{Gait}

All through the war, Korac wanted one thing. Sagan all to himself. Now that she was naked in his arms, he could hold her forever. There was only one problem.

“Are you sure the Shadow doesn’t need you somewhere?” After he asked, he squeezed the tops of her thighs for two reasons. One, he was a sadist and enjoyed teasing her to distraction. And two, he wanted to reassure how much he loved that she came to him. “You have worlds to save. People to liberate. Or whatever heroes do.”

Sagan gasped for him and writhed in his lap. She turned and gazed at him. So much knowledge stared back in those young eyes. His woman understood the universal truths and then some.

“Korac, I waited two years for you while the only other person I love served an undeserved sentence. I can’t touch her. But I can touch you. And I’ll stop touching you when I’m damned well ready.”

He stoked the fire in her with a kiss.

Released for air, she brushed fingers through his hair. A goofy grin blossomed on her face. Truly adorable with those freckles. She confessed, “Now that I’ve said that, I technically have to leave for Earth. We have a big meeting, and I need to transport everyone.”

He kissed the dip of her collarbone and traveled left from there. “Criminally underutilized,” he whispered against her throat.

Sagan let her head fall back, giving him access. Her sweet scent coaxed him. Her voice was breathy, desperate, “Please.”

There were few things in these worlds that satisfied Korac. A lover begging him in that manner counted among them. She trusted him completely, and he would destroy the Vast Collective to keep her safe.

“Get the rope.”

“Yes, Master.”

He did a double-take and, when he caught her smirking deviously at him, he almost shivered. Only she enticed him that way.

Sagan collected quite a hoard of pleasantries for his cell. A mattress pad for the hard plank Gait called a bed. Sheets. A suede duvet. All white, of course. A Pil weight set. An actual wardrobe including a drawer for her things. An assortment of rare hygiene products from exotic planets. And… supplies.

Cheap polypropylene rope among them. Reflecting on her answer when Korac questioned the reason made him actually shiver. Who made her so perfect?

She returned with the frayed rope and an excited smile. Ready. Always.

Korac backed her into the center of the cell. “No sound.” She stretched her clasped hands high. “Eyes on me.” He tied the rope into a handcuff knot. “I’ll grant you a special treat if you can manage without tears.” And waited.

As Sagan grew more comfortable with their encounters, she became firmer in her negotiations. “I consent with one caveat.”

He nodded for her to go on.

“Because I have another engagement, I request that after one orgasm you release me.”

A wicked, lascivious grin spread across his lips, and he did nothing to stop it. “Granted.” The girl underestimated his talents, but she would never forget it after this lesson.

Korac loved to hear Sagan beg.

They installed a crude hook in the ceiling for suspension. He looped the rope onto it, careful to avoid the rope’s shedding splinters. He glanced to make certain, and, sure enough, Sagan watched him. She obeyed instruction like no one else.

Stretched naked for him—Damn, what a picture she made.

“Wait, one second—Shit.”

Without a word, she asked the question with her curious eyes.

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“I wanted to sketch you, but I lack supplies.” At her insistent movements, he chuckled and relented, “Talk.”

Sagan offered, “I can get some for you.”

A precocious impulse hit him. “No. Thank you. I think I have a more fun idea in mind—”

Korac stopped talking when Sagan, dismissing an errant hair from her face, shook her entire body with a hands-free gesture. Every muscle. Every curve. Her soft, supple skin waited for him. Worthy of a painting, but that would come later.

She beamed at him. Sweet lips. Beautiful teeth. Open. Honest.

There was a more immediate coming that concerned him. Without wasting more time, Korac kissed her thighs. He looked up and caught her wondrous gaze. Even as he lifted her legs onto his shoulders, Sagan stared at him. Silent.

Her weakness at the inner thighs amused him. How well would she fare? He kissed over the femoral artery, expecting a gasp or a flutter of her lashes. He watched her intently. Eyebrows slightly drawn, and her teeth sank into her lip.

That was his weakness and always tempted him to break before her.

