"Okay," she whispered.
Kirr didn't wait. Turning her, he kept her tucked against him, shielding her from the room as he marched them toward the exit. People scrambled to get out of their path.
He was taking her home, and looking at the set of his jaw, they weren't going to be talking about fairytales when they got there.
13
"Mine." The word tore from Kirr's throat as he spun Harper around, the door to his quarters barely sealed behind them. He backed her against the bulkhead, bracketing her with his body. "Say it. Before I lose what's left of my control."
She didn't fight him. Instead, her hands fisted in the front of his dress uniform, dragging him closer, meeting his desperation with a fire that nearly brought him to his knees. She tasted like the blue wine she'd been sipping, heady and sweet.
He groaned, low and deep. The entire walk back, he'd all but vibrated with the need to kill something or claim her. Since killing a fellow warrior for offering a pastry was frowned upon by command, claiming was the only option left.
His hands swept down her sides, finding the ties of the silk gown.
He'd known the moment she walked out of the bedroom exactly how this garment worked. Latharian fashion favored complexity in pattern but simplicity in function. Two knots. That was all that stood between him and the skin he needed to touch. She had chosen his culture's clothing, wrapped herself in Latharian silk, and the realization hit him like a fist to the gut. She was choosing him.
His fingers worked the first knot loose. Then the second.
The midnight blue silk pooled on the floor with a whisper.
He pulled back, his breath sawing in his lungs as he raked his gaze over her. She stood naked in the dim light of the lounge room, pale, soft and utterly perfect. The sight of her wiped his brain clean. She was so small. So delicate, and she was standing there looking up at him with dilated pupils and flushed skin, waiting for him.
"Mine," he growled as he crowded her. He pressed his mouth to her jaw, teeth grazing gently. "All mine."
He didn't give her a chance to respond. He scooped her up, his arm banding under her hips, and carried her toward the bedroom. She wrapped her legs around his waist, her heels digging into his kidneys, her mouth finding the pulse point at his neck.
She nipped him.
Need shot through him, hot and sharp.
He reached the side of the bed, putting one knee on the edge to place her on the surface. Following her down, he covered her body with his own. Braced on his forearms, he kept the bulk of his weight off her. That didn’t stop him from surrounding her completely. Caging her. She needed to understand that there was no space for anyone else in her world.
"That male," he snarled, his hand sliding up her throat to tilt her head back. "He looked at you."
"I didn't look back.” She caught his wrist, anchoring him there.
"He looked." The image of T’aarn's appreciative smile burned behind his eyelids. He needed to erase it. He needed to make sure that the next time any male looked at her, the first thing they saw was the warning Kirr had left behind.
He lowered his head to the sensitive curve where her neck met her shoulder, but he didn't kiss her there. Instead, he nipped her back gently.
She gasped, her body arching up into his, but she didn't push him away. Her fingers tangled in the short strands of his hair, holding him in place. The sting of her nails on his scalp only fed the beast clawing at his insides. He sucked on the skin, soothing the bite with his tongue, then bit again, lower this time. He moved down deliberately, leaving a tiny love-bruise on the pale curve of her shoulder. Then another on the swell of her breast.
Tomorrow, she would walk into the LMP meeting, and every person in that room would see the dark marks against her pale skin. They would know.
That draanthic T’aarn would know.
"Kirr," she moaned, her hips bucking against his thigh where he had it pressed between hers. “Oh God, Kirr!”
Stripping off his uniform with quick, jerky movements, he rolled aside for a moment to yank his pants and boots off, to join his jacket on the floor. Then he was back, pulling her into his arms until skin met skin. Her softness yielded against his hard muscle, her heat seeping into him, grounding him even as it drove him insane.
He spanned her waist with his hands, fingers nearly meeting on the other side. She was so delicate. If he wasn't careful, he could break her. But she didn't seem to want careful. She ground against him with a need that matched his own.
He pushed her knees further apart, settling between them. The sight of her spread open for him, vulnerable and trusting, had his cock jerking in response against his stomach.
"Tell me," he ordered, his voice rough. He lined himself up at her entrance, the head of his cock brushing against her slick heat. He stopped there, refusing to give either of them relief. Not yet. "Say it."
Her eyes fluttered open, dark and hazy. "Kirr, please..."
