Page 41 of Tempting Cargo

Garrison’s voice was warm but unyielding, like a rock face warmed by the sun. “You don’t run away.”

I was prepared this time. I knew what to expect, knew what I was going to feel. I was ready for it.

“Maybe I do run, but this time you catch me.” I punctuated my words with the press of my body, telling him it was okay with the soft rumble in my voice.

I didn’t tell him about the traditional kri’ith courting ritual, that even in my staid society we threw off propriety for the symbolic yet animalistic chase, often ending in fighting, snarling, the constant battle for dominance between lovers.

I didn’t tell him that, on Orith, it was only done as a formal mateship ritual.

All other kri’ith did it whenever they pleased; I was Orithian in name only—and right now, I pleased.

“If you can drop me, you can have me.” My voice was a velvety purr.

Desire flared in his eyes, in the rise and fall of his chest, in the nudge of his hard cock where our bodies met.

I leaned in and caught his soft, full lips with mine. Relief at the familiar, longed-for taste of him rushed into all the hollow spaces inside me, and my body flooded with need.

Garrison answered with a moan, gasping as I invaded his mouth with my thick tongue, just as his smaller one fought back.

I pulled away, panting, and breathed into his ear. “Imagine how good my tongue will feel wrapped around your cock.”

He sank against the wall, eyes rolling back as I palmed the thick length behind his trousers.

“Catch me, Garrison,” I murmured.

I sliced my arms down between his. His hands fell from my hips, and I sprinted for the training room, determined to get it right this time, to sweep away the memories of last time.

He launched himself after me, his growl sending flutters of delicious adrenaline streaking through my desire.

I barely got through the training room door before he was on me. We tumbled to the mats in a tangle of limbs and grunts and grappling for something neither of us wanted to keep out of reach.

The fight sang in my bones, channeling my anger and frustration into action until it was sated.

Garrison used my pause to his advantage. He powered me onto my back until he loomed over me, chest heaving.

His dark eyes gazed deep into mine, flicked to my mouth. “Last chance, Shohari,” he gritted out. “I can—”

I wrenched an arm free and dragged his face to mine, crushing our lips together. His tongue was mobile and eager, and I sucked on it greedily, holding it lightly with my teeth.

His needy moan reverberated into my mouth.

I flipped us over and straddled him. He shuddered, grinding his cock against me, the tangle of our tongues and lips and teeth messy and desperate. I rocked my clit across his hard length, the throbbing in my cunt the only thing I could focus on.

My words fanned over his lips. “Tell me to get off. Or I might not be able to stop.”

“I don’t want you to stop. I want you, Shohari.” His pupils were blown wide, the desire on his face so beautiful I wanted to capture this image and remember it forever. I craved him like I needed chrya in the morning; I needed him hot, and ready, andnow.

I forced myself to break the kiss, stripping off my tunic, savouring his gasp and longing stare. My breasts fell free, the tips swollen and puffy with arousal, as hungry for touch as my cunt.

As I peeled off my leggings, he ate me up with his eyes, as though he needed to devour me, or needed me to devour him.

Yes.

That.

I needed to consume him.

Wetness coated my thighs, and my clit throbbed. Much as I loved his staring at me, now was not the time.