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His hard, angular face wore an expression of feral hunger, yet his strong hands were careful and warm as he stripped away her trousers.
Zarifa shivered. She could feel herself tightening, growing slick and eager.
Finally he stepped back and just looked, towering over her with that blatant male lust in his eyes.
Zarifa licked her lips. “You’re still dressed.”
He lifted a dark brow. “Does my mistress command me to strip?”
Her mouth felt dry as sand. “I want to see you.”
“You saw me.” His gaze went a little distant.
Naked. Collared. Humiliated. “No. I want to see you as you are.”
It was the right thing to say. A faint smile curled his lips as he reached for the seal of his cuirass.
Zarifa watched, aching, as he removed each piece and set it aside with a warrior’s care for his equipment. She caught her breath at what he revealed: the long flex and play of his torso as he bent, the powerful bunch of biceps and triceps, the ripple of thigh and calf.
And the thick jut of his cock, brash and male and eager. There was nothing subservient in that demanding thrust, in its long satin length, flushed dark rose with need. His balls were full and drawn delightfully tight, dusted in the same silken hair that snaked in a line up his belly to form a cloud over his chest.
“You’re beautiful.” The words escaped her without her conscious intent.
A flash of discomfort lit his eyes, but instead of denying it, he inclined his head. “Thank you.”
She couldn’t help but smile. “I know this isn’t the first time a woman’s told you how handsome you are.”
He grinned. “Well, no. But I have noticed they’re always naked at the time.”
“So they’re, what? Under the influence of your powers of seduction?”
“Something like that.” Rance moved closer to the pilot’s seat and dropped to his knees. “I have a face like a z-boxer, and I know it.”
Before she could object to the description, he caught her ankles and draped them over his brawny shoulders. Zarifa gaped, bracing on her elbows to look at him. “What are you…?”
“What do you think?” He dipped his head with a white and wolfish grin. The first dancing stroke of his tongue across her outer lips almost catapulted her out of the pilot’s chair.
Even as she cried out, he did something to the chair controls, leaning the seat back while keeping the leg rest tucked tight. Then he scooped his long fingers under her backside and lifted her into his mouth.
And feasted.
There was really no other word for the slick dance of his tongue over and around her inner flesh, for the way his teeth gently caught her clit, her labia.
Her first lover had attempted to give her this pleasure, but it hadn’t felt anything like this. Delight seared her with every wet tongue flick, each lazy circle and stroke. Her legs tightened convulsively over his back. He made a low, rough sound of satisfaction.
Something probed her opening, slid inside. She writhed, gasping helplessly, her hands grabbing for him, fingers tangling in the thick silk of his hair. He pumped that single finger deeper and swirled his tongue around her clit, laughing deep in his throat as she yelped.
“How’s that, mistress?” There was just a trace of mockery in that last word, but Zarifa didn’t care.
“Oh, sweet Lady!” She clenched her eyes shut against the storming pleasure. “More!”
“Your wish”—he nibbled gently—“is my command.”
As he slowly plunged a finger in and out in that maddening tease, his free hand found her breast, cupped her in warm strength, tugged and stroked her nipples. Pleasure rushed through her in a burning tide that had her muscles twitching. She tightened her grip on his hair, clinging. Drowning.
And intoxicated.
Rance loved the way she felt writhing against his mouth, her long, slender body arching under his hands.
