16
“You already have,” Veta answered. Because he had, he’d helped her survive up to this point.
But that wasn’t what he meant.
Veta knew it.
One look in those white eyes—even missing any major color, she knew what he meant. What he felt.
Because she could feel it too.
He pulled her to him, and they kissed.
Hard.
Powerful.
Sexy.
And it meant more to her than most kisses she’d ever given.
He did nothing but make sure she survived for the last few days—his enemy—and he never faltered.
Her own government was trying to kill her.
But he still fought for her. Until he could have died. They both could have. If the old man hadn’t been such an egomaniac, they both might have.
He didn’t quit.
He didn’t give up on her.
She stroked Wrathin’s face as they kissed.
The connection between them was palpable. She could feel it all the way to her toes.
He pulled her off the chair and onto his lap.
They continued to kiss, and he pulled open her shirt. This time, he didn’t hesitate when he reached her under armor.
Veta released the armor, freeing her breasts, and Wrathin moved his kissing down to them. She arched her back, giving him as much access as he needed.
And he needed a lot. His hands and lips were all over her. They ran down her front, as far as her clothing would allow, and even through the clothing, he felt her center, stroking her.
His hard-on rubbed against her in all the right ways, and mixed with his hands, she felt herself already building up an orgasm.
He bit at her breast, and she cried out.
“Wait,” she whispered.
He froze.
She pushed off him. “One second. This is,” she started to say as she pulled the rest of her bodysuit off, and then the under armor.
“Clothing retract,” Wrathin said.
The clothing retreated into his body, oozing like water.
Veta shook her head. “That’s still amazing to see.”
