Free Last Kiss Goodnight by Gena Showalter

was as soft as velvet yet as hard as rock, and as warm as a winter blanket.
    Well, that answered that, she supposed.
    Her attention slid to his face. His surprisingly lovely face. Long, thick lashes cast shadows over cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass. He had a proud nose she wanted to touch . . . shouldn’t touch . . . couldn’t help but touch. Her fingers tingled.
    His lips were surely a work of art. They were lush and the same color as the roses her mother used to pick every morning and keep in their trailer. A tradition Vika had missed every day since her passing.
    What would it be like to belong to a man like thisone? Did he protect the things he loved, or did he hurt them? What was he like in his other life, the one before enslavement?
    Her fingers migrated to his lips. Lips as soft as they appeared. No, softer. Like little pillows.
    For the first time in her life, she wondered what it would be like to kiss a man.
    You can find out. . . .
    The question sprang from a hidden place inside her, drifted through her mind, the most insidious of temptations. What would a single kiss hurt? He would never know, and she would never again have to wonder what it would be like.
    A quick look around proved that all of the otherworlders were sleeping and none of the performers or workers were hanging around. There would never be a more perfect time.
    Inch by inch, she leaned down. Finally, she was there, hovering just over his mouth.
    You shouldn’t do this.
    A moment of reasoning, springing from a place she knew very well. Self-preservation.
    One she ignored.
    She pressed her lips against his.
    He offered no reaction, yet still the sweetness of the act astonished her. An intoxicating blend of emotions racing through her, she lifted her head, looked around. They were still alone. His eyes were still closed, his breathing still even. Again she lowered her mouth. This time, she applied more pressure, and oh, she likedthis feeling so much better. He was there, she could feel him, and could savor the intensified scent of him.
    I wonder if he tastes as wonderful as he smells.
    Another irresistible temptation. Her tongue swept out of its own accord and traced the center of his mouth. At the moment of contact, a moan escaped her. He tasted even better, and that should have been impossible, but here, now, nothing was impossible.
    No wonder people enjoyed doing this. There was a communion of bodies, a complete loss of worry. The world and its troubles simply ceased to matter.
    More, she thought, and her belly quivered.
    Yes. More. She sucked his lower lip between her teeth, careful, so careful not to hurt him. Another moan slipped from her—just as his eyelids flipped open and his gaze locked on her.

Seven

    Let his left hand be under my head, and his right hand embrace me.
    —SONG OF SOLOMON 2:6
    W ELL, HIS CURIOSITY WAS certainly assuaged, wasn’t it? Solo thought.
    She’d kissed him, confused him, overwhelmed him. Stunned him. Because she’d done it of her own free will. He hadn’t asked for it, hadn’t demanded it. She’d simply given. A gentle meeting of lips, followed by the sweetest little nibble.
    His body had been immobile—was still immobile—but his mind had been working just fine both then and now. The entire time, in fact. He’d been highly attuned to her every action, her every breath. Her every caress.
    He’d known the moment she spread mud over his toenails. It had taken him a few minutes to figure out what she was doing, and why, and when the answers had slid into place, he had reeled. She’d hoped to protect him.
    Then she had begun cleaning him. While she’d been gentle but businesslike with the other males, she had been sweet and affectionate with Solo, lingering,doctoring—arousing. From the first, his blood had heated to a fever pitch.
    His muscles had knotted as he’d tried everything within his power to move, to grab her—not to toss her away and escape, but to pull her closer. To strip