Cold Victory Page 6

She had three days.

  Rubbing her hands over her arms, she walked along the busy corridors, with crews patching up conduits and metal-infused plaster. Orange and yellow on a background of gray.

  “Hey. Scott.” She turned to find Navarette catching up to her, the gash over his forehead neatly closed. He had survived two up close fights, so she would kill him later.

  Clenching her jaw, Zoya pushed away the thought.

  “We're drinking for Walker. Freshman.” He laughed, a quiet, sad sound. “He was a good kid. Sharp. It'd be good to lift a glass for him.”

  “Yeah. It sure would.” They would be dead, all of them, in three days' time. Sacrifice few to save many.

  “I never did report to the commander.” She had to go see Stark. Zoya didn't quite know why, except that need was crystal clear. “I'll find you after to lift up that glass.”

  * * *

  His biceps stung from the five new tattoos he'd just applied. The hull repair crew caught by enemy fire had joined Ken “Freshman” Walker. From what the med techs said, they didn't have time to feel the slash of burns.

  “The baseship appeared to conserve both energy and ammo.” Stark didn't bother looking at his father. Instead, he focused on the trio of katanas on his wall. “That would explain short bursts of fire and their insistence to stand by.”

  “Intelligence seems to agree with you.” Short, staccato words. The general wasn't thrilled about interdepartmental sharing of information. “Regardless of the intent, you should have sent the report through proper channels.”

  Stark was too tired to care. “We can assume the Murks are tired and running out of supplies. I copied Central Diplomacy as well. Seems to be a good time for a dialogue.”

  A shocked, short silence. “You copied Central Diplomacy?” The general audibly exhaled. “I didn't approve that.”

  “I did not send it to you for approval.”

  “Protocol dictates a specific path of communication to avoid false and misleading data.” The calm, clipped tone hid rage Stark knew all too well. “As such, you are to send suggestions to me to forward through proper channels.”

  At this point, protocol could go to hell.

  “You are the youngest commander in the fleet.” Fury was barely hidden in his father's steel-cold eyes. “Nevertheless, you should be aware of the past mistakes that cost us thousands due to miscommunications. You're trained to be a solider. You follow orders. Rocking the very foundation of our stability is not the way to ensure we survive.”

  Five men were dead. That number wouldn't change if Stark followed the fucking regulations.

  His father sighed, as if the outburst tired him out. “You realize Diplomacy will not take a report from someone at your level.”

  Diplomacy probably wouldn't shit if that went against protocol. “You're right. They won't.”

  “If you would like to send it to me, I will review it before forwarding it up.” At least there wasn't a long chain of aides between them.

  “I will.” Five men were dead. “Thank you.”

  “It's a damned good idea.” That grudging tone had Stark frowning in surprise. “I'll follow through on it.”

  As usual, there were no good-byes.

  Stark was still brooding in the window when the knock came. He didn't answer it, hoping Dex would leave him the hell alone, except the persistent bangs on the hatch only got stronger.

  Cursing, Stark popped the thing to find Zoya Scott on his doorstep.

  “Dex said you'd be reporting in.” Even through the numbness and grief of exhaustion, the need for her sent a low ache into his gut.

  Dex told him she had been dealing with shock, but he hadn't had the time to check on her. Now that he looked at her, Stark wondered if he should have.

  Dark circles under her eyes, her face nearly leached of color. Those amber eyes were devastated, lost. He wanted to kiss away the sad curve of her mouth.

  “You did a good job out there.” At least his voice stayed calm even as his body hardened.

  She shrugged, the gesture meant to look callous. “We lost a man.”

  “We lost a couple.” He knew that sign of nonchalance, the conscious act of not allowing yourself to care.

  “Commander…” She stopped for a moment as if gathering the words. “You shouldn't have let this thing with us interfere.”

  He walked toward the tiny window and looked out into cold vacuum and dust. “I did not.”

  “You called me by my first name.”

