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Chapter Eleven

P etra

Shadow is walking me back to my room. He looks as shaken as I feel. “Possibly the oddest thing I’ve ever seen in my life,” he shares.

“Definitely.” I haven’t had a minute of shuteye tonight, but right now I don’t think I could sleep if I tried. I have just the solution! “I don’t think I can sleep right now, can I come back to your room?”

He pauses a moment, possibly wondering why I left him alone in my room earlier, but nods.

“I had an... accident in the bathroom,” he confides.

“Aren’t you a little old for that?” I give him a faux-shocked look and raise my eyebrow.

“Bottle of whiskey slipped out of my hand. I didn’t have time to clean it up.”

“I’ll wear my trusty flip flops. I don’t want any more glass in the bottom of my feet.” I give him a flirty look, “Besides, I was hoping the action would be in the bedroom.”

“Bedroom, what a novel idea.” He gives me a sexy grin. Oh, I could get used to seeing a smile like that more often.

Our steps progressively speed up until we’re almost running by the time we arrive at his door. Glad he warned me about the whiskey slippage, otherwise I’d wonder if he had a drinking problem. It smells like a distillery in here. I glance through the doorway into his bathroom and notice his mirror is covered with not one but two towels. I don’t have time to give it too much thought, though, because the run from medbay is all the foreplay I needed.

I’m ready to hit the sheets. He reaches out and grabs me before I can start shucking my clothes. Running his fingers through my hair, he gives me a lingering look.

“Sorry I fell asleep on you earlier. You said you had your menu already planned. I’m starving. What’s the appetizer?”

“The appetizer was hours ago, it was a back scratch. The warm-up course is done.” I try to undo his loincloth and am mystified. “How complicated is this freaking thing?”

“Many twists and turns, little Pet. Want some help?”

“Hell yes. While you work on that I’ll start on the next course.” I don’t know how I ramped up so fast, but I’m rubbing my palms up and down his flanks, then gliding them over his pecs. My fingers and thumbs tweak his nipples as I wait impatiently for him to free himself.

“That is one magnificent cock,” I tell him as soon as it’s standing tall and proud. My knees hit the floor. I can’t wait to taste him.

“You were so insistent about adequate foreplay the other day,” he chides.

“Just having you in the same room turns me on.” Crap, I should really learn not to hand out compliments like candy. They go to his head.

I hear him chuckling above me. Then I hear his quick intake of breath when I lick the head of his shaft. It already has a bead of precum, which is slightly sweet. “Mmmm,” I tell him in appreciation, then I return to the task at hand.

I don’t exactly need a strategy playbook, but this thing is big; way too big to ‘get to the bottom of things’, so to speak. I lick the crown, swirl my tongue along the ridge, then suck. I know I’ve found his happy spot when he moans quietly in the back of his throat. Oh, I can do better than that.

Suction and an occasional swirl around the rim, more suction. I still haven’t moved any farther down his shaft. I can sense his impatience when his hands rest gently on my shoulders— no pressure, but I suspect he wants to press my mouth down to envelop him.

I reach around and grab his butt. He has the greatest ass, rounded granite-hard cheeks, with muscular hollows in just the right place. When I’ve got him in a tight hold, my mouth moves lower. A millimeter at a time, until I’ve reached my limit.

His hips are thrusting now in shallow, almost imperceptible surges. I move one hand and grab him at the root of his shaft, giving me an extra several inches of coverage, then begin to pump in earnest. I synchronize my head bobbing and my fist moving and increase the speed until his moans are louder.

“Petra.” His hands sift through my hair; his breathing is ragged. My core is slick with desire. Having my mouth on him, working him, makes me feel so powerful—in control. I love having the ability to pull those deep, sexy growls from the back of his throat. I feel empty. I want him to fill me.

Abruptly, he reaches under my armpits and lifts me to my feet. His eyes are focused, his gaze intense. “Bed,” is all he says as he pulls me to my feet. He yanks my top off as I wriggle out of my bottoms, then he sets me down on the middle of the bed.

He stands there for a moment as if formulating an action plan. That blow job turned me on as much as it did him. My nipples are hard throbbing points; need is clenched in my belly. My clit is pulsing. I reach out to him. “Shadow, come fuck me,” my voice is breathy with desire.

He’s still standing, just staring at me in obvious appreciation. I wonder if he’s so aroused he’s pausing to calm down to prolong both our pleasure. I hope so.

“Touch yourself. I’ll watch.” The corners of his mouth turn up slightly, as if this idea pleases him greatly.

