Page 32 of Silver Elite

I wait in his office.

It’s late. I want to change into my sleep clothes and slide into bed. I want to shut off my brain so I can stop obsessing over my body’s traitorous responses to him.

But his majesty, Captain Cross, wants a debrief.

I wander around the large space, not shy about being nosy. There are no personal items on his desk. Just a holoscreen and a tablet. The conference table was cluttered the last couple of times I was here, but tonight there’s very little on it, only a stack of maps.

Paper maps, which I find fascinating. A projector sits in the center of the table, so I assume they use holo-maps as well, but the fact that there’s any paper in here at all is odd to me.

Cross doesn’t seem like an Old Era guy. And while I’m not an Old Era girl myself by any stretch of the imagination, I think it would be incredible to own a paper book. Flip through real, tangible pages. It’s nearly impossible to procure paper products unless you’re willing to pay through the nose for them. The Last War destroyed so much of the planet, and over a century later, lumber still isn’t readily available. The trees that were replanted never quite grew as tall as they should have. There are entire “forests” east of the Blacklands that are nothing more than a sea of flimsy twigs.

The door swings open.

Cross notes me leaning against the map table. His eyes drift down my bare legs, my ankles, the low heels strapped to my feet. Then he raises them to my cleavage. I realize my left strap is falling off my shoulder and push it back up. He tracks that, too.

“You did good,” he says, surprising me with the compliment.

“Really? Because I feel like I did nothing.” Self-reproach darkens my mood. “I asked for a job and then blew it.”

“You did exactly what you were supposed to do.”

“But Ford said the objective was the job.”

“No, the objective was to ask for it. To make contact. You weren’t going to get that job tonight, Wren.”

My heart does a little flip as my name leaves his mouth.

“Shen is not an idiot. She’s not going to invite a random woman off the street into her inner circle.”

“Oh.”

“Oh?” He looks like he’s trying not to grin. “You’re not going to argue?”

“No. You’re right.”

“Say that again. You’re right. I want to hear it again.”

“Never,” I vow.

He disarms, unholstering his gun before setting it on the desk. Then he stalks toward me. Stops when we’re a foot apart. The awareness between us is thick and palpable, like a storm on the horizon.

“You’re a dangerous woman,” he murmurs.

More than he knows.

I laugh softly. “I think you’re the dangerous one.”

“I am,” he agrees. “Especially right now.”

“What’s so special about right now?”

“Your dress. Those eyes.” He scrapes his gaze over my body before returning it to my face. “That body rubbing up on me all night. Teasing.”

“Seemed like you were the one doing the rubbing. And the teasing.”

“You liked it.”

“No. I was playing a part. I was picturing Jordan from Copper the entire time.”

He growls out a noise. Ire-tinged exasperation. But it’s quickly replaced by an arrogant smirk. “Too bad you won’t be able to see him anymore.”

I narrow my eyes.

“You didn’t hear? Jordan was dispatched on a last-minute assignment. Headed for Red Post. Who knows when he’ll return. The post could last months. Years, even.”

My jaw drops. “You sent him away?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because he touched you this morning.”

I’m not supposed to be attracted to men like this. Possessive. Cocky. Ruthless. Yet the notion that I’d succeeded in triggering his jealousy sends a thrill shooting through me.

“You were jealous,” I say.

“Yes. It’s not an emotion I enjoy.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re not.”

“You’re right. I’m not.”

I grip the edge of the desk with both hands and slide up to sit on it. Cross’s gaze lowers to where my dress is riding up.

“How did you get burned?” he surprises me by asking.

“A pot of boiling water fell on me when I was little. Accident.”

“That must’ve been painful.” His voice is oddly gentle.

“Excruciating.”

He nods, still watching me. His gaze slides from my thighs to the swell of my breasts beneath my neckline.

I like the way he looks at me. I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t help it. My heart has never pounded this hard for anyone.

A strangled sound escapes his throat. “Darlington.”

“What?”

“I’m so hot for you, I can’t think straight anymore.”

I know the feeling.

“I thought you don’t get involved with recruits,” I remind him.

“I don’t.”

He moves closer, until there’s only an arm’s length keeping us apart. I could reach out and touch him if I wanted. I could yank him toward me and give in to the palpable desire. Mutual desire, because if his strained expression is any indication, he’s experiencing the same suffocating need.

“I’ve never jeopardized my post to fuck around.” He shoves a hand through his hair, dragging it away from his forehead. “I don’t get jealous of low-level asswits from Copper.”

I have to bite my lip to stop a laugh.

“I wanted to tear his hand off for touching you. I want to rip Sutler’s eyes out for looking at you.”

The feral glint in his eyes sends my pulse careening again. I remember the unpleasant sensation in my chest when I broke into his quarters and found him in bed with Ms. Shiny Hair.

