Page 75 of Tracked and Taken

Her hand at the back of my neck. Fingers finding the shorter hair there, gripping as if she has been planning the grip for days. She pulls me down to her. Her mouth on mine is not the airlock kiss. The airlock was permission. The bunk, an hour ago, was an interruption. This is demand.

Her teeth at my lower lip.

Hard enough to mark if her teeth had my anatomy. I groan into her mouth. My cock, which never fully went down after Flossie called, goes rigid against her hip.

“Vosk—“

The word on a breath. I catch it on the next kiss and let it go. I want my name. I am going to make her give it to me.

Her hands at the hem of my shirt. My shirt is off my head before my own hands have caught up with the plan. Her palm flat on my chest. Her fingers tracing the rosette at my sternum, the one she patched two days ago, and then down the line of my abdomen to the band of my pants. She cups me through the fabric. Squeezes once. My hips jerk.

“Tael.”

“Sweetheart.”

The small not-right of a human tongue trying to shape the Draelith consonant at the middle of my name. Not broken. Her consonant. The way she says it.

Remember this, the back of my brain says.

I do not let the thought finish.

My discipline — the thing that has held the line since her office — cracks on the syllable.

Her fingers working my buckle open. Efficient. The deft competence of a Head of Station Security who has handled this piece of clothing personally. My buckle clicks. Her palm goes under the fabric, wraps around me bare, and her eyes widen and her hand stills on me for two seconds.

“You—“

“I know, Natalie.”

“You are—“

“I know.”

“Big.”

The smirk on my mouth is the most unbearable smirk I have ever deployed on a female.

“I am built for you, sweetheart. Thick. Ridged. Going to stretch you until you forget how to run a station.”

“Oh.”

“Good girl.”

It falls out of me — low, against her mouth, the gravel at the bottom of my register. The word I gave her in this corridor an hour ago because she demanded it. Not demanded this time. Given. Her pupils blow wide anyway. Her pulse at the hollow of her throat jumps. Her whole body, pressed against mine at the console, answers it. Her hand tightens around my cock.

Her mouth opens on a small sound. “Oh.”

“You liked that. You liked being called good while you had your hand on my cock.”

“Shut up, Tael.”

“Noted. Keep stroking.”

“And kiss me.”

“Noted, sweetheart.”

I kiss her. Filthy. Tongue and canine and the sound she makes when I suck her lower lip into my mouth. She strokes me once, twice, and I have to lock my jaw against coming in her hand like an unbonded adolescent.