Page 28 of Origin (Deridia #13)
Her eyes widened as he went along, her mouth popping open at the end before she closed it quickly again. Swallowed. “Impossible,” she murmured.
And he was more than pleased to hear it. So he took a step nearer. Buried a hand at the back of her hair in the midst of all that curly hair, and leaned her head back. Leaned his head downward, but didn’t kiss her. Not really. Just a brush. A reminder. “I’m glad we’re in agreement.”
Then a peck. Just one. Wholly unsatisfying for either of them, although he had the slight amusement that he was the one to begin it, and end it, and leave her with something near to outrage that she hadn’t been given more.
As if he would, out in the open, like this.
Her steps were nearer to stomps, and she was the one to grasp his hand and tug him toward the dormitory, her expression fiercely determined as they went. He hoped he hadn’t picked a genuine quarrel between them, but he begrudgingly allowed that’s precisely what he might have done.
Most especially when she was shoving at the cupboards, trying to get them open, then close them again once Ellion was situated inside. “Let me help,” he urged.
“No,” she snapped. Took a breath. “No,” she tried again. “You’re sore.”
“I never admitted that,” he reminded her, and watched as she got everything quite to her liking.
Except she’d left almost no gap at all for the guards to peek through, and he thought they’d agreed about that.
She turned, hands on her hips. Looking every bit the boss she was, eyeing him up and down. “I would like for you to take off your shirt and lie on the bed.”
He blinked at her, not at all expecting such a request. If something edging on a command could be a request.
“I beg your pardon?”
Hana wilted slightly, losing much of her bravado as her nerves crept inward. “Whether or not you’re going to admit it, you’ll be sore tomorrow if you aren’t already. I’m going to do my best to get the tension out before it can settle. I don’t have oil or anything, and I suppose I could nick some from the kitchen, but I’m not sure what cooking oils would do to skin.” She ran a hand through her hair, and he she was successfully talking herself out of the entire offer, that was plain enough. “I wish I could go down to the corner shop and pick up something. Something that warmed a little. Smelled nice.” Her shoulders were beginning to droop, and he was very near to the never mind. The dim smile. The brushing away of something she clearly wanted to do, but decided was beyond her abilities to provide.
He went to his shirt.
Began the tedious bit of unlacing and unbuttoning.
Loosened rather than undid, because it was work enough to dress in the morning without having to redo all of it.
Then tugged it over his head.
The never mind never came.
It wasn’t dark. Not just yet. The second sun hadn’t set, and few would have retreated to their dormitories. He wasn’t shy, not about this, but he watched carefully for any sign she’d changed her mind. Decided this was more than she’d bargained for—more than she’d demanded.
Watched her swallow.
Watched her eyes dart about, uncertain where to settle.
He unwound the key from his elbow. Tucked the shirt inside. His boots followed. He wondered at the trousers, but she hadn’t requested him fully naked, so he left them where they were. Left the key in the lock and laid down on the bed. Tucked his hands behind his head and ignored the reminder in his shoulders of what he’d accomplished that day.
Which wasn’t much, to his untrained eye. Soil had been moved from one place to another. Armen declared it good enough.
“What happens now?” Ellion asked, turning his head toward her. Smiling. And if it was a little cheeky, then it wasn’t his fault. Because he had a nervous tension in his own belly, and the only way he knew to soothe himself—soothe her—was to pretend he didn’t.
She took a breath, and she went to her own sleeves. Rolled them upward and he wouldn’t notice how her fingers shook. The way she fumbled a little, having to do the left one twice over before it stayed. She took a step closer and then looked down at her feet, deciding to remove her boots as well. Then down to her ankle to her keys.
Far more comfortable.
“You have to flip over,” she chided. “Or don’t you know how this works?”
Ellion smirked. “I don’t, actually. So you’ll have to be very particular with me if you want this to work.”
They were talking about a massage.
They were also not talking about a massage.
Or at least, his mind went to another option. One where he was the one touching her all over. Was pressing his fingers into taut muscles, working them until they grew pliant. Until she whimpered, or maybe groaned.
Maybe it was for the best he was on his stomach, lest she grow alarmed at his sudden interest.
