“How about you hold on while I’m down here.”

  He laid soft, almost feather-like kisses in a path down my chest, stopping long enough to suckle at first one breast and then the other, his palms moulding to the flesh, his fingertips pinching the nipples, making my back arch.

  “Beautiful,” he murmured, as he moved to his knees before me, his gaze on the thatch of hair at the apex of my thighs, his tongue coming out and licking his lips as he made another erotic sound. “I’ve wanted to taste you for so long. Too long.”

  I watched as he absently wrapped a tight fist around his arousal. But not to stroke. The grip quickly changed to just his fingers, a band of steel around the base as if to halt imminent ejaculation.

  A rush of breath came out between his lips, one hot hand coming up to cup the back of my thigh, and then smoothly skate over skin to my calf. His eyes shot up to my face.

  “Knee over my shoulder,” he ordered.

  I almost repeated that I needed a shower. But one look into those deep blue eyes and I knew Trent didn’t give a fuck if I was dirty or not. The showers were communal. The bedroom was private. He was tasting me now, and to hell with any hygiene concerns.

  It made me self-conscious, where I hadn’t been self-conscious with him before. I closed my eyes and softly banged my head back against the wall.

  “Lena. Look at me,” Trent instructed.

  I tipped my head down, chin to chest, and held his beautiful eyes. So clear. So hungry. So earnest.

  “I would want you any way I could have you. Any way you offered yourself to me. I crave, so much, to taste you that it physically hurts. Let me have this. Please. Let me taste you, all of you. I can’t wait a moment more to make you mine. Let me make you mine.”

  Mine. It was such a possessive word. One I hadn’t considered before now. Trent wouldn’t own me. No one could ever own me. I make a living - or at least I used to - out of taking what I want and only giving what I didn’t need away.

  But this wasn’t about my needs, but about Trent’s. He needed this, I could tell. From the tightly coiled spring he appeared to be; muscles quivering with the strength required to keep them in check; jaw tense with his hunger and absolute desire; fingers digging into my flesh as though he had to use me to anchor himself to the moment. And those eyes. Dear God, those bottomless eyes. I could almost see inside him.

  He needed this. And I could give it to him. Easily.

  I lifted my leg up and hung it over his shoulder at the knee. Spreading myself open for his perusal.

  “Oh, Zebra,” he breathed, his hand coming up, fingers deftly stroking through my folds, opening them further, finding me soaking wet already.

  I noticed they shook. His fingers trembled as they moved, as they continued to discover me. His eyes came up to hold mine again and he ran the tip of his index finger around the bundle of nerves at the top. He teased, and rubbed just enough to make me want more. To make me tilt my hips seeking harder pressure. He pulled away, stroked down the outside of the folds, then came back to offer a glimpse of what I wanted, what I needed, all the while watching my reaction keenly.

  “Trent,” I moaned, my bottom lip slipping between my teeth as I held his gaze. I couldn’t look away. Just like I couldn’t deny the pull to this man. It was inevitable. Always had been. And now I knew it.

  Two digits slipped inside, up to the first knuckle. He ran his thumb over my clitoris and then sank the fingers in further, deeper, flicking the tips, finding my G-spot without even trying. He knew how to play me. Even though this was only the second time he’d touched me this intimately, he already knew what worked. What didn’t. And he’d mastered it.

  His eyes never left me, even as he dipped his head closer, and then I lost sight of him beneath my curls. I was tightly trimmed, waxed in all the places Elite are expected to be waxed, but there was enough coverage to lose sight of his tongue as it flicked, licked, and swirled around my nub.

  And then he was sucking and I was rocking, sounds of needy desperation leaving my lips. He growled, removed his fingers, making me mewl in protest, and then both legs were over his shoulders, his face well and truly buried between them, his tongue lapping, teeth nibbling, mouth sucking, as my back supported my upper weight against the wall and Trent took everything else on top of his shoulders.

  I sank down onto his face, completely. His fingers returned and started to pump in time to the sucking and tongue flicking motion he effected at my clitoris. I felt a wave of euphoria approaching. He nuzzled his nose into my centre. Growled his appreciation of my taste and scent. And then latched on to my sensitive nub and pressed hard with his tongue, following it up with a bite right when I came.

