Handsome Devil

by Ava Argent

  Not impossible, however. Nor are offspring a foregone conclusion.

  There is, of course, the subject of her opinion of me to consider. I have seen and smelled her body's sexual response. Certainly pleasing, but every Ferissian knows that lust is nothing compared to the crucial factor...

  Though what that crucial factor is, I ruefully acknowledge as I contemplate the metal grating that comprises the catwalk, remains to be seen.

  I have reached the point where the corridor divides. I may go left, right, or straight. I stand, head down, scenting the air. My head turns right. One foot, and then the other follows. The long corridor hides the door from view, but I can hear the female rattling around the mess noisily. The clanking of a plate and cup echo beneath the hum of the ship.

  The portal reveals itself eventually, and I stand in it, watching the Agmoiria mutter under her breath as she slaps at the food processor. I'm not certain why a woman who can navigate a computer as if it were her native environment would believe physical force would help.

  She pauses, as if catching my scent in return, and turns her head. Her eyes are not as bright as before, but she offers me a sheepish smile. “I can't get it to work,” she admits. “New model?”

  There is a flush on her cheeks, but she does not avoid my gaze. Part of me expected her to stutter and lower her head in embarrassment. I am gratified that she has not chosen that path. I cannot deny that there is an awkward tension that grows with each moment I stay silent, but she simply lifts a brow and goes back to her work.

  She stabs uselessly at a few buttons. “I haven't been in space in a while. I'm kind of out of touch with these things.”

  I am not certain what I am looking for. I think perhaps I am hoping a secret will reveal itself and answer my questions. I do not lean against the wall, nor do I step inside the room. I remain on my side while she remains on hers, wondering if there is something I am missing that will bridge the divide. “You must hold the green button for four seconds to confirm.”

  She tilts her head. “Oh.” She follows my instructions. “Sweet. I'm starving.”

  Her hand, innumerable times smaller than mine, continues to rest on the keypad without pressing anything. I detect a hesitation I have not seen before from her, and when she looks up, it's with an uncomfortable swallow. “Hey. You were shot back there, weren't you. A couple of times. That's why you showered and changed shirts.” Her gaze flickers down. “And pants.”

  I turn my head, waiting, hands at my sides in their customary positioning.

  She turns her softly curved body towards me, unconsciously mirroring my stance. “Are you okay now?”

  I blink once, then nod.

  “Good.” Concern morphs to something that twinkles in her eye. “Wouldn't want you dropping dead on me. I need you to steer the ship.”

  There's a curious warming in the right half of my chest. I decide to take one step forward. One step only, just enough to place me inside the room.

  She scratches the back of her neck, then tugs at the knot of her hair. “I mean, you've had a rough night, right? Stabbed, beaten, shot.” She pulls the tie from the tendrils but catches them before they can tumble free. Confident fingers expertly smooth the strands back to her nape, where she creates a sort of bun with a few twists. “Boarded by pirates, outsmarted by a half-human. You've been busy.”

  The warming grows, spreading out and down.

  I advance again. One step.

  Hair done, she puts her hands on her hips and looks up at me expectantly. “So, you hungry?”

  She missed one lock. It hangs next to her ear, a solitary curl that fascinates me.

  “M'anu, you're doing the not blinking thing again.” She frowns. “Are you angry?”

  I shake my head. Truth.

  “Upset?”

  Again, no.

  She twists her mouth and wrinkles her nose. “Deep in thought?”

  Yes.

  She runs her tongue along her teeth. “Uh huh.” She blatantly debates with herself. “Look, I'm sorry.” Her shoulders contract in a shrug. “We started off on the wrong foot and I'm pretty sure it's not a situation that's going to clear itself up. You're intense and I'm...a word I can't think of at the moment, but trust me, we're going to get on each other's nerves a lot. Might as well make the best of it until we part ways. What do you say?”

  Ah, the question of the hour. Superstition is extremely impractical, but fortunate coincidence has won more than one battle in the course of history.

  The answer reveals itself in reflex, an unconscious unfurling that fills me with a sense of peace. It is the right choice, and once made, one I will not stray from.

