Chapter 21

Lorran:

Lorran made a list of all he needed to accomplish. Patrolling ships needed to be on alert for Caldar. He needed to arrange transport back to the Judgment. Arrangements had to be made for Saavi.

“Right, we’re going to have sex and you’re going to bite me,” Wyn said when they returned to their room.

Lorran’s mind halted at her words, dumping all other thoughts. “Yes?”

“Oh yes, having a gun waved around in my face made me realize that life is short. There’s never going to be a perfect time.” She twisted a curl around a finger in that way she did when nervous. “I know you wanted to wait and for it to be special, but it’ll be special because it’s you. I’m sorry if I’m being pushy but—”

He took her hand. “I thought I lost you.”

“I was too angry to be scared, but now it’s catching up with me. Oh my God, he had a gun. In my face.” She took a shaky breath. “Why am I freaking out now? It’s over.”

“The adrenaline is wearing off. Sit. A beverage will help.” He guided her to the ridiculously small table and prepared tea. The selection that came with the room was not ideal but, as his mate said, the perfect situation would never arrive. For a few terrible minutes, he thought he lost her.

He would embrace this experience fully.

With the tea poured, Lorran changed the viewscreen away from the planet to open space. Starlight twinkled on a black expanse.

He had Wyn move chairs so her back was to the window. As he sat, he realized that for all he thought about this moment, he hadn’t thought about what he would do or say. He planned the robes, the placement of the cups, and starlight behind his mate, but even that was a shadowy figure.

Lorran realized he was completely unprepared.

He hadn’t thought about what his mate would be like. Those details remained a blank in all his plans. Warriors had no say in choosing their mates. A male waited with as much patience as possible for a match to be found. There was little point in listing desired qualities. He could only control himself, his expectations, and focus on being a worthy mate.

Wyn held up her cup and sniffed at the tea.

How could he imagine anyone as interesting, warm, and talented as his Wyn? As lovely? As soft? Or the unexpected strength in her body and her spirit? Or that laugh.

Yes, her laughter was his favorite part.

“What’s that look for?” she asked.

“Simply admiring my mate.”

She made a doubtful noise but asked, “So we drink?”

“Yes. It is not the traditional blend.” Lorran raised his cup. “That might be to our benefit. I am told it is foul.”

Wyn eyed her own cup. “Traditionally you both drink something gross? Is that a metaphor about marriage?”

“I suspect the tea has properties that mask any pain from the claiming mark.”

His mate paled. “Right. Bitey tea time.”

“I dare you to drink it,” he said.

“You dare me?” Her eyes sparkled. “What do I win if I drink this all in one go?”

He spread his hands wide, indicating himself.

Wyn’s laugh filled the room. She swirled her cup once, then downed it in one gulp. “A bit weak. Floral tones. Not what I’d pick, but not bad for hotel brew. Now, my brawny prize, it’s your turn. One go. I dare you.”

“My prize?”

She tossed her hair over one shoulder, exposing her neck.

He couldn’t refuse such a prize and barely tasted the weak tea as he swallowed.

“Good. Now, there’s something I want to do.” She bit her bottom lip, as if uncertain.

“Then I want to do the same,” he said.

Her eyes sparkled, and delight bloomed on her face. He didn’t care what she wanted; he’d gladly comply if the thought of it brought her that much joy.

“Get undressed and stay there,” she said.

Lorran complied, but rather than observe and admire his disrobing, Wyn disappeared into the cleansing room. Well, whatever his mate had planned, he assumed they would be in the same room.

“I suspect we are doing it wrong,” he called after her.

“Oh, hush,” she said, emerging with a small, flat metal box and a brush. She set the items on the table and rinsed out a cup with plain water.

Lorran inspected the box. Inside was a row of paint tubes and a built-in tray. “Paint?”

“The shop ordered this for me yesterday, since I didn’t know how long we’d be here. I want to paint you,” she said, while stripping the bed of its linens. They landed in a heap on the floor and she spread a plain cloth over the bare mattress.

“I am flattered, but I had other plans in mind.”

“No, I want to paint you.” Wyn returned and plucked the brush from his hands. She tickled the brush across his skin. His tattoos flared to life.

Him? As the canvas?

Yes, yes, yes.

“Tell me, how worried are you about the security deposit on the room? Because this is going to be messy,” she said.

“I like messy,” he said, breathless.