  “You're right. Zoya.” He liked the way her name felt in his mouth. The first time he'd said it was in a crush of battle. Now, Stark gave himself permission to savor the sound of her name and watch her reflection in the window. A delicate shade of pink bloomed on her cheeks.

  She remained standing at attention, her back straight, her hands clasped in front of her. “You ordered me out of the fight.”

  “You were hit. I couldn't afford to lose a Sabre.” There was plenty of logic in that lie.

  “We shouldn't be serving together.” A hint of desperation in her voice.

  He turned to give her a hard smile. “If you're that set on getting off Victory, you should contact your friend Pazlov.”

  She didn't react to that. “I share your privacy concerns.” Stiff, quiet words.

  The shield of cold nonchalance she usually wrapped around herself seemed thin now, revealing a vulnerability she probably never allowed people to see.

  “They're drinking for Walker,” she said finally. “Navarette asked me join them.” A frown, as if the invitation had surprised her. “I can't…I can't do it.”

  That he could understand. Without a word, Stark dug into a compartment of his comm system and took out a green flask. Two small transparent glasses followed.

  “I marked all of their deaths.” Stark lifted up a sleeve to show her the angry red dots lining up in a new row on his triceps. He never took pain neutralizers for this commemoration. “I don't usually lift a glass for them, but I will if you join me.”

  She shook her head. “I want to take you up on your offer.”

  He poured himself a shot and drank deep. Felt the soy whiskey burn a path down to his stomach. “What offer would that be?”

  “The offer that we get it over with.” Her cool gaze dared him to act surprised. “Seems suitable to celebrate death with a pretense of making life.”

  Stark poured himself another shot, using the time to study her. A nonchalant expression, distant eyes. Earlier, she looked dead on her feet, and yet, despite the weight of grief mixed with frustration, the words she coolly offered sent throbbing curls of need into his blood. “I thought you wanted romance when you fuck.”

  A small lift of her eyebrow. “Too tired for romance.”

  “Is that supposed to be a turn-on?”

  She didn't move a muscle. “You tell me.”

  “What made you change your mind?” Stark kept his voice mild even as he went diamond hard. He hadn't expected this and didn't care for the cold way that she approached the situation, intending to use sex to numb the pain of grief. She clearly wasn't thinking, clearly was trying to cover up deeper emotions with something mindless and raw. The problem was, his body didn't seem to give a fuck about her reasons. Desire flared again, pooling low in his gut, clenching his muscles. He'd stroke away the paleness of her cheeks, make those pursed lips cry out with pleasure. He'd have her shuddering once again, and this time he would be inside her.

  “It's not something either of us can fight.” Her words were wrapped in ice, her arms now crossed in front of her. “As you mentioned before—controlled and planned environment.”

  Stark put down the thin glass before he crushed it in his fingers. She spoke as if it meant nothing to her, just a couple of animals rutting somewhere in the darkness. Controlled environment could fuck itself.

  “I wouldn't disagree with you.” Testing them both, he took a step closer to her. The heat between them flared, a teasing caress licking with delicious roughness a
t his skin. He had to grit his teeth to keep from simply spinning her around and tearing off her uniform to sink inside her, deep and hard.

  She hadn't moved. “What are you doing?”

  Nerves now. A hint of apprehension. She came here with intent to control both of them, and Stark intended to strip her of it before they were finished. “You came here to take my offer.”

  “Yes.” She looked up at him with empty, amber eyes.

  He would watch that cold gaze go wild in climax, her lips parted and wet while she screamed his name. “My rules. My orders.” He reached out and lifted up her chin with two blunt fingers. Her skin felt like the softest silk. “Do you understand?”

  A small, challenging smile. “Yes, sir.”

  Taking his time, Stark circled her, barely caught the tiny shiver which she tried to hide. “You came here with the intent to use me and then leave.”

  Standing behind her, he couldn't watch her expression. “Yes, sir.”

  “This won't be over quickly.” The need to strip her of control was now a burning flame inside him. “This will not be a fast, furious fuck.” Another tiny shiver. “Do we understand each other?” A part of him grimly laughed at the fact that he placed himself behind her so she couldn't see his face. If anyone would lose control, Stark feared he would be the first.

