Skinny’s eyes widened. Fin was technically a prince, the marks of the Navarrian royal family decorating his skin, but they were broken with scars. He’d been exiled. None of them mentioned it, least of all Fin, who got violent if his royal blood was mentioned. It was the reason his call sign wasn’t King.
He hardly dared to breathe as Red’s booted footsteps clomped away. Hopefully neither of them knew he was here. Neither would scent him over the oil and grease of the maintenance crawlspace beneath, and he’d stayed still so Red couldn’t pick up any vibrations. He was just about to turn and head the other way down the corridor when Fin spoke.
“Might as well come out, Skinny. I know you’re there.”
With a sigh, he pushed off from the wall and walked down the corridor. Fin was just around the corner, leaning against the wall as he shoved a hand through his hair. He’d had the long ponytail down the center cut short and was growing out the sides. Skinny wondered if that was to cover the Navarrian markings down the sides of his scalp. Was he trying to win Red over?
“You having issues as well?” the big merc asked.
Skinny lifted an eyebrow. “Who said I was having issues?”
Fin barked a laugh. “Brother, any male who looks and walks the way you are has the biggest case of blue balls ever. Miss Ingrassia not putting out?”
Fury flared and the corridor went red. A second later Skinny found himself with his forearm jammed up in Finn’s throat.
“Careful what you fucking say about her,” he snarled. “It’s not about her putting out.”
Fin grinned, pushing at Skinny’s arm until he could breathe. “Yeah, sure it’s not. You got a bad case of the feels for her as well. Don’t you?”
Skinny dropped him like a hot cake, backing up.
“No, not at all,” he blustered. “Just helping out someone who needs it. Life’s dealt her a shit hand. I’d be an asshole if I turned my back on her. Wouldn’t I?”
Fin stayed where he was, resting against the wall, but his lips quirked. “Yeah, you would. Anyone would do what you’ve done. Let her hit you in the back of the head with a pipe, got me to stage a fight so you look good, almost beat Sparky to death in the galley… actually, that last is a good idea. You wanna try that again? Tag-team style.”
Skinny’s eyes narrowed and then he chuckled. “Yeah… yeah… you’re just pissed that Sparky is making eyes at your girl. Want some advice?”
Fin had stilled, his expression shuttered. “No, but I suspect you’re going to give me some anyway.”
Skinny grinned as he leaned in.
“If Red wants you, she’ll tell you. Otherwise… that road leads to death, destruction and your dick and balls shoved so far up your ass your lovers’ll need to play tonsil tennis to give you a blow job.”
6
When I finally get you under me, screaming my name in pleasure, you’re going to want to be there…
She shivered as Altav’s words rang in her head and she looked about herself. His room was tiny, which made sense given the size of the ship, but… damn. How did such a big guy even move in here?
Two bunks were bolted to the wall. The bottom was a double and larger than the top, which was probably why he’d said the top one was hers. She eyed the space. No way he’d even get his shoulders in there—not without getting wedged anyway. The image of him stuck up there and calling for help amused her for a second. Right up until her imagination presented her with an image of him in his tighty-whities and her throat went dry. Fuck.
…begged me to take you…
“Begging him! I am not begging him, no way, no how! No matter how cute he is!”
Marika’s ire had her stomping around the room. Next to the bunks, behind the door, was the thinnest closet she’d ever seen. Yanking it open she looked inside. There were clothes, all Altav-sized and massive.
She frowned. “Is everything this guy owns black?”
Spotting a spare blanket and pillow on the shelf at the top, she grabbed them and a soft t-shirt she found on the shelf at the bottom. She shoved them up on the top bunk and turned. Opposite the bunks sat a tiny desk and chair next to a door. Opening it, she found the universe’s smallest bathroom.
“Seriously?”
She blinked, wondering how the hell Altav even fit in there. There was a sink big enough for a doll house on one side, a toilet, and then the shower on the other side. For a moment she wondered where the shower curtain was, and then she looked down at the floor and realized the whole thing was the shower. It wasn’t a wet room so much as a wet cube.
Locking herself in there, she shucked off her damaged dress and took a quick shower. Stealing the only towel on the back of the door, she bolted from the room and dressed in the soft t-shirt. For a moment she stood, arms wrapped around herself, as her brain realigned. Her wardrobe back home was filled with the most expensive fabrics and designer couture, but nothing, not even dnarhiat silk was as soft and comfortable as the well-worn t-shirt she’d stolen from a rough, handsome mercenary who hadn’t taken her body as payment for his help. Who wanted her to want him…
Shoving that thought from her mind, she climbed up into the top bunk and wrapped herself in the blanket. Like the rest of the belongings in the cabin, it was mass produced and utilitarian, but she moaned to herself as she snuggled in. She’d trade feeling safe—and not having to sleep with one eye open all the time in case her father pulled something—for all the expensive feather duvets and plush beds in the galaxy.
The sound of someone moving around in the cabin a little while later brought her out of her light doze, and she opened her eyes a fraction.
Only to find Altav in the bathroom, the door half jammed open as he took a shower. So that was how he fit in there. He didn’t. He just left the door open. Her eyes widened. He left the door open…
She had a great view of his broad shoulders and heavily muscled back. A soft whimper escaped her lips. He hadn’t been wearing body armor earlier. He had muscles for days. Muscles on his muscles—her gaze dropped lower—and a great ass.
Sleep burned out of her brain faster than a speed pilot on a home stretch of the inter-galactic solar races. All her attention focused on the big, sexy guy in the shower. She watched the movement of his muscles like a hawk as he soaped himself. He washed his chest, his fingers appearing for a few seconds to smooth over his broad shoulders and then disappearing to flirt with her at the sides of his ribcage. She swallowed the smallest gasp as he reached down, obviously soaping himself down… there.
He froze, and for a moment she thought he’d heard her, so she shut her eyes quickly. The sound of water stayed constant, and she could tell he wasn’t moving. She could even feel his eyes on her. So she played dead. I’m asleep, she urged him mentally. So asleep.
Eventually, he started to move again. The sound of splashing reached her ears and a small grunt as he hit his elbow on the side of the shower stall. Risking a glance, she sucked in a breath. He’d turned around and she could see everything.
Every. Thing.
There was no going back to sleep now. Hell… she couldn’t even fake being asleep if her life depended on it. His head was tipped back, exposing the strong line of his throat as water cascaded down his broad chest. But neither his chest nor even his entirely lickable abs held her attention. No, that honor was reserved for his large, well-shaped hands. Long fingered and strong, they showcased the thick, long length of his cock as he fisted himself slowly.