Or maybe it would be a relief to her? To know that she was wanted.
Or maybe she’d scoff and tell him to settle down because they certainly would do nothing with that until there were walls and doors and most especially, a lock.
He felt the cot dip as she settled by his hip. Not straddling him as he’d hoped, if only in the back of his mind, but to the side. He wondered so long what might happen next, he almost thought she’d changed her mind. Decided against the whole thing.
“You still there?” he asked, turning his head and trying to catch a look at her.
Fingers against his spine. Not pressing nearly hard enough to be considered therapeutic, but not so light that it tickled.
It was enough to make him jolt, so suddenly had they appeared despite his previous anticipation. “It’s all right, jumpy,” Hana soothed. “Just trying to decide where to start.”
He might have muttered something about it being perfectly reasonable to jump when a touch was unexpected. Or delayed. But that might put her off whatever was about to happen, and he couldn’t have that. Wouldn’t.
So he held his tongue and waited again.
Until her fingers drifted from his lower back upward. Spread out. Thinking? Or feeling? It’s not as if his muscles could tell her which one held the most tension. He could. If she asked him. Wanted direction.
But she didn’t.
She bent over him. It was just a brush of weight and warmth as she leaned closer to his ear, but it was enough to make his breath catch in his chest. “Close your eyes,” she ordered. “And stop thinking. You can’t relax when you think.”
He obeyed the one, but he wasn’t quite certain how he was meant to turn off the other. Vigilance was important. At all times. To listen for the tiniest sound outside their circle of two. Footsteps. Guard or otherwise. So he could prepare. Anticipate..
And she wanted him not to?
“That’s my job,” he reminded her, his words muffled by the press of a thin blanket against his lips. “You’re taking up one of my sense, but that doesn’t mean the rest go away.”
Up past his shoulders. His neck. Into the hairs at the nape of his neck. Not tugging, but present. Her thumb was beneath his ear, rubbing lightly. “What if I want them all? Just for a bit. Where there’s nothing but you and me.”
He swallowed, because he hadn’t heard her voice like that before. A little deeper. Full of the same want that was buried in his own belly.
He needed to remind her he was building something for just that purpose. That if he had to be patient, so could she, and they’d be better for it. Truly.
He opened his eyes. Couldn’t shift, not without wriggling from her touch, and he wasn’t prepared to do that.
He almost made his argument. Reminded her this was just a massage, and the rest was going to have to wait.
But he paused. Considered.
If there were walls, would that be enough? There would be a window. With shutters. But those would need their own lock, otherwise he would worry about someone slipping inside while he was busy with her. He could be assured there were no hidden cameras, because the walls would be made by him and others like him. But he’d still worry, wouldn’t he? That Armen was a plant. That he’d slip something in the finishes. That it wouldn’t be as private as he’d hoped. That he’d never actually be free to be with her, not so long as they were on this planet. In this compound.
Her fingers left his hair. Drifted down his shoulders. Her other hand made to join, and she had to shift on the bed, which jostled him a bit and drew him back from his thoughts. “We’re safe,” she reminded him.
Safe because he kept them so. And she wanted more of him. To be with her, to fully be with her, and also keep them from being killed at the same time.
But Drummond was gone. The other of his crew were safely ensconced in the tunnels.
His known crew.
Why must his mind punish him so? A counter for every argument. Every assurance. That he needed to be aware, not to give in. To push her away so he could do his job, and she was wrong for suggesting otherwise.
His breath caught. He held it. Then released it in a sigh.
He would lose her.
It was a quiet awareness. That if he let himself indulge his every fear, she would be the cost. There was a balance, somewhere. He hadn’t the least idea how he might find it, but he thought of her, forcing his hand to hers. The other about her waist. A dance, she called it. Because he was spiralling. Round and round. And she’d rather do it physically than watch it happen in his own mind.
“You should have whatever you want,” Ellion answered at last, because that much was true. There was no promise he could give, not when his instincts were so deeply ingrained. But maybe that was the point. He had to trust them. Trust that his subconscious would handle what he couldn’t. That he could enjoy her, could be with her, and the cost would not be nearly as dire as he feared.
“True,” Hana quipped, and a smile had entered her voice. Which was better. Was progress.
