26. Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Six

B ecca

This is half dream, half reality. Could I really be here, on this ship full of welcoming people, a free woman in Pyne’s muscular arms? Is he playing my body as though he owns it while I look at the scintillating greens and purples of a nebula?

He lifts me as though I weigh nothing, arranges me so his thighs are between my outspread thighs, and lines himself up with my core. I’ve been dripping wet for him since before we ran here from our cabin. The glass is cold against my hardened nipples, and his hot breath on that magic spot behind my ear is amping me up, taking me to heights I’ve never reached before.

“I love you, Becca.” He presses inside me in little pulses.

It doesn’t surprise me that it’s not an easy slide. I’ve seen him, had my mouth on him—he’s huge. And patient. Almost like a machine, he pistons into me, thrusting, burrowing in.

The stretch and burn is delicious as I work with him, pressing down with his every stroke, although I have nothing to grip onto, nothing to leverage my body with but the slick glass.

“That’s right, Pyne. Ohh. Right where you belong.”

He grips my hips harder, nips my neck as his final surge connects us completely. Instead of pounding into me, rushing to completion, he stops, laps at the column of my neck, and breathes, “You are… everything, Becca. Everything to me.”

I look into the glass, which acts like a mirror to see him gazing at me with so much love my heart almost stops beating in my chest. This is it, what some secret part inside me dreamed of since I was a little girl. I’m loved and cherished and safe in the arms of the best male in the galaxy.

He pulls out, flips me to face him, and spears into me again. This time in one delicious, hard slide. Then he makes love to me in earnest. This male learned my anatomy the other day when his face was between my legs, because each forceful drive drags along my clit, propelling me higher each time.

Somehow, he changes his angle and bestows pleasure with every press in and every retreat.

“Oh! Fuck!” It’s too much and not enough and I want to come immediately and I want it to last forever. I guess it doesn’t matter what I want because my male is completely in charge as his tempo increases.

He grunts with every plunge. Loud gusts of air laced with guttural noise. His fingers press into my hips as he pumps into me.

I’m holding on for dear life, my nails biting into his shoulders. I could be drawing blood for all I know, though I don’t think either of us care. The air is filled with the smell of lust—his, mine, ours as it curls in the air. Our flesh slapping together is the only sound other than the reassuring hum of the thrusters that will be the background music of my life as long as I’m on this ship.

My need is spiraling higher.

“Almost,” I tell him, the two syllables costing so much effort.

“Come for me, love.”

His forceful words put me over the top, and my muscles clench around him. Perhaps it’s my spasms that cause him to detonate. He grunts his bliss as his hips pulse hard against me—once, twice, three times. Hot bursts of his essence bathe my channel as his pleasure erupts.

I’m still in the throes of my release, which is one of those long, rollercoaster affairs that has peaks and valleys and keeps rolling for so long I wonder if I could go on like this forever.

This is the best orgasm of my life, not just because of the physical ecstasy, but because I’m in Pyne’s arms, and he loves me and he’s so damn good in every way.

My ecstasy eases to a stop, and my brain comes back online. Here I am, in Pyne’s firm grip, his blue eyes focused on me, his face relaxed and happy.

He waltzes me to the couch and sits with me in his lap. We’re still joined. If I had a vote, I’d choose to stay connected forever.

His palm is gentle as he smooths my hair off my sweaty forehead. Have I ever been on the receiving end of such an indulgent gaze? There’s something so accepting there.

This male has seen me at my worst—my most competitive and petty, my most terrified—and he loves me in spite of that.

“Did I tell you how terrified I was when you walked into that arena without a weapon? I felt as though I was dying by increments as I watched your match.”

“Precious female. You couldn’t tell I was in charge from the first moment? I was trying to make enough of a show that Arisha wouldn’t have us both killed on the spot. I could have disarmed him and snapped him in half in the blink of an eye.”

“I know that now, but I think watching that fight took years off my life.”

“I’ll make it up to you.”

“How?”

“I’ll show you… back in the room.”

What a luxury to awaken on my own timetable. Since my abduction, I’ve been forced to wake before the crack of dawn to prep and cook the first meal of the day. The competition was no different; we needed to be at the cooking arena early for a full day of recording.

It’s nice to sleep in and even nicer to wake up next to Pyne’s warm, naked body. I was too horny and in too much of a hurry to pay much attention to our cabin last night, so I inspect it now. It’s not huge, but who needs a lot of room when there’s a kitchen, gym, and other places to hang out on the ship? And, yeah, the observation room we used last night? Chef’s kiss.

It’s sterile in here, but we have the rest of our lives to pick up some wonderful items on our travels. This isn’t exactly the house with the white picket fence I dreamed of as a girl, but it’s not the nightmare of slavery, either.

I slide my palm up my throat and for the first time in a year I enjoy touching skin instead of the pain/kill collar. Pyne took it off the moment Gorgax returned with the manumission papers and to collect that bag of money. Did Pyne really pay all his hard-earned credits for me? I think that makes me love him even more.

My attention is captured by the graceful emerald mottling on Pyne’s chest. I notice for the first time that it resembles a pine forest. It’s lovely and can remind me of Christmas and Blessed Peace Day every single day of the year. As I trace along the darker patches, Pyne awakens and looks at me, affection beaming from his eyes.

“Does this mean we’re mated, Becca?”

It’s a testament to how comfortable I feel with him that I slap his shoulder and scold, “That’s the lamest proposal I’ve ever heard! Bar none. That’s a giant fail, gladiator.”

“What would be better? Just tell me.” He looks stricken, his forehead pleated with lines of worry and contrition.

Taking pity on him, I say, “I imagine you could say those same words when we’re making love—they might sound a bit more romantic that way.”

A lecherous smile widens as he pulls me to straddle his belly. We’re putting his morning erection to good use when he whispers, “The human females are always talking about the reverse cowgirl, I was wondering…”

He need say nothing more, and soon I’m jackknifed over his muscular thighs where I see a perfect pine tree. I must have missed it before, because I’ve never seen him from this angle. In the throes of ecstasy, I bend to kiss him right there on that spot, knowing that as long as we’re together, whether I see that little patch of luscious green skin right-side up or upside down, I’ll always think of this perfect moment and his wonderful, amazing, not-so-lame proposal.

This moment is filled with love and promise with our whole lives in front of us. I turn, putting us in the non-reverse-cowgirl so I can look into those perfect blue eyes which even now, when he’s so deep in lust he can’t think straight, are still bursting with love for me.

Putting all my pain behind me, I know one thing for certain: the future— our future—is going to be a wonderful adventure.