Charlotte Boyett-Compo- WIND VERSE- Prisoners of the Wind (11 page)

Turning away from the reservation desk, Taegin led his lady
back to the elevator.

“Did you plan that?” she asked, her eyes narrowed.

“Contrary to popular belief, wench,” he said, “I do not
control everything on this ship.”

As the elevator took them down to the docking level, Marin
suspected she’d been outmaneuvered, but it didn’t seem to matter. He was still
holding her hand—seemingly unwilling to allow her to leave his side—and she
could feel the heat of his body beside her.

“Besides,” he said, as though there had not been several
minutes of silence between them, “we’ll have more privacy on the
Folaithe.
”

“They’ll still know where you are,” she reminded him.

“True, but if anyone—
anyone
—dares to interrupt me
tonight, they’ll spend the next twenty cycles doing hard labor on Toxis,” he
said through clenched teeth.

Marin was even surer she’d been bamboozled when she found
out the
Folaithe
was fueled and ready to go, its engines idling. She
cast the Tiogar a bemused look but said nothing as he instructed his crew that
under no circumstances save that of impending loss of life or ship were they to
hail him once he was onboard the
Folaithe.

Once seated inside the expensive runabout, Marin buckled her
safety harness and watched with admiration as Taegin expertly piloted the Fiach
class runabout into the soaring darkness of space.

“At last,” she heard him say. “We’re alone.”

Marin’s stomach did a strange little flip and she looked away
from his handsome profile to watch the asteroids flashing past. Her hands were
twisted together in her lap and she could feel the sweat on her palms, and knew
that she had left the Tiogar’s ship a girl and would surely return a woman.

Chapter Six

There was silence as Taegin maneuvered the
Folaithe
through
the cosmos. He was unbearably aware of Marin sitting beside him and kept
flicking his eyes toward her, watching her as she stared out the windshield.
His hands on the controls were sweating and a very uncomfortable rigidity had
claimed his tool so that it was becoming painful to continue sitting without
shifting to relieve the hardness of his cock. Under no circumstances did he
want to bring attention of his condition to Marin. He could sense her extreme
nervousness and he did not want to add to it.

“Did you feel anything when you were sending me those
images, milord Tiogar?” she asked softly, not looking at him but keeping her
eyes straight ahead.

Taegin’s head pivoted toward her as though attached to a
puppeteer’s strings. “Feel?” he repeated.

She nodded and caught her lower lip between her teeth.
“Aye,” she said, her voice even softer. “Did you feel anything?”

Did he
feel
anything? He repeated to himself. Aye, he
mentally answered the question. By the gods, he had spent an agony of arousal
each time he’d flung the wicked images at her. He’d experienced stimulations
that had actually been excruciating because he refused to relieve himself.

“Did you?” She turned her head toward him.

Drae swallowed before answering. “Aye, wench,” he said, his
voice gravelly. “I felt whatever you were feeling and then some.”

She tilted her head to one side. “You experienced the
arousal I felt?”

He felt the heat rising up his neck and his hands tightened
on the controls. “And then some,” he repeated.

“Did you enjoy that arousal?”

“No,” he said, and winced at the plaintive note in his vote.

“Why not?”

He turned to meet her eyes. “Because I did not think it
honorable that I should arouse you and leave you wanting then pleasure myself.
I was just as frustrated as you were, wench,” he stated. “And then some.” He
looked away from her.

She studied his profile, tracing it lovingly with her gaze.
It was a proud profile, a powerful side view of a powerful, imposing man.
Taegin Drae was classically handsome, virile and completely male. “Are you
going to take me tonight?” she asked, and her question was but a breath of
sound.

“As the gods are my witness, aye, wench,” he said through
clenched teeth. “If I don’t, my cock is going to explode.”

Her eyes dipped to the juncture of his thighs and she could
see the thick bulge that strained at his leather britches. She licked her lips,
unaware he had seen the gesture and that it was what caused the leap of his
shaft. Her face flamed and she jerked her eyes away. She could hear her labored
breathing and was barely aware that the man beside her was putting the runabout
on autopilot. She flinched when she realized he was standing beside her, his
hand out.

