Page 57 of Naughty List Delivery

“Copy that. Mother out.”

The comm goes silent, and immediately I’m spinning in the chair to face my very pleased-looking mate.

“Four hours,” I say pointedly. “That’s a long time to be alone in hyperspace.”

“A very long time,” he agrees, his amber eyes dark with suggestion as he takes in my flushed appearance. “Whatever will we do with ourselves?”

“Well,” I say, standing up and backing toward our small cabin, my pulse already quickening at the predatory way he’s watching me move, “I suppose we could run a full systems diagnostic.”

“Very responsible,” he murmurs, following me with that liquid grace that never fails to make my mouth go dry. “Though I think there might be some... personal systems... that require more immediate attention.”

“Personal systems?” I ask innocently, even as my hands are already working at his weapon harness. The familiar weight of it reminds me of how competently he’d handled the pirates earlier, and there’s something undeniably arousing about watching him shift seamlessly between protector and lover.

“The kind that have been running hot all day,” he says, his voice dropping to that register that makes my knees weak. “Ever since this morning’s briefing, actually.”

“Mmm,” I hum thoughtfully, letting his harness hit the floor with a satisfying thud. “That does sound like a problem. Hot-running systems can be very... dangerous.”

“Extremely dangerous,” he agrees solemnly, even as his hands make quick work of my courier jacket. “Could lead to complete system overload if not properly maintained.”

“Then I suppose,” I say, backing him toward our narrow bunk while my fingers work at the fastenings of his shirt, “we’d better take care of that right away.”

“Immediately,” he confirms, catching me around the waist and lifting me easily. The enhanced strength that makes him so effective in combat has other applications that I’ve learned to appreciate thoroughly.

The next few hours pass in a blur of heated kisses, wandering hands, and the kind of zero-gravity intimacy that makes space travel infinitely more interesting. We’ve learned to use the ship’s rotation to our advantage, the gentle artificial gravity providing just enough resistance to make every touch more deliberate, every movement more controlled.

Ober’s alien flexibility proves particularly advantageous in the confined space, and I discover new applications for Felaxian biology that definitely aren’t covered in any xenobiology textbooks. By the time we’re approaching Junction One’s docking ring, we’re both thoroughly satisfied and completely unprofessional.

“Think Mother suspects what we do during long flights?” I ask, straightening my uniform and trying to finger-comb my hair into something resembling regulation appearance.

“Mother definitely knows what we do during long flights,” Ober replies, checking his weapons and looking annoyingly put-together despite having spent the last three hours proving that Felaxian endurance has some very interesting applications.“She just doesn’t want the paperwork involved in officially acknowledging it.”

“Smart woman,” I say, settling back into the pilot’s chair as Junction One fills our viewscreen. Home. Ours. The place where we’ve built a life that’s part adventure, part domesticity, and completely perfect for two reformed criminals who found their way back to each other.

The station looks different than it did a year ago—bigger, busier, more prosperous. OOPs has expanded significantly, and Junction One has become a major hub for frontier operations. Success breeds success, and our little corner of space has become something of a legend in courier circles.

“The smartest,” Ober agrees, then leans down to press a kiss to the top of my head. “She knew exactly what she was doing when she kept assigning us together.”

“Think she planned this from the beginning?”

“Absolutely,” he says with certainty. “Mother’s been playing matchmaker disguised as a dispatcher since the day you walked back into Junction One.”

As we dock and prepare for debriefing, I realize he’s probably right. And I realize something else too—I don’t mind being manipulated when the result is this life, this partnership, this ridiculous, dangerous, completely perfect love affair with adventure and each other.

Through the viewports, I can see the familiar bustle of Junction One’s docking bays. Couriers coming and going, cargo being loaded and unloaded, the constant flow of legitimate commerce that we’ve become a part of. A year ago, I thought this would feel limiting after a lifetime of operating outside the law.

Instead, it feels like coming home.

“Debriefing in ten?” I ask, though we both know Mother will want a full report on the pirate organization and how we neutralized the threat.

“Debriefing in ten,” he confirms, then his smile turns wicked. “Personal debriefing in our quarters afterward?”

“Definitely,” I agree. “I have some ideas about system maintenance that might interest you.”

A year ago, I thought I was choosing between my old life and safety.

Instead, I chose between running alone and building something together.

Between surviving and actually living.

Between the woman I used to be and the woman I became when I stopped being afraid of wanting more than I thought I deserved.

Best choice I ever made.

And if the way Ober’s looking at me right now is any indication, we’re just getting started.

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