Page 57 of The Dreamer and the Deep Space Warrior
His entire body tensed and just when she thought he would deny her, he surged upward, causing her to squeak in surprise. “I can’t resist you. How could I when you beg so prettily?” He moved them deeper into the ship as she wrapped her legs around him. Quick strides took them farther than she’d been before, beyond the areas in which theyworked. His ship was deceptively large, and as another door hissed open, she was amazed at what it held.
It was a bedroom.Hisbedroom.
He set her down on her feet, and she instinctively pulled the tatters of her dress up to cover herself. The room was almost all bed—a round gray thing that looked more comfortable than her own despite their being no bedding. Otherwise, there was only a closed door on one side and a blank wall on the other.
Reaching behind his head, he pressed on the material where it covered his neck. The tunic came loose from his body, opening in the back in a manner she couldn’t understand.
“If we had that, there would never be a need for a lady’s maid. How is it done? Do you—”
She cut herself off as he pulled the fabric from his arms, revealing the expanse of his chest and torso. His muscles shifted as he let his top drop to the floor, and her tongue darted out to lick her lips. She could finally see the landscape that was his body without the obstruction of a shirt. He was impossibly chiseled, his thick grooves and curves cutting out the definition of a lifetime of training. His abdominals rippled beneath his midnight flesh like waves; his defined pectorals twitched and settled.
Scars were scattered across his skin—as many as there were stars in the night sky. But there was one, deep and ragged, that caught her attention. It went straight up the middle of his stomach. The cuts had been messy, harsh, making it appear like a lightning bolt through his torso.
“This scar,” she murmured, reaching toward him. Flicking her eyes up, she asked his permission.
“You can touch me,” he said roughly.
Her finger landed against the scar, feather light as she traced the jagged line of it up his sternum. It was all mangled and raised scar tissue, a darker blue than the rest of his skin.
“This is from where they hurt you,” she said, her brow scrunching in sadness. She stepped closer and pressed her lips to it once, twice.
He took her hand in his and moved it up before flattening her palm down against his chest. “It is, but it’s a reminder of where I came from, the promises I made to myself.”
She nodded, understanding he didn’t want her pity, but then she felt it. “Your heartbeat, it’s—” She stepped into him, pressing her ear against his sternum. “You have more than one heart?”
“Vay. All Xaal have two.”
They stood like that for a long moment, his heartbeats thundering through her, before he gently pressed her back several steps. “Do you still want all of me?”
Biting her lip, she nodded. Consequences be damned. Right now, she wasn’t Isobel Nott, the spinster being forced to marry the dreadful lord. She was the bold heroine of her own story—willing to risk it all to get what she wanted.
Then he reached for his trousers. She swallowed hard as her gaze followed the movement.
Was she ready to seeallof him?
He paused with his thumbs hooked at the waistband. “Isobel?”
Yes,” she consented breathlessly. Right then and there, she committed herself to leaving all thoughts of propriety elsewhere. If this were a sin, then by God, she would happily burn an eternity for it.
He pushed his trousers down over his hip bones, and, holding her breath, she followed the creases on either side that formed a deepv. He let the material fall down his thighs and legs, his manhood springing free. Standing only in his helmet, he was a vision. Beautiful.Godly.
All she knew of sex was what she had read in books. And even that hadn’t been fully instructional, focusing more on the emotions and simple constructs of the act. But she was certain, from the sculptures of men and the anatomy books she had read alongside Clara, that a human man’s appendage was fairly standard. Though she was certain all were unique in their own small ways, they possessed a certain recognizable form.
And they were usually of a size that was of no concern to women. His was glorious.
“It is very large,” she murmured.
Ved tilted his head as he wrapped a fist around the base. “Human males are not so?”
“I’m certain they wish they were,” she squeaked, not fully committed to the conversation. She was far too busy watching how it reacted to his grasp—hardening and thickening in his hand. It was so large, in fact, that she had no idea how it was meant to fit. Her gaze settled on the broad tip, where the color was a slightly darker blue with purplish undertones.
Bloody. Hell.
He let her get her fill of the vision in front of her before drawing closer. “Skin to skin,” he repeated as he bent to grab her shift.
She nodded, her gaze traveling up his massive form to settle on his eye shields. He pushed the torn fabric down her body, exposing her soft stomach, then over her wide hips, pulling her undergarments with it to reveal the triangle of dark curls at her center.
Instinctively, she wrapped her arms around her midsection and covered her breasts.