“Come, milady,” he said softly.

Despite her trembling, Marin managed to unbuckle her harness
and place her hand in his. She could feel their sweat mingling and laughed
self-consciously, meeting his amused look with one of her own.

“You’d think I was a green boy,” he told her as she got to
her feet. “If I break out in zits and start babbling incoherently, it’ll be
your fault.”

She was standing close to him—so close his body heat was
engulfing her and causing a firestorm of warmth in her lower belly. She lifted
her free hand and placed her palm on his cheek. “I don’t think a pimple would
dare attack your flesh, milord Tiogar,” she said, caressing him. “As for
babbling, I think not.”

Taegin was staring down into her eyes. She was taller than
Kali and so much more beautiful, it took his breath away. He pulled her to him
and slowly lowered his head, claiming her lips with his.

His kiss was a heady blend of the forbidden and the needed.
Marin found herself falling beneath waves of passion and clinging to him—her
arms now looped possessively around his neck. She was pressed so tightly to him
she could feel his belt buckle digging into her stomach. His arms were around
her like titanium steel bands, imprisoning her—an unbreakable bond that welded
them together. The velvet texture of his tongue had slipped past her lips and
was thrusting gently into her mouth, swirling around inside it and withdrawing
to lick delicately at the corners of her mouth—causing a ripple of sensation to
undulate through her loins. He was tasting her, feathering the tip of his
tongue across her upper lip and running that tip between her lower lip and her
teeth.

Marin felt her knees growing weak, giving out beneath her
and she sagged, only to have his arms sweep her up, holding her high against
his broad chest. In his arms, she felt dainty for the first time in life and
utterly cherished for the look in his eyes said he had taken possession of
her—heart and soul and soon, body.

He carried her to the rear of the runabout where two
wall-slung bunks hung across from one another. Lowering her gently to the
starboard bunk, he slid his arms from under her and reached up to loosen his
tie.

Marin could hear her heart pounding, running away with her,
and feel the dampness gathering between her legs. Her breath was erratic,
shallow as she watched him strip the tie from his collar, toss it away then
begin working open the buttons of the shirt. As the curly hairs of his chest
came into view, she moistened her suddenly dry lips with her tongue and stopped
breathing—as had he.

Taegin’s cock had oozed with undeniable lust when he saw her
tongue come out to lave her lips. It was all he could do to tug the tail of his
shirt from his britches and shrug it from his shoulders. His hands were
trembling as he unbuckled his belt and pulled it free of the loops.

“You are so beautiful,” he said, needing to break the
unbearable silence.

“I am pleased you think so,” she replied. Her gaze lowered
from his face to his hands as he flicked aside the buttons on his britches then
hooked his thumbs beneath the waistband to push the leather uniform pants down
his hips.

Drawing in a quick breath as his shaft leapt from the
lowering garment, Marin turned her head away, squeezing her eyes shut, but not
before she’d taken in the full extent of his erection. The boldness of his
cock, the jutting thrust of it as it sprang free of its confinement had sent a
tremor down her spine. He was huge, powerfully built with heavy veins rolling
along his length. The tip of his manhood was dusky and a drop of passion’s
juice clung to the tip. Her face burned as she thought of that pearly drop.

“Look at me, Marin,” he whispered, and leaned over her, his
palm flat against the bulkhead beside her.

Slowly she turned her head and stared up at him. His chest
was a broad plane of muscle, the pectorals looking as solid as rock. She could
feel the tip of his cock touching her hip.

“Do you want me to undress you this time?” he asked gently.

She nodded, unable to speak. She knew she’d never have the
courage or the strength to undress for him now. There were no bones in her
body, no sinews, no muscle. She was nothing more than a melting pool of
longing, desperately needing the touch of his hand to mold her.

Taegin hunkered down beside the cot. “Will you sit up for
me?” he asked.