And I’m starting to wonder…maybe it’s better to get it out of our systems. Face the tension head-on, surrender to it, and then it will dissipate. Then I’ll be able to use my brain again without constantly thinking about this guy.

“Once,” I burst out.

He blinks. “Once what?”

“I’m going to let you have it once. One time. Right here, right now.”

Heat flares in his eyes.

“And then when I walk out the door, it’s over. It’s out of our systems. It doesn’t happen again.”

Silence falls as Cross considers my proposal. I find myself wishing, desperately, that he didn’t affect me the way he does. But try as I might, I can’t ignore the magnetic pull, the way his gaze strips away the layers of my defenses.

In that fleeting moment, surrender seems inevitable.

I lick my lips and that’s it. He stalks toward me, pushing my thighs open so he can step between them, and brings his body flush to mine. He thrusts one hand in my hair and tugs on the brown strands, forcibly tipping my head back.

I gasp, my fingers clutching at his shirt, my body arching against his in a silent plea for more. A faint smile touches his lips as he pulls me closer, his hands trailing down my spine in a lazy glide that belies the fire in his eyes. He leans forward, his mouth approaching mine, teasingly, a heart-pounding, painstakingly slow trajectory that makes me whimper with impatience.

His smile widens.

“Stop teasing,” I grumble.

His breath mingles with mine as our lips brush against each other in a fleeting caress. Meanwhile, his hands continue to roam, skimming my waist, scraping over my arms. Each touch sends sparks dancing along my skin. But it’s not enough. I crave more.

With an irritated curse, I yank on his shirt and press my lips against his. Firm and insistent.

“You win,” he mumbles before kissing me the way I demand to be kissed.

His tongue is hot and skillful, slicking over mine, drawing a moan from my throat. He swallows the desperate sound and deepens the kiss into something raw and primal. His teeth sting my bottom lip before that greedy tongue plunges inside my mouth again.

He kisses with the kind of intensity that leaves me breathless. And his hands aren’t idle while he destroys me with his lips. He cups my breasts over my dress, squeezing, toying. The bra I’m wearing is so flimsy that his thumbs have no trouble teasing my nipples into two tight, throbbing buds.

I whimper against his lips, and he wrenches his mouth away to mutter, “Tell me not to stop.”

I couldn’t stop this now if I tried. All rational thought has fled my mind. The world has melted away, and my entire being has been reduced to more. I want more.

“Don’t stop,” I whisper.

Without warning, I’m off the desk and on my feet, being spun around as he bends me over. Cross bunches the material of my dress in one fist and drags it upward to expose my backside. One warm palm smooths over the curve of one cheek.

My skin breaks out in shivers when he eases my underwear down my legs. I kick it away. Holding my breath. Waiting for his next move.

I gasp when his hands return to squeeze my ass.

“Perfect,” he rasps. “I wanted this from the second you were underneath me at the inn.” He grinds himself against me. I can feel every inch of him. “Should’ve taken you then.”

“I wasn’t yours for the taking.” My voice comes out breathier than I intend.

“Yes, you were. If I did this…” He brings his hand between my legs, and my whole body clenches for him. “Would you have stopped me?” He teases the warm, swollen flesh that is aching for him. “Or would you have begged for more?”

He slips his finger inside and I moan with abandon.

That makes him chuckle. “Begged,” he concludes.

He adds a second finger, thrusting both inside me in a slow, agonizing tempo. His lips find my shoulder, kissing, tasting, and when he nips at my skin, it elicits a pain-tinged jolt of pleasure that makes me gasp. I push back against his exploring fingers, needing more. My body throbs in a silent plea for release.

“I like you like this.” His taunt heats the back of my neck. “Bent over. At my mercy.”

I swallow the moisture that floods my mouth. “Are there cameras in here?”

That gets me a chuckle. “No.” He withdraws his fingers to tease my opening. “But goddamn do I wish there were.”

I’m too mindless to respond. Pleasure dances through me each time those talented fingers fill me. And each time they retreat, I shake with desperation. Still he drags it out, moving his fingers in, out, unhurried, unbearable, and when I finally can’t take it anymore, I twist around and growl at him.

“Stop. Teasing.”

“Make me.”

Arrogant bastard. I grab the bottom of his shirt and shove it up, practically ripping it off his torso. His chest, golden muscles and sculpted sinew, almost makes me whimper again. I run my palms over it, and he hisses out a breath, capturing one of my hands. He curls his fingers around mine. Tightly. For a second, I think he’s going to stop me from touching him.

He does the opposite.

Keeping his gaze locked to mine, he drags my hand down the defined ridges of his abdomen until we reach his waistband.

“Undo my pants.”

