"Just don't let her catch you doing it."
"I know what I'm doing," he replied. "You let me and Logan worry about the escape. You think about the best way to remove the implants."
"I hope you know what you're doing," Bragan replied, his tone turning serious. "Otherwise we're all going to die here."
"We're going to die here anyway," Jess said quietly. "I don't know about you, but I'd rather die fighting."
The slaves had eaten and were starting to put on their suits by the time she was able to get back to Jess. He looked so pale and weak…At least the bandage on the back of his head had stopped oozing.
Bragan said he would need to continue using the antibiotics for the next two weeks.
"How are you?" she asked softly as she came into the room.
"My mouth is dry," he whispered. "I can't drink by myself."
"Didn't Bragan come in to see you?" she asked. "I thought I saw him in here."
"Yes, he did," Jess replied. "But I'm thirsty again. Can you help me?"
"Of course," she said, kneeling next to him. Her breath caught, and she blushed. He was still naked under the covers; she was going to have to touch him. Not that she hadn't touched him before, but this time he was awake and alert. It was totally different.
"Can you raise your head at all?" she asked.
"No," he said, his voice thready. "My neck feels so weak. And it hurts. Bragan says I nearly died."
"Yes, you did," she replied. "It was horrible when they brought you up from the mine. I was sure you were dead."
"Can you lift my head a bit so I can drink?" he asked, his eyes meeting hers. They were dark blue.
Her breathing stopped. He was so handsome, better to look at than any man she'd ever met before.
Without thinking, she raised her hand and pushed his black hair away from his eyes. He gave a feeble smile, and she smiled back. Even the scruff of hair along his chin was mesmerizing.
"Water?" he whispered again. She started in surprise. She'd forgotten all about the water.
"Sorry," she replied, feeling a hot blush start up her cheeks. For some reason she just didn't seem to think very well around this man.
Now, how to do this? She was going to have to raise him, and support his head somehow with her arm. Otherwise the water would just choke him.
"Bragan tells me you don't have any paralysis. You're lucky," she said, leaning over him. He nodded, closing his eyes in exhaustion. Moving carefully, she rolled him to one side and slid her arm under his back. She lifted a bit, allowing his head to rest against her shoulder. It worked; he would be able to drink now. But his cheek was pressed squarely against her breast…
She grabbed the water with her other hand, roughly sloshing some of it onto the floor. He didn't seem to notice, she realized with relief. Instead, he drank deeply as she held the cup to his mouth, lifting his head slightly as he did so.
Even though the cloth of her dress separated his body from hers, it felt as if a red-hot brand were touching her chest. She knew she must be blushing brightly. Fortunately, he didn't seem to be noticing.
He was focused on the water.
Then his head sank back against her softness. She started to lower him, but he spoke.
"No, I want more water," he said. "But even this is very tiring, and I'm in a lot of pain. Can I just rest for a moment?"
"Of course," she said, feeling guilty. She'd been so eager to get away from his touch that she hadn't even thought of his needs. Some nurse she was turning out to be.
They sat there like that for at least five minutes. At first she was tense, but he seemed to be completely unaware of the inappropriateness of their position. He might be naked, she reminded herself, but only because he's so sick. She must be some kind of pervert for reacting so strongly to his body.
Why, he could be no more interested in her than a newborn baby was interested in its mother, she told herself. He needed food, water and care. She would provide it for him. If she did a good enough job, they would both survive this ordeal.
He was breathing slowly and steadily against her breast. Was he asleep? It seemed strange that he would drop off so quickly, and while he was thirsty. On the other hand, he did have a serious head injury, she reminded herself. Probably maintaining consciousness even briefly was difficult for him. She looked down at him with interest. He certainly seemed to be asleep.
She should really lay him down and get back to work.
But his breath against her breast was warm. Not warm, hot. She could feel his heat penetrating her clothing each time he exhaled. Her nipples hardened in response and she felt a tingle of sensation start right at the tip. Giving in to temptation, she closed her own eyes and leaned back against a storage unit, still holding him cradled against her body.
She told herself she was just taking care of him. She knew she was lying. Each breath sent a new tingle of sensation winding through her. They started at the peak of each breast, then shimmered down through her stomach toward that secret spot between her legs. Oh, it was wrong. He was sick; he wasn't even conscious. But just holding him was so good she couldn't make herself stop.
Feeling very daring, she raised her free hand and touched a strand of his hair. It was soft, and would hang around his shoulders when he was upright. Of course, she knew that from before. But somehow seeing it so close was different. Each strand was like silk. Bragan must have been helping him keep it clean somehow, she realized. She rubbed the lock of hair between her fingers. It was thick…what would it feel like to stick her fingers into it? She shivered.
He gave a little moan in his sleep. Guilt washed over her.
The poor man was probably in pain. His neck was injured; there was a terrible wound on the back of it. What kind of sick person would hold him this way and cause him more pain?
Moving carefully, she lowered him to the pallet. He was difficult to maneuver, and at one point she accidentally pressed both breasts against his face. He moaned again. Such suffering… She felt so bad for him. Perhaps she could find a way to steal some painkillers like Bragan had suggested. They were locked up, but still, she owed it to him after the way she'd hurt him.
Leaving the cup of water next to him, she stood and brushed herself off.
She had work to do. And when she finished, she was going to find him some painkillers. It was the least she could do, under the circumstances.
Jess gave a moan of relief when she closed the door behind her. Touching her was heaven and damnation all at once. The softness of her breasts against his cheek was the most wonderful thing he'd felt since he'd come to this hellhole. And when she'd almost dropped him she'd crushed his face against both her breasts. It had taken everything he had in his body to keep from reaching his arms around her, pulling her down to him.
Of course, his neck still hurt. He was weak. But he wasn't dead.
She was incredibly naive. She had no idea the effect her touch had on his body. No one could have missed an erection the size of his under the blanket, yet she had been oblivious. It was a good sign; she may not be a virgin, but she wasn't used to a man's body. That meant she probably wasn't married. It had been a long time since she had had sex, if ever.
One less person for him to kill, he thought darkly.
Because if she did have a husband, he would kill him. Of course, if their escape plan worked he'd have to kill a lot of the Pilgrims. This was about survival. But killing Bethany's husband would have been more.
He reached down under the blanket, feeling his rock-hard cock. He was swollen, close to exploding. It was a mixture of exquisite pain and terrifying pleasure to be near her. Hopefully she would be checking on him regularly during the day, he thought with a grin. He had a feeling he would be very thirsty, and he would need a lot of help with his slow recovery. A part of him—the part that used to be human rather than a disposable life on a mining station—reminded him that he probably shouldn't manipulate her like this.