Amorous Overnight

by Robin L. Rotham

  But when the observation field concealing him automatically adjusted to night optics, there she was, already tucked into her bunk. She murmured, and his eyes widened when he realized her hands were moving under the thin blanket, one at her breast and the other between her spread thighs.

  Heat exploded through him. Shelley was masturbating on his ship. That was why she was already in bed. She hadn’t even taken the time to put on the nightgown she usually wore—her shoulders were bare above the blanket.

  If he weren’t concealed in an observation flare, his growl of frustration would have alerted her to his presence. Curse the damn blanket—he wanted to see her! If he had any chivalry at all, he’d leave, but he was mesmerized. Was this the first time she’d pleasured herself on his ship? If so, what was she picturing behind her tightly closed eyelids?

  His excitement and anticipation swelled with every movement of her hands.

  “Please,” she whimpered softly as her hands explored her body, and again he cursed the blanket that concealed their quickening rhythm.

  Then it occurred to him to look through it. “Empran, thermographic imaging.”

  Immediately Shelley’s image leapt from the deep-blue background. Most of her skin was mottled green and blue, but her face, breasts and genitals had warmed into the yellows, oranges and reds of arousal. Her lips and open mouth radiated heat. The green fingers of one hand tugged at her magenta nipple, while fingers of the other hand slid up and down in the bright red and pink heat between her thighs.

  When he heard the slick sounds her fingers made, Cecine groaned and pressed a palm to his cock, which had already hardened to stone despite its earlier eruption in the ensign. Bracing his other forearm against the field, he leaned closer to her, inhaling deeply and wishing he could breathe in the unbearably appetizing fragrance of her excitement.

  Peserin’s damnation, but he wanted her. The temptation to exit the field was almost overpowering. It was all too easy to imagine himself tearing off her blanket and leaping on her. She’d scream and pretend to be horrified, but when he yanked her to the foot of the bed and buried his face in her hot cunt, she would scream with arousal.

  To hell with it. He shoved his pants down around his thighs with his right hand and began stroking himself roughly, resting his forehead against his forearm. Just being this close, knowing his control was the only real barrier between them at this moment, made his skin prickle, and the slight charge from the field only increased the sensation.

  Shelley spread her legs farther, pulling her knees up, and Cecine wanted to pound his head on the flare when her fingers disappeared inside.

  “Oh God,” she breathed. “Oh fuck. Oh—” She stiffened and her face contorted, her teeth clenching. He could see the contractions of her round belly, the jerking of her legs.

  “Night optics,” he said hoarsely. He watched her face, her features as they relaxed and her chest as it heaved, and burned with the need to touch her.

  He might have left then, but her hands began to move again. Holy Powers, she gave herself another orgasm that looked even stronger than the first. She started to keen and pulled her pillow over her face to stifle the sound.

  Cecine summoned a masturbation probe and pressed it against his ass. The feel of it sliding into his anus made him groan. He leaned harder against the flare field as the probe began to stroke over his prostate, his gaze fixed on her hand as it continued to move. Peserin, again?

  She shoved her fingers roughly into herself now, fucking herself while she pulled at her mound with the other. When she arched with a choked cry, he gasped and shot his seed against the field.

  The next morning Shelley sat on her meditation cushion in the training center, still torn between relief and disappointment that neither Hastion nor the minister had shown up for breakfast. She wasn’t sure if she could look at either of them, especially Hastion, without blushing today, and Monica would be all over that, which would only make it worse. But curiosity was killing her. How could she have missed that they were lovers? Now she wanted to watch them together, see how they interacted and figure out what clues she’d missed.

  Unfortunately, it would have to wait until they both showed up for a meal.

  Sighing, she straightened her spine and closed her eyes, taking a few deep breaths to try to clear her mind. When she opened them again, Minister Cecine stood just inside the door, dressed exactly as he’d been the night before.

  She jerked like she’d been shot and her heart jumped into her throat. “Oh my God, you scared me!”