God. He’s exactly what I hoped he would be. Commanding. Potent. Our eyes remain locked as I ease his zipper down, as I reach between the flaps of his trousers, slide my hand inside, find the thick, throbbing length of him. When I wrap my fingers around him, he betrays the first sign that he’s not as in control as he lets on. His throat dips in a hard swallow. His chest rises on a ragged breath. I squeeze him, and he responds by thrusting into my fist.

I enjoy the choked, distressed noise he makes when I release him, but it’s only so I can peel my dress off and undo my bra. Cross devours my naked body with his hot gaze, one hand coming out to toy with my breast, tease the nipple. His other hand shoves his trousers off.

I grip him again, anticipation building in my core, swelling, rising. His gaze lowers to the apex of my thighs, to the place that’s aching for him. His eyelids grow heavy. Tongue comes out to lick his lower lip. Then, with a hint of a smile, he moves my hand away and takes over, guiding his cock between my legs and pushing the broad head inside.

We both groan at that first contact. He watches me adjust to him, his lips hovering over mine, and just when I part my lips to inhale, he’s kissing me again. Hot and reckless, while his hips drive forward. While he fills me, again and again. Deep. Hard.

I wrap my legs around his waist and hang on for the ride. He feels so good, but it’s still not close enough. I need more. Always more. I shove at the maps littering the tabletop and fall back on my elbows, pulling him down with me.

Laughing his approval, he covers me with his body, his full weight crushing me to the table. He fucks me harder, hips flexing, face buried in my neck. He’s making sounds that heat my blood and make me tremble. Low, husky moans in my ear. A hiss of breath. A strangled grunt when I scratch my fingernails down his muscular back.

“ Yes, ” he groans.

I suddenly remember him taunting me all those weeks ago.

I like it rough.

So I drag my nails over him again and enjoy the way he shudders.

My excitement falters when he runs his palm over the thick, raised scars crisscrossing my thigh. With a pang of self-consciousness, I move his hand to my other thigh. Smooth and unblemished.

“This one feels nicer,” I say lightly.

“Every part of you feels nice, Dove,” he whispers in my ear.

His lips capture mine again as he slows the pace. Pinpricks of pleasure move like static electricity through my body. For one reckless moment, I’m tempted to open a path and check if his shield is lowered, to find a crack in it and slide in, find out if he’s telling the truth, if this feels as good to him as it does to me. But I banish the impulse. Even if his mind was open for the reading, I don’t think I want to know. I just want to feel.

“I’m close,” I tell him, rising up to meet his thrusts.

“Yeah?” His lips find my neck again. “Let me get you there.”

Those clever fingers move between our bodies to find the tight bud that’s pulsing in time to my heartbeat. He rubs circles over it, while his body continues to move, his cock easing out and then driving deep. The tingling starts in my core, taunting me, gathering into a knot and then twisting tighter and tighter until the tension becomes unbearable.

The moment Cross’s tongue fills my mouth, the moment I hear him moan, the knot detonates into an explosion of pleasure. I cry out, squeezing my eyes shut as the climax rips through me. I’m vaguely aware of his fingers digging into my hip, his low groan as he finds his own release.

We’re both breathing hard. His body collapses onto mine as we lie naked in the middle of the table, coming down from the high.

A high that evaporates so fast it gives me whiplash.

What have I done?

He’s the General’s son.

The shame that floods my body is so unexpected, I almost start to cry. There’s reckless. And then there’s this.

I’m not worried about pregnancy. All female citizens of fertile age get their yearly injections, a mandate the General implemented about a decade ago. We need to report to the Company when we’re interested in starting a family. I’m worried about my judgment. My morality. My fucking soul.

What the hell.

Have I done.

I suddenly feel sick. And then I feel even worse when he withdraws and another rush of pleasure ripples through my body. I feel empty without him. I feel the need rising again.

“Wren.”

He so rarely says my name that it startles me to hear it.

“Did I hurt you?” His voice is husky, his expression concerned.

“No. I’m good.”

I scramble off the table, searching for my discarded clothing. He watches for a beat as I get dressed, then reaches for his own pants. I do my best not to look at him. I can’t get distracted by his naked body. I can’t allow myself to… want again.

“I meant what I said,” I tell him.

“And what was that?”

“When I walk out the door, this doesn’t happen again. So I hope you got it out of your system.”

“Did you?” He tips his head, pensive.

I meet his eyes and say, “Yes.”

—

When I return to the barracks, I head directly to the lav. I should take a shower, but I don’t want to wash him off me. I can still taste him.

I’m startled to find Bryce at the sinks. She’s changed out of her skimpy dress into a long-sleeved white sleep shirt and gray cotton pants.

She glances at my reflection in the mirror. “How did it go?”

I nod. “Good. You?”

“It was…” She smiles. “Exhilarating.”

Swallowing, I shift my gaze away from hers. “Yes. It was.”