Page 109 of Pocket Wife

“Lucy—”

“I need you.” Her voice breaks. “I need something that is not this.”

I kneel before her, my hands on her knees. “Open your eyes for me.”

She does.

“You are not only possible in crisis,” I say. “You are possible in every moment. This moment. The one after. The ones Helix cannot touch.”

Her breath catches.

I rise to kiss her again, and this time I let myself be less careful. My hands work the fastening of her jacket, pushing it from her shoulders. The fabric falls away, and I pull her closer, my mouth tracing the line of her jaw, the curve of her throat, the hollow where her pulse beats wild and fast. She tilts her head back, giving me more access, and I take it.

Lucy’s fingers work at the fastenings of my tunic, impatient and trembling. “You wear too many layers.”

“Pi’rell formal attire is designed for dignity, not convenience.”

“Then lose the dignity.”

I pull the tunic over my head and let it fall to the floor. Her hands find my chest immediately, tracing the bioluminescent patterns that have risen to the surface of my skin, glowing faintly in the dim storage room light.

“You glow for me,” she says.

“Only for you.”

She presses her palm flat against my chest, right over my heart, and the bond hums between us. “I can feel you through this.”

“Yes.”

“Is it always this intense?”

“Only with you.”

Lucy pulls me closer, and my mouth finds hers again, deeper this time, hungrier. My hands find the fastening of her trousers, and she lifts her hips to help me, the fabric sliding down her thighs. I break the kiss to look at her.

The bruises are still there. The marks of the crash. The evidence of everything Helix tried to take from her. But beneath the damage, she is beautiful in a way that has nothing to do with symmetry or convention. She is fierce and alive and choosing me.

“You are staring,” she says.

“I am memorizing.”

“That is a terrible pickup line.”

“Which is why it is true.”

Her laugh breaks into a gasp as I press my mouth to the bruise near her collarbone, kissing it gently, reverently, before my lips trail lower. She arches into me, her fingers tangling in my hair, and I hear the small, desperate sounds she makes as I explore her skin.

“Rethan,” she breathes.

“Tell me what will help.”

She pulls me up to kiss her, her hands working my trousers loose. “I need you. All of you. Right now.”

My protest dies as her fingers close around my cock, stroking, learning the shape of me. I groan, my forehead dropping to her shoulder, and the bond flares bright with shared desire. She is warm and sure, her grip firm as she explores every ridge and length of me.

“Lucy—”

“I know what I want.” Her eyes hold mine, dark with need. “Do you want this too?”