Zoe Archer - [Ether Chronicles 03] (20 page)

Her chemise only reached the top of her thighs. With her drawers gone, he’d plainly see the straps fastening the leg to her.

God
—could she do this? Expose herself to him this way? Part of her shriveled in fear. The other part wanted to dare him to look upon her, to test him. Test herself.

She couldn’t speak, but she gave another nod. His long, thick fingers trembled as he tried to undo the fastening of her drawers, but he seemed to have trouble with the knot. So she gently pushed his hands away and untied the ribbon herself. These, too, loosened and her drawers slid to the floor, and once more, he helped her to step out of them.

There was no hiding now. It wasn’t a smooth joining of metal and flesh like his telumium implants. This was much more crude, despite all her technological skill. Most of her leg was gone. It had been so ruined by the collapsing building, saving it would’ve been impossible. At least she’d been unconscious when they’d amputated.

The straps against her skin were not erotic. They spoke of a terrible injury, and the limitations of human ingenuity—and kindness. It was ugly, and she knew it.

She waited for Fletcher to turn away, or a shadow of revulsion to pass across his face. Instead, his gaze slowly moved up over her prosthesis—it took everything she had not to run from his gaze—to her thigh. But he also looked at the dark triangle between her legs, barely hidden by her chemise, and she saw not disgust in his eyes but desire. His gaze continued upward, until their gazes locked.

“What a warrior you are,” he breathed. “A beautiful warrior.”

Something hot and damp filmed her eyes. She hated him at that moment for making her feel so much—hated, and adored him.

But she couldn’t be certain, truly certain, until he’d seen everything.

As he continued to kneel, she sat on the bed. Pulled off her chemise. His eyes darkened; she was nude now, without a single scrap of clothing. But not completely uncovered.

She didn’t look at him as she unbuckled the straps, only focused on her task. One by one, she released the buckles, feeling the slide of the leather, hearing the clink of the metal. She sighed as the last buckle came loose. And then she set her prosthetic leg on the floor.

Now she was utterly naked. The most bare she’d ever been in her life.

She stared at the remainder of her leg. The doctors had done good work. The stump was smooth, with minimal scarring puckering her flesh. And she’d been careful to rub cocoa butter and honey into the healing wound. For all intents and purposes, she’d healed well.

No shame rose up when she looked at her stump. No disgust. It showed she’d come through an ordeal and survived. She saw her incomplete leg and felt . . . pride.

But what would another person think? A man? She’d never tested it before. Never wanted to see her pride in herself reflected back as someone else’s disgust. Or, worse, pity. If she saw any of that in Fletcher’s eyes . . . it would be like a second bombing. She’d scurry into a hiding place so deep, so concealed, she might never be found again.

As she continued to stare down at her legs—one complete, one only partly there—she started as Fletcher’s broad hands stroked up her thighs. She looked up.

His face was sharp with desire, and his eyes . . . his eyes held so much admiration, she thought her heart would burst.

“You put me to shame,” he murmured.

“I don’t want shame.” She sounded breathless. “I only want us.”

He rose up and then stretched out on the bed with all his acres of delicious muscle. “I want everything.” He gently pulled her down to lie partially beneath him, his hands in her hair, tilting her head back for a kiss.

“And that’s exactly what you’ll get,” she answered. “Everything.”

F
letcher was being given a gift. He understood that—from the filaments of telumium threaded around his heart, to his bones and blood. Kali wouldn’t let merely anyone see her like this, but
he
had been granted the privilege of her trust. And he wouldn’t waste it.

Her gasping response to his touch filled him with masculine pride. She needed pleasure, as much pleasure as she could bear. They both needed it, but he’d give her as much as his body could bestow.

He stroked down the curve of her stomach, then lower. Her hips bucked when he found her wet and already opening for him. Some animal snarled, and he realized it was him. He caressed her, lightly at first, learning her intimate geography, and then as he learned more—how to circle her bud just
so
, how to rub against her entrance in just this way—confidence grew. Especially as she moaned and writhed, her mouth open against his.