As though she was in a dream, Marin pushed herself up and
allowed him to swing her legs from the cot. With infinite slowness, he lifted
her foot and took off her shoe then set it aside. With his eyes on hers, he
massaged her foot for a moment before letting it go to take off her other shoe and
putting it on the floor. He caressed that foot, kneaded her toes, and then
wedged himself between her thighs so that her knees were bracketing his waist
then he put his hands on the silky bodice of her gown and in one slow,
tantalizing motion ripped it straight down the front.

Marin looked down at the mound of rent material gathered
about her hips. “Oh,” she said, dismayed at the destruction of the lovely gown.

“Shush,” he said, soothing her. “I’ve a garment for you to
wear.”

“But it was so pretty,” she complained, plucking at the torn
garment.

“I’ll buy you more gowns than you will ever be able to
wear,” he promised.

She looked up from the gown to his handsome face and smiled
gently. “I’ll hold you to that, milord Tiogar.”

He smiled back at her then continued tearing the gossamer
gown from waist to hem then pushed it aside, baring her lovely body to his
fevered view. The soft beige color of the lacy strapless bra and matching
barely there panties made the blood pound in his head. His palms itched to place
his mouth to the deep cleavage that beckoned like a sweet, verdant valley,
bidding him to lay his head upon the soft vista. Not even noticing how his
hands shook, he reached to unhook the front closure of the bra and when the
tension of the lacy garment released, he let it slide from his fingers to the
floor of the craft.

Marin drew in a long, deep breath as he crouched there
staring at her chest. There was a fine line of perspiration that had formed on
his upper lip. His eyelids were half closed as he looked at her bare breasts.

“Lovely,” he whispered, and slid his hands to the sides of
her breasts to cup her gently.

The feel of his palms weighing her, hefting the fullness of
her sent shivers down Marin’s spine. His thumbs feathered over her nipples and
she moaned lightly, closing her eyes to the delicate touch. As his hands slid
downward, she opened her eyes and watched as he took one flimsy side strap and
ripped it. His fingers slid promisingly across her upper belly to the other
side and he parted that strap as well. With a dark brow crooked, he tugged at
the material that rested between her legs and she levered herself up, drawing
in her breath as the garment slid suggestively against the crack of her rump
and the soft folds of her vagina. By the time he dropped the torn panties to
the floor, she was nearly panting.

“Do you have another pair of panties in your bag of tricks,
milord?” she asked in a breathy voice.

“No,” he said, his eyes still glued on her nakedness, “but
what the hell do you need them for anyway?”

“You don’t wear underwear?” she countered.

“Never,” he replied. “I like the feel of the leather against
my…” He looked up and grinned when he saw the light flush steal across her
face.

He had been sitting on his heels when he removed her panties.
Now he straightened up, put his hands on her hips and pulled her closer to him,
wrapping his arms around her. Gently, he laid his cheek upon the soft pillows
of her breasts.

Marin could feel him trembling and the warmth of his breath
across her exposed skin—her right nipple growing hard from the wash of the
rhythmic air fanning over it. She put her hands on his head and cradled him,
combing the fingers of one hand through his thick, dark hair.

“I know women who would kill to have such a glorious amount
of hair, milord,” she said.

He made a sort of half-laugh, half-grunt sound that heated
the air already wafting over her erect nipple. “I shaved it all off once,” he
told her. “I won’t tell you what I looked like.”

She smiled. “Will milord Kale tell me?”

He growled for real that time and tightened his embrace.
“Let’s not ask him, okay?”

“Afraid to show any vulnerability?” she teased.

He pulled back and looked up into her face—caught and held
by the heat glowing in her green eyes. “Not with you,” he returned.

She smoothed the hair back from his forehead. “Never be
afraid to share anything with me, milord. I believe the great goddess Aneas
made me for you.”

“You do?” he asked, the fingers of one hand swirling against
her side.

She shrugged. “I tried to fight the attraction I have for
you, but since you indoctrinated me so well in my dreams, made me feel things
for you I shouldn’t have, I finally gave in and realized you’d captured me well
and truly.”

“No more fainting dead away?” he inquired.

“I think not,” she replied, laying her hands on his cheeks,
“unless you go all caveman explicit on me like you did that time.”