Free Chain Reaction by Zoe Archer

exploring her, savoring her. His engineer’s focus and thoroughness directed solely toward her.
    This was a kiss a man gave a woman, not a legend.
    And it shook her. It left her nowhere to hide, nothing with which to protect herself.
    She pulled back, breaking the kiss. His eyes opened, and his breathing came in rough swells as he gazed at her.
    There was something startlingly familiar about his kiss.
    A memory sparked through her. Quick and sharp.
    “The Night of Masks,” she said, her voice breathless.
    He said nothing, only continued to stare at her, his eyes hot and his cheeks dark and flushed.
    Finally liberated, the memory came back to her in a rush. It had been five solar months ago. Celebrating holidays was always important at the 8 th Wing home base, even holidays that had no true spiritual foundation, like the Night of Masks. That holiday was, in truth, more an excuse to be wild and uninhibited, identities protected by the traditional masks worn by celebrants. Fighting between PRAXIS and the 8 th Wing had been particularly bad in the past year, so Command had gone all out and had real naamari cakes baked for the troops. And offered a plentiful supply of Lulani rum. Alcohol and masks made for a potent combination.
    Celene loved the Night of Masks. It was one of the few times she could shed her Stainless Jur identity and simply enjoy herself like any person. Like any woman.
    She remembered now that she’d been dancing with several men. The men could’ve been her squad mates or part of the regular personnel or medical staff. It hadn’t mattered. She’d lost herself to the music, allowing herself to feel and be free. One of the men dancing with her had been gently tugging on her hand, trying to get her to go with him to a shadowed corner, but she’d been resisting, enjoying the freedom of the dance far more than she knew she would enjoy a fast, frenzied coupling. Everyone in the 8 th Wing had the Xalina vaccine and the Tawaret chip, so she knew she’d be protected from any disease or pregnancy—but it felt far better to dance with abandon than have anonymous sex.
    She had been just about to tell her insistent partner that he ought to find someone else for his night’s fun when a pair of strong hands had settled on her shoulders and turned her around. Even though she’d had more than a few mugs of rum, she had known she could take down anyone who tried to force himself on her. But she hadn’t wanted to use her hand-to-hand combat skills that night. She had just wanted freedom. Stainless Jur might toss an unwanted suitor to the ground, but on the Night of Masks, she could have been anyone, even a woman who let strangers touch her.
    Facing the man who’d turned her around, she had gotten a quick impression of height and wide shoulders. The stranger’s mask had covered his upper face, but she had seen his mouth and its intriguing full bottom lip. He had stared at her for a moment, and she had smirked up at him, wondering just how far she’d let him take this before she decided to dislocate his thumbs. He had seemed to be steadying himself, as if he had been on the verge of jumping into a fission tank.
    And then he’d lowered his head, bringing his mouth to hers. The stranger had kissed her.
    If he’d been rough or too aggressive, she would have pushed him away. Shoved her elbow into his throat. Enjoying her freedom did not mean putting up with some nebula toad’s tongue and grabbing hands.
    But the stranger had kissed her with…tenderness. As if she was precious to him. Yet he hadn’t been too weak, either. Just the right amount of strength, a balance between his desire and her power. In his kiss, she had felt she wasn’t Stainless Jur, and she wasn’t an anonymous woman perfect for a Night of Masks tryst. She was her , and he wanted her.
    Desire had hit her, fast and hot. Whoever the stranger had been, she needed to know what it would be like to be his lover, even for a single night.
    She’d reached