"Bethany, I don't want to fight with you any more," Jess said, pulled her head against his chest. He tilted his head down, kissing the top of her head tenderly. She crumbled.
"I don't want to fight either," she said. "I just want to be with you. Safe, where we don't have to worry all the time."
"You don't have to worry now," he said. "I'm going to take care of you."
There was no point in talking to him, she thought. He simply didn't understand how vulnerable he was—all three of them were—as long as he continued along this path. So instead of replying, she snuggled up to him, not wanting what might be her last memory of him to be unhappy. As usual, his body reacted to hers. She could feel a distinctive bulge growing along her hip. Things might be a little easier, she thought wryly if his body didn't call to hers like it did. Even when she was angry with him she still craved his touch.
She twisted and turned around, straddling him on the small couch. Her head was on a level with his; she leaned over and kissed him.
She meant it to be a soft kiss, a gentle touching to bring them together slowly. But when her lips came into contact with his mouth, all she could think about was how soon he would leaving her and whether he would return. Pilgrims didn't take kindly to spies.
The need and longing she felt washed over her; she took action. Without pausing to think, she grabbed his head with both hands and crushed his mouth between them, taking his lips roughly, almost angrily. He was hers, dammit, and he didn't even seem to realize it. She needed to show him, she thought suddenly. She needed to mark herself on his body, his spirit, the same way he had marked her. She wasn't his passive vessel. She was his lover, his partner, and he needed to acknowledge that.
The force of her anger surprised her, as did the force of her arousal. She wanted to suck him into her body, squeeze him and take him as he had taken her so many times. When he was down on that planet looking for Jenner he would be remembering Bethany. He responded in kind, his lips fighting with hers for domination. His arms wrapped around her, pulling her against his body so tightly it was hard to breathe. She pulled her head back, unwilling to give up control. His lips chased hers and she nipped him with her teeth. She bit again, harder this time, and he squawked in surprise and outrage.
"Why did you do that?" he asked. She smiled at him, baring her teeth, then licked her lips deliberately.
"You think you're the one in control here," she said. "But you aren't, Jess. This partnership goes both ways. In bed and out of it."
He shook his head and opened his mouth to speak. Her mouth covered his again, tugging and sucking until he moaned his surrender. It was like pouring rocket fuel on coals; she wanted him more than she'd ever anything before in her life. Her nipples were hard, twin points of fire between their bodies, and the feeling of his cock pushing up at her urgently was almost more than she could take.
Reaching down between their bodies, she pushed up the loose skirt she wore and pulled at her undergarment. The damn thing wouldn't slide down her hips with her legs splayed, she realized. She was going to have to get up.
His hand fumbled against hers as he ripped open his pants, then his erection bobbed up between them. She rubbed against it sensuously, the sweet torture of the fabric between them more pain than pleasure.
She lifted herself to pull off the wretched garment that separated them, but his hands found her waist beneath the skirt and held her. They came around the front of her undergarment, and she felt a tug. A ripping sound filled the air, and she was free.
Immediately she slid down, taking him into her body to the hilt. He filled her so much that she shrieked in shock. She was ready for him, but it still came as a surprise to take him so quickly. Delicate membranes stretched, every breath brought new tensions and pressures from within. She moved tentatively and was rewarded by his groan. This was affecting him every bit as much as it was affecting her, she thought with satisfaction. He was hers for the taking.
She opened her eyes to find him staring at her. Everything was suddenly surreal. Here she sat, impaled upon a man she hadn't even known six months before. She was pregnant; he would soon be in danger. Her entire world had changed. Suddenly she felt like crying. It was all so much to deal with, more than she had ever dreamed possible. The sexual drive to possess him, the need to take his body and make it hers that had filled her mere moments earlier, was gone. In its place was a desire for comfort, for the tenderness and understanding she knew he was capable of giving with his body. She let herself fall forward against him, wrapping both arms around his neck and squeezing him tightly from within.
"Jess, please don't leave me," she whispered in his ear. "Please don't make me and the baby wait for you, wondering if you're still alive."
To her shame, she felt tears welling up. She hated crying; hated showing weakness. She had learned early on that to cry was to give your opponent an edge, something her father and her husband had never failed to take advantage of.
Jess was different, though. She felt him stiffen as her mood changed, then his arms wrapped around her and held her close. He seemed unsure of what to do next, but he was trying to comfort her. The simple fact that he cared enough to try made her cry even harder. She was sobbing now, and with every convulsion of tears she squeezed him within. His body was tense beneath hers but she didn't care. All she wanted to do was let out the hurt; the grief over everything that had happened, and the fear she felt whenever she thought of him leaving her to hunt Jenner one more time.
They stayed that was for a long time. Finally her tears slowed, and she realized that he was murmuring quietly to her. It was a soothing noise, as if he were comforting a child. She lifted her head, looking at him through tear-blurred eyes, and snuffled.
"I guess this wasn't really what I had in mind when I jumped you," she said wryly, feeling herself flush. He smiled at her with so much tenderness, her heart clenched.
"Well, I'm good for more than just sex," he replied. He reached up to grasp a strand of her hair, smoothing it back behind one of her ears. "Although the timing could have been better," he added, grimacing and shifting slightly. With a start she realized he was still embedded deep within her. Her eyes widened, and she blushed.
"Sorry, I forgot what we were doing before," she said. He laughed.
"Bethany, sweetheart, that's not the kind of thing a man likes to hear from his woman," he replied lightly. She blushed harder, and shook her head.
"Thank you for understanding," she whispered, and laid her head back down against his shoulder.
He laughed again, and this time she could hear the deep, rich chuckle course through his body. She squeezed him experimentally with her pelvic muscles. His laugh stopped abruptly, and his hips thrust up at her. She responded in kind, wiggling herself on his engorged flesh. The breath came out of his body in a startled whoomph; he grabbed her and abruptly twisted. Seconds later her body was under his, lying flat on the couch. Instinctively she wrapped her legs around his waist.
He started thrusting in and out of her with all the energy that had gripped them earlier. She grunted, pulling him into her, wishing there were some way she could keep him there. Why couldn't they just stay like this? Why did he have to go to the surface? He thrust into her again, this time rubbing against her clit.
She shuddered, and other thoughts disappeared. How did he manage to do this to her time after time?
Every stroke brought her a little bit closer to satisfaction. She could smell him, see his strong muscles flexing with each thrust. His entire body was tense and tight; beads of sweat built up on his forehead. She closed her eyes, focusing all her attention inward. The tension was almost unbearable—as if she were filled with a thousand tiny strings, each pulled tight and centered where he pushed inexorably into her.