She always had a clever retort, a smart word, but now she made inarticulate sounds of pleasure as he palmed one of her breasts and stroked her pussy. Here, with him, she was free. They were free from the world together.

He felt her body tightening. “Not yet,” he said, taking his hand away.

She made a sound of protest. “Don’t turn away now. We’ve come so far together—”

“And we’ll go farther.” He loved her gasp of surprise and excitement as he kissed his way down her body, stopping briefly to lick and suck her breasts, before continuing on downward.

He folded himself back, kneeling between her legs. He bit lightly along the flesh of her thighs, scraping his teeth there as she shivered and moaned. And then he licked her pussy—one long, slick stroke. Again. And again.

Goddamn me to a fiery hell, she’s delicious
.

He feasted. Discovered her every secret place. Took her clit between his lips and sucked. Her nails bit into his scalp as she held him in just the right spot, and the sting went straight to his cock.

With a cry, she arched up, her body taut. He stayed exactly where he was, her climax filling him with hot radiance. But he wanted more. And he brought her to release another time. And another. His gaze was riveted to her face, watching her pleasure, seeing her unguarded for him alone.

Pleasure was so much finer when it was shared.

Her strength surprised him as she pushed his head away. “I don’t want to come again unless you’re inside me.”

His already aching cock became an agony of want. “Bloody hell,
yes
,” he rasped.

She reached behind her to grab the headboard, her breasts thrusting up with the movement. Climbing up her body, he was all shuddering need. When he’d positioned himself above her, his hands covering hers, their gazes met and held. They both kept their eyes open as he rubbed his cock along her folds, coating himself in her slickness. Neither looked away or closed their eyes as he placed himself at her entrance, and they stared into each other’s eyes as he thrust into her.

They both cried out. She was tight and slick and everything perfect. All he wanted was to move, to thrust thick and deep, but it was a fact that Man O’ Wars were bigger than normal men, and a few of his comrades had complained that they’d caused women pain during lovemaking. So he held himself still, letting her adapt, praying he wasn’t hurting her too much.

She winced slightly, and he started to pull his hips back.

“Don’t you . . . dare,” she panted.

“Won’t hurt you—”

“A moment. That’s all I need.” Even as she spoke, he felt her soften around him, and the tightness in her face eased away. “Yes.”

He could only growl his agreement. This was exactly where he needed to be. “Going to move now.”

“Yes,” she breathed again.

K
ali felt him draw back slightly, then slide forward. Pleasure shot through her, from the top of her to the base of her spine, and every place in between. God, he was everywhere in her. His was big, yes, but his presence filled her entirely.

His strokes went slowly at first, but as she gasped and moaned her encouragement, his pace increased. She took him. Every thrust, every glide.

Sharp, exquisite sensation built, gathering force like a storm. And then it took her. She cried out once more in release. And then it was as if something within him broke free.

His speed increased—his enhanced body moving faster than an ordinary man. He plunged into her, the whole bed shaking with the force of his thrusts. She felt herself awash in wild pleasure.

Suddenly, there was a groaning sound. Something snapped. And then the bed frame broke, sending them crashing to the floor.

She gasped, but he seemed too far gone to stop. And she didn’t want him to. A few more thrusts, and then his climax hit. She felt him pouring into her. He didn’t make a sound, as if too deep in sensation. Until, at last, he sank down beside her. He turned them so that he was still within her, their damp bodies pressed tightly together.

For a long while, she couldn’t speak. Couldn’t think. All she knew was the aftermath of shared pleasure, and the feel of his body against hers, his breath warm against her face.

He nuzzled her throat, and she hummed her enjoyment.

“That was . . .” she murmured, “. . . worth the wait.”

“Aye, it was.”

“But let’s not wait so long to do it again,” she added.

He chuckled. “Ten minutes, and I’m your man.” But there was no laughter in his voice when he said, “You’ve honored me.”

She brushed damp strands of hair from his forehead. “We’ve honored each other.”

They were quiet for a while, absorbing this. Then she said, “I’ll have to reinforce the bed with a thicker metal frame.”

