Chapter Nine

He wasn't okay. Larth lay in bed. Prudence's breathing came slow and regular, and she hadn't moved since they retired a half hour ago.

He'd crossed the line he'd drawn for himself. He'd been so overjoyed at the progress, he needed to share the news with somebody who cared. She'd worked so hard to help him bring the dream to fruition, and it was finally happening. In his exuberance, he'd grabbed her. Reacted.

The kiss had been like a bell. He couldn't unring it.

And then he couldn't even bring himself to apologize to her because, stars help him, he ached to kiss her again. Holding her in his arms, his scattered, conflicting emotions had pooled together and settled. Kissing her had made him feel whole. Perhaps, if she hadn't responded so passionately, he might have been able to put it out of his mind and chalk it up to a one-time impulse that would never happen again.

He rubbed his bare left arm. Since the kiss, his sigils hadn't stopped tingling. Pins and needles prickled from shoulder to wrist. He'd been sleeping in loose nighttime drawers and a pullover, but the fabric irritated the gliteri, and he couldn't bear it touching his skin. The more he remembered the kiss, the more energized the sigils became. The silvery scales weren't the only part of him that had reacted. He'd toted around a raging erection all day. He was still stone hard, and his balls ached.

He couldn't have gotten a more competent business partner. She fulfilled every requirement he had advertised for. He should be happy with that. He had no right to change the terms of their marriage contract—unless she wanted to, also.

Over the past week, he'd found his sorrow easing, contentment growing, excitement for the future increasing. He could remember Sala without the sharp pangs, and, in truth, he thought of her less and far more of Prudence. Smart and savvy, she had customers eating out of her hand. Almost literally. She kept the sample plate stocked, and she was phenomenal at the upsell—something he always forgot about. He'd give the customer what he came for and send him on his way. But when Pru manned the counter, the customer almost always left with more than he'd asked for. Thanks to her, business boomed .

However, it wasn't her business acumen causing the blood to sizzle in his veins. It was her —her pretty face, her sultry voice, that curvy ass. How her blonde hair caught the light. The way her still-startling cyan eyes crinkled and danced with amusement. He loved her laugh and the speckles across her nose and cheeks. He'd become dependent on the rhythmic, soothing sound of her breathing to lull him to sleep every night. His insomnia had become a thing of the past. Thanks to her, he awakened refreshed and eager to tackle the day.

Kissing her had changed everything. He pressed his fingers to his eyelids. He'd promised himself he'd let it go. If he couldn't apologize, he should at least not mention the kiss ever again. He shouldn't risk destroying an excellent business relationship and a growing friendship. For a while, he'd feared he'd ruined something good.

After the kiss, interactions that had been natural, easygoing had become awkward, their conversations stilted as they worked in the tiny booth. Not until they closed up, and he'd taken her to see the progress at the bakery, had the air cleared between them. She'd squealed with such delight and excitement, he'd almost kissed her all over again. He had someone to share his joy with.

Around her, he felt happy, whole. It couldn't be wrong to crave that, could it? He'd promised Sala before she went into the stasis pod that there would never be another woman for him. As long as he kept the marriage on a friendship footing and didn't fall in love, that wasn't breaking his promise, was it? He was just so tired of being sad.

Prudence's back was to him, her breathing slow and even. He reached out and curled a lock of her flaxen hair between his fingers then let it fall.

Let it go. Let it go. But he couldn't .

"Are you awake?" he whispered. If she was asleep, he would say no more. He would do nothing. He would accept the status quo—or what the status quo had been before he'd kissed her.

He held his breath. She gave no response, continued to breathe slow and deep, no change in tenor.

That's that. He exhaled.

"No," came the belated low reply. She rolled over.

In the darkness, he couldn't see her face, but he felt her breath, or imagined he did, and her tantalizing lemony-fresh scent wafted over him. He'd been awash in her scent while kissing her. The smell had lingered around him throughout the afternoon.

"I don't regret kissing you. I hadn't planned on it, but I'm not sorry it happened." How could something that had felt so right be wrong?

"It surprised me, but I don't regret it."

"So, what should we do about it?" Please don't say forget it.

In the darkness, he saw the gleam of white teeth. "Maybe do it again?"

His gliteri tingled with a pleasure-pain. His cock throbbed. He reached out and cupped her cheek then leaned in and brushed his lips against hers. He didn't seek entry, kept teasing until she uttered a hitching protest and curled her hand around his neck.

