“Aelliana, forgive me—”
She put her fingers over his mouth.
“There is nothing to forgive,” she told him, “only . . . an accommodation. I—we—can learn this, van'chela.” She came to her feet, reaching down to take his hand. “Come.”
Hand-linked, they left the piloting chamber, and hand-linked they went down the short hall to crew's quarters. She put her free hand against the door on the right side of the corridor, and smiled when it slid soundlessly open.
The room beyond was decadent, reflecting some—though not all—of the former owner's . . . predilections. The ceiling mirrors had been sold, but the rest of the room was absurdly furnished for a working Class A Jump.
The floor was covered in thick, creamy carpet; the bed luxuriously outfitted with silks, furs, and an entire school of brightly colored pillows. It was, she thought, turning to face Daav, perfect. It belonged to no one, save her; and it was her choice that had brought him here. That was important.
Very important.
“Take off your jacket,” she commanded.
One eyebrow rose, but he complied, dropping the garment to the rug.
“Take off your jacket,” he countered, softly.
Ah, this was a game that Daav knew, was it? She smiled again, delight stitching through the bright threads of need, desire, and determination.
Her jacket slid down her arms. She dropped it next to his on the rug.
“Your shirt,” she said. “Remove it.”
He smiled and fingered the lacing loose, taking an inordinately long time about it, his eyes on hers the entire while, at last withdrawing the cord from its guides entirely and dropping it to the floor. His eyes still on hers, he slowly pulled the shirt over his head, and let it fall.
She stepped forward then, unable to stop, and ran her hands over his chest, delighting in the texture of his skin, stretching high to place her hands on his shoulders, her body pressed into his, and her face turned up.
“Kiss me.”
He did that, and willingly. Hunger seared her; she angled her mouth against his hard and demanding, and he responded—but with restraint; his embrace not as fierce as it might have been—she read it in him, that he did not wish to frighten her, and stepped back, shivering with need.
Her shirt had someway joined the muddle of clothes on the rug; she didn't remember how, and it did not concern her.
“Boots,” Daav murmured, before she could draw breath. “Else this will quickly become a comedy.”
She laughed, breathless, and sat on the edge of the bed to attend hers, then looked up at him, feeling suddenly not . . . quite . . . bold.
“Take off the rest,” she said, her voice shaking. “And lie down on the bed.”
He was a paradox—a dozen paradoxes; velvet skin over hard, lean muscle. Her fingers found scars; her lips found places that had him nearly weeping with delight.
This was far superior to their first encounter, when all she had known was what he had desired. This . . . exploration; this teasing out of sensual knowledge—she could do this, she thought, lazily running her fingers down the inside of his thigh, for days. She smiled at the catch in his breath, and moved her fingers again.
“Aelliana . . . ” He reached for her; she caught his hands and kissed his palms, feeling his intent.
“Yes,” she whispered. “It's your turn now.”
Passion, pillows cascading to the floor, laughter, cries, and limbs entangled. She was astride him, aching for union, and there—there he came again, her husband, cursing her as he slammed her against the wall and thrust his member into her—
She shivered, the bed slipping sideways.
“Aelliana?”
Warm hands caught her and she shook her head, dashing the hateful vision away, looking down into his face, this, her most beloved friend, who shared her heart and her soul.
“Daav!” she cried and bent to kiss him most tenderly indeed.
She opened to him then, willingly, filling herself with him, as the two of them climbed, entangled, to the stars, to ecstasy, crying out with one voice, in fierce celebration of their union.
* * *
“The most beneficial model,” Daav murmured, his cheek resting against her hair. They had adopted the coverlet as the heat of lovemaking began to fade, leaving them shivering in the ship's temperate air. Aelliana had slept for a few minutes, her head on his shoulder and her leg thrown across his hips. Upon waking, she had immediately demanded an analysis of the options open to The Luck as a working ship.
“The most beneficial model for a small ship embarked on trade is a fixed route, with both reliable suppliers and reliable buyers at each port. Er Thom could work out such a route for The Luck, if the pilot-owner wished to embrace that option. Indeed, I would venture to say that we would be hard put to deny Er Thom the considerable pleasure of putting together such a route.”
“Mmm,” she said, “but there is the option of courier. What benefit there?”
“Courier has the advantage of a certain freedom in flight,” he said obligingly, this being the sort of data the child of a house old in both trade and piloting ingested with his porridge. “One need only have a client and a destination. One may set one's price, or refuse a commission altogether. With freedom, of course, comes heightened risk. One cannot be certain that there will be someone in need of the ship's services at the delivery port. Also, one may not know well in advance which port one will raise, or in what condition it will be found.”
“Is it—more dangerous?” she asked. “Courier.”
He considered that. “Not necessarily, no. A known trade loop with published stops holds danger as well—perhaps in equal measure, though there are safeguards built into the loop. If one does not arrive when scheduled, for instance—”
“I'm inclined,” Aelliana interrupted, reaching up to brush his cheek with cool fingertips, “I'm inclined to go for courier. What do you think?”
He smiled, and craned his head to look down into her face, catching a glimpse of shining green eyes among the tangled strands of tawny hair.
“I think that I am inclined to go for courier, too.”
She chewed her lip.
“We will need papers? A registration, or—a license to do business. Is that the Guild?”
“Ultimately, the Guild. However, Mr. dea'Gauss can do much of the ferreting and the filling out for you.”
“He had said he would be pleased to serve me—when I met him in the hallway,” Aelliana said. “At the time, I could scarcely think how he might. I will call upon him tomorrow.”
“Fortunate Mr. dea'Gauss,” he said lightly.
She laughed and sat up, the coverlet falling away to reveal breasts made pert by the cool air.
“We are in accord,” she said, and leaned down to kiss him, her passion striking his from banked to bonfire in a heartbeat.
Gasping, he surrendered to her, and willingly let her have her way.
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Contents
Liaden 11 - Mouse and Dragon
Chapter Sixteen
Be aware of those actions undertaken in your name . . .
—From the Liaden Code of Proper Conduct
“This is quite sudden, Scholar.” Director Barq went so far as to frown into the screen. “I wonder if you have given any thought to the impact of your decision upon Chonselta Technical College.”
As it happened, she had, and it grieved her. She had taught mathematics at Chonselta Tech for seven Standards, and the advance seminar in practical mathematics, that her Scout pupils had called Math for Survival, for five. Surely, she owed Chonselta Tech much, for having hired her, trembling and timid as she had been; and for having been for so many years a refuge and a sanctuary.
And, yet, she told herself now, as she had told herself several times during a solitary, wakeful night—one had other tasks before one; an entire new life to explore. She had given Chonselta Tech fair measure.