I pause a moment, deciding if I want to comply. Hell yeah.

I lay back, pull my heels up to my bottom, then let my knees slowly drop open, almost all the way to the covers. The big unveiling. I’m splayed open completely for him to see. I glance up, feeling self-conscious; his facial expression is a haze of lust. His eyes are slitted, his teeth are clenched, the muscle in his jaw is leaping. I don’t even think he knows I’m looking at him, he’s so focused on what I’ve just exposed to him.

“Beautiful, Pet.” His eyes are taking me in with obvious appreciation.

“Spread yourself open for me,” his voice is so deep and rough it barely sounds like him.

I’ve never been good at taking orders, not from teachers, not from parents, and definitely not from boyfriends. But this? Oh yeah. Him telling me what to do is so sexy my juices are flowing from my clenching core.

I spread my lips open, dropping my knees all the way to the sheets. His lids get heavy, half closed. His eyes are laden with pure lust. His nostrils flare. I know he’s smelling my arousal, which causes his cock to kick. His tongue peeks out to slick his parched lips. The fact that I’m having this effect on him makes my clit flutter in yearning.

I use two fingers to slide my slickness from my channel up to my clit. I do this slowly, several times. I’ve never had an audience for this before. I’m still not sure I like it, I’m feeling a little shy, but the mesmerized look on his face emboldens me.

I don’t know what possesses me, but I bring one finger up to my mouth and lick my juices with the tip of my tongue. This earns just the reaction I was hoping for—that low, sexy, strangled sound that erupts from deep in the back of his throat.

I do it again, almost in slow motion. His response is louder now, more like a growl. He’s not moving, I think he doesn’t want to pounce on me. But every muscle is tightly coiled, like he’s holding himself back from leaping on the bed and burying his cock in me all the way to the hilt.

I lean my head back and close my eyes. If I’m going to explore myself any further, I can’t watch him anymore, it’s way too intimate.

Before I can get to work on myself, I feel his weight on the bed. When I open my eyes, he’s crouched in front of me, his mouth inches from my pussy. I slide backward until my head rests on the pillows, the better to see what he’s doing down there.

“You’re lovely, Pet.” His breath is hot on my clit. I watch as his tongue licks me from my core to the bundle of nerves that’s already needy for pressure. That’s enough watching! I lay my head back and sink into a haze of pleasure. He strokes my clit, changing pressure from the stiff tip of his tongue to the flat expanse of it. Like he’s testing me, seeing exactly what I prefer.

When he’s satisfied with the pressure, he moves incrementally until he finds the spot that propels my hips into action. Then he starts moving, which elicits low, deep moans that seem to emanate from my chest.

He’s got the motion and the pressure and the rhythm just right. I’m in a misty fog of bliss. This feeling is too compelling, I could swim in it forever. Except I can’t. I want release. The longer he attends me like this, the more urgent my need. I’m panting, moaning, thrusting against him— desperate.

“Please, Shadow.”

This must be what he was waiting for. The instant I ask, he moves his hands from where they were grasping my thighs and dips one long finger slowly into my core.

“Yes, Shadow, yes.” My inner walls clench around his finger. It’s not enough to make me come, but it takes a slight edge off the need spiraling inside me.

He slips in a second finger, keeping his mouth right where it needs to be—the fingers joining in perfect rhythm. His mouth increases pressure, and I easily fly over the edge, my inner muscles clamping, and my hands tugging his hair. I push against his mouth demanding and receiving more pressure.

I moan, louder than I think I ever have, for the entire length of this mind-blowing orgasm. Every muscle in my body tightens and releases in endless spasms of ecstasy.

Even after my release is over, he just stays there, his fingers still in me. His mouth no longer working me, but still clamped on my clit, ready to wring another burst of pleasure from me if I ramp up again. And I do, several times.

When I’m thoroughly sated, I coax him up until he’s lying on his side next to me. I kiss him, hard, desperate, telling him with my actions how fabulous that was. I taste myself on him. This feels profoundly personal, which causes my chest to tighten in anxiety. I push those emotions away, reach down and find his rock-hard cock. He’s had no release. I bend my knee and rest it on his hip.

“Petra, I want you. I’m desperate for you. I want to be inside you,” he rasps.

“Take me.” I’ve recovered enough from the last orgasm to be ready again.

I’m so slick, he slips his magnificent member into me easily in a few deep, hard thrusts, then turns me on my back as he moves with me.

He’s on top of me, his weight on his knees and hands. He’s not shy, gazing into my eyes while he sets a rhythm. I shut my lids and dive into my protective bubble of pleasure. His hands slip behind my ass, anchoring me so he stimulates my clit with every deep, hard movement.

