She closed her eyes and shook her head, unwilling to answer him. He stopped his steady thrusting, and slowly pulled his c**k partway out of her body. She whimpered, lifting her hips toward him. It wasn't enough.
"Who do you belong to?" he asked a third time. She kept shaking her head, and he pulled out of her completely. He transferred both of her hands to one of his, and reached down between them. His fingers found her clit, touching it lightly. She jumped, and he laughed without humor.
His fingers started a slow stroke up and down her clit, tweaking it as he moved back and forth. She whimpered in protest but he ignored her, focusing instead on his fingers' slow movements. Sparkles of sensation came to life at the center of her being. They started in her clit, spreading out in slow circles through her pelvis before skittering up her body to her ni**les. The opening between her legs felt so empty. The space he had once stretched to the point of pain cried out for him now. Desire wound its way through her and she twisted with need. A part of her felt angry, betrayed. Why was her own body doing this to her? It wasn't right that he should be able to control her responses so easily.
"Who do you belong to?" he asked once more, fingers slowing in their exploration of her crevices. She shook her head, whimpering. She wasn't going to give in to him, not like this. He thought he owned her, she reminded herself. He couldn't own her. She wasn't going to allow it. His fingers stabbed into her again and she gasped. One finger, two, three fingers entered her body, his thumb still moving restlessly across her clit. She twisted and he laughed again.
"I think you belong to me now," he said softly. "I think you know it, too. You don't like it, but you can't control yourself. You're mine."
She didn't bother to shake her head in denial this time. It was taking every bit of her strength not to break down and beg him for release. She kept remembering how he felt inside of her, how he would stretch her open, moving slowly at first before going faster and faster. She would feel her muscles start to shiver and trembled, and his c**k would swell inside her body. Jess pulled his fingers out of her body abruptly, and the illusion was broken.
"Please," she whispered, beyond fighting. "Please…"
"Who do you belong to?" he asked a final time, and she broke down.
"I belong to you," she said. "Please, I need you inside of me."
He positioned the head of his c**k against her entrance, pressed in lightly then stopped.
"I want to hear it again."
"I belong to you," she said again, tears of frustration running down her face. "I belong to you, dammit.
Now f**k me before I die."
He laughed again, the sound low and dark. Then he shoved the entire length of his c**k into her with one smooth motion. Her frayed nerves exploded and she bucked against him. All the tension that had built up in her body tightened in on that one moment; she flew into oblivion. She could hear him panting in her ears as he thrust into her body toward his own pleasure, but it was as if she were in a universe all her own. She simply lay there, basking in the pleasure and surreal brilliance of her orgasm.
She really did belong to him, she mused, still caught in a sense of unreality. Her body certainly didn't have any doubts. She couldn't imagine anything better than this; nothing could be more perfect. He released her hands, bracing both palms on the pallet beside her head. His upper body rose, allowing him to slam into her more fully. She raised her legs and clenched them tightly around his back, holding him deep within her body as his orgasm hit. He gasped, shuddering. She could feel him pulsating within her and she smiled as the hot seed hit her cervix.
He belonged to her, too, she thought with satisfaction. He needed her just as much as she needed him.
He collapsed against her, breaking her train of thought, and she wrapped her arms around him. They lay there together for several minutes, panting. No wonder it was so hard for her to think when he was around, she thought wryly. Every time they touched, they exploded.
After several moments he lifted himself from her body and stood. He turned away as he tucked himself into his pants, erecting an invisible wall between them with his silence. It was far too early for sleep; he would be leaving her now. He always did after moments like this. They had to talk.
"Jess, wait," she said.
"What?" he asked, turning back to her. He suddenly seemed so cold, so distant. She sat up and pulled her skirt over her naked flesh. She felt embarrassed, almost dirty.
"We need to talk about what's going to happen to us," she said softly. "I want to know what your plans are. I want to know what's going to happen to me."
"I'll take care of you," he said tightly. "You don't need to worry about anything else."
"I'd still like to know where we're going. Moriah tells me you're taking the fourth ship. You aren't going with Logan?"
"No," he said tightly. He turned, making it clear the conversation was over. She sat back against the wall, pulling up her knees and wrapping her arms around them. She felt utterly alone. Against her will, she felt tears building up in her eyes and she wiped them away quickly. Without thinking she sniffed, and he turned back to her.
"Oh, shit," he muttered, coming back to sit next to her. He pulled her into his arms and she allowed the tears to flow. For the first time in months—years—she allowed herself to let go, to feel all the frustration and hurt she'd pushed back so many times. It felt good to just let him hold her, to feel his arms around her and collapse against his chest.
He stroked her hair until she stopped crying, and kept stroking it while she hiccupped for a few minutes.
Then he reached down and lifted her face with one finger, kissing her softly on the lips. It was a sweet kiss, undemanding and comforting, and the kindness of it almost made her start crying again.
He finished his kiss and pulled away from her. She looked into his eyes, and was suddenly struck again by how much he resembled Logan. Without thinking, she asked, "Are you brothers?"
"What?"
"Are you and Logan brothers?" she repeated. "You look so much alike, I can't help but wonder."
"No," he said after a long pause, his face troubled. "Why were you thinking about Logan while I was kissing you?"
"I wasn't thinking about Logan," she said, feeling herself smile. It felt good to smile, she realized. "But you do look like him. Are you related? I don't know anything about you."
'No, we're not," he said finally. "I've been a slave all my life. I was created and raised in on an Imperial slave farm. Logan is Saurellian. The Saurellians are at war with the Empire."