A reaver was someone who plundered and foraged. She’d been foraging for me since she’d arrived, but she hadn’t managed to plunder me yet. Not that I hadn’t wanted her to, but I believed in controlling my impulses. I didn’t consume alcohol often. I didn’t partake in any powerful drugs. I controlled my caffeine intake. And, I resisted the temptation to copulate except on rare occasions. That’s how I earned the callsign “Paladin.” Monk, Friar, Priest, Prude, and Brother were already taken.
It was also a tradition that we didn’t get to pick our own callsigns. That’s how we ended up with handles like “Skidmark” and “Sparky.” Unfortunate, but it was part of the gig.
I couldn’t let her in. It wasn’t that it was illegal. It wasn’t considered fraternization unless things got serious. If it was just sex, then nobody cared. The thought of ravaging—or just as likely, being ravaged by—her took my breath away. I had to steady myself against the bulkhead for a moment. She rang the door chime again. This woman isn’t going to stop until I let her in. Come to think of it, maybe it’s something important.
“Hey, I just stepped out of the shower,” I explained. “I’m not even dressed yet.”
She was silent for a moment. “If you want awkward, I can make it awkward. Listen, there’s a lot of people out here, and if you saw how I was dressed, you’d let me in right away. The longer I’m out here, the more people are getting curious.”
Damn, she’s good. I wrapped a towel around my waist and slapped the door panel. She was standing there, an innocent-doe-look in her eyes as if she’d never seen a man without a shirt on before. The corner of her lips were turned up just enough to let me know she knew exactly what she was doing.
“We need to talk,” she said as she slipped under my arm into my berth.
I opened my mouth to protest, but when I caught sight of her small, round ass under a pair of thin, pale blue pajama pants, I forgot what I was going to say. Yep, she knew exactly what she was doing.
She walked around the perimeter of my little berth as if she was looking for something. Then she put her hands on her hips and threw me a severe look that said I’d wronged her somehow. At the same time, she inhaled deeply as if she was going to scold me. The move made it clear she wasn’t wearing a bra. It also became clear that my room might’ve been a little on the cold side.
“Good work today,” I offered.
She laughed, rolled her eyes, and walked a circuit around the room. I admired her form, her grace, and her power. The little strings, designed to keep her pajama pants on, dangled in front of her hips, drawing my attention to the spot where her legs met.
“You too,” she said, stopping in front of me. She was close enough that I could feel her body heat against my chest. The light aroma of soap filled my head with thoughts of soft skin, toned muscles, and warm, wet spots of pleasure. I yearned to touch her skin, to run my hands up the small of her back and watch goosebumps make the little hairs on her arms stand on end. I imagined her heavy breathing, the strength of her arms, and her strong legs wrapped around my hips.
But there was a mission to prepare for, one that might change the course of human history if it were successful.
Discipline, I told myself. There’s always going to be time for sex later. Complete the mission, then celebrate—in that order.
It was then that I remembered there may not be a later. The mission could be a one-way trip or a straight ticket to cremation.
“How do you do it?” Reaver asked, a hard, concerned look in her eyes.
I tried to take a small step back but found myself pressed against the cold bulkhead.
“How do you maintain such control?”
I knew what she meant, but I played it off, acting as innocent as her. “Well, I have a lot of practice. I’ve been a Marine for almost 20 years, and most of that in combat units. I’ve learned that losing my cool in battle isn’t—” She interrupted my speech with a firm finger-poke to the center of my chest.
“You know that’s not what I mean,” she purred as she took a small step closer.
It was then that her nipples brushed against my body, just above my bottom ribs. A wave of pleasure washed over me like sparks from a welder. Damn, she’s good. We’d done this before—the little dance of flirtation. I enjoyed the game, and because she kept coming back, I knew she did too, but she’d never shown up wearing such thin, soft fabric. She’d never been so obvious.
I changed the subject. “I need to leave early in the morning,” I explained, doing my best to keep my breathing even. “I’m sorry, but I need to get some sleep.”
“Do you?” she said as she leaned against me. Her hands were still down at her side, but I knew for certain she wasn’t wearing a bra. We’d never been this close. It had all been flirting and talk before. There was an occasional “accidental” touch or caress, but nothing like this. I was all about control. I controlled the battle. I controlled the team. Most of all, I controlled myself.
Yet, this could be my final opportunity. I might not ever
