Chapter 15
Ysathea
I did not think this through. That was what I kept thinking the moment I’d let Thatcher into my inner sanctum. Now he was here, and the whole damn ship knew it, and probably theVagabondtoo. I was not shy, never had been, but knowing that everyone thought you were about to have sex was still a bit much. The thought of having sex with Thatcher was a lot, too, because I hadn’t even thought of that part yet when I threw my braid around his stubborn neck.
Now, my whole body seemed to be on fire for him, and that heat scalded my cheeks and made my pulse thrum between my thighs. He knew that, because I could see his eyes trail from my cheeks, across my chest, to the juncture between my legs. Did he sense the heat blazing there for him? Carried in his arms, far too much of me was pressedagainst his chest. Looping my braid around his neck was one thing, but actually telling him what I wanted was a lot harder.
“Tell me, Ysa,” he growled. “If you don’t tell me, I’m going to do it my way. Last chance.” He approached the bed, and even though his eyes had locked onto my face, he knew exactly where it was. Placing me carefully on it, there was suddenly distance again as he stepped back and braced his hands on his narrow hips. All kinds of wild things danced in his dark eyes, and that posture screamed of an attempt to grasp at control. As much as he leaned toward me, I knew he was failing.
“Maybe I want it your way,” I whispered. That made his eyes flare, and his hands curled into fists at his sides. I had a feeling he wasn’t just fighting to hold back; that stare was warning me I was playing with fire. Flirting with a dangerous future he’d refused us until now, until I’d barged in and thrown my braid around his brawny neck. Told him I wanted to claim him myself, and give him rights I’d fought tooth and nail against until now. Empty cot, empty home, empty family, it was all the reminder I needed to know this was the path I wanted.
“There’s no going back after this, Ysa,” he said as his hands reached for me, and he began methodically stripping me of my tools, belt, and boots. His mouth twisted in that half-smile that always made my belly ache with desire. Today was no different, except it was, because he had his hands on my body, and he didn’t plan on stopping. My braid was around his neck, but that definitely didn’t mean I was in control. Not unless Iplanned to take it.
“I don’t want to go back,” I said, feeling bolder with each item he stripped from my body, like that slow revealing of my skin—my most intimate flesh—was giving me power. My tank top was shredded beneath claws of metal that shouldn’t exist, and that I definitely planned to study later. Black fabric fluttered across my colorful sheets, the one nod to my Ulinial heritage inside my bedroom. I lifted myself on my elbows, raised an eyebrow, and then tugged on the loop of my braid. He came, bending over me with a growl as warning; it silenced when I kissed him.
“I don’t believe you’re wrong for me, Thatch,” I whispered against lips that were much softer than they looked. “I believe I was always meant to be yours; it just took me a bit longer to figure it out.” I wanted to tell him what I’d discovered thanks to the prodding of my engineers, my brothers. He didn’t let me. Now that I’d kissed him, it had shredded that last barrier between us. He reminded me that his kisses were always a brand, a claim—his tongue tangling with mine, warning me that he was in charge, kissing me with not an ounce of gentleness. It was a clash, and it almost drove me to fight back, but I’d done that and discovered I did not like it.
The sigh of surrender that slipped out made him ease up on his touch. “That’s it, little engineer. Give in to me. I’ll make you a promise, your surrender will be rewarded.” Oh yeah, back to wanting to fight him, my hands already reaching for my braid. I fully intended to loop it around his throat a second time so I could actually exert force. He was too fast, trapping my hands above my head and shifting onto the mattress at my side. The thick, durable fabric of my coveralls shredded as easily as my tank top had.
“Or don’t,” he smirked. “I will enjoy punishing you just as much.” His hand came down between my legs, over the lacy fabric that covered my core. I bucked against that weight, the rough warmth soaking into my sensitive skin. He squeezed, and I felt owned. My mouth parted, and a sigh that turned into a breathy moan escaped. He’d found the sensitive beads clustered around the edge of my opening, and the touch sent a shiver through me. He raised a thumb to his mouth and licked it in a way that made my belly clench with desire. Staring at me like this, as if issuing a challenge, he lowered that thick finger back down and stroked me again through the lacy fabric—right against the extra-sensitive edge of my opening, all those little knots of nerves.
