Page 36 of Return to Sender
Her touch through the fabric of my uniform creates cascades of sensation that make focused thought increasingly difficult. The careful equilibrium I achieved during my private stress-relief session begins to destabilize under her proximity.
My scent glands flare brighter, and I see her nostrils flare slightly in response. She can smell my arousal, my need, the way my body betrays every attempt at professional control.
“What are you proposing?” I ask, though I suspect I already know the answer.
“I’m proposing we stop hiding behind your rules and my fears and admit what we both want,” she says, her voice taking on a challenging edge. “I’m proposing we see where this goes when we’re not being interrupted by medical emergencies or bounty hunters.”
“And if it proves to be merely physical attraction exacerbated by shared danger?”
“Then we find out together.” Her fingers spread against my chest, and I can feel my heartbeat accelerating beneath her palm. “But if it’s something more... if it’s real... then we don’t let artificial boundaries keep us from finding out.”
The proposal carries significant risks. Yet as I look down into her amber eyes, I find myself increasingly willing to accept those risks.
“The legal complications—”
“Are already in place,” she interrupts. “The diplomatic consequences—”
“Already exist regardless of our personal choices,” I complete her thought.
“Exactly.” She rises on her toes, bringing her face closer to mine. “So the only question is: what do you want, Wi’kar? Notwhat protocol demands. Not what duty requires. What do you want?”
The question hangs in the air between us, loaded with possibilities that both terrify and exhilarate me. For the first time in my adult life, I am being asked to choose based purely on personal desire rather than professional obligation.
“I want,” I say slowly, my voice rougher than intended, “to find out what it would be like if we stopped pretending this was purely professional.”
Her smile is radiant, transforming her face from merely beautiful to absolutely luminous. “Finally,” she breathes. “I was beginning to think I’d have to seduce you in your sleep.”
The image this creates—Dominique slipping into my quarters while I sleep, her hands rousing me to consciousness and desire—sends another surge of heat through my system. My scent glands release another involuntary burst, and this time I catch the way her pupils dilate slightly in response.
“That would be unnecessary,” I inform her. “I am already sufficiently... interested in the possibilities.”
“Just interested?” she challenges, moving even closer. “Because your body is telling a different story.”
I glance down and observe that the patterns visible at my collar and wrists are indeed pulsing with renewed intensity. Worse, I can feel the unmistakable stirring of arousal beneath my regulation trousers—a development that makes my recent stress-relief session seem laughably inadequate. Apparently, forty-seven minutes of private time was merely a temporary reprieve, not the comprehensive solution I had hoped for.
“Very interested,” I correct.
“Good,” she says, and then she is kissing me again.
This time, there are no medical procedures to interrupt us, no duty calls to break the moment. There is only the taste of her mouth, the warmth of her body against mine, and the growingcertainty that my carefully ordered existence has been forever changed by this impossible, magnificent woman.
The kiss deepens, her hands tangling in my hair, disrupting its precise arrangement. I should care. Instead, I find myself backing her against the table, my hands finding her waist, pulling her closer. The star charts crinkle beneath us, but neither of us cares about the disruption to our tactical planning.
When we finally break apart, both breathing heavily, I realize that we have moved beyond the point of no return. Whatever happens next, there is no returning to the careful professional distance I once maintained.
“So,” Dominique says, her voice slightly breathless, “now what?”
Before I can answer, AXIS’s voice fills the room with unmistakable amusement. “Agent Wi’kar, I feel compelled to note that your stress indicators are climbing rapidly toward previous peak levels. Perhaps another round of... stress-relief activities would be beneficial? I could reactivate privacy protocols.”
Heat floods my face—mortification that AXIS would comment so directly, especially in front of Dominique. My scent glands betray me with a sharp burst of embarrassment mixed with arousal.
Dominique’s eyes widen with understanding, then she laughs—a rich, delighted sound that somehow makes my embarrassment worse and better simultaneously.
“Oh,” she says, her voice taking on a distinctly predatory quality. “AXIS is right, isn’t it? You’re all wound up again. Poor Agent Wi’kar.” She steps closer, her hand trailing down my chest. “Maybe I could help with your... stress management this time?”
The suggestion sends fire through my nervous system. My patterns flare so brightly they’re visible even through myuniform, and I’m fairly certain my pupils have dilated to completely unprofessional proportions.
“Dominique,” I manage, my voice strained.