  No one had ever come in while she was here. He’d given her exclusive use of the room for two hours every morning, and she usually used every minute of it.

  “My apologies.” He bowed his head briefly.

  Shelley hunched down a little as both excitement and consternation consumed her—all she had on was the stretchy black tank suit they’d given her for exercise, and it was so thin it revealed more than it concealed. And of course she’d put her hair up in a high ponytail so she couldn’t use it as camouflage. “Minister, did you need something?”

  “Forgive my intrusion on your private session, Ms. Bonham, but you’d mentioned that you include meditation and yoga in your fitness sessions, and I wondered if perhaps you might be willing to educate me.”

  She stared at him. Holy fuck! How was she supposed to say no to the minister?

  “I really don’t—um, I mean I’m not qualified to teach,” she stammered, battling the urge to pull her cushion from under her ass and hold it in front of her.

  “You needn’t speak if you don’t wish to. Just conduct your usual routine and I’ll mirror your movements.”

  She looked away from him in an agony of indecision. Shit, she’d never be able to meditate with him here. Her cheeks were already burning at the memory of what she’d done in bed last night and what she’d fantasized about while she did it. But after all he’d done for her and her family, she could hardly tell him to go away and leave her alone. And really, meditation was better done with others. Jasmine had even joined her a couple of times.

  Too bad she wasn’t here now—it was times like this Shelley almost wished she had a cerecom implant like everyone else so she could hiss at Jasmine to get her ass down here.

  “Um, okay, I guess.” She wiggled a little on her cushion, praying her face would cool off soon.

  “My thanks.” Without any warning at all, he peeled off his shirt and pants and dropped them by the door, leaving his divinely masculine body in just the Speedo thing she’d seen him in yesterday.

  Her breath stilled as her mind went blank.

  “Where would you have me, Ms. Bonham?”

  Between my legs would be fine.

  For an instant she thought she’d said the words aloud and her heart pounded furiously as the fire in her cheeks went four-alarm.

  When his expression remained politely inquiring, she took a shuddering breath. Thank God. She really needed to work on disciplining her thoughts.

  Which was exactly why she was here.

  She pointed about ten feet in front of her. “Um, maybe over there?”

  When he lowered himself with a startling economy of movement to sit tailor-fashion in the spot she’d indicated, she uncrossed her legs.

  “All right, first you need to sit in the lotus position. If you don’t bend that far, we’ll try the half lotus.” She pulled her right foot back up onto her left thigh and her left foot over onto her right so that her knees touched the floor. Then her eyes widened. “Oh wait! You don’t have a cushion. You might not be able to…”

  He got his long, pale legs folded into a perfect lotus faster than she’d done it. “It’s not necessary. I’m fairly limber.”

  “Wow.” Sixty. Years. Old. How unfair was that? “Okay, but if you continue with this after today, you should use a small cushion right under the base of your spine so that your knees touch the floor. It will make you more stable and help keep your spine properly aligned. On a hard floor, you
’d have a larger cushion underneath but the biologic pad is soft enough that it’s not necessary here.”

  “Understood.”

  “Oh! And you shouldn’t mirror me in the lotus. The right foot should come up first.”

  His legs were switched before she saw him move. “Is this better?”

  Better than hers. “That’s fine.”

  She explained how he should arrange himself so that every part of his body was firmly supported and showed him how to hold his hands in a half moon shape on his lap. When he was in the proper pose, he looked naked because his briefs were hidden behind his hands and forearms.

  Her mouth went dry. Forget Buddha, she wanted a statue of him.

  “Are you comfortable?” she asked uncomfortably, trying to steady her breathing.

  “Very.”

  “All right then. Now that your body is centered, you can center your mind.” Which is more than I’ll be able to do with you sitting there like that.

  He smiled wryly. “My apologies, Ms. Bonham. This requires a good deal more explanation than I’d anticipated. Thank you for taking time out of your own session to teach me.”