He smiled and deepened the kiss, his tongue slipping past her parted lips. She scooted closer, and he gathered her into his arms. Lips clung while tongues played. He roved his hands over her shoulders and back. His cock ached, and his gliteri felt as if the sigils were burning into his skin.

They exchanged long, drugging kisses, one after the other, until he broke away, panting. Her breathing sounded equally labored. Tucking her head against his chest, he hugged her and pressed featherlight kisses to her eyelids. It was amazing how turmoil and contentment and guilt and lust could coexist.

Her hand, resting on his chest, slid up to his shoulder. She trailed her fingers over his sensitive, reactive gliteri. Down. Up again. "Your gliteri is so soft. Is it sensitive?" Down. Up. She trailed a meandering, maddening path, stoking the flames. "Do you feel that?"

"Yes." His voice came out strangled. She needed to stop. More than his arm and shoulder were reacting. She'd lit up his entire body.

Before her arrival, he was barely alive. Anesthetized by the lingering grief, he'd walked, talked, worked, but he'd been going through the motions. Nothing penetrated the surface. He'd been unable to remember what desire, humor, what living had felt like. Prudence brought it rushing back, hotter, stronger than ever. She'd revitalized him.

A cover hid his lower body, but if not for the darkness, she'd notice his erection. Her wayward hand continued to caress his arm and shoulder. He bit off a groan and caught her wrist, bringing it to his chest. This was moving way beyond a few kisses. She had no idea what she was doing. "Prudence… "

"Larth…" Her voice sounded low, husky, teasing, seductive.

She knows what she's doing.

The situation was spiraling out of control; need and desire wracked his body. The situation called for prudence—but his body ached for Prudence of a different kind. "We should think about this…what about tomorrow?"

In the harsh light of day, would there be regrets? Complications? They had to work together. Even the kiss had, for a time, made things awkward. What if they screwed up a good business relationship, the sole reason she'd come here?

"Or…" She raised up to lean over him. Soft breasts pressed against his ribs through her nightdress. She stroked his jawline with her finger. "Or…we could think about tomorrow tomorrow and enjoy tonight." She brushed her lips against his.

With a groan, he capitulated, cupping her head and deepening the kiss. He couldn't fight her and his desire when body and soul were crying for him to lose himself in her. He plundered her mouth, his lips moving over hers, his tongue exploring the recesses, dancing with hers .

Her hand settled on his shoulder again, caressing his gliteri. Did she have any idea what that did to him?

He cupped her breast through her nightdress, finding the hard nipple and pinching lightly. Her pelvis rocked against his leg. Breaking off the kiss, he tugged at the shift, and together, they pulled it over her head. I want to see her. With a tap of his wrist, a gentle, low light illuminated the room.

"Did you do that?" she gasped.

"Uh-huh. I'll teach you later." Belatedly he realized he'd forgotten to explain how to turn on the lights.

He drank in his fill of her near-naked body. Her rounded, high breasts were splattered with brown-sugar freckles and centered with berry nipples. Her torso narrowed to a slender waist and then flared into womanly hips. Tousled hair framed her heart-shaped face. Sultry blue eyes smiled.

Cupping a breast, he lifted it to his mouth and captured a nipple, eliciting a moan of pleasure from her arched throat.

With lips and hands, he played with both breasts, stroking and squeezing, laving the tips, suckling gently. Desire had grown into a raging beast, but he kept it caged, didn't want to rush this .

She slipped a hand inside his sleep pants to grasp and stroke his shaft. His balls drew up tight to his body, and sweet fire shot through him. She tugged at his drawers, and he helped her remove them.

"You really are blue all over!" Her scrutiny felt like a caress, and his cock throbbed, preening for her attention.

"You were expecting…red? Yellow?"

She laughed at herself, and the lightness of her giggle caused his heart to contract with an emotion too dangerous to contemplate. It was one thing to relish living again, but entirely different to wish for…

He banished the disloyal thoughts, escaping into the safety zone of the physical. Sex was sex. Safe. He'd had other lovers before…well, before.

He divested her of the tiny article of clothing covering her woman parts, and it was his turn to gawk. A triangle thatch of blonde curly hair covered her pubis. Caradonians didn't grow hair down there. Fascinated, he wrapped a springy curl around his finger.

"There are more interesting parts about me than my pubic hair," she said.