Two hands at his shoulders. And maybe it would be better with warming oil. Something fragrant and seductive.
Or maybe not. Because this was lovely, and was lovelier still when she pressed more of her strength into the endeavour, and it forced a groan from his lips because maybe his muscles could talk to her after all. She seemed more than capable of finding where he was sore. Of pressing thumbs and palms into over-tight tissue.
It hurt. But it was a good hurt. The sort that relaxed afterward.
Calmed and loosened. Which left the feeling of her warm hands over his skin. Made him want to flip over and tug at her waist until he could pull her on top of him.
A breath. Full and deep. Because she wanted to do this for him, and his job was to keep still and not think. Not assume. She left his shoulders. Down his arms. First one, then the other. Then to his back.
He shifted, his interest in her growing uncomfortable, and Hana paused. “You all right?”
Ellion suppressed a grimace and hoped it would be a soft of half-smile instead. “You’re good at that.”
Good at seducing him, even though it wasn’t her aim. Good at leaving his muscles liquid beneath her fingers. Ready to offer her something—anything—in return.
The firm press of her palms softened. More caress than massage. And it was a different sort of wonderful as she smoothed her digits against his lower back. Just above where his trousers ended. He wished he’d taken them off. Knew it was better he hadn’t.
“Ellion,” Hana murmured, tapping at him rather than even caressing. Were they finished, then? He’d sleep better for it, there was no denying it. But there was also the matter how not-relaxed he felt. Wired in an entirely different manner. Needful and so certain he needed to get control of himself.
He could claim the need of the lavatory. That might do it. But then he’d be leaving her, and that wasn’t allowed, and he was thinking again, and he wasn’t supposed to be doing that either.
She leaned over him as he struggled with conflicting desires. Let her hair tickle against his cheek, and it might have been unpleasant if it was anyone but her. Her lips were at his ear, and she took a moment to breathe. To consider what she might say? “Am I supposed to wait until our apartment is finished?”
He opened his eyes. Saw her so close to him. Loved how she occupied his sight. His sense of smell.
His fingers urged to touch. To move. To pull her to him and forget everything for a while. Everything but her.
“That was the idea,” Ellion answered. Like a fool.
Watched her disappointment. Watched the shuddering breath, the tremor in her fingers.
Because she was wanting, too.
Perhaps less obvious than his own interest, but no less in desire.
Did he trust himself? To continue?
To not be so lost and distracted he forgot everything else? If something happened...
He turned on his side. Reached for her before she could sit up all the way. Perhaps he’d be sore again, come morning. Perhaps they’d begin and something would happen, and there would be a sheepish redressing before they scrambled to meet the next disaster.
He thought too much. Worried too much.
He would keep her safe. Even in this.
And she had been so patient already, and he was thrumming with the want of her.
He grasped the back of her head before she could draw away. Kissed her with all that he had.
Which wasn’t much. Not really. Just a few hopes and some promises he meant to keep. But it seemed to be enough because she met his enthusiasm with a vigour of her own, and he pushed back, trying to invite enough room for her to lie down with him. In his cot, not hers. Which blocked even more view if anyone walked by, and if they were careful with their sounds, were mindful, it all should be all right, wouldn’t it?
They kissed. And she lay beside him. And he did regret his trousers, then. Regretted more that she was still fully clothed, save her boots.
His skin was so sensitive already. Primed by her ministrations, now craving a different sort of touch. One that grasped and pulled. Brought him where she wanted him. Wanted them naked in the dim light. Quiet and still for only a moment.
He kissed his way toward her ear. Had to push away a few curls before he could find it. “I want your clothes off.”
He should have found a better way to say it. Something closer to an entreaty. A please, perhaps. So she knew she could say no, that he’d understand.
He didn’t like the way she stiffened. Not a bit. Didn’t like the way she pulled back, her lip slipping inward as she worried, even for a moment. “You don’t have to,” he offered, because he’d done something wrong, although he wasn’t entirely certain of its magnitude yet. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”
Hana released a breath and shook her head. She sat up, and he was entirely certain he’d ruined it. She’d be back in her own bed, and she’d mumble for him to sleep well, and that would be it.