Wyn:

Reverently, they undressed each other. Lorran no longer fumbled with hooks and threatened to tear her clothes off—while hot, not okay when she literally had one pair of clothes. She mastered the act of opening his weird space pants that had no zipper but a smart latch that parted if she stroked just right. Her finger brushed over his hardening cock, appreciating the firmness through the fabric.

Just right.

Naked herself, she circled around Lorran, taking in his form from all sides. He turned his head to follow, an amused smile on his face, but he remained in place. He might have flexed his butt. She might have given it an appreciative slap.

He growled and she wagged a finger. “Stay. I’m considering my medium.”

He was…she just couldn’t heap enough praise on him. All hard angles and firm muscle, Lorran was gorgeous. That couldn’t be denied, but there was more to him than just physical attractiveness. She had feared he wouldn’t look beyond her own body and discount her, and here she was stuck on that V-cut that ran down to his groin, because yeah. Wow.

He had a good heart and a playful soul that radiated out of him.

“Oh my God, stop showing off,” she said when he flexed his arms.

“I do not know what you mean. This is how I stand.” He held his arms out and brought his hands together in a classic bodybuilder pose. One foot stretched out to a point, and he shifted his weight.

Wyn laughed, and his eyes narrowed, watching her with a look of hunger and a flash of fangs.

“Stay there.” She turned to fetch her paint box and yelped when a firm hand smacked her on the ass, not hard but enough to shock her. “Hey!”

He laughed, not even trying to deny the smack. “You dared me.”

“I did not.” She rubbed her behind. It no longer stung, but he didn’t need to know that.

“Bronwyn, you ordered me to remain and then presented an irresistible morsel. I am only a simple male. I could not resist.”

A morsel? That was…unexpected and nice. She liked the idea of being his morsel.

Tattoos ran up his arms and across his shoulders, and a few decorated his hips and thighs. They glowed soft, silvery, and seemed to flare brighter as she examined them.

“Do your tattoos have a specific meaning?” She had never asked, despite him asking for the story behind her own magpie tattoos.

“What does this one mean?” she asked, brushing a finger along the design near his wrist. It flared brighter at her touch.

“My family name and a wish to honor my ancestors. See, my father’s name. My father’s father.” His free hand guided her along the swirling path.

“And this?” Her hand lifted to his pectoral.

“My first battle, when I truly became a warrior.” Again, his free hand guided hers along the path. “It was on Earth. I was fresh out of the Academy and sent to serve with my brother.”

Wyn wondered if they had ever crossed paths on Earth. Probably not, though she’d like to think she’d recognize Lorran if they had.

“Your skin is a lovely canvas,” she said. The open paint box revealed a row of slender paint tubes and a metal pan. “Tempera paint. Water soluble. It’ll wash off,” she explained.

“You have put much thought into your plan,” he said, watching her squirt globs of paint into the pan.

“It’s an idea I’ve had for a while, but the opportunity never came up.” She didn’t particularly want to tell Lorran that her ex wouldn’t indulge her fantasy, citing the mess and the waste of perfectly good paint. All valid points, so she didn’t press and filed away the idea.

“You have never done this before?” His eyes sparkled and his tattoos seemed to glow brighter.

“No. Never.”

“Then we will share a first together.”

She focused on the paint pan, blushing furiously. “I don’t know how you can be sweet and filthy at the same time.”

“Talent and raw charisma.”

Wyn laughed at his lopsided grin, the real one that had just a bit of fang peeking out.

Satisfied at the variety of color in the pan, she dipped the brush in and swirled. Holding up the brush, she considered it against his chest, then tossed the tool aside.

“I want to feel you,” she said, before dipping her fingers in the paint. Starting with the deep indigo, she rolled her index finger in the paint pan, gathering up as much pigment as possible.

“Lower your head.” Mixing white and indigo to match his eyes, her paint-covered fingers reached for his horns. He hesitated. “Is this okay? If you don’t want paint on your horns, I understand.”

“No,” he said, his tone unsure. “You are certain this is water-soluble?”

“Yes. This was replicated from an Earth…recipe? Is that the right word? Anyway, I asked for this kind of paint because it is easy to clean and wash off, even when it’s dry. I just thought the blue would look nice on your horns.”

“Some males decorate their horns. It is fashionable,” he said.

She heard the unspoken, But not a warrior. “No worries.” She stroked a finger along his ear, highlighting the shell in blue.