“Are you pink for me?” he asked, proving that he knew exactly what Ulinial physiology was like. Those little nodules, when flushed with desire, would turn a bright pink, a sure sign of arousal. They’d secrete fluids, oily and slick, that would aid in penetration. I nodded, because I knew I’d never been more turned on than I was now. “Uh-uh,” he warned. “Say it, Ysa. I need you to say it. I’m in charge, remember? You had your chance.”
I growled, lifting my head, and was pinned by the way he still held my wrists with his other hand. “I’m so hot for you, so pink, I’m about to combust. Make me yours, Thatcher. You’ve made me wait long enough!” The demand made him laugh, my snarl amusing him rather than urging him to hurry up, and I vowed then and there that I’d get back at him for this teasing. I should have known he’d be far too patient in bed once he had me where he wanted. He was a hunter, a shadow that stalkedand watched.
“Oh, I will. There’s no going back now.” He rolled on top of me then, and I felt the press of his armor and the ridges of his muscles dig into my softer body. It was cold against my heated skin, but it did not stay that way for long. He freed my hands and rose above me, knees braced on either side of my hips. Then he shed his armor with a pull on the hidden tab at his throat. He wore nothing underneath, and it revealed a broad expanse of muscle and tawny skin, each part of his body marked with swirling black ink. He was gorgeous, and he was still dangerous.
When we were both naked, I got a first look at his cock, and I realized perhaps I should have studied human anatomy before we did this. Impulsive as usual. He was thick, pink, with a round tip flushed so it was a darker shade. Veins ridged the side of the shaft, which was almost as thick as my wrist and dauntingly long. Were all humans like that? Now I had no clue, but it certainly looked impressive. That cock rose from a nest of black curls, and beneath it a sack hung. I’d never seen anything quite like it, but it had a certain kind of raw appeal.
“Ysa,” Thatcher demanded, but my eyes stayed locked on his cock. It was very pretty, very thick, and something silvery white had beaded at the tip. It was like a pearl, shiny and beautiful. “Look at me, damn it!” he warned again, and I jerked my eyes to his face. It was on my lips to say, I am looking, at your cock, you jerk. Except he chose that moment to press his hand back against my core, and it set off mini quakes of pleasure in every single bundle of nerves surrounding my passage. I saw stars; my head went back and my spine arched.
“You’re my mate now. I don’t care if I’m not an alien. I’ll sink my cock into your tight little body, and you’ll never have another.” He swore roughly, fisted his cock with his other hand, and smoothed it over the pink pearls surrounding my passage. He pressed one finger deep, reminding me exactly where he was going to bind us. I was slick—very slick—my pearls having worked overtime to secrete their oily substance. He hissed as if this pleased him, baring his straight white teeth. “Come to think of it, you’re never having anyone else regardless. Understood? I’m a selfish bastard that way. Have me, or no one else.”
I made sure to look him in the eye first, like he’d demanded. My pulse hammered in my throat, and my legs were tense and trembling around his hips. He’d made space for himself between them once the armor was off, and that stretched me wide. I felt the crispness of rough hair against my thighs and my calves, because some of it covered his legs. A delicious texture I’d never experienced before. “No going back—you think that scares me?” I taunted, and I squeezed my legs against his and clenched my inner muscles around his finger.
“Fuck no.” Then he pulled out his finger and sank his cock into me in one rough stroke. I’d never been taken in one big thrust before, and pleasure and pain mingled in a sharp burst. Deep, so thick—I burned as my body struggled to accommodate him. Thatcher swore again, braced himself on one hand, and pinned my hip against the bed with the other. My passage was forced wide open, and the pearls around my opening burst with pleasure and slickness. Those veins, that slick silk covering hard steel, it was indescribable. A very unexpected side effect. Veins meantmore texture, more sensation against my pearls, and thus more pleasure. It skyrocketed, bursting through me until I shattered with a shout.
