The door opened. Ronan stood looking at her as if he had known she was outside—a simple matter for a telepath of his strength. But perhaps it was a subtler sense that brought them together, awkward in the silence, each weighing the emotional cost of this gift they had been given.
Ronan moved out of the doorway, leaving her a clear path into the apartment. Cynara stepped over the threshold. The quarters were clean, comfortable, and entirely colorless. They suited Ronan well. They suited the circumstances perfectly.
The bed stood in a separate room off the living area. Ronan offered his hand. She took it. There was no touching of minds; she couldn’t risk it, and he would not press. But the understanding was there.
Tonight was not for words, or prolonged farewells. Tonight was for the ardent language of flesh and desire.
During their night on Dharma, Ronan had taken control. She had let him. But this time she needed more than ever to feel strong, brazen, anything but passive. She pushed Ronan until the back of his knees hit the bed, and then she kissed him.
It was difficult to keep from feeling his thoughts when he responded. Perhaps some of them slipped through her guard, because she was gripped by a sexual hunger surpassing any that had gone before. Ronan pulled her onto his lap, and she straddled him without interrupting the kiss. His erection strained against his shipsuit.
She put her hand on him, squeezing lightly. He groaned into her mouth. She opened the fly and touched his hot, silky flesh.
Ronan had no qualms about showing his pleasure. He bent back his head, breathing fast, as she stroked him up and down with her fingertips. He seized her about the waist, but she wriggled free and slid to her knees before him.
When she took him into her mouth, she knew immediately that none of his Kinswoman lovers had gone beyond the basic necessities in their servicing. His whole body went rigid, and then he released a shuddering breath. The feel of him in her mouth, the anticipation of taking him into her body, inspired her to try things she’d hardly imagined.
But she wanted to touch more of him than this. She paused, ignoring Ronan’s wordless protest, to unfasten his shipsuit from neck to belly. She peeled the suit back from his shoulders, half trapping his arms, and rubbed her cheek against the hard swell of his pectorals and the ridged muscle beneath his ribs. She kissed his nipples one by one. He tried to lift his hands, but she forced them back and pressed him flat onto the bed.
Their eyes met. His were slightly glazed, but in them she saw the depth of appreciation and affection he couldn’t express in words or even in thoughts. He had no masculine pride to surrender by letting her take the lead.
With his willing cooperation, she finished undressing him and tossed his ‘suit to the floor. Even though she had seen him naked more than once, his body still seemed a magnificent work of art, scars and all. She stretched out atop him, kissing his face from brow to chin, letting her hair fall across his face in a sensual caress.
When she began to work her way down, kissing every scar in her path, he resisted for the first time.
If she opened her mind to him, she knew she would feel his shame. This bed wasn’t large enough to carry such extra weight. Deliberately she lingered on each healed slash or cut, licking the scars as if she could make them disappear. She forced Ronan to endure until she was satisfied that every point and plane of his body had been thoroughly touched, indulged, and cherished.
Only then did she permit him to pull her up and hold her against him. He nuzzled her temple, crushing her so tightly to his chest that she hoped he remembered his own strength. But then he released her, just enough so that he could peel her dress tunic beneath her breasts, trapping her as she had trapped him.
She straddled his waist, and he eased her down so that her breasts were within reach of his mouth, steadying her above him with one hand. His tongue flicked, teasing, tasting with implacable hunger and unfailing gentleness.