by Cathryn Cade
Kraft stood taller. Confusion and fear darted across her expressive face. He wondered if the darkness in him caused her reaction, or if he’d succeeded in preventing her from reading him. Either way, he sensed his advantage.
Pressing his mouth to her ear, he whispered, “What’s wrong, sugar-britches? I thought you were all for this kind of dance between us, especially after what you said in the cargo bay.”
With her back to his bunk door, she lifted her face and the whole of her body until she met his gaze with level intensity. Since she couldn’t force him to retreat verbally, she now tried to force his retreat with the fierceness of her gaze, and it almost worked.
He fought down the urge to step back by moving closer. She radiated the scents of cooking, but below, he found that enticing hint of her musky perfume. Her scent was rich, intoxicating and alluring. He wanted to find the source of her fragrance and lose himself in it.
“Just give me the order, Captain Lawless, and I’ll ride you until we both collapse.”
One fleeting vision of her proudly riding astride him caused him to blush and turn away. The triumphant look on her face clarified she thought such a command a distinct impossibility.
She seemed pleased that she’d finally forced him to back down. He watched Kraft’s pulse jump below the smooth skin of her neck when he closed in on her and said, “That’s an order I’m not likely to give.”
Her lips parted in surprise. She lowered her face but not her gaze.
“I wouldn’t order you to ride me because I like to be on top.”
He forced her chin up so their lips came close without touching. “Stop giving me that submissive face when you’ve got nothing behind it but arrogance.”
Kraft stood tall. “I thought you preferred submissive women?”
“As a matter of fact I do.” Tracing his finger along the open V of her shirt, he smoothed the fabric against the curve of her breasts and popped open one of the small wooden buttons. “Do you like submissive men?”
She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, but it caught in her throat. When he looked down, he discovered her nipples were pressed tight against the soft yellow fabric of his old shirt.
He chuckled and stroked the barest brush of his fingertip over the swell of her nipple. “Obviously not.”