  “Yes. I understand.” A cold, hard voice with barely a hint of suppressed excitement. He was afraid to touch her for fear of tearing off her uniform and sinking deep.

  Testing his resolve, Stark came to stand in front of her, centimeters away from that lush mouth, noting the flush over her checks, the bright eyes staring above his shoulder into space. He didn't need his ocular to see her temperature rising. He didn't need a sound implant to hear a sudden hitch of her breath.

  “Would you like me to kiss you?” He had to force his voice to remain calm.

  She spared him a glance, her eyes both calm and challenging. “If you'd like.”

  He gave her a slow, feral grin before he leaned forward, only to stop scant millimeters from her lips. “Would you like me to kiss you?” He couldn't keep his voice from going hoarse.

  “Yes.” A soft, trembling whisper that had his cock straining against his uniform.

  “Yes, what, Officer?”

  Zoya's slow, shuddering breath nearly shattered his control. “Yes, sir.”

  “We understand each other.” He still didn't trust himself to touch her and simply spoke the words against her lips. “You should know I intend to hear you beg.”

  Her eyes flared.

  “Do you understand?” He was ready to burst.

  She exhaled, her breath sweet on his lips. “Yes, sir. I understand.” His cock twitched, as if that rough and sexy tone caressed him.

  Stark closed that final gap between their lips, leisurely tasted her, determined not to give into to the need to ravage. Sweet and unhurried kisses, brutal and gentle brush of lips. The rhythm of his own heartbeat damn near deafened him.

  When he lifted his head, her lips were moist and shiny, her gaze guarded and hot. A wild pulse beat at the hollow of her throat, and Stark wanted to put his lips there to see what it would taste like.

  “Take off your uniform.” He stepped away from her for fear of giving in to the need to tear at the fabric.

  “Excuse me?” Her tone was breathless and yet determined. Her hot gaze damn near ripped him to shreds.

  “You heard me the first time.”

  With a sharp move, she turned her head to look at him, subjecting him to all the power of that potent, molten gaze. He would have been prepared for sarcasm. The sweet, sharp smile she had given him nearly sent him over the edge.

  “Yes, sir, Commander.”

  His blood roared at those long, delicate fingers reaching for the snaps at her collar. She didn't look down, didn't look away, just challenged him to keep his distance as she worked the snaps between her breasts. A shrug of her strong shoulders pushed the gray fabric down to her hips, leaving her in a thin white undershirt.

  He could already see her nipples puckering, as if already calling for his hands. Those witch eyes dared him to come closer.

  “All of it.”

  A small and catlike smile. “Yes, Commander.” A tug, a wiggle of her hips as she pushed down her uniform over a smooth length of finely muscled thighs. A quick toss of her undershirt, followed by a slow bend to unlace and remove her boots.

  Then she stood naked in his quarters, slim, strong, all golden skin and molten eyes and firm pink-tipped breasts that were made for his mouth. The bare, smooth crevice between her thighs begged him to taste her.

  Stark forced his pulse to remain level, his voice to remain calm. His body pounded with savage need, arousal coiling tight in his gut and throbbing in his cock. He had to lock his feet to keep himself from coming closer.

  “Turn around.” Those gold, aroused eyes drove him insane as she held his gaze for a long molten moment before slowly turning to present him with the long erotic line of her braid pointing at the crease between her buttocks.

  His throat went bone dry. He allowed his hand to tremble when he reached for the clasp holding her braid and set the red silk of her hair spilling to her hips like loose waves of the softest fire. Since she couldn't see, Stark gave himself the luxury of reveling in the softness of a fragrant strand before bringing it to his nose to take in her scent. He hadn't smelled the sea in years, yet her clean scent reminded him of it.

  “Are you aroused, Officer?” He wasn't sure how he held out this long.

  A pause. “I don't know yet. Commander.”

  “Then we'll have to see.”