  I think I might have managed an “Oh!” and then it was all nonsensical sounds that would have embarrassed me if I’d actually been able to hear them clearly. But blood rushed through my veins, made a white noise erupt in the background and reverberate between my ears. But everywhere else there was colour.

  Behind my lids. In the tingling sensations racing each other across my skin. In the pulses that flooded my centre as Trent groaned and sucked and drank my release down.

  It was so intimate, but so… violent at the same time. The pressure that had built up over so many days of wanting, needing, being so close to this man, made me climax in a wave stronger than a tsunami.

  And then he was doing it all over again. More pumping of his fingers, picking up the pace when he saw I was back down to earth. More sucks and nibbles and hungry growls from the back of his throat that made me feel the rush of arousal all over again.

  “Trent!” I exclaimed, right on the brink. I’m not sure if I wanted to warn him to back off or demand he not stop.

  But it didn’t matter. He meticulously sought my second release. His devotion to the task admirable.

  I must have been a heavy weight on his shoulders. Possibly even hurt his recovering wound. But he didn’t stop until I was screaming his name, over and over and over again.

  I’d never been a screamer. But I’d never been brought to orgasm by someone like Trent.

  And then I was being set on my feet, my legs all but jelly. And drawn over to the bed, which was a wise idea because I was sure I was about to collapse into a puddle. But he didn’t let me rest. He didn’t curl up beside me as I expected. I watched through a haze of languid bliss as he reached up and pulled his t-shirt over his head, his face intent and focused, but also a hint of a grimace from the discomfort the manoeuvre cost.

  And then he was kissing up my shin, my knee, my thigh, one hand wrapped around my ankle, holding me still. Hot breath teasing across slick skin; tickling, fuelling, building a fire. He kissed my mound, almost a thank you gesture; quick and sweet, and then he carried on gently, tenderly kissing every inch of my body he could find. Hip bones, belly button, the curve of my stomach. Each rib on both sides. The crease between my breasts. The dip at the base of my throat.

  His lips found mine; his tongue lavishing. I tasted me and him. His body fell into the cradle of my thighs as though it had been there so many times before and would be again. I parted for him. I welcomed him unashamedly; my ankles wrapping around his legs, pelvis tilting, guiding him in.

  “Lena,” he whispered in my ear, his movements all stilling. The pulse of his erection nestled in just the right spot but not quite there. “You taste fucking fantastic,” he rasped. I felt my face flush.

  And then all thoughts left me as he rocked his hips and sank an inch inside.

  He let a breath out over my cheek, his eyelids fluttering, then dark blue stared at me, held me, anchored me, and he pressed forward, filling me, spreading me, taking his sweet, sweet time.

  The second he sank completely inside he pulled back. Making my body follow him, arch off the bed, rise up seeking his return. He chuckled. Again so beautiful. And then thrust forward in one smooth, controlled glide.

  Heaven. I was in heaven and Trent was making love to me, slowly, carefully, not because he was hurting from an injury, but because he wanted to take his time. To worship me. To love me.

  I realised, as he sank back in so very deeply, filling me again, consuming every part of me, stretching me around him, making me his, eyes locked with mine in silent communion, that Trent Masters loved me. This wasn’t mad, frantic, impersonal sex because we’d been teasing each other for weeks. Oh, the mad and frantic had been there, evidenced by our recent explosive orgasms. This, though, was something more.

  And as he lowered his face to mine, eyes alight with passion and desire, hips thrusting in a magnificent display of both control and fierce power, I realised, beyond a shadow of doubt, that I loved Trent Masters too.

  I made a contented sound as his lips met mine again. He reciprocated. Our bodies rocking, our sweat soaked skin sliding tantalising against each other, our breaths mingling. The wave rose, the swell climbed higher and higher, threatening to drown me. But I could feel Trent, everywhere, grounding me, tethering me to this moment. So tender and possessive and completely in control. Of me and him, us. This.

  Even in making me his, completely, irrevocably, undeniably his, Trent did so with absolute conviction and total command.

  I would follow this man anywhere.

  I would give him all that is me.