  She smiled back. “It’s all right. You’re a quick study and sitting zazen is best done in a group.”

  “Sitting zazen?”

  “That’s what this kind of Zen meditation is called. Now, focus your eyes on the floor right between us and concentrate on breathing deeply and evenly. Silently count your breaths from one to ten, then start again, and don’t stop. Don’t let yourself be distracted from it. If something comes to your mind, just let it go and keep counting.”

  “Before we begin,” he said quickly, “may I inquire as to the ultimate goal of this exercise?”

  “Well, basically it’s to discover who you are, to see your inner soul and know your roots so that you can learn to live in the world. Zen actually means waking up to the present moment, to perceive it exactly as it is rather than through the filters of your own ideas, opinions, expectations and experiences. Once you do that, you can overcome harmful patterns in your own thinking to find inner peace.”

  He looked fascinated. “Have you achieved this goal?”

  “I’ve had a little success with it,” she said with a rueful smile, “but like life, it’s an ongoing process and I’m not consistent enough to claim any sort of mastery. When things get too crazy, Zen meditation is usually the first thing that goes right out my window.”

  Case in point, when she was in labor. Screw the dragon—I need drugs!

  The memory was humbling. Zen masters and Lamaze teachers everywhere would point to her as a shameful example of what not to do.

  Cecine nodded with his usual arrogance, seemingly unaffected by his state of undress. “Consistency is imperative to achieving long-term goals—although an element of unpredictability can have its tactical advantages in interpersonal relations,” he added, a gleam of humorous intent in his eyes.

  Shelley smothered a snort. Was he telling her he thought women behaved unpredictably on purpose, as a strategic maneuver in the battle of the sexes? If so, who was she to enlighten him?

  “All right,” she said, “let’s get this meditation back on track. Since it’s your first time and you don’t have a cushion, we’ll keep it short. Empran, will you sound the chime in twenty minutes, please?”

  “Affirmative.”

  “Thank you.”

  His lips quirked. “You needn’t observe social protocols, Ms. Bonham. Empran is a computer.”

  “I’m aware of that. I just happen to think courtesy is never wasted.” Shelley leaned forward and then raised her head to draw her spine straight up. After she’d rocked side to side in order to fully center her body, she settled into her meditation, staring at the pad a few feet in front of her as she counted her breaths and tried to forget he was there.

  Yeah, so not happening. Awareness of him was like a hot, heavy mist in the air, clinging to her skin, seeping into her pores and making her sweat. Her mind immediately wandered into the fantasyland it had visited the night before, bombarding her with images of him naked and sweating as he did shocking things to Hastion, and it was all she could do not to moan with need.

  After what could have been five minutes or fifteen, she finally gave in to temptation and let her gaze slide up over the clean lines of his perfectly still form. God, he was so unfairly beautiful.

  When a quick glance at his face found his eyes focused on her chest rather than the floor, she gasped.

  He looked up and a slow grin curved his lips. “I’m sorry, I’m distracting you.”

  Her eyes widened. “Distracting me! You’re the one who—” She bit her lips. Dammit, she couldn’t accuse him of being distracted by her. Like all men, he was just distracted by boobs and couldn’t care less who they were attached to. “You need to concentrate.”

  His grin deepened, revealing a dimple in his right cheek. “I was concentrating.”

  “On meditating!” she practically shouted, her cheeks burning. “You’re never going to discover yourself if you don’t concentrate on the meditation.”

  “I know exactly who I am, Ms. Bonham, and how to survive in this mortal domain.”

  Crossing her arms, she glared at him. “Then why are you doing this?”

  “Because I was curious.” He unfolded himself and stood in one smooth motion. “But as I said, I’m distracting you, and for that I apologize.” He bowed at the waist. “Please forgive me for disrupting your routine. It was not my intent.”

  She sighed. He certainly knew how to take the wind out of her sails.

