The Price of Freedom (Saurellian Federation 2)

That certainly didn't make it any more tolerable, though.

She would sit there, confined like an animal, waiting for him. Every moment would be an eternity. Would he return? Once he walked through the door another question would arise. Would he have found Jenner?

Would their quest finally be over?

She wasn't even sure they'd be free if he did find Jenner. Sometimes it seemed like a part of him was broken; she wondered if he he'd somehow convinced himself that he needed to follow Calla to the grave.

He seemed to think that everything would be all right if he could just find Jenner, but she wasn't that naive. Even if he found her, if he killed her with his bare hands, it still wouldn't bring back his sister. What would he do when he realized that?

He came over and sat down next to her, pulling her over into his lap. She went willingly. Even after spending months with him, the smell of his body, the touch of his skin against hers was enough to make her weak with desire.

She reached up with one hand, allowing her fingers to comb through his hair. The soft strands slid between her fingers, a sensual trailing that stimulated nerves she didn't even know existed. She had never realized how erogenous that small bit of webbing right at the base of her fingers could be…

"Bethany, I don't want to fight with you any more," Jess said, pulled her head against his chest. He tilted his head down, kissing the top of her head tenderly. She crumbled.

"I don't want to fight either," she said. "I just want to be with you. Safe, where we don't have to worry all the time."

"You don't have to worry now," he said. "I'm going to take care of you."

There was no point in talking to him, she thought. He simply didn't understand how vulnerable he was—all three of them were—as long as he continued along this path. So instead of replying, she snuggled up to him, not wanting what might be her last memory of him to be unhappy. As usual, his body reacted to hers. She could feel a distinctive bulge growing along her hip. Things might be a little easier, she thought wryly if his body didn't call to hers like it did. Even when she was angry with him she still craved his touch.

She twisted and turned around, straddling him on the small couch. Her head was on a level with his; she leaned over and kissed him.

She meant it to be a soft kiss, a gentle touching to bring them together slowly. But when her lips came into contact with his mouth, all she could think about was how soon he would leaving her and whether he would return. Pilgrims didn't take kindly to spies.

The need and longing she felt washed over her; she took action. Without pausing to think, she grabbed his head with both hands and crushed his mouth between them, taking his lips roughly, almost angrily. He was hers, dammit, and he didn't even seem to realize it. She needed to show him, she thought suddenly.

She needed to mark herself on his body, his spirit, the same way he had marked her. She wasn't his passive vessel. She was his lover, his partner, and he needed to acknowledge that.

The force of her anger surprised her, as did the force of her arousal. She wanted to suck him into her body, squeeze him and take him as he had taken her so many times. When he was down on that planet looking for Jenner he would be remembering Bethany. He responded in kind, his lips fighting with hers for domination. His arms wrapped around her, pulling her against his body so tightly it was hard to breathe. She pulled her head back, unwilling to give up control. His lips chased hers and she nipped him with her teeth. She bit again, harder this time, and he squawked in surprise and outrage.

"Why did you do that?" he asked. She smiled at him, baring her teeth, then licked her lips deliberately.

"You think you're the one in control here," she said. "But you aren't, Jess. This partnership goes both ways. In bed and out of it."

He shook his head and opened his mouth to speak. Her mouth covered his again, tugging and sucking until he moaned his surrender. It was like pouring rocket fuel on coals; she wanted him more than she'd ever anything before in her life. Her ni**les were hard, twin points of fire between their bodies, and the feeling of his c**k pushing up at her urgently was almost more than she could take.

Reaching down between their bodies, she pushed up the loose skirt she wore and pulled at her undergarment. The damn thing wouldn't slide down her hips with her legs splayed, she realized. She was going to have to get up.

His hand fumbled against hers as he ripped open his pants, then his erection bobbed up between them.

She rubbed against it sensuously, the sweet torture of the fabric between them more pain than pleasure.

She lifted herself to pull off the wretched garment that separated them, but his hands found her waist beneath the skirt and held her. They came around the front of her undergarment, and she felt a tug. A ripping sound filled the air, and she was free.

Immediately she slid down, taking him into her body to the hilt. He filled her so much that she shrieked in shock. She was ready for him, but it still came as a surprise to take him so quickly. Delicate membranes stretched, every breath brought new tensions and pressures from within. She moved tentatively and was rewarded by his groan. This was affecting him every bit as much as it was affecting her, she thought with satisfaction. He was hers for the taking.

She opened her eyes to find him staring at her. Everything was suddenly surreal. Here she sat, impaled upon a man she hadn't even known six months before. She was pregnant; he would soon be in danger.

Her entire world had changed. Suddenly she felt like crying. It was all so much to deal with, more than she had ever dreamed possible. The sexual drive to possess him, the need to take his body and make it hers that had filled her mere moments earlier, was gone. In its place was a desire for comfort, for the tenderness and understanding she knew he was capable of giving with his body. She let herself fall forward against him, wrapping both arms around his neck and squeezing him tightly from within.

"Jess, please don't leave me," she whispered in his ear. "Please don't make me and the baby wait for you, wondering if you're still alive."

To her shame, she felt tears welling up. She hated crying; hated showing weakness. She had learned early on that to cry was to give your opponent an edge, something her father and her husband had never failed to take advantage of.

Jess was different, though. She felt him stiffen as her mood changed, then his arms wrapped around her and held her close. He seemed unsure of what to do next, but he was trying to comfort her. The simple fact that he cared enough to try made her cry even harder. She was sobbing now, and with every convulsion of tears she squeezed him within. His body was tense beneath hers but she didn't care. All she wanted to do was let out the hurt; the grief over everything that had happened, and the fear she felt whenever she thought of him leaving her to hunt Jenner one more time.