Page 91 of Lash

"Fuck," I hiss in English, then revert to Croatian. "How am I supposed to resist you?"

"You aren't, silly. That's the whole point."

I stand up casually and make a point of stretching as if working out the kinks in my muscles and the stiffness in my joints—and it is not an act. After a moment, Tatiana does the same. I find a path to the tail end of the transport, swinging my arms and lifting my knees high, rotating them outward to stretch my hips—the wounded one protests the action, the bruised bone aching and the torn flesh and muscle screaming. It hurts like a motherfucker, but it won't limit my mobility too much, even if only because I won't let it.

I pace back toward the nose, stepping over my sleeping compatriots—Chance cracks one eye open, watching. When Tatiana makes her way toward the nose and disappears behind a tall stack of strapped-down crates, I catch a smirk and a wink from Chance before he tilts away and drapes a heavy arm over his eyes.

Need swells in me, then, as I follow her behind the stack.

a stolen moment

Tatiana

It does feel like a kind of madness, this desire within me. Is it masking my sorrow? Is it a response to the constant brushes with death? Or just a normal craving for intimacy with the man I am falling in love with?

The spot I chose is as ideal as you could ask for in a situation like this. We are in the farthest back right corner against the bulkhead between the cargo bay and the cockpit, in a cozy little alcove created by tall stacks of crates and pallets piled high with supplies shrink-wrapped in thick plastic.

I know this is a little reckless, but I have been pushing down and ignoring my needs ever since that too-short night in the hotel…wherever the hell that even was. Germany? Brazil, somewhere? I don’t know.

Nico slips his short, broad, densely muscled frame through the narrow gap between a five-foot-high stack of crates and a pallet. I sink to the floor, my eyes locked on his, and drag my shirt and bra up to free my heavy, aching breasts. Nico's eyes flare, raw hunger suffusing his features.

"Fuck, Tati," he breathes. "So beautiful."

I reach for him, and he whips off his shirt, folds it, and uses it to pillow my head as he lays me backward. Soft lips find hotflesh, and a sharp line of arousal sears through me as he suckles my nipple into his mouth. I bite down on my lip to stifle the moan.

He captures my mouth with his, devouring my gasp as he fondles my breasts, tweaking and twisting and pinching my nipples until I'm writhing and panting into the kiss.

Levered over me, bracing his weight on one hand, he tugs open my jeans and greedily shoves his hand under my panties, finding my sex wet and hot.

I have to bite down on my lip so hard it hurts to silence my whimper when his fingers delve inside me, and then my jaws clench so hard my molars ache when he smears my essence over my clit and circles me there as his lips tug at my nipples, one and the other in turn.

I catch at his soft, short, hair and hold his nape as he plies my breasts with kisses and licks, nips and nibbles. With my other hand, I seek his skin. Find it between his shirt and jeans. Fumble at his zipper. Eager and impatient, I get his jeans open and plunge my hand beneath his underwear and find him hot and hard and ready for my touch. He growls softly, and I put my other hand over his mouth, hushing his quiet groans as I stroke his length thumb and forefinger first, gliding my touch down his erection.

It's a race, then—and he's winning. His fingers ply my core with deft touches, pressing against my aching clit with just the right pressure, with perfect speed, until I'm panting raggedly through my nose, my gaze fraught with aroused wonder as I stare up at him.

I arch up off the floor as the first waves of orgasm shudder through me, and I clutch his cock with spasming, greedy fingers, tasting copper as I bite my lip to keep from shrieking as my climax rips me to shreds.

God, this man knows me so well. He knows how to touch me, knows my body, knows my needs. When I start coming, he continues touching me exactly in the way that got me there, and when I buck upward and shudder, he speeds up until white stars burst behind my tight-shut eyes, and incandescent heat builds beneath and behind my belly, expanding outward and overtaking every part of me.

I writhe upward, pushing into his touch, and his mouth covers mine, and his tongue drives between my teeth, and I can't breathe and couldn’t scream if I wanted to, can only shake and shudder as I come. The hot hard length of his cock in my hand is an anchor point to reality, mooring me to earth—without it, I feel like I could be flung free of the earth to float away into nothingness. But I don't. Instead, I cling to his cock and stroke it from tip to root and back up, squeezing as waves of ecstasy crash through me.

He rumbles softly, a chest-sound. His fingers slow, and I float back to earth, panting quietly but rapidly.

I feel him throbbing in my grip. I know he's close. I break the kiss, smiling up at him as I caress his length faster and faster.

He braces both hands beside my shoulders and he starts to push with helpless need into my hand.

"Tati," he whispers. "You must stop."

“Never,” I whisper back. "Lay down."

Moving gingerly, he rolls to his back. I tuck his t-shirt under his head and hold myself above him as he was above me moments ago. His hands carve up my belly to cradle my swaying breasts, and I gasp at his touch.

"Tati," he breathes. "You don't have to—"

"Shut up, Nico," I interrupt. "I love you but shut up. I know I don'thaveto. Iwantto. Ineedto. We can't make love—not here, not now. But I can do this. And I want to, so I'm going to, and you're going to lay there and let me."

"Yes ma'am," he answers.