He laughed, accepting her gentle mockery with good humor. Aside from a few awkward moments caused by the impetuous kiss, they had been in sync from the start, working together as if their movements had been choreographed. They communicated easily, matter-of-factly, honestly, comfortably. Coming from two different worlds, they'd found tremendous common ground. He loved how they teased and laughed together. Humor kept things light, kept him on an even keel. Nothing serious could develop if he kept things light.

"I'll be the judge of that." Rolling her onto her back, he kissed her then dragged his lips to her throat, lightly sucking and nipping. "Here, maybe?" Her moan of pleasure vibrated against his lips.

Lower. "You do have a sexy collarbone." He kissed.

"You're silly." She threaded her fingers through his hair, the little tug against his scalp an erotic stimulation.

Cupping her breasts, he raised them to his mouth. "Maybe you were talking about these?" He suckled on a bud. She arched her neck with pleasure.

His breath wafted over her stomach. A giggle erupted. She squirmed at his light kisses, fanning her hands out, protecting herself. "Stop. Stop. I'm ticklish. "

"Interesting." He filed the information away and slipped lower.

Parting her thighs, he slid between her legs and covered her sex with his mouth.

"Oh my god!" Her hips came off the bed. Her hands fisted in his hair.

His gaze met hers over the mound of her womanhood. "I found the interesting part." Every bit of her was interesting.

She pounded his shoulder. "Don't tease."

"Never. This is serious business," he said and then got serious. He explored her folds with lips and tongue, homing in on her clit at the apex of her sex. She moaned and rocked her hips as he fluttered over the nub. He slipped a finger into her drenched channel. Muscles contracted around the digit and sent heat surging into his cock.

"Now, now. I need you now." Her heels thumped his back.

He needed no further urging. Scooting upward, he guided his cock to her entrance and rocked inside. She groaned with pleasure and locked her heels over his buttocks. Air hissed through his teeth at the sweet-hot sensation of wet, tight walls closing around him. So good. So good. Seating himself, he paused, letting the erotic sensations wash over him. Muscles bunched. Blood rushed through his ears. He squeezed his eyes shut.

She shifted her hips, fitting them more tightly together. His eyes flew open to meet her passion-soaked gaze. Their eyes still locked, he moved with slow, deliberate thrusts, savoring the sensation, trying to delay the inevitable rush to rapture.

He retreated in a slow slide and pushed forward. Her channel rippled around his cock, and her face contorted with desire. "Larth…" She thrust against him. "You're teasing again."

"I'm…enjoying." It was hard to form words.

She reached between their bodies to cup and caress his balls. "Me, too."

"Not fair," he said, more groan than laughter, thrusting in earnest, his body picking up the pace, plunging faster and faster while watching passion contort her expression, color her skin. Her cheeks, neck, and chest flushed pink.

When she climaxed with a cry, her pussy convulsing around his cock, he passed the point of no return. He tried to watch her orgasm, but, as pleasure intensified, hurtling him toward the conclusion, his eyes shut. And perhaps that was the way to take a great leap—with eyes squeezed shut. Body ablaze, he tumbled into the abyss. His cock contracted at the base, and he exploded, emptying himself, becoming nothing, yet everything.

He floated to the surface on a wave of lassitude and well-being that infused his entire being. With passion spent, out of the dark corners of his mind crept a whisper threatening his buoyancy and contentment. What have I done?

He turned a deaf ear to the insidious murmur. He couldn't rue what had occurred when his body was still joined with hers, and residual tremors of bliss quivered through him. When she caressed his back in slow, tender circles. The scent of sex and her lemony fragrance filled his head, and, stronger than regret, was the desire to remain locked in her embrace forever. To do it all over again. He needed her tenderness, the humor, the passion. He hadn't realized how much until meeting her.

He lifted his head. "I'm crushing you."

"I like your weight," she said, but he disengaged and rolled to the side. She curled against him, and he held her close and stroked her tangled hair, feeling tender and tortured. The shadow thoughts had gotten louder. What have I done ?

"Should we talk about this?" she asked.

"No." Fizzak, no! But he almost smiled. How like a woman to seek to talk, analyze, dissect. An unexamined life was a safe life. Letting matters be allowed him to cope, to pretend, to escape.

"This isn't going to be the last time, is it?"

Stars above, it should be. But good intentions wouldn't be strong enough to help him. The craving would worsen until he caved. Why make promises to himself he would never keep? "No." He pressed a kiss to her temple.

"Good."