  He forced himself to take a calming breath and closed his eyes for a moment in an attempt to fight the urge to spread her thighs and take that first taste. She had to be just as crazed with arousal as he was. Stark had to feel it in her body, see it in her eyes.

  The need to see her gripped in raw arousal allowed him a small shard of control. He used a single fingertip to touch her skin, tracing a fragile line between her shoulder blades down to the curve at the base of her spine. Testing them both, he pressed his lips into the tender spot above the firm globes of her buttocks.

  A low, shuddering sigh. She made a move as if to get away from him, then stood still as if knowing that would lose this game. Stark spread his palms over the smooth skin of her buttocks, finally giving in to the urge to cup and squeeze the firm, supple flesh.

  He shuddered. “You won't deny me. Anything.”

  “Yes, sir.” A whisper, as if she understood what he implied and trembled with the thought.

  She wouldn't hold out much longer. Stark wasn't sure he could either. “Say that again.”

  “Yes, sir.” She hissed the words, helpless, irritated arousal.

  “I like the way you say that. Like you're telling me to fuck you at the same time you're telling me to go to hell.”

  He slid his palms over her buttocks, down to the silk skin of her thighs, and heard a quick intake of breath. “Do you like when I touch you?”

  Another short-lived shiver. “Yes, sir.”

  He would inflame those shivers into a fire. Stark only hoped he would survive the flame. “That's good.” He pressed his lips between her shoulder blades, felt the rapid tattoo of her breaths, the rhythm of her heartbeat.

  “I love touching your skin,” he murmured against the rapid rise and fall of that erotic back, feeling another shiver rake her body. “I've been thinking about you. How I would touch you.” He slid his hands over the slim curve of her belly. “Here.” He moved his palms up to her ribs, achingly slow, torturing them both with greed for more. “Here.”

  Finally he allowed himself to briefly cup her breasts before sliding up to caress the arching column of her neck and slowly coming back to linger on her nipples.

  She shuddered under his hands and dropped her head back on his shoulder, sending dark satisfaction through his veins. Mine, something whispered in his ear, and somehow his very core knew it was true
.

  “Let me touch you.” A low, breathy voice that had him boiling.

  Stark exhaled through his teeth. “Not yet.”

  His palms cupping her breasts, he nudged her forward until she stood close to the comm center, all but vibrating under his hands.

  “Turn to face me.”

  She didn't answer this time, and Stark didn't think he had the will to press the point. He forced himself to look into her eyes and tortured them both by lifting a pink-tipped breast and breathing the words over the tempting, straining nipple. “Spread your thighs for me.”

  He saw her gulp then nod, as if she couldn't get the air for the words. His breathing harsh, Stark knew exactly how she felt.

  Finally he could touch her freely, letting his palms roam over all that warm, sensitive skin, finding the spots that made her shiver, lingering over those that made her gasp.

  Arousal shuddered against the iron-hard control. “Lean back.”

  She braced her palms over the comm unit and arched her spine, breathing sharp and fast through that erotically flushed mouth.

  “I'm going to watch you come.”

  She'd wanted a quick fuck, something to dull the thoughts and feelings. She had expected Stark to either tell her to fuck off or simply jump at the opportunity to get it over with as he'd suggested. This battle of willpower quickly became something Zoya didn't know how to handle, a challenge of control, a taut and subtle stretch of her arousal to a boiling point.

  She stood before him, leaning back on the cold plaster of the comm unit, her breasts arched toward him, her sex open between slightly spread thighs. There was no need for an ocular implant to determine the rising level of his arousal. She simply wasn't sure if she could hold out long enough to see him break.

  His wild blue gaze stayed locked on hers as he touched her, long, firm caresses that sent her heartbeat pounding thick and hot inside her veins. A circle of fingertips between her breasts, a slow, lingering trail over her belly.

  He made no move to touch her sex. His gaze challenged her to keep her eyes open as he leaned closer, made her wait for a delicious, torturous kiss. His mouth trailed a tingling path over her jaw just below her ear and lingered there long enough to have her let out a quiet moan and close her eyes.