he would have been hard-pressed to stay that way.

"It is not the slave you hold," she promised him, "but the woman." Her smile changed to one of wonder, and its effect on him was no less potent. "A woman who has, it seems, much to leam. Teach me, Dax."

The sound of his name in that tender voice, made his body clench around a white hot shaft of need. The feel of her, soft and willing beneath him, wanting him, shattered the restraints that had held him in check since he'd first kissed her and realized just how potent this woman's effect on him was. Once unleashed, he responded as he had learned to in the past five years; recklessly, fiercely, without hesitation.

Not even the thought of the dismal ending to this that he expected could slow him. Neither did the faint, distant realization that she indeed trusted him; she made no move to hide her scarred leg from his eyes as he tugged the flight suit the rest of the way off her body. He saw the scar, it would have been impossible not to, as it streaked its way down the outside of her left leg, from midthigh to knee. It was wide, jagged, and made him ache to look at it, knowing what pain it had caused. As if he could ease that long-ago pain, he leaned down and trailed his lips over the mark that made the skin beside it seem even softer and more delicate by comparison.

He heard her gasp, felt her tense, but he kept on. She was a fighter, his snowfox. She had withstood an injury that would have killed many, and had forced herself to adapt until the damage was barely noticeable. He had been right when he'd admired her nerve in those first moments; she was every bit as brave as he'd thought her then.

"You are beautiful, snowfox," he murmured as he blazed a path back up her thigh with his mouth, lingering at anyplace that made her catch her breath, teasing the dark triangle of soft curls with his fingers as his hands traced other paths, caressing, stroking, fondling.

"Dax," she moaned, as her body came alive under his touch, her legs moving restlessly, the muscles of her belly contracting with need. Her hands slid over him, down his back. He felt her fingers pause over the faint scars, then trace them with a gentle touch, as if she, too, wished to soothe away old pain.

She said his name again as she pressed his weight to her, palms flat against the small of his back. He was fully, painfully erect, caught between their bodies, and the added friction made him shudder. Her fingers slipped to the edge of his pants, and his breath caught at her whispered plea.

She didn't have to ask; if he didn't get free of the constraining cloth, he was going to die of the pressure. He quickly rolled away and sat up long enough to shed the rest of his clothes. Then he brought himself to his knees between her parted legs.

He watched Califa's eyes as she looked at him, saw her gaze skate up and down his body. He couldn't begrudge her, he'd looked hungrily enough at her once he'd rid her of the flight suit. Yet it made him uneasy. Nervous, perhaps. The realization made him draw back for an instant; even in this, she was different. Never before had he worried about such a thing with a woman. He'd come to accept that females found him attractive, even though he guessed that it was his reputation that made up for what he lacked in the traditional Triotian golden beauty.

Yet his reputation as a skypirate held no such attraction for Califa. Indeed, except for getting her out of that prison, he'd done nothing but complicate her life. A life that was already not even her own, not while she wore that collar. She had no reason to l.u.s.t after the infamous Dax, for there was no one for her to boast to afterward.

With the others, he hadn't known, hadn't cared why. It had been enough that they had been there of their own free will. And if they chose to ignore the facts and instead boast of something that had never happened, in a way that only enhanced the other reputation he seemed to have acquired, for his prowess with females, there was little he could do about it. Little that his remaining pride would allow, at least. Perhaps it was this realization that made him pause, wondering if even now, while he sat here, the swollen, jutting proof of his raging need obvious to her, she would change her mind. And when his eyes traced the slender lines of her body, up the long legs, lingering at the invitation of that sleek, dark delta of curls, over the slight feminine swell of her belly and the full, soft curves of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, to come to a stop at the dull gleam of gold that banded her throat, he knew he had to give her that chance.

Cursing himself for a fool, he choked out the words.

"You're sure? You want this?"

"Oh, Dax." It was a moan that was almost a pained laugh. "You don't understand, do you? I'm no innocent, I wasn't, even before. But I'venever wanted like this."

She held her arms out to him, and with a groan he went into them, biting back a cry of pure pleasure as naked skin touched naked skin. He'd never known such need, never been so tightly wound, so achingly hard. He began to touch her again, first blazing trails with his hands, then following with his mouth. Her instant, heated response inflamed him further, because he had no doubt of the genuineness of it.

As she writhed beneath his ministrations, he allowed himself a brief moment of hope. Perhaps it hadn't been something wrong with him, all this time. Perhaps it simply hadn't been this woman. Then he buried it, knowing the chance was less than slim, and concentrated on what he knew was possible; he set about wringing every possible sign of desire from her, until she was clinging to him, her fingers digging into his flesh as she nearly wept his name.

"Dax, please! I can't bear it, IOh!"

