“You’re done?” she murmurs. “How did it go?”
“Fine. Go back to sleep.”
Her little fingers dig into my upper arm. “Can we stop by Harl’s lab on the way? I need—”
“No.” I won’t give him the satisfaction of seeing her so soon. “Whatever it is, it can wait.”
“Elvis is going to run out of nectar,” she protests. “I used the last of it this morning.”
That R’Hiza-damned bug. I should have done a better job of killing it. Then she wouldn’t need that fur-fucker Harl for anything.
“Tomorrow,” I promise. It will be a day for many unpleasant tasks. “Tonight, you’re mine.”
She laughs, but her body knows I’m serious, radiating her scent so it heats my senses. I walk faster, speeding until I’m almost running by the time I reach our quarters.
I settle her bed, enjoying the glimpses of her soft curves exposed by the sveli’s too-large armholes as she stretches and snuggles into the furs. She’s not pink now, but pale, her eyes hollow above her genuine smile. She motions for me to join her.
“Come on. I know you’re tired, too. You candragonflyme all night.”
My translator stalls on the unfamiliar word, then supplies an image of another disgusting alien bug. My lip curls. “I want nothing to do with your insects.”
Chapter 17
Lena
Ihave to giggle at the expression on his face. He’s really not a fan of bugs. Maybe he has spaceship-syndrome like Rose. Or maybe he’s normal, I don’t know. Ada doesn’t like bugs, either. She’d always lock herself in another room until I evicted any insects or spiders that were in our apartment, and there were a lot.
I never understood why people find them creepy. Sure, some are poisonous or bite, but the same is true of all kinds of creatures. Bugs are as interesting and lovable as other animals if you give them a chance. They just have a few extra legs.
“I didn’t mean literally. Dragonfly males have these grippers to hold the females while they mate. I did a paper on them in college. They grab onto a female’s neck and hang on until she agrees to mate with them. It’s honestly kind of romantic. Reminds me of how you hold me at night.”
He stares down at me, focused on my throat. His fingers flex. “This is what you want? My grip on your neck until we mate?” He sounds a little angry, but when isn’t he?
I swallow, feeling a flush spreading over my chest. I wasn’t asking for that, but I’m not against it, either. “I was asking for you to hold me like before, that’s all. It was just a joke. I know you’re tired. We’re both tired.”
He hangs up his cloak and unties his sash, shrugging off his wrap tunic to add to the hook. He’s never undressed in front of me before, and my eyes are glued to the rippling muscles in his broad back. His color shifts from cloak-black to the color of the walls, but every so often a little colorful thread appears and vanishes almost as quickly. It’s so pretty, almost like an octopus’s camouflage. I think I could watch him for hours.
When he turns toward me, the intensity of his expression burrows straight to my core. Whatever he has in mind, it’s not sleeping. My body wakes up. Any remnants of drowsiness from my long nap have worn off.
I’m a little disappointed when he leaves his trousers on, but that vanishes when he sits on the bed and, instead of lying down next to me, reaches over and unties my sash, yanking the end so it slides out from underneath me. He folds it and sets it to the side, so calm and clinical that I don’t know what’s going on. Is this like a sexy-foreplay thing or a taking-back-the-clothes-he-loaned-me thing?
“Um...” I sit up, holding my top closed with one hand, and clear my throat awkwardly. “Can we talk about what we’re doing here?”
“We can,” he says dryly. “I am taking off your sveli. I want to feel your skin against mine.”
He gently pries open my fingers and moves my hand so he can open my top, exposing me. But he barely glances at my breasts before pushing the fabric off my shoulders. I know I don’t have anything special going on up top, but his lack of interest makes me so self-conscious. I shrug out of the top so I can cover my chest with one arm.
“Um...” I say again, words failing me as I watch him carefully fold it, too. He gets up and puts the folded clothes in the basket with the others before returning to stand beside the bed, staring down at me.
I watch the rise and fall of his chest, my throat going tight when I imagine what he’ll do next. He’s so intense and unpredictable. This eerie calm is even more unsettling than his stormiest anger.
Am I supposed to take off his pants now? I reach for his belt with my free hand, but he pushes me away. I throw up my hands, embarrassment mingling with sexual frustration when I realize I’ve exposed my chest again. I clamp my arm back down. “I don’t know what you want from me.”
“Invite me into the furs, Lena.”
“I already invited you.” The words come out stupid and breathy.
“Again. I need you to say it again.” His eyes plead with mine, even though I don’t understand why.