“Proceed.” He lowered his head and squeezed his eyes closed, as if anticipating pain.

“You are ridiculous,” she muttered.

“If my sacrifice will please my mate, then I must endure. Do it. While I have my courage.”

“Screw your courage to the sticking place,” she said, because nothing was hotter than quoting Macbeth while naked and covered in paint. Don’t be jelly.

Her fingers caressed the tips of his horns, working blue paint over the ridges and into the crevices.

“There.” She stepped back to admire her handiwork. Lorran gave an overly wide smile, all fangs and streaks of color on his face. The blue highlighted the twisty texture of his horns and made his eyes even more intense. “I can see why it’s fashionable. You look good.”

Her hands skimmed over his chest, and she felt him rumble with satisfaction.

Paint smudged over the inked design on his bicep, catching his natural glow and shimmering blue. She worked her way up his arm, adding green and violet. Each color was a new finger, a strategy that continued until her digits were a rainbow. Then her work spread to his chest and shoulders. She continuously circled around him, studying the way the light hit the paint.

Her hands drifted across his stomach, leaving a smeared spectrum. Her world narrowed to color and sensation. Paint and touch. Gasps and murmurs.

Inch by inch, Lorran transformed into a swirling mass of color.

She reached his hips and sank down to her knees. His cock, hard and begging for attention, was front and center. A deeper, darker lavender, the color there was already lovely, and she didn’t know how the sensitive skin would react to the watercolor paint.

“No sense in gilding a lily,” she said and leaned in to lick the head. The salty flavor of his precum lingered on her tongue.

Lorran groaned, bucking his hips toward her.

She planted her hands on his thighs, digging her fingers in, and left a kaleidoscope behind. She pressed her thighs together, aching but not quite ready yet.

“My turn,” he said, pulling her to her feet. He took the paint box and cup from her and set them aside.

He considered her, eyes making steady progress but not lingering in any one place for long. Finally, he dipped his finger into the violet. Dragging his finger across her cheeks, he decorated her. He traced the column of her throat, his touch lingering at the curve. His hands, so gentle, circled her nipples and gave them a thorough licking.

He leaned back to study his work, then nodded.

Wyn reached for the paint box, not noticing what color she gathered until she left an indigo trail across Lorran’s stomach. He pulled her close, pressing their bodies together, mixing the paint. Hands explored and caressed, tracing and claiming. They were lips and soft breaths, kisses and licks. Gentle strokes grew more insistent, needing and wanting, heated. Somehow, he lifted her to the bed and rolled onto his back, settling her on his hips.

Wyn wiggled, feeling him at her entrance. Hands pressed on his chest, leaving twin violet imprints, she rose, and he reached under to guide himself in.

She gasped at the enormity of him. Her core stretched and burned as he slowly pushed his way in. She knew he was thick. She’d had him down her throat often enough to know, but it was one thing to wrap her hand around his cock and appreciate its girth and another to have it splitting her in two.

Lorran stroked her back, murmuring soft words of reassurance. She was beautiful and a joy and his. His. His. His.

“Mine,” he repeated, and she felt that down to the essence of her being.

She cautiously rocked forward, feeling every inch of him as those ridges reached places inside her. They moved together, a tangle of limbs and a continuous invocation of tender words.

He rolled her onto her back, knees over his shoulders. Steady thrusts grew erratic. She lifted her hips and there. Oh. There. Warm pleasure filled her to the point of bursting. She came with a surprised shout, oversensitive and unable to do anything but float on the wondrous feeling.

Lorran growled, deep. His eyes caught the light, and he lowered his face to her neck. He nuzzled in, licking and kissing and then biting. His cock twitched, once, twice, and emptied deep into her.

His teeth sank into her neck with a sharp sting. Already boneless, she relaxed, and the sting subsided in a matter of heartbeats.

Lorran stilled, cock buried in her and his mouth clamped over her neck. With a sigh, he eased his grip and licked the tender flesh.

“Did I injure you?” he asked.

She tugged on his horns, moving his face to hers. Yellow and violet smeared across his mouth. A kiss was not enough. She wanted to drink all of him in. “No, but we wrecked these sheets.”

“Good. I enjoyed this. We will do it again,” he said.

Wyn squeezed her thighs, trapping Lorran. Doing it again sounded brilliant.

“Maybe a shower,” she said. “Practice makes perfect.”

They practiced in the shower and again in the mysteriously clean bed.