“You are not locking me back in here,” Lyra’s arch objection broke into his thoughts.
He looked up and found her darting out of the cell, and out of the medbay. Her bare feet made almost no sound against the deck. Her hand-fashioned gown rustled and shushed as she marched out.
Asier got to his feet and followed her.
“It would be safer for you,” he said.
Even if he had mated to her, had impregnated her, he would likely never again know the pleasure of her body. He couldn’t risk the danger. What possible measures could they set up to ensure that he would be pulled off of her before she died of dehydration? There were none. Their mate-bond would have to be sexless.
That was fine, he told himself. Not ideal. But if he could have Lyra beside him, while they raised the son she’d borne him, then he would count himself luckier than any creature had a right to be.
He followed her down the passageway as she circled the ship, exploring. Her slender back was exposed, and the long lines of her arms. Her hair fell over her shoulders in shining, ethereal waves. The sash of her improvised gown belted tightly around the narrow nip of her waist.
What perfect colors. What a perfect shape.
His groin tightened again as he watched her. It was not the urgent, mindless rut that overcame him before. This was a leisurely, pleasant desire. As much as he wanted to satisfy it, to strip her out of that haphazard garment and watch her face as he thrust inside of her, he was able to let it wash through him. It did not control him.
He kept a careful distance. He didn’t want to catch her scent and ruin the unhurried desire.
Lyra tugged at a hatch that wouldn’t open. “What’s behind this?” She asked, not looking at him.
The only locked hatches were the unclaimed berths. “An empty berth. I can unseal it for you, so you have somewhere to sleep.”
Her gaze flickered over to him—just for a second. But that second covered an entire conversation. Asier took a steadying breath. Lyra moved on, and he continued to follow.
He watched as she pulled yet another hatch. This one opened, and she hesitated, peering into it for a long while. She glanced over at him, and there was something in her expression that mirrored the languid hum inside his body.
“Is this your berth?” she asked.
He’d been paying no attention to the ship itself. He’d only been watching her—the graceful sway of her hips, the long, slim line of her pale limbs, the shift of her fine, silky hair. He looked around, trying to orient himself.
“Yes,” he answered after a moment.
“Can I go in?”
He nodded.
She disappeared through the hatch, and he moved to the opening, watching her.
His berth was sparsely furnished with only the essentials. Even so, Lyra looked around as if she were in a museum. She trailed her delicate fingers over the latches on his his closet. She peered out the porthole at the vast emptiness of space. She sat on his bed.
His bed.
Before he knew what he was doing, he stepped into the space. Lyra’s gaze lifted to his face. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips pink, her eyes bright.
“Maybe…” she paused. The tip of her tongue slid over her bottom lip.
Asier stepped closer. That languid want still coursed through him. It hadn’t come to that fever peak, that mind-controlling drive. He was still in control.
She let out a little breath. “Maybe you should have locked me back up,” she whispered.
Asier froze in place. He was still in control, but he wanted, so badly, to sit beside her. To feel the warmth of her soft skin against his.
He decided to torment himself. He sat beside her on the bed. He felt her little body shiver, and then lean against him. Her hands were braced on the bed, stretched out behind her. His rested on his thighs.
His skin tingled with the urge to touch her.
Still in control.
He was willing to torment himself, just a little more. Moving slowly, cautiously, he turned and reached out. Her unnaturally blue eyes tracked the movement of his hand. He cupped her cheek softly, gently.
She closed her eyes, leaning into his touch.
He stroked his thumb across her cheekbone. Then her jaw. Then the soft swell of her bottom lip.
Her hand came up, fingers curling over the back of his. She turned and pressed her lips to his palm.
A swell of desire rippled through him. He rolled his shoulders, stretched his neck. A smile snagged his mouth. How could he want her so badly and still be in control?
But he was. He wanted more than anything to be inside her, but he held back.
“Asier,” she whispered his name.
He turned his hand, caught hers, and brought it to his lips. Her little hand clenched in his grasp.
“What if I didn’t kiss you?” she said breathlessly. “And what if you pulled out before you came?”
He shook his head. “I won’t risk your safety again.”
She twisted, leaning into him. She pressed her face into his chest. “But doesn’t it feel different this time?” She kissed him through the thin fabric of his shirt.
It did feel different. He still held her hand in his. He could let her go if wanted to. But he didn’t want to.
“Maybe now that we’ve had sex already, the biological impulses are less… urgent,” she said, voicing the same theory he’d been harboring. She rose onto her knees, bracing her free hand against his chest, and found the exposed skin of his throat with another kiss.
“Lyra,” he said softly, deeply. Was he telling her to stop? Asking for more? Even he didn’t know.
“Mmm… Asier.” She kissed his throat again and dragged her fingernails gently down the plane of his chest.
He remained still beneath her touch, enjoying it—becoming hard—but perfectly capable of withholding his own want. He wanted to touch her, everywhere. He wanted to taste her, everywhere. He wanted to pull both their clothes off, press her down onto his bed, and take her again and again, until he was certain she’d bear his son.
At that last thought, his body tensed. Some of the calm control slipped, and an urgency hummed beneath his skin.
“Lyra,” he said, this time a warning.
But as he looked down—as he opened his mouth and spoke her name—her parted lips met his.
“Oh!” She jerked back. “You moved. I didn’t—I was trying to kiss your jaw.”
They stared at each other in suspended horror, waiting for the hammer blow of toxin and pheromone to send them both spiraling into slavish oblivion.
But it didn’t.
“I should put you in quarantine again,” Asier said raggedly.
“Don’t.” Her gaze fixed on his mouth. “We’re still in control, Asier. I think… maybe we’ve built an immunity to it?”
“I’ve never heard of such a thing,” Asier replied.
But then again, he’d never experienced a sexual compulsion as strong as he had with Lyra, either. With females of other species, the desire and pleasure had been present, the hum of their pheromones a pleasant inebriation. His toxin had given them the same. Nothing they couldn’t walk away from.
Lyra was different. The two of them together were different.
He still had one of her hands clutched in his grip.
“One more time,” Lyra said, leaning close. When he didn’t pull away, she closed the distance between them, kissing him again. His eyes closed as he savored the petal-soft touch of her lips, the heat of her skin, the press of her body against his. Her tongue swept between his fangs, and he opened wider to her, tasting her fully.