“Scavenge whatever you need from the ship. Take every last piece of metal if you have to. It’s a worthwhile sacrifice.”

T
he only light in their quarters came from the clockwork cricket, its glass belly giving off a gentle glow. As Kali slept in his arms, her breathing warm and soft against his chest, he glanced over at the little automaton. A tiny North Star, that cricket. His guidance—or so he hoped.

Nothing was certain, except the continuing gleam of pleasure echoing through his body, and the fullness in his heart. He and Kali had spent the day in their wrecked bed, learning each other, discovering constellations of sensation. Images flashed through his mind: him lying on his back as she knelt between his legs, his cock in her hand and in her mouth; her above him, breasts swaying and her head bent forward as she rode him; the gloss of sweat along the curve of her back as she gripped the twisted headboard while he took her from behind.

It was as if they were trying to outrun something, their bodies pushing them on.

He could’ve gone all night, each time stoking the furnace of his needs higher. And he could tell from the fire in her eyes that she wanted the same. But she didn’t have telumium implants feeding and fueling her strength. So when she fell into an exhausted slumber just before dusk, he let her sleep.

His stomach growled. Roared, in truth. A whole day in bed, and not a crumb to eat. He hadn’t cared about or noticed his hunger when he and Kali had been tangled together. But in the peace that followed, his need for food was a beast that banged against its cage.

So I’ll bloody starve.
Better to stay in bed, with a soft and sated Kali wrapped around him, than rise and forage in the galley. As if even the smallest distance between them meant he’d return to what he had been before—removed, lifeless.

She stirred. Her eyes still closed, she murmured, “Didn’t know there were wild dogs on the island.”

“My stomach.”

Her hand slid down to his belly, which twitched beneath her touch. “It’s a wonder you haven’t digested one of your internal organs. Poor ravenous Man O’ War.” Kali sat up, and pleasure warmed him when she didn’t bother pulling the blankets up to cover her breasts. She pressed a hand to her own stomach. It grumbled, too. “Time to feed the animals.”

She started to rise, but he gently lay a hand on her shoulder.

“I’ll bring it.”

For a moment, he thought she might complain. Argue that she could get food for herself. But instead, she sank back down into the bed. “Juicy roast chicken, creamed spinach,
pullao
,
matnacha rassa
—don’t be gentle with the chilies—and a stack of
naan
. Oh, and a slice of chocolate tart.”

He rose from the bed and stepped into a pair of loose trousers. He couldn’t get used to walking around naked, even when he’d been alone on the ship. “Cold pheasant, wild bitter greens, and a handful of late bramble berries. They’ve gone a bit shriveled by this time in the season.”

“It sounds like a feast.” But no sarcasm edged her voice. She seemed genuinely eager for whatever he brought. But he wished that he could bring her everything she asked for.

He headed for the galley. Before he left his quarters, he stopped in the doorway to have another glimpse of her in his bed. The cricket didn’t provide much illumination. Still, his vision was strong, allowing him to see her, loose-limbed and comfortable, sprawled in the blankets. Warmth engulfed him—a woman waiting for him in his bed was a rare event. More than rare. It hadn’t ever happened. And it was all the better that the woman waiting for him was Kali.

Yet he caught the slight frown between her brows as she stared out the window. Maybe her body had been sated, but her mind wasn’t at ease. Something troubled her.

That specter of trouble followed him all the way down the passageway and into the galley, where he gathered up as much food as he could scrounge. Had he not been enough of a tender lover in the wake of their lovemaking? Should he have whispered poetry instead of telling her about their Spartan provisions? Damn it, he’d never really learned the way of women. Emily had found his clumsiness charming—until she didn’t. And the idea of ruining what he and Kali shared twisted in his gut like a hot iron.

A broken plank served as a tray, which he carried back to his quarters, piled with all the food he’d been able to find. It almost surprised him to discover her still in bed. He lit a lamp as he entered the cabin.

She sat up at his approach. He seated himself on the bed and balanced the plank on his legs.

“Never been so glad to see dried up old berries,” she said, and quickly popped a few of them into her mouth.