Chapter 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..."
"Say it, Harper." He pressed just enough to tease, a promise of what was to come. "Tell me who you belong to."
She stared up at him, her chest rising and falling in sharp, shallow breaths. He saw the moment the last of her walls crumbled into dust and the surrender in her gaze.
"Yours," she gasped. "I'm all yours."
The word snapped the last of his control.
He thrust into her, burying himself to the hilt in a single, hard stroke.
She cried out, her head falling back against the pillows. He was big, he knew that even as he stretched her tightly around his cock, filling her. But she took him, delight and pleasure the only expression on her face as she adjusted, her body clamping around him.
He set a punishing rhythm. There was no finesse, no technique.
Just the raw, driving need to be as deep inside her as possible.
So deep there was no separating them. He watched her face as he moved, memorizing the way her brow furrowed, the way her lips parted, the way she chanted his name like a prayer.
Every thrust was a statement.
Mine. Mine. Mine.
His hands gripped her hips, holding her in place, guiding her up to meet his force. She wrapped her legs tighter around him, pulling him deeper as her nails dug into the muscles of his back. The sting was grounding. Real.
Pressure built low in his stomach, a coiling tension that demanded release. She tightened around him, her breath hitching, the little sounds she made driving him wild.
"Let go," he rasped, surging into her harder. "Give it to me."
She shattered.
The spasms of her climax ripped through her, milking him, dragging him over the edge. He groaned, burying his face in the crook of her neck as his own release slammed through him. His cock jerked and pulsed, and he poured himself into her, shaking with the force of it as he held nothing back.
For a long time, the only sound in the room was their ragged breathing.
He collapsed onto his elbows, careful not to crush her, though he didn't pull out.
He couldn't. The thought of separating from her, even by inches, was painful.
Physically painful. Pressing a kiss to the damp hair at her temple, he rolled to his back, taking her with him so they were still joined, still tangled as she sprawled over his chest.
He ran a hand down her arm, his thumb tracing the new, darkening mark on her shoulder. A possessive calm settled over him; the rage and jealousy of the evening burned away.
She was marked. Sated. His.
She murmured something sleepy and unintelligible, snuggling against him, her breath fanning out over his skin. He pulled the sheet up over them, his arm draped over her waist to hold her close.
Let the universe try to take her. Let the LMP try to argue rules and protocols. He'd claimed her the old way. The only way that mattered.
Sleep dragged at him, and he buried his nose in her hair, inhaling her scent. She was safe. She was here and tomorrow, everyone would know she belonged to him.
Harper's hand was going numb in Kirr's grip, but she didn't let go.
It was the only real thing in this sterile administrative coffin—his callused palm, his heat, the silent promise that she wasn't alone.
Every credit spent on the soothing lighting panels had been wasted. Nothing about this room was soothing.
Every time she shifted, her body reminded her of last night.
The ache in her thighs and the sting of the marks he'd left on her neck and breasts, currently hidden beneath the high collar of her blouse.
She felt claimed. Like she actually belonged somewhere, and for the first time in her life, she felt safe.
She squeezed Kirr's hand. He squeezed back, a silent reassurance that almost settled the frantic flutter in her chest. They had walked in here together.
They had attended the function together.
He had claimed her in front of half the station.
That had to count for something. The universe wouldn't dangle happiness in front of her face just to yank it back… surely?
Duke Kaarigan sat on the other side of the table, flanked by two officials who looked like they swallowed rulebooks for breakfast.
The duke leaned forward, elbows on either side of a stack of dataflexes in front of him, and steepled his fingers. "Miss Sawyer. The board has reviewed your unauthorized departure from the Program signing office, as well as the subsequent station crisis and your part in it."
She held her breath. Beside her, Kirr was a statue, radiating the kind of low-level menace that would have sent most people running. Kaarigan didn't even blink.
"Given your pivotal role in resolving the power cascade and preventing catastrophic failure of the station's life support systems," Kaarigan continued, tapping a dataflex, "the board has decided to expunge the contract breach from your record. The 'flight risk' status has been lifted."
Air rushed out of Harper's lungs. "Thank you."