Korac licked her. She swallowed hard and strained silently in the ropes. At her obedience, he continued. Pride suffused him as Sagan maintained her control for longer than any other session. He almost broke her with the sucking. He filed biting away for another encounter.

Refusing her silent pleas for release hurt him almost as much as it hurt her. But he deemed the pain necessary.

These moments were for learning each other and themselves. Testing their limits. With every cut, Korac promised Sagan fire beyond burning. But with every open smile, she melted more of the ice he hid behind. They loved each other.

Progeny blood dripped from the hook where she writhed herself into a tangle. The plastic rope’s splinters shivved into her delicate skin. The nacre healed it, of course. But the splinters stayed inside her, healed over. She didn’t exactly advertise it, but he caught her chafing her wrists together. Further agitating the nerves. Korac found it curious.

Edged to oblivion. Flushed so deeply, her skin almost matched her eyes. Blistered with tears. Strained from thrashing while suspended. And her wrists… a mess.

Sagan never looked away from him. Never made a sound. The entire block smelled of watermelon.

“Who made you so perfect?”

She shivered almost pitifully, and that broke him. Gently, he gripped her sides and pulled her off the hook. All the while, soothing, “Shh. Shh. You did beautifully. Shh. Amos, you’re wonderful. We’re almost finished.”

Korac carried her to the bed and laid her across the black suede, leaving her arms stretched above her. He kissed away the burning salt of her tears. Softly, he observed, “There’s so many. Sagan, are you crying because you ruined your prize?”

Sagan kept her gaze on him as she nodded with a wince. Her legs scissored beneath him as she tried to smother the fire in her. He settled his weight on her to pin them down.

The war criminal stole a kiss as he assured, “You’ve more than earned it.” Korac spread her thighs wide. “Make all the sound you want.” And then he gave her what she needed.

His name from her lips shocked the quiet cell and scattered in echos throughout the block. He kept to their arrangement. One orgasm, and then he’d release Sagan for her engagement. After this four-hour lesson, he suspected she’d specify duration from hereon.

They held each other as before. Her sitting in his lap. This time, he performed the aftercare she enjoyed with these ropes. Sagan appreciated when Korac delicately removed the plastic splinters from her wrists and hands. She watched intently and shivered as he slipped another out. He kissed the top of her head to show how much he loved exploring her mind with her.

With the last one removed, Sagan kissed him. Despite her attempt to distract him, he still caught the sadness in her eyes.

“I’ll be back in a few days. I promise.” She finished buckling her coat closed. Always naked beneath.

He slipped his long legs into a pair of faded denim jeans and appreciated how well they fit. Lucas could tailor his wardrobe anytime. When Korac’s eyes met Sagan’s again, he released an involuntary growl. “General. Control yourself.”

She looked close to drooling. “I can’t help it.” With a hopeless shrug and a wink, Sagan walked through the Seam. Both axes on her hips.

Elden, he loved her. And that’s how Korac found himself slumped against one wall with his ass on the floor. Worried about her.

It sounded messy out there with the Progeny. Were The Brethren prepared to claim and retain the planet? From their own populace? From their Tritan benefactors? Because it would come down to both, eventually. It always did.

And Razor.

Korac let his head fall back against the wall with a thud, filing his fingernails. Thinking about which length Sagan preferred them suited the Icarus far better than thinking about the Pain Curator sinking his nail-less claws into her. An infinite malice lived in those hard red eyes.

Korac trusted his girl to hold her own. She could summon a portal to Hell, for Elden’s sake. But… If she weren’t careful, Razor would chew her up with nothing left to spit out.

And then Korac would divide the world apart to claim the bastard’s spine.

There was one other item on the retired General’s mind. He blew on his nails and idly glanced at the lift’s direction. How far could he get around? How long before he searched for Nox? Should he even…

Again with the thud. He clenched his jaw to draw out the tension in his neck. In his fucking conscience. Maybe Pehton—

“Hey, son?”

Korac stopped paying his blockmate any consideration during Sagan’s visits. He spared no time or thought for anything but her. So when the man’s deep voice thundered through the hall, Korac sighed angrily. “What?!”

“Do you mind telling me what the fuck I just listened to?”