“Ah, Thatcher!” I screamed his name, but he was merciless as he kept fucking me. In and out, each thrust deep, firm, precise. Pressure kept mounting, and his face was a mask of concentration. I stared, entranced by the play of emotion, the sleek motion of muscle—his abs decorated with the finest trail of hair leading straight to his cock. It tempted my eyes down, and I found myself watching the way he tunneled in and out of me.
“Mine, Ysa. Your pussy is mine, your body is mine, your pleasure—mine. Got that?” he snarled, and his grip grew tighter, his thrusts faster. I clawed at his wrist, then vaguely remembered this was supposed to be a mating. I’d started this the Ulinial way, and if I wanted this to mean something according to my traditions, I had to finish it that way. My hands struggled on the sheets to find my braid, my mind hazed with pleasure, and the grunts he made, the slap of flesh coming wetly together.
“Oh, I got it,” I moaned. “I got it all right.” There, the soft silk of my hair was just within reach. I drew it to me, and Thatcher did not object when I did exactly as before. Only this time, I struggled to get the loop around his neck. I had to throw it twice on account of being partially blinded by pleasure. The bastard didn’t try to help, just laughed as he fucked me harder and forced pleasure to spike so close to orgasm that I nearly lost it.
When it settled against the back of his neck, I gave it another loop, and then I pulled on the end and tightened it. Normally, this was the male’s job, but I rather liked takingback control a little this way. Especially when Thatcher moaned, deep and guttural. His hips stuttered briefly, and the hand on my hip left to touch the rope now wound around his neck. I pulled harder, and he gasped, groaned. It was not enough to hurt, not even close enough to choke him, but it drew his attention. “You’re mine, Thatch. This goes both ways,” I gritted out. There it was, that sexy half-smile I so loved. It sent me over the edge, shoving me down into a sea of pleasure so thick I felt like I was drowning.
I screamed, thrashed beneath him, my heels kicking the bed, his legs. I might have pulled even harder on that braid, so hard I felt it tug at my scalp in turn. Thatcher could take it, though, his cock swelling inside of me, harder, thicker. His shout followed mine, and we tumbled together, sweaty and full of pleasure.
It had all gone fast, even if it was beautiful and lovely. Even if he’d been demanding and bossy, as per usual. I didn’t want it to be over yet, wanted a chance to linger here, so I gently nudged his shoulder. He rolled for me, and I allowed my eyes to roam. So many muscles, so many tempting lines of ink. I touched to my heart’s content, passion stirring slowly, more gently this time. When I traced his slick but slightly softened cock with my fingers, he groaned, and it stirred anew. “You’re lucky, woman. You are not dealing with a regular man. I’m part machine.” His cock flexed, growing beautifully firm again, but he did not let me stroke him for long.
My braid was still partially tangled around his neck and pulled at my scalp, but neither of us paid it much attention. He dragged me across the bed, pulled my thighs apart, and then buried his face between them. Shocked,I kicked the sheets, his ribs, but he was relentless in his mission. His mouth found the nubs surrounding my opening, my core. He licked, suckled, lapped, and teased. I became aware of the stubble on his jaw, rough and prickly against my thighs. And then I lost it, breaking apart on his tongue, floating away on pleasure.
When he rose above me and sank deep a second time, I was limp as a ragdoll, but that was not something he allowed for long. He gathered me close, held me tight against his body as we danced together. I did not expect him to manage gentle after that first round, but he could. Our bodies met softly and slid together. The pleasure was softer, too—more tender. We came together that time, not in haste but in a soft wave that crested and broke over both of us. I did not expect him to have it in him to be sweet, but he gathered me close, tight in his arms. “You’re perfect, Ysa. So perfect,” he whispered, and then: “Now sleep. I’m watching over you.”
Chapter 16
Ysathea
Having been kidnapped by Thatcher the first time I slept in his arms made this moment feel a bit like poetic justice. When I woke, it was with him inmybed, and my braid still half-looped around his neck. This timeIhad kidnappedhim, sort of. It made me smile, especially since Thatcher never looked soft and open, but he did now. I didn’t really know how it had happened, but the sex had relaxed him to the point that he wasn’t perpetually scowling, even if just a little. Not that I’d ever describe him as soft or cute, but he definitely looked sweet with his eyes closed and a tender smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.