This as his mouth found the heart of her, his tongue parting the dark curls and stroking until he found that tiny knot of nerve endings that made her go rigid against the hands that lifted her for the intimate caress.

He drove her to the edge, retreated, then began again. Only when, in desperation, she slid her hand down his body and curved her fingers around him, did he pause.

For a moment, he remained motionless, savoring the feel of her hand as she stroked him, base to tip and back, and then again, until he shuddered. Surely his body wouldn't betray him now, not when he felt he would explode at her next touch, at the next movement of her fingers. And then she did move, a slow, downward stroking that went beyond the length of his rigid shaft until she was cupping him in her palm, the feel of that delicate grasp on rounded flesh drawn tight with want threw him out of control.

He came down on her fiercely, his mouth on hers, his chest crushing her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, his thighs separating hers urgently. She opened for him, welcomed him, with an eagerness that seemed almost taunting in the light of what he knew as the futility of it. Yet even knowing he was dooming himself to even more torment, the pull of the pleasure he'd already felt, so much stronger than any he'd ever known, drew him on irresistibly, and he plunged forward.

He heard her gasp as he thrust into her soft heat, heard her cry out, and echoed it as her flesh closed around him, searing him until his arms shook with his effort to hold himself steady. The look of startled, wondering pleasure on her face stripped away his doubts about what he was letting himself in for; for that look, he would suffer a lot more than the temporary, if painful, ache of frustration.

"Why surprised, snowfox?" he murmured. "It's supposed to be this way."

He began to move, rocking his hips against her, inching deeper with each forward motion. She was moaning his name, begging him not to wait. And then he couldn't wait. With a quick jerk of his hips he sheathed himself to the hilt, and a guttural sound of pleasure broke from his throat.

She tilted her hips, as if to better feel the length of him buried within her. Her hands were gripping his shoulders, using his body as purchase for the rippling movement of hers. She was driving him mad, her slick, wet flesh coaxing, caressing his, until he couldn't believe his body would not accede to the demand of hers.

But he'd known the moment he'd entered her that it would not. For he had been so close, so near to erupting that just the feel of her body accepting him, of that tight yet yielding pa.s.sage closing around him, should have sent him spiraling into climax. But he only ached, that painfully familiar driving, pulsing ache, different only in the fact that now, with Califa, it was more powerful, more excruciating then it had ever been in his life.

And heor shecould do nothing to end it. But he could end her ache. He could ease the need he felt in every movement of her body, in every touch of her hands, in every ravening kiss she gave whatever part of him she could reach as she lay there beneath him, and in every breathless word she uttered.

"Dax... I don't... I... Eos, what are you doing to me?"

What I can't do for myself,he muttered silently. Putting the hope for himself that he'd briefly, foolishly held back in the dark cavern of his mind where the rest of his demons lived, he concentrated on Califa, on his snowfox, on her warm, slender body and the way it responded to him. He began to move slowly, driving himself into her and then withdrawing with long, slow, controlled motions. He moved for her, not himself, shifting his position, changing the angle of his hips so that his own rigid flesh slid over the most sensitive part of her with every thrust.

She was quivering, and with awed amazement of her cries gave him the strength to go on, to ignore the fact that her wet heat was searing him to ashes, even as his own body denied him. And then he felt it, in the instant before she cried out his name yet again, that rippling, flexing convulsion of inner muscles, gripping him, making him want to scream at the ferocity of the strangling pressure that would not release.

He did cry out, as he buried himself deeply in her quivering body in a final, futile effort.

But Califa was quaking in his arms, moaning his name over and over, clinging to him as he instinctively knew she had never clung to anyone. She was nearly sobbing as her body continued to convulse, crying out her shock and awe and wonder. And for that sound, that undeniable knowledge that he had shown her something she had never known before, he would have suffered worse than this.

Chapter 15.

She was looking at him, still seeming dazed, yet at the same time troubled. The slight crease between her brows had appeared the moment he had withdrawn from her sated body and she had realized he was still fully erect, that sweat beaded his brow, that her slightest movement was agony for him.

"Dax?"

He sagged back on the bunk beside her, trying to slow breathing that was still accelerated, and the pulse that was still racing toward a climax that would never come.

"Sshh. Just rest," he managed to get out.

She needed to rest, he thought, able to smile inwardly despite the persistent hurt that had settled in his groin. It would recede, eventually, he knew. The ache would fade, the strained tautness of his flesh would ebb, leaving behind another layer of the gut-level tension he'd learned to live with. It was just a little worse this time, he told himself.

He pulled her closer against his side, his still distended shaft brushing against the silkcloth smoothness of the skin of her naked hip. He tensed involuntarily.

All right,he admitted caustically,a lot worse.

Califa began to raise up on one elbow to look at him. She fell back, as if her muscles were refusing to obey. He smiled at her, but she frowned back.