Slipping two fingers inside her once again, I worked her with those digits as my tongue laved her, licked her. I sucked and tugged, worked her clit until her thighs clamped over my ears, and she creamed my mouth.
Fark, was she perfect. Uninhibited.
Slowly, I stood, shucked my clothes, set my hand by her head and leaned over her as I worked my cock into her. She was sweaty and replete, lost to her pleasure. To what I gave her.
“Isaak,” she moaned, and she clenched down on me hard.
I held still. Waited, which was torture.
Her eyes blinked open, and I watched as they cleared of her desire enough to see me.
“There you are. Ready to get fucked?”
She lifted a hand and cupped my jaw. “I can’t say you’re a selfish lover.” Her voice was a mix of breathy desire and grumbling.
“You may submit, gara, but you will always come first. Always.”
The glazed look of desire in her eyes threatened my control. “Hands to your knees. Open yourself to me.”
She did as I asked, her hands pulling her legs up and back, exposing her pussy. Opening her up like a flower.
“More. Tilt your hips. I want everything.”
“Isaak.”
She said my name, not master, but I did not have the heart to deny myself, not when I knew our time together could come to an abrupt end.
I’d had enough talking. I pulled back, thrust deep. Took her hard. Took her as I needed it to know she was right here with me. Beneath me. Mine.
Her pleasure milked me hard, and I wasn’t strong enough to resist.
The orgasm built at the base of my spine, zapped the energy from my body and thrust it deep into Zara along with my seed. Setting my forehead against hers, I breathed in her air, her life force just as I gave her mine deep into her pussy.
11
Zara, Two Days Later
Nothing could have prepared me for life on Trion. At every meal, each bite was an explosion of taste and textures on my tongue. Sweet. Salty. Bitter. Rich. The food overwhelmed my taste buds the way the clothing seduced my skin. Except for the first night of our arrival, when I’d worn Isaak’s shirt, he’d made traditional Trion outfits out of the cool clothing-making machine. I didn’t know what the sheer, gossamer fabrics were made of, but they were softer than silk, light as air, and clung to every curve with constant caressing every bare part of me. I wore no underwear, no bra. I was beginning to feel like I wore nothing but nipple rings, chain between and air, the experience shockingly sexy.
I felt sexy. Beautiful. Adored. Me. I felt feminine.
Isaak constantly touched me, kissed me, fucked me until my eyes rolled back into my head, and I was lost to the pleasure. Guilt tore at me, thoughts of Naron, my dead mate, the guy perfectly matched to me by the Brides’ Program, made me wonder if I was living some kind of mistake with Isaak. He wasn’t meant to be mine nor I his. He wasn’t my perfect match. I hadn’t come all the way to space to be his. He wasn’t the Trion male the Interstellar Brides’ processing center had matched to me, and I felt… bad for being… happy with him. In so many ways.
Why did I want him so badly? Why did I miss his touch on my skin the moment he left my side? Why did my heart jump every time I saw him?
Why did I love the way he called me gara? Why did I submit to him so easily? I wasn’t that kind of woman. Never had been. I was a fighter. A scrapper. A girl from the neighborhood who had grown up tough.
This soft, submissive female was not me. This silk and gold and hair flowing free and loose down my back was not me.
More importantly—more of a confusion than any other thought swirling in my head—if he wasn’t supposed to be mine, why was I falling in love? That completely freaked me out. How could I be feeling this way for him? He was so annoying. So frustrating. I wanted to strangle him and kiss the life out of him. I didn’t trust men let alone love them.
Feet bare, I curled my toes into one of the deepest, softest rugs I’d ever walked upon and ran my hand over the edge of a statue of a beast that looked like a cross between a horse and a bear.
“Sure feels like me,” I muttered to myself.
“What are you worrying about, gara? I recognize the look in your eyes.” Isaak appeared in the large room as if from nowhere and wrapped his arms around me. The heavy weight of his armor pressed into my body through my thin gown, and I gasped as the rough edges made contact with the sensitive flesh of my bottom. Isaak had spent a good amount of time making my backside burn last night. Spanking me because I still would not call him master.
I couldn’t. I knew if I did, I’d be lost. Totally screwed. In love. In too deep to save myself. Feeling this way was one thing, but admitting it aloud to myself and to Isaak was something else entirely.