Collision Course by Zoe Archer Page B

As soon as he was satisfied with her cleanliness and his own, he shut off the shower and toweled them both off.
    He adjusted the lights in the room to low, then led her back to the bed. Still, he spoke not a word, not even when he lay back and opened his arms to her. The silence felt deep, profound, and she preserved it. As silent as he, she came onto the bed and straddled him.
    She held herself poised above him, the smooth, wide head of his cock just at her entrance. For a moment, they simply stared at one another, lost in each other’s eyes. Tension rolled from him, and she knew it took every microgram of his control to keep from surging up into her. Instead, he lay back, his hands on her waist, and waited.
    If he had controlled their last bout of making love, this was hers to command. He was hers to command. A giddy, vast sensation that she prolonged as long as she could endure.
    She could not endure much, wanting him too badly. She sank down onto him and gasped. He felt exactly right.
    They went slowly, as slow as they had been fast before. Learning each other. Feeling the slide of skin to skin. His hardness. Her pliancy. Without intending to, their breathing synched, so they moaned together, drew air together. She felt herself floating, in her own orbit of sensation and pleasure.
    This was new. This was different. She usually liked her sex fast and rough. Here, she and Kell created new worlds through deliberate, languorous movement. She wanted it to go on forever.
    Her body had other demands. She could not stop herself from moving faster, taking him deeper and harder into her. His hips rose to meet hers, and his eyes closed as he became forged metal beneath her. Their gentle breaths changed to ragged panting.
    She shifted so that her clit ground against him with each thrust. Fire shot through her, and then, arching back, she came in a dizzying, obliterating storm.
    Groaning, he surged upward with his release. She watched him, feeling him empty into her, and through the haze of her own satiation, she saw that he was tough and beautiful.
    They fell asleep this way, with her atop him, his body still within hers. Peace and safety cloaked them. Yet here was another illusion. Everything was danger, chance—the mission, the feelings between her and Kell. Questions and risks. Sleep was a temporary balm, yet nothing could ever truly withstand the perilous uncertainty that loomed like encroaching shadow.





Chapter Seven
    He’d expected she would be beautiful in sleep. He was correct. Ambient light from the restless, lurid city filtered into the room. It traced the curves of her body, the angles of her face, finding a kind of poetry. He watched her sleep and wondered what she dreamed about—lost palaces, maybe, or sheltered courtyards. But she mumbled and stirred, her brow creased, her hands tightening into fists. If she dreamed of her former life as a princess, the dreams were not pleasant.
    A remembrance lingered darkly in his mind. Once, an 8 th Wing pilot had been captured by PRAXIS. Kell had led the rescue mission. By the time they’d gotten to the pilot, the man had been tortured—Telemian leeches. Black Wraith Squad brought him back to base, but his torment hadn’t ended with the rescue. Months went by before the rescued pilot could sleep without being restrained. Without the restraints, the pilot would have torn the skin from his body. Every psych protocol was used to finally cleanse him of the memories.
    Mara did not have to be restrained, yet, as she slept, she wrestled with memories painful enough to make her gasp and writhe. Her hands knotted into protective fists, warding off unseen enemies.
    “What have you endured, Mara?” he whispered.
    She did not answer, mired deeply in sleep.
    He hated to think about it. Hated to think how brutal her education had been.
    As she twisted and muttered, Kell drew her into his arms. “Come here, princess.”
    At once, she quieted. But his thoughts did not. He dozed,