  I reach up with deliberate intent, winding the curl around the edge of my finger, very aware of her watching me. I study her eyes. The brown is not so flat as I originally surmised. There are layers of color beneath, which one must observe from close range. The hair I have captured is soft and shiny. Healthy. Inviting.

  I tuck it behind her ear, trailing my finger over the skin behind the shell until it settles on the pulse just beneath. It dances. The knowledge causes the heat in my breast to solidify and become permanent.

  When I again meet her gaze, a smile is playing across my lips, real and unencumbered. “Yes.”

  Chapter Seven

  Something in me stills, alert. That one word has a lot of gravity—a monumental amount of meaning—that is totally mismatched with the question. “You just decided something, didn't you.”

  His smile gets bigger—revealing those intense, sharp teeth—and it takes over his eyes. Oh yeah, he's looking way too satisfied. Big things are going down.

  I have this feeling that this has all happened before, like he's in the habit of making unilateral decisions. I don't know why he'd, you know, ask me or anything, but part of me feels like he should. “Care to elaborate?”

  Pink bangs float forward as he tilts his head down. “I have reached a conclusion, Agmoiria.”

  Again with the Agmoiria. Whatever. Maybe it's a culture thing or something, and he's not allowed to say my given name. It could happen. Mentioning it again is just quibbling and a giant waste of time.

  The way he's looking at me takes precedence. M'anu is...warm. The kind of warm that tells me he's settled his stubborn self on some kind of choice (him announcing it is superfluous, really). The kind of warm that reminds me a little of the almost-seduction on the bridge, but more meaningful in nature. “Would that conclusion have anything to do with us?”

  “You never back away from a challenge,” he murmurs. It's like he takes personal pride in the fact.

  “Sometimes,” I correct. My heartbeat is picking up speed, of course. No ice princess here. “This is not one of those times.”

  His ocean eyes are practically making love to my lips. This is where we left off in the corridor, right? I thought this was a non-issue, but it turns out that was just the prelude. I should be able to put my hand on his chest and set him to rights. It's not happening. We talked about it, get over it. Something like that. “You're no good for me,” I tell him baldly.

  “I disagree.”

  “Awfully convenient. Go on, tell me all about how we'd be amazing together. That it's worth exploring.” It's nothing I haven't heard before.

  This is where the poetry and promises come in. I'm so over that, and yet I'm actually shocked when all M'anu does is say, “No.”

  And he kisses me.

  Kisses. Me.

  An oh-my-god, is-this-happening kiss. He closes the distance between our mouths over the course of a breath and knocks mine right out of me. This is a melding of lips that blows my mind. He takes over in his unique way, tilting my head with a firm hand so that we're perfectly angled, his thumb under my jaw. When fireworks go off in my blood, I realize my eyes are closed. My heart rings in my ears and I sway closer. My whole universe just contracted to M'anu and the sum of his parts, his lips—warm, certain, tender—owning mine.

  Holy dear mother of all that is s
acred.

  It's...amazing.

  He's right. He doesn't have to say a word. It's obvious.

  When he pulls back I stay right where I am. Gobsmacked. Thunderstruck. Dumbfounded. It reached up and hit me right between the eyes. I blink, staring up at him with my jaw slack.

  M'anu's grin is pure feline. How can a guy be so pretty and look so lethal at the same time?

  He swoops down and hauls me up. “Holy—” I yelp, grabbing onto his shoulders for balance.

  He sets me up on the bench. He looks up at me. “Much better.”

  When he kisses me this time, I'm prepared. Sort of. The whoo-hoo rollercoaster feeling isn't quite so startling but just as solid in impact. Not once but twice now. Man, I'm in trouble.

  Like in all cases, though, I'm not going down without a fight.

  I kiss him back. I lay it on him like I've never kissed anybody before, threading my fingers through his short hair and holding him where I want him. I taste, lick, and explore every inch of his mouth, which seems to be just the right size for mine. He makes a sound of approval, his grip tightening on the waistband of my jeans.

