Five #2
Her expression softened around the edges. Na’ashq’ii clicked from her shoulder, and Willow sighed. “Fine. Apparently I’m being outvoted by democracy’s worst participants.”
Renjik guided her out before anyone thought better of the reprieve.
RENJIK’S ROOM WAS small and blessedly quiet. The bed was soft, the cleansing unit worked, and the kitchen was well stocked. It wasn’t the most romantic space. But it was a safe bubble. Outside, the Alliance scraped meaning from an intercepted threat while the Scozid prepared another atrocity.
“If anyone asks, I’ve entered a sacred anthropological state called not answering questions.
” She kicked off her boots and collapsed backward across the bed.
Na’ashq’ii flowed off her shoulders and onto the pillow beside her, where it turned in three precise circles before settling with all the dignity of a judge taking the bench.
Renjik remained by the door. “You should sleep.”
“You should stop standing like you expect the wall to confess.”
“The wall isn’t a threat.”
“Neither is the bed, but you’re giving it a lot of suspicion.”
His mouth curved despite the fear still lodged behind his ribs. He crossed the room and sat at the edge of the mattress. Willow rolled onto her side, propped her head on one hand, and looked at him as if he was the only object worth studying in a universe full of impossible things.
That look undid him.
“Your arm?”
“Functional.”
“Your shoulder?”
“Tolerable.”
“Your pride?”
He snorted. “Recovering.”
She smiled, but it trembled. The humor thinned, leaving exhaustion and the raw awareness that they were within a stolen hour from a disaster that might still swallow them whole.
“Come here,” she whispered.
He lay beside her carefully, giving her space he didn’t want. Willow solved that by crawling into him. Her hand found the damaged edge where living body met artificial support, then slid up to cup his jaw. She kissed him softly at first. A question. A pause. A place to stop.
Renjik answered by holding still until she deepened the kiss herself.
The need that rose between them wasn’t a brutal fervor. That had its place. Stars, it had its place. But this was slower, more dangerous in a different way. Willow kissed him like she was memorizing him for a future she refused to surrender.
He broke away with effort. “You’re tired.”
“I am.” Her thumb brushed his lower lip. “I’m scared. I’m angry. I’ve translated more murder today than any person should before lunch.”
“Then rest.”
“I want to feel alive first.”
His control frayed.
Willow saw it. Of course she did. She saw too much.
Her eyes warmed and her fingers went to the fastening of his pants.
“I want you, Renjik. Not because we might die. Because I care about you. Because you’re becoming important to me, and I want one thing today that isn’t strategy, casualty estimates, or Scozid theatrics.
” She paused and took a breath. “This is me, telling you I want you, with little to no dignity.”
He kissed her then, and softness didn’t survive it.
She laughed against his mouth as he rolled them over, putting her over him even though his need turned sharp and demanding.
Her hands pushed under his shirt, palms hot on his skin.
He stripped it off and she followed the motion with her eyes, hunger making her look less exhausted and more beautifully furious.
“You’re staring.”
“I’m an academic. Observation is my job.”
He caught the hem of her shirt and lifted it slowly. “Then observe.”
Her breath hitched when pulled her close and his mouth found her breast. She arched beneath him, fingers dragging over his chest. Na’ashq’ii made a clicking sound from the pillow. Willow turned her head without loosening her grip. “No commentary from the scarf.”
Na’ashq’ii slid off the pillow and disappeared under the bed.
Renjik paused. “It understood.”
“Good. Now where were we?”
He reminded her with his mouth.
Willow’s humor broke into a moan. He kissed down her body as he lifted her over him, relearning every place that made her breath catch, every place that made her whisper his name like it was half prayer, half accusation.
He helped her shimmy out of her pants and they joined his on the floor.
Her thighs opened under his hands, and the scent of her need hit him so hard his vision narrowed.
“Renjik.”
“Sit on my face, Willow.”
He huffed a laugh against her inner thigh and she shivered. Then his mouth was on her and neither of them laughed.
Her hands hit the wall above his head. She tasted like heat and want.
He licked her slowly at first, forcing himself to be gentle though every sound she made clawed at his restraint.
Her hips lifted. He pulled her down and supported her trembling thighs with his hands.
She cursed, the word breaking when he sucked her clit into his mouth.
Her orgasm came fast, built from exhaustion and fear and the terrible relief of privacy. She shook above him, back arched, her hands clamped over her own mouth. He took the hand away and threaded his fingers through hers.
“Let me hear you.”
“There are people outside.”
“Then they’ll know you’re alive.”
Her eyes went glassy. For a moment he thought he had said the wrong thing. Then she scooted down his body and kissed him with enough force to make his damaged arm protest.
“Inside me. Now.”
He lined himself up and she sank slowly. His jaw locked against the pleasure. She was tight and wet and alive around him. His body wanted to drive deep and hard until the war vanished. His heart wanted to go slowly enough that she never forgot she was cherished.
He chose both.
Willow’s legs bracketed his hips as she rocked over him.
Each movement pushed a soft sound from her throat.
He watched her face, watched the stubborn scientist and weary survivor fall open above him.
She touched the side of his face, then traced the scars near his shoulder, then pressed her palm over his heart.
“Mine,” she whispered, as if testing the word.
Rhun surged through him, possessive and bright.
“Yours. Always.”
Her eyes filled. He kissed the tears before they fell.
Then she tightened around him, and gentleness became impossible for several blessed breaths.
He flipped them over, no longer willing to be patient.
She urged him on with her heels, her nails, the hungry tilt of her hips.
He buried his face in her neck and fucked her through the next crest, through the sound she tried and failed to swallow.
His release tore through him. He came deep, shuddering, his whole body locked around her. Willow held him as if he wasn’t too large, too damaged, too much. As if he fit exactly where he was.
For a while, there was only their breathing.
Then Willow said, very faintly, “I have decided this was an excellent use of diplomatic downtime.”
A laugh broke out of him, rough and helpless. He rolled to his side and took her with him, tucking her against his chest. “Sleep.”
“Bossy.”
“Yes.”
“Hot.”
“Sleep, Willow.”
She smiled against his skin. Her body softened, breath evening out in minutes. Renjik held her and stared at the door, listening to the distant sound of muted voices. Danger waited. Duty waited. The Scozid wouldn’t grant them mercy because they had found each other.
But for one stolen hour, they had taken something back.
THE KNOCK CAME too soon.
Renjik was on his feet before the second strike. Willow jerked awake, hair wild, eyes unfocused, one hand already reaching for a tablet that wasn’t there. Na’ashq’ii shot from under the bed and launched itself at her chest like a living piece of armor.
“If this is someone asking me to define culture again, I quit,” she muttered.
Renjik opened the door only wide enough to make the young courier on the other side reconsider several life choices.
The courier swallowed. “Apologies. Premiere Det’ae requests Doctor Benally in the analysis chamber. A second object was recovered.”
Willow sat up, the sheet sliding to her waist. Her face sharpened even before the last of sleep left it. “What kind of object?”
“I wasn’t told.”
Renjik hated the way her exhaustion disappeared beneath purpose.
“Of course,” she said, already reaching for her clothes. “One horrible present wasn’t enough.”
He closed the door on the courier’s alarmed expression and gathered her boots while she dressed. They moved quickly, all softness tucked away but not lost. When he fastened the seal at her shoulder, her hand covered his for one brief second.
“Still alive,” she said quietly.
“Still together.”