He’d be left to castigate himself the rest of the night for a foolish statement. One that had left her no room but to retreat.
Her fingers were at the hem of her shirt, fiddling lightly. He brought his hand to hers, stilling the movement. “You don’t have to,” he repeated. “I want you to be comfortable, with me. Always. We can lie just like we were, and you won’t ever hear a complaint from me.”
What little light remained caught at the shine in her eyes. “I want to,” she admitted. “I want to be the girl that just... rips it all off and thinks you’ll find her beautiful.” She took a breath. “But that’s never been me.”
It hurt. Hurt her. Hurt him. Because he wasn’t certain how anyone could think her anything less, but it was obvious they had. That wretch that came before. Maybe others. Who liked her well enough for her other qualities, but found fault with her body.
Idiots.
The whole lot of them.
And he probably was too, but in different ways. Who made her feel watched and haunted by memories rather than sweep her up in the heady thrill of the moment.
“Hana,” Ellion said, sitting up. Because this did not seem like something that should be said so casually. Lying about and looking up at her while she worried and fretted about past and present. “I love you.”
Because that mattered most.
And she sniffed. Wiped at her eyes. And her breath was frustrated, and that’s not what he wanted for her. “I love you, too,” she promised, and that was something. More than something.
“And this is different,” she whispered to herself. “This is going to be different.” She didn’t look at him for reassurance. No more promises than the ones already given.
Maybe it wasn’t such a curse to have memories stripped away. Not when they were painful. When they had her hesitate with her shirt, even now.
Had the wounds been physical, or to her heart? An unkind word. Carelessly offered. Or maybe they’d been intentional barbs, meant to strip her down, keep her small.
Ellion reached for her. Stilled her hands. He’d been careless. Forgotten how she fretted about being desirable. He’d been tangled in his own head, forgetful of how much she deserved, and that was wrong. He came up behind her. Difficult to do because of the size of the cot, but he managed.
He squeezed her hands lightly and felt her shudder. Lean back against him. Which was better, but he wanted more. Wanted her confidence, if not in herself, then in him. That she was wanted, just as she was. That he was sorry for any that had come before and their obvious mistreatment of her, but he wasn’t them.
One hand kept safety tucked about hers. The other began to wander. Over a plush middle that he longed to see his hands squeeze into as they loved. Up toward a breast that he suspected was being bound down. That wouldn’t do, either. He nuzzled against her neck, felt her shiver. “Are you uncomfortable?” he asked, because he hated the thought of it. “Thinking too much?”
It was a reminder of her earlier chastisement, and he caught the pull of her mouth as she recognised it.
“It’s hot,” she complained. Which it wasn’t, strictly speaking. But he knew how his skin had felt when she touched, how it had flared and warmed just by her skin against his, and he’d already been without his shirt.
She was still fully clothed in hers.
“We should do something about that,” he agreed, reaching for the lace at her cuff.
Watched her swallow. Nod.
He smiled, bringing it out just a bit so he could see what he was doing. The right, first. Then the left. Punctuating each success with a murmur in her ear. That he loved her. That she was brave and good, and he would never hurt her. Most especially because she was perfect like this. Letting him explore.
He felt her shiver each time he offered something more. Didn’t mind when he went to the laces at her throat. Pulled them open as he’d done to his own shirt.
Leaned back so he could pull it off of her. Got it tangled, and she snorted a stunted kind of laugh as she was momentarily trapped, and she wriggled to free herself as he offered a sheepish apology.
It was lacing snagged on her hair, that was all. And he smoothed it down again, and she was smiling, so that was something. Even as she sat in her trousers, and yes, strips of cloth were about her breasts, holding them firm.
He wanted them off.
But he didn’t blurt it out like that. Not again.
He took her shirt from her and didn’t get up to put it in her trunk. She might want it later. Might want to snatch it back and put it on, too anxious without it. He kept it at the foot of the bed, folding it neatly so she could see he was being purposeful. Intentional.
She’d seduced him with a few touches. He would offer more. Whatever she needed.
He held out his hand, so she’d settle back where she was, and it took her a moment. Wrestling with her thoughts, he presumed. So he came a little nearer. Stood up.