I went from fully sated to desperate with need in a matter of a few minutes. My desire ramps up; with every penetration I want more.

My hips press up with each of his downward thrusts. I pull his ass toward me on every stroke, adding more pressure. How can I be so desperate for release when I just came?

I can feel his skin slicken. Between the physicality of the act and the effort of holding back for so long, he’s sweating, still delaying until I come again. I realize he’s more than ready, as am I. Then I allow myself delicious release, letting go and falling into the sheer delight of an orgasm that seems to start from the inside and roll outward. Every muscle in my body clenches in spasms of exquisite climax.

My orgasm triggers his own. His muscles contract, his breathing increases, his teeth clench even as his rhythm accelerates. He lets out a sound of pleasure, a soft, sated grunt. High praise, indeed.

Long moments later, he rolls us onto our sides, both of our chests heaving in exertion. I reach up to touch his hair, it’s damp with sweat. “Sexy man. Worked hard,” I say, recognizing that I’m incapable of speaking in complete sentences at the moment.

He strokes my hair, smiling. “You, too.”

“I like your smile, Shadow. It looks good on you.”

“Mmmm,” is all he can respond. I guess men all over the galaxy do the same thing after marathon sex. All they want to do is fall asleep.

I can’t complain, though, I’m definitely tired and sleepy now as well. I simply have to figure out how to extricate myself from his heavy arm around my waist.

“Gotta go,” I say, my tone casual and upbeat.

“Mmm. Where you going?” His voice is fuzzy, soft.

“Sleepy. Going to my room.”

“Stay here. I’ll keep you warm.” He looks cuddly and comfortable, his hair tousled. Part of me wants to remain here and slip into dreamland. But no, can’t do that. Can’t tolerate it.

“I’ll be warm enough in my own bed.” I try to pull away but his arm is anchoring me where I am.

His eyes open fully and he frowns. “Something’s wrong. What’s the matter, Pet?”

“Nothing,” I lie.

“Bullshit. Something’s wrong. Tell me.”

Choices. Always so many choices when dealing with men. I could change the subject and mention how interesting it is that “bullshit” translated so well. I could keep lying and deny anything is wrong. I could start a fight about nothing in particular. Or I could tell the truth. Crap, I hate that last choice, but that’s the one I pick.

“I can’t sleep in the same bed with anyone.”

“Can’t like you’re physically incapable, or can’t like it’s against your religion, or what?”

“Can’t like…” I want to keep it honest, I do. How do I explain this? “Can’t like I’m... emotionally incapable. I don’t do intimacy and sleeping together is intimacy.”

“Is this a bad translation, Petra? Because I think intimacy is what just happened here in this bed. I think the sleeping part is simply... sleeping.”

“No, you’ve got it wrong. What happened here in this bed is just lubrication and friction. If I lay next to you all night and we snuggled and had pillow talk, that would be intimacy.”

He’s silent for a long time. Really long. Like so long I’d think he’d fallen asleep if I couldn’t see his eyes are wide open. Eyes wide open and jaw muscle bunching furiously. Not a happy face.

He’s still silent. Must be solving all the problems of the galaxy, because he’s deep in thought. Then he lifts his arm gingerly from around my waist, turns over, and presents me his ass. I guess that’s my cue to leave.

Shadow

I have made a tremendous mistake. A tactical error. After thirty-five annums of never giving a female a second thought, I connected with someone of the opposite sex. I had no idea she was incapable of reciprocating.

I wanted to avoid a female who was weak. I knew I'd have no patience for that. Supreme irony, I fell for a female who isn't too soft but is too hard. She doesn't want to connect. She wants to “fuck” as she calls it, and walk away.

Every woman I toyed with in my youth would find this humorous. Although it’s a beautiful twist, it doesn’t feel funny. It feels like drack. I need to turn to stone. I know how to do that. I’ve done it for fifteen annums . I just fold my emotions into smaller and smaller pieces until I can tuck them away and hide them far out of sight. My emotions have hidden in the dark recesses of my mind for annums until the last few days with Petra. I can do that again. Starting right this minima .

It might be difficult if I see her. And we live together on a tiny vessel with only twenty other souls and no escape. That might be a predicament. I’ll go to the hold and grab a case of food bars. I can hole up in my room with the bars and maybe some more of that awful Sillerian whiskey to keep me warm at night. I’ll work out in the ludus , certainly she won’t invade that space. I’ll give her a wide berth until it gets easier. I should be over this in no time.