Heart Fortune

surrendered.

He was repeating something, but her mind had hazed so much, the yearning spiraling so high within her that she couldn’t understand him. Her hands clenched over his shoulders, distantly she heard her own whimpers. He was so much larger that she couldn’t move, especially not in desperate need.

But she could tilt her hips, rotate them, tease him. Set her hands on his shoulders, dig her fingernails into his skin.

Which had him groaning, swearing, and lunging into her.

The rhythm, the connection between them perfected. Almost, almost, she could see the golden HeartBond. But he would have to accept, and he’d be shocked with it, and . . . thought was gone, desire ruled, the rising to ecstasy, the feel of her lover’s body against hers, the thin cloth caught between them, maddening and exquisite all at once.

His groan and emptying that pushed her into fabulous pleasure.

Her arms fell from him, limp, and he collapsed on her, and the bedsponge on the cot cradled them both.

When she could lift a shaky hand, she funneled her fingers through his hair, bit her tongue to keep the comment about how much longer it was, how the sun had burnished it until she could see deep auburn notes. A pity for their children, that, to have both parents with red in their hair. Someday.

She was ready to claim him, to give him her HeartGift and let the law force him to wed her. And that was simply wrong. Coercing him would lose him.

Though his heart, his emotions, might want more than sex, want the loving and affection and respect she’d given him tonight, she didn’t think he’d acknowledge that even to himself. If she let her eyes close she could see the thick and brilliant bond between them.

He rolled and they settled on their sides, facing each other. With thought trickling in, she hoped she looked all right.

Jace touched her cheek. “Glyssa.”

She snuggled closer. “Mmm.”

“I’m glad you’re here.”

Sighing, she said, “Nice.” Wasn’t foolish enough to comment further. She believed he’d regret any vulnerability on his part in the morning.

His voice roughened and he curved his hand over her bottom, kneaded. Her eyes opened to see him grinning again.

“I really like this nightgown.”

She shrugged. He didn’t know her well enough to realize she liked big, sloppy, flannel gowns, nothing at all like what she wore.

He raised her leg and placed it on his hip, rubbed his sex against her. He was reviving fast, and she felt her own smile. Again she stopped a comment behind her lips—it had been a long time since she’d had sex. Do not get into that conversation.

With a hand stroking him hard and another wiggle, they were joined again, and it was wonderful, him inside her, where she’d wanted him since the night he’d left after their fling.

They stared into each other’s eyes. Hers had to be wide.

She could see no trace of color in his irises, and wanted light as part of their loving. Not now. Not yet. Maybe soon. That might become a mantra.

“Glyssa,” he said, and it echoed in her ears and whispered in her mind and sizzled in her blood.

One stroke.

She moaned, saw a bead of sweat appear on his temple, slide slowly down his face, out of reach of her tongue. She leaned up and nibbled along his jaw. His turn to moan, to plunge again and again, then stop, driving her to move under him more.

He kept her still by anchoring her to the bed with the weight and angle of his hips. “No,” he said. Bent and brushed a kiss on her lips. His every movement sent waves of pleasure through her so she craved him.

“No,” he panted. “So good. Need to make it last.”

She tried to relax, to savor him inside her. He was here and hers for now, for this exquisite moment. Savor. Bind him to her with the physicality of sex, as she’d been bound to him for years. No other would do—not for her. She’d prove to him that no other would do for him, either.

His face, so dear already. The clean lines of his bone structure, a rectangular face, beautiful to her. A face that matched his long, lean body.

He grunted, moved again and again, slow, measured thrusts that had her gasping, arching, sharing each iota of pleasure, the fullness of him within her stimulating her desire, stoking her passion, enthralling her mind until only the drive to release mattered.

The scent of him, bay rum like his name, spicy and masculine, mixed with perspiration, mixed with the heady perfume she’d worn. All so real.

Soon. Soon.

Her body throbbed with pleasure, burst asunder. She cried out at her climax, heard his low moan and he collapsed on top of her, fitting right. Wrapping her arms and legs around him, she claimed him this way.

“Glyssa.” Once more, his saying her name caused rippling thrills—this time the tenderness in his tone went straight to her heart. He mumbled unintelligibly then his body loosened as he fell asleep.

Yes, he was heavy, and the cot wasn’t wide . . . she could have formed a pretty dreamscape for them, but she’d wanted the hint of reality. Having him close was all she’d desired for a long, long time. That he felt comfortable enough to fall asleep with her had tears of joy creeping from under her own lashes.

With Flair, she moved them slightly until they curled together, as always after sex—making love? She thought so, this time, at least on her part. Even in dreamtime they stayed together, resting, touching, petting.

She fought sleep as long as she could, knowing that once she fell deep into that state, she’d move away from him, leave him. She could hold on to him until then.

And, sometimes, when she fell asleep first, she sensed he held on to her until he succumbed. That was the best feeling, and gave her hope.

But not tonight. The emptiness waiting in her luxurious tent claimed her.

* * *

Come quick, come quick! Bad people saying bad things about FamMan. They got him!

“Huh?” Glyssa batted away Lepid’s scratchy claws on her shoulder.

He screeched in her ear, had her jolting up.

Hopping around her, he shouted mentally. BIG BAD THING HAPPENED. THEY THINK FAMMAN DID IT.

Glyssa shook her head, but excited and noisy voices came from outside her pavilion. She grabbed underwear and slipped into it, frowning that she smelled like her own dream sex, and yanked the first folded clothing from the top of the stack inside her trunk. A licorice red ankle-long tunic with several pockets, including long, square, sleeve pockets. Not really appropriate for running through a camp, but good enough.

Running to the commotion made her more out of breath than she liked. She needed more exercise. Besides dream sex. Besides regular sex, even.

Near the hole to the ship, two rumpled and angry men held Jace, who appeared livid—pale under his tanned skin.

“I did not do this,” Jace stated.

The Elecampanes showed up. “We were told we had a break in security and a theft?” Del asked.

“That’s right. Someone took us out,” said one of the big guys holding Jace.

“Took you out?” Del frowned.

An angry shrug. “Drugged us or something. We don’t sleep on the job!”

“Yeah, we don’t. But we did,” said the other man.

“You checked the hole and the contents when you woke up?”

“Yeah. One of the smaller boxes is gone,” said the man. “We found evidence that this guy—this Jace