Put his hands to the clasp on his trousers and watched her swallow.
“I take these off, and you take that off?”
He gestured toward the bindings on her breasts, and she released a breath. “Or maybe that’s not a fair exchange.” His hand fell away, because he didn’t know if she wanted to see more of him. Not like he wanted to see her.
“It’s fair,” she hastened to explain, and he hid his smile. He liked she was pleased by his appearance. Liked that she wanted to see more of him. Hopefully, to touch more of him.
He didn’t take the same care with his trousers as he had with her shirt, kicking them off before sitting on the bed to remove his socks. There was one last part to remove, but he kept them on. His smalls could be a bargain when she was down to her own last bits of clothing.
He tried not to stare. Honestly, he did. But she was there, unwinding a ridiculous length of cloth, and his mouth watered. He wanted to do it. Wanted to be the one to make the fabric uncurl. To let her breasts free. Maybe even bring her some relief as he did so.
He stood. Took the end from her. Allowed himself to indulge in that small desire, even as she stared at his expression, bemused by why he should be so interested.
“There was no better contraption than this? Truly?”
Hana shook her head. “That was an old bed sheet. My shirt wouldn’t stay closed, otherwise, and I didn’t want to...” she shrugged. “Better to keep everything contained.”
He wasn’t so certain of that, because there was a reddened mark under her arm where it had cut too close for too long.
He ran one finger against it, and she squirmed away, but her eyes were light and he didn’t think she was sore. “What are you doing?”
He shook his head, certain he was a terrible seducer. “You’ve a mark.”
She glanced down. “Oh. It’s nothing.”
She made a slow twirl and more of the fabric fell away.
And he forgot about marks, because she did it again, and suddenly she was bare.
And she worried he would find fault? When she was soft and lovely, and he wanted nothing more than to hold her close, pull her to him. Lie with her and be surrounded by her. Until there was nothing but her scent and the feel of her skin against his.
Distracting him. She’d been sleeping like that, marked up and bound too firmly, and she’d laid with him and made no complaints about not being able to undress when he was near.
She was holding the last of it, not covering herself. Not yet, at least. But it was easy enough to give the cloth a tug, to wrench a step from her. Pull her closer. Watch her eyes lighten with amusement at his game and allowed herself to be summoned closer.
He didn’t letch. Not right away. Didn’t grab hold of soft skin and even softer breasts and indulge his whims.
Instead, he met her halfway. Wrapped his arms about her, pulling her as close as he could. Revelled in the feel of skin against skin, of touching in this new and unexpected way. “Isn’t this better?” he asked. Hoping, maybe even praying, that he felt as she did.
His hand smoothed against her back. He felt her tense, but only briefly. Then she took a breath and rested her head against him and this was everything he’d dreamed. Hoped.
“Better,” she agreed, so softly he might not have heard except he held her so close.
He let her be for a moment. Until every bit of trepidation had gone from her. There might be more. Probably would be. And he could be patient with her. She’d have to be patient with how little he knew what to do. There were flashes of fantasy that he suspected were more imagination than reality, but they were all he had for a guide.
He smiled.
Not true.
He had her.
She was the one to tilt her head up. To step on tiptoe so she might kiss him. That shifted and brought her arms about his neck, which stretched her breasts against his chest in a scandalous sort of manner that stole the breath from his lungs and left him grasping for her.
He didn’t expect those same arms to drift downward. To skim across his belly and tease the waistband of his smalls, and surely she would not delve there so quickly. Surely not.
Except that wasn’t her aim at all. She was undoing the button of her own trousers. Let them fall. Let them be in the same manner of undress, which was brave of her. Trusting of her.
And he loved her all the more for it.
He did not push her toward the bed. He let her kick free of her trousers, and he didn’t stop their kisses to retrieve them. To fold them along with her shirt. They were hers to do with as she pleased, and he hoped it pleased her to have them off.
“Come to bed with me?” he asked, a little too breathless. But, hopefully, understandable.
She didn’t answer him. Only nodded her head and held his hand, and that was enough. He couldn’t say who led who. They just... went. To his bed. But she was the one to sit first. And not just sit, but lie down. To reach for him before she could get nervous. Could feel alone.