  He tastes so good. Mouths taste like mouths—like saliva and toothpaste of choice. Not M'anu. He's commitment and determination, velvet smoothness and tangy spice. Biochemistry? Maybe, but who cares? It's addicting.

  I turn my head and go deeper for a split second before I have to come up for air.

  Pretty boy just turned beautiful man, his lips swollen and his eyes drowsy with pleasure. I brush his bangs back, drinking him in. I can't believe an exotic male like this can manage to appear inviting, but he does. He watches me, hiding nothing. It's a raw, open moment. I think he can see more of me than I can of him right now, and that's a lot.

  Nobody has to tell me this is crazy or sudden or probably not going to end well. I figured that out on my own. Yet I think that this moment will stay crystal clear to me even when I get old. I'll always be able to remember the way he smells, the slight parting of his mouth as he pants, and the steady pressure of his hands on my hips. The big bad open and available to me. All I have to do is reach out. “You scare the hell out of me,” I admit quietly, studying every nuance of his expression.

  He makes a sound under his breath that might be called a chuckle, except no human has ever made that kind of noise before. His chest vibrates against my sternum. His hand slides from my hip to the small of my back, spreading wide. “Do I make your heart beat faster, female?”

  My breath hitches. His touch is so vivid my shirt might as well not even be there. “Yes.”

  Gold-flecked eyes grow more hooded, tracing the curve of my cheek. His palm smooths upward until the pads of his fingers rest on where the shirt stops and the skin between my shoulders is exposed. “Do I make your skin pebble?”

  It does, right on command. Even my nipples. “Y-yes.” Where did that frog in my throat come from? Grown woman, have had sex before with both genders, turned on by two sentences and a rumbling voice.

  Well, we've all got our vices.

  His face is very close to my chest. If he lowered his chin just a little, he'd be looking right at the tight buds my bra isn't doing too much to hide. He doesn't though, gaze trained very purposefully on my throat and shoulders. Every bit he looks at feels ultra sensitive.

  Oh, he's got me good.

  It's always been hard for me to look into a lover's eyes during an intimate moment. It felt like I was bearing my soul for them scrutinize and judge. I have secrets, deep ones, and the possibility of someone unintentionally discovering them was too frightening to risk.

  I find myself searching for that connection now, almost afraid that he won't look back. But then he does, and it's like something that was empty is now full. It's still terrifying—I'm vulnerable, more open than I've ever been with someone, and he seems like the last person I should be like that with.

  I bite my lip, my uncertainty broadcasted loud and clear.

  I wish I had better words to describe M'anu's eyes. The exact shade of deep blue, the scattering of otherworldly yellow glimmers in the orbs—every descriptor I come up with just seems inadequate. Then again, maybe someone else wouldn't see them the same way I do. Maybe they would look at him and see a big, deadly alien with sharp teeth and not much in the brains department.

  When I look into them, I see a stillness that's watchful and waiting. It's quiet but vast, just like space. Beneath that is lust, purpose, and more than a little of his own vulnerability.

  He blinks in that characteristically deliberate way of his, and his mouth quirks. Before I know it, my mouth is stretching to match him smile for smile.

  M'anu knows my secrets. He knows my hair is really green and straight. He won't freak if I go too long between colors and the roots start to show. He'd probably dig it, actually. He's already skimming up my spine and tugging at the bun I created, trying to find the hair elastic. I love the feel on his fingers cupping my nape. They're strong, sure fingers, the kind I could lay into and not worry about. They tangle with my hair and it feels sublime.

  I let my eyes slid closed and I tilt my head back with a sigh.

  He kisses the base of my throat, which I unconsciously bared to him. He nuzzles the skin with his nose, breathing deep. I tighten my grip on his hair, letting him know that I like what he's doing, though I think the shiver gave it away. I turn my chin and rest it against the side of his face. He smells like soap and man. I like the softness of his bangs in contrast to the short stubble of hair that rasps against my fingers at his temples.

  I'm cuddling a Ferissian. Never thought I'd see the day.

