"I just mean that I need you to focus," he said in an attempt to clarify. "If you just keep hold of yourself and stay calm 'til we get on the shuttle, we'll be fine."
Did he just hear her whimper? And it looked like she was shaking now, her whole body vibrating. He could see the goosebumps rising on her skin, as well as ... shit! Her nipples were getting hard!
Deacon snatched his hand back as if he'd been burned and leaned backward away from the girl "Whoa. I don't know what--"
That's all he managed to get out. The rest of whatever he planned to say got lost in the warm, hungry depths of her mouth when she threw herself at him, locking her arms around his neck and kissing him with frantic purpose.
What the fuck?!
His hands automatically went up and back to curl around her wrists, intending to pull her off him and demand to know what was going on. That's what he intended, but then her tongue slipped past his lips to tease the roof of his mouth, and he forgot his intentions.
He groaned and slid his hands around to grasp her hips, surprised to feel how narrow they felt. They'd looked deliciously flared the last time he'd tried to avoid looking at them...
Right. This wasn't supposed to be happening.
Tightening his grip, he prepared to push her away again, but the little devil must have read his mind. She squirmed closer and slung one leg around his hips, using her new leverage to press herself against him. Then one of her hands left its grip on the back of his neck and insinuated itself between them to take advantage of the open button on his pants and close around his cock. Which had the damned nerve to weep in gratitude.
She started to make these little whimpering noises that drove him out of his mind. He could feel his eyes rolling back in his head as her small hand brushed over the tip of his cock and used his own moisture to begin a slick, sliding caress up and down his length.
He felt himself tensing with the pleasure of her insistent touch. To say she'd surprised him might be a wee bit of an understatement. Where had his timid little rescuer gone and this hot, sexy woman come from?
And in a few seconds, would he really care?
Gathering up every ounce of his willpower, Deacon tightened his grip on her hips and gently pulled her away. She made a mewling sound as if he'd caused her pain and immediately reached for him again.
"Whoa. Hold on. What's going on here?"
Her hands tried to pull him closer, her eyes unfocused and looking almost frenzied. "Please. Pleasepleaseplease," she chanted, trying to wriggle out of his grip to get closer to him. "Need. Need you."
She didn't even let him finish the word, just planted her hands on his chest, used the element of surprise to push him into leaning back on the cot, and dipped her head to close her mouth around the head of his cock.
He bit out a curse and felt his head dropping back to rest on his shoulders. She began to suck him in deeper, taking more and more of his shaft between her warm lips. He had a hard time believing this was happening. Of all the things he might have expected from her after speaking to her for the last hour or so, this was not one of them. She had almost turned into another person. Though if a woman had to have a split personality, he supposed this manifestation was better than some of the alternatives.
Shit. This was better than most ways he could think of spending his time. Better than anything he'd ever felt before. Better than the meek, submissive, sex object routine she'd--
Stifling a curse and mustering every bit of willpower he'd ever had, Deacon grabbed her shoulders and pulled her off him, flipping their bodies on the cot so that she lay on her back and he loomed over her, blocking her from view and holding her in place. Away from his cock.
He struggled to catch his breath and opened his mouth to demand once more what was going on, but he ended up distracted again. She moaned as if he had struck her and began to struggle frantically. Her body writhed and twisted against his grasp, legs flailing, hands grasping for him. The weird thing was, she didn't appear to be trying to get away. She seemed to be struggling to get closer.
What the fuck is going on?
"Please!" Her voice sounded as if someone tore it from her throat. Her breathing came in shallow pants, and he heard short, sharp whimpers at almost every exhalation she made. "Help. Help me."
Her body bowed off the cot, head thrown back, heels and shoulders taking nearly all of her weight. Her exotic almond eyes opened and caught his gaze. She looked almost panicked, pupils dilated, eyes unfocused.
Deacon felt a stirring of fear. "What's wrong? Are you sick? Do you need a medic?"
She shook her head, dark hair tangling. "No." She jerked one hand free and grabbed his shoulder, pulling him closer. "You. Need you!"
He must have hesitated a moment too long, because her hand shifted from his shoulder to his wrist. She dragged his hand down, over endless stretches of silken skin, and plunged it between her thighs, pressing it to her core.
She was dripping. Moisture pooled at her center, thick and rich and welling like a spring from among her delicate folds. Unable to stop himself, he flexed his fingers, sinking them deeper, parting her lips and sliding through the slick, beguiling terrain.
"Yes! Darash ... more. Please." Her body arched high against him, pressing with desperation against his touch. She looked frantic, she sounded aroused, and she felt as hot and wanton as hell. So why the fuck did he feel like a rapist?
Deacon started to ease his hand away, but her thighs clamped tight around it and her eyes flew open again to stare up at him.
"Don't." She begged, actually begged, him to continue. "Please do not leave me this way. Darash, I will go crazy if I cannot serve you now."
The really crazy thing, Deacon thought, was that he believed her. She honestly did look as if she might go insane if left in this state of unfulfilled desire. This was way too surreal.
He opened his mouth to protest again, but a thought stopped him. Their plans for escape balanced precariously on their ability to work together quickly, efficiently, and logically. Any mistakes, any hesitation on either of their parts, and they could kiss freedom goodbye. Deacon needed Kili functional, rational, and competent, not whimpering and writhing like a sex-starved nympho. He needed the Kili he'd met an hour earlier, not this strange impostor he saw now.
Fuck. Looked like it was about time for him to give up and play along with this cosmic joke.
"Deacon," he growled, leaning closer to her, his shadow falling over her tense form and blocking out the dim light of the cell. "I'm no one's master, and you sure as shit don't need to serve me anything. If we're going to do this, we're doing it my way. Now let go."
He flexed his wrist against her grasp, urging her to release her grip. For a minute, he wondered if she had heard him. She hesitated, then slowly slid her hand away, leaving it to rest, palm up, fingers curled, beside her head.
Deacon paused for a moment, waiting to see if she moved. She did not. She held as perfectly still as the doll he'd compared her to, but the tiny shivers of her pussy against his fingers assured him she was very, very real.
And very, very aroused.
He closed his eyes and drew a deep breath. Time to step off the edge of the cliff and see what waited for him at the bottom. He hoped it wouldn't be rocks. Or Protectorate soldiers with blasters at the ready. And if it was ... well, he might as well enjoy this one last moment of pleasure. If his hormones were telling him the truth, it would leave a hell of a smile on his face before the executioner fired.
Opening his eyes, he forced all the other thoughts out of his head and let that smile peek out now. "Hold on, little bit," he purred. "This could get bumpy."