  “Fine. You’re forgiven. But maybe we’d better not try this again,” she added, watching with a ridiculous amount of regret as he leaned over to pick up his pants and stepped into them without a shred of self-consciousness.

  “Perhaps not,” he said as he pulled his shirt over his head, the corners of his lips curling just a teeny bit. He had such great lips—not plump but wide and mobile. He’d probably be a really great kisser, dammit.

  He bowed again. “Thank you very much. It’s been…enlightening.”

  “Ha-ha,” she said acidly.

  “I meant that quite sincerely. I learned a great deal today. Perhaps another day you’ll be kind enough to teach me about yoga.”

  “Oh. Well…” Not with this body. Not in this lifetime. “…we’ll see.”

  “Of course.”

  After he walked out, she uncrossed her legs and flopped onto her stomach, pressing her hot face against the pad.

  “Holy shit,” she whispered. How in the world had she ever thought the minister cold and soulless? He was… God, were there even words for what he was?

  A laugh bubbled out of her and she rolled to her back. There was a word—unpredictable.

  Her smile faded as she recalled his exact words. An element of unpredictability can have its tactical advantages in interpersonal relations.

  Had he been talking about himself rather than women? Were the flirty comments and the ogling just elements of unpredictability he was employing to keep her off-balance?

  But why would he do that? It didn’t make sense.

  She rolled to her feet and began her morning routine. Assuming Mountain Pose, she brought her arms overhead and stretched toward the ceiling, then reached over to the left and then the right, focusing on her breathing. God, Mark’s lies and manipulations had really screwed with her head if she was so determined to question the motives of someone who’d done nothing but help her. Not all men were like Mark, and it was time she stopped acting like they were. The minister had been up-front about wanting her to fill the nursing opening on Garathan, and he’d been equally up-front about his desire to learn about meditation—obviously it just wasn’t for him. And even if he was flirting with her a little, it didn’t mean anything—some men would flirt with anything with boobs. It couldn’t mean anything, even if she wanted it to.

  Which she didn’t. Much.

  Straightening, Shelley stepped back wi
th her left foot and sank down into Warrior One, looking up as she reached above her with both arms. She needed to just accept Minister Cecine at face value until he gave her a reason not to, or she’d wind up totally paranoid.

  Chapter Eight

  Three weeks later, Shelley slept right through their crack-of-dawn departure and didn’t even realize it until she showed up for breakfast. The large flare screen behind Minister Cecine looked like something straight out of an H. G. Wells flick—from their current vantage point, the moon appeared larger than the Earth.

  It was a jarring sight.

  “Wow, we’re really…gone,” she said faintly, clutching the edge of the table and trying not to tear up. Unlike Jasmine and Monica, she was leaving behind loved ones, and she still couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d never see them again.

  One more dragon to ride. She would see them again, and she’d have a thousand fascinating tales to tell when she did.

  “Be at ease, Ms. Bonham,” the minister said. “You have my personal guarantee that you will see your family again next year.”

  Startled, she stared at him. “No one told me the Garathani were mind readers too.”

  “No mind reading was required,” he informed her, his lovely lips curving in a way that made her heart skip a couple of beats. “Your face is very expressive.”

  Despite her best efforts to contain it, a blush began to work its way up her neck. Dammit, ever since their aborted meditation lesson—well, since the night before that, really—she’d fantasized about him and Hastion together constantly, and her own hand had become extremely unsatisfying. She’d never needed to get laid so badly in her life.

  Talk about shit timing.

  She glanced at Hastion, who was plucking chunks of fruit directly from the tray in front of him and eating them with his fingers, but his face was unreadable. He seemed different since she’d seen him that night—a little more reserved, a little less prone to smile, though just as nice to her and the twins. It was starting to worry her. Those were not the signs of the happy relationship she’d been looking for. In fact, she’d seen nothing from either of them to indicate there might be anything sexual, or even personal, between them. Had it just been a one-time thing to blow off some steam…or something darker?