  I'm hot and fuzzy at the same time, if that makes any sense, my desire to see M'anu naked at war with my need to explore him just as he is. It's a total teenager feeling, that anxious anticipation of the main event but wanting to do everything else at once too.

  I press my mouth against his temple in an open mouth kiss. He moves under my touch, his hold on me tightening. His chest is pressed against my stomach, his ribs begging to be cradled by my pelvis. I'm dying to wrap my legs around him, but I make myself wait while I trail kisses down the curve of his face. I tilt his chin up and I nibble my way over, coming up to his lips and taking them. Yep, taking them. I want to leave my mark after I show that I'm just as much a part of this as he is. Whatever this is.

  He takes it like the champ he is.

  A laugh unexpectedly bubbles in my throat. I kiss him again and again. He smiles reflexively, probably not all too sure what amused me but willing to go along for the ride anyway.

  He runs his tongue out and licks my bottom lip, and the kiss changes. There's a straight shot of lust to my pussy. I arch into him. His other hand goes to my ass and squeezes one cheek, bringing me into his body. Yeah baby. I wrap my arms around his shoulders again and hold on, drinking him in. He takes control of the kiss and dances with me when I try to take it back. There's not a crevice of my mouth he isn't intimately familiar with by this point.

  I don't know how it happens, but I come alive for him then. Want starts to ride me harder than before. I'm not close enough, and yet there's only a few ways it's physically possible to be so. I go for it, hooking one leg around his torso. Too many freakin' layers of clothes between us still.

  “Yes,” he says against my mouth.

  Did I voice my thoughts? I don't remember. Who cares? He's sliding an arm under my ass and hauling me up, causing me to wrap the other leg around and locking behind his back. I'm high up and he lets me shimmy lower until my pussy is flush against his stomach, his kiss following me down.

  It's a zillion degrees of heat between us, too hot for clothes. Clothes must come off.

  His clothes must come off. Best idea I've had all day.

  I want him, and I want him now. I reach down with one hand and drag up his shirt. I don't get anywhere, as I'm sort of sitting on the thing.

  He solves the problem by putting me on the table. He sets me right on it and lets go, breaking the kiss and leaning back
to grab the shirt himself. I don't release my leg hold on him, and he doesn't say anything about it. He just gets the hem and pulls it up.

  Whoa.

  He tosses it away.

  Did I say whoa already? I can't think of a better word.

  M'anu is layer upon layer of muscle—not the gym kind, but the kind that comes from being naturally barrel chested and designed for delivering beatdowns. He doesn't have a six pack because that's too much concentration on one area. He's buff everywhere. Hips. Chest with defined pecs. Biceps, triceps, and a whole lot of other muscle groups that tell me he's the real deal.

  My eyeballs are stuck to his skin and I'm gaping like a fish. I don't care. He's clearly amused by my ogling, and I'm currently inclined to indulge him.

  He's so beautiful in his harshness. His body is not pretty like his face. It's scarred. There are marks everywhere, with stories attached I'll discover at a later time. That's what's so gorgeous about him—he's real. He's just...M'anu.

  He picks up my hand and places it on his chest. Not on the left. On the right.

  I feel his heart beating there. It's steady but excited, and his cock is already pressing into my crotch through both of our pants. Every move he makes, every time he shifts, I feel and see the muscles play under his skin. He's poetry in freakin' motion.

  I drop my hand, pull my tank over my head, and throw it after his. “Now we're even,” I tease, leaning back on my elbows.

  He studies me closely. “Not quite.” He hooks a finger over the front of my bra.

  He's so damn hot. I look down at his finger and marvel at the size of it. I'm delicate next to him physically. He could crush me with one hand if he wanted.

  I feel the age old surge of power all women experience when a man like this wants them. It's dangerous and seductive. Just like him. “Why don't you do something about it?”

  His lips purse in thought. Well, who knew that would be adorable? “I believe I would rather watch.” His finger skims down my torso and over my hips, until he reaches my thighs. He skips the most important part of that journey (i.e. my very empty pussy) but he doesn't seem all that concerned, massaging my legs lazily.