  I would destroy our world if he asked it.

  And that frightened me.

  “Lena,” he whispered, our eyes locked, our bodies as one.

  We climaxed together, his thrusts beautifully timed to perfection; harder when I needed harder; softer when I needed softer; frantic when I needed frantic for a short time right at the end.

  His face came down and nestled into the curve of my neck, hot breath tickling across feverish skin. Our chests rose and fell too swiftly, but not nearly enough to catch our breaths. My body tingled. My skin felt too tight. I was sure that wasn’t a mattress beneath my spine but instead an imaginary cloud.

  Trent’s head came up; amazement, male satisfaction, utter possession quickly chasing each other through his beautiful eyes.

  “Lena,” he said. Again. “Lena,” he repeated, and I heard so much more than just my name on his lips.

  Awe. Possession. Desire. Wonder. And yes, I heard his undying love.

  And that frightened me.

  Chapter 17

  Oh, Fuck No

  Trent

  “Exporting drones is one thing,” Emir said. “But humans? That’s just not right.”

  “Almost as though the Overseers have a conscience,” Jared offered, not for the first time making me jolt with surprise.

  Tan, and his right-hand-men, had all unbelievably been in the tech room with Si still, when I’d returned here from being with Lena. Her self-appointed guardian had stared at me accusingly, his message clear: What have you done with Lena? I was beginning to think Lee Tan thought I’d murder her in her sleep.

  But hearing Jared right now pushed all thoughts of quasi familial conflicts out of my mind.

  “A conscience?” I demanded. “How do you figure that?” This I had to hear.

  “Instead of killing them, they exiled them,” came his remarkably sane reply. He blinked a few times and then ducked his head, as though wishing he hadn’t said anything at all.

  “He’s got a point,” Tan offered. Of course he did. Jared was one of his. “Why go to the trouble of sending them away? Why not just kill them as they’d have us believe?”

  “The fear is in the perception,” Alan said quietly from his lean against a wall. “They would rather we believed wiping meant death, than offer a chance at hope.”

  “How is being exiled hope?” Wang Jie asked. “I’d prefer to die than be sent to live elsewhere.” At least his loyalty to Wánměi was not in question.

  “Those with children would disagree,” Alan replied levelly.

  “And let’s not forget that we have no idea what happens to them once they reach this land of hope,” Si said, tapping away on his keyboard, Lena’s broken vid-screen, stolen from the Markhams’ suite, lying beside him on the desk.

  “And that they were transported in containers with minimal facilities,” I added. “Hardly a good look for clearing their conscience.”

  “They’d broken rules,” Jared exclaimed, almost fanatically. “Of course comfortable transport would be minimally provided.”

  “Is it not punishment enough to be exiled?” asked Emir, a twist of his lips letting me know he was being sarcastic. His enquiring tone certainly didn’t give it away.

  “Exiled in luxury seems overkill for acts of sedition and treason,” Jared doggedly supplied.

  I ran a frustrated hand through my hair. This was getting us nowhere. And Lena still hadn’t arrived. Thoughts of her standing under the hot spray of one of the shower stalls, pale skin glistening, hair plastered to her head as she slowly washed soap suds over her pert nipples, kept flooding my mind. And then the visceral memory of sliding into her hot, tight centre, the sounds she made when she came; gasps of surprise as though she hadn’t expected to orgasm so violently, were doing my head in. Making it difficult to concentrate on the debrief I’d just walked in on.

  Also making it imperative that I sit down behind a desk and not display my reaction to my obviously lewd thoughts for all to see. I could just imagine what Tan would think about that.

  “Why they’re shipping Citizens isn’t the real problem,” I offered, in what, even to my ears, sounded callous. “The drones are. Clearly a financial consideration, but more alarmingly, as they appeared controlled by Shiloh, an insight into the Overseers’ minds.”

  “What? World domination?” Wang Jie asked incredulously.

  “What else would you suggest?”

  He didn’t have a reply.

  “Trent’s right,” Tan announced, almost as though part of my team. “Which means, we need to find out more.” I narrowed my eyes at the man and wondered what his endgame was. I didn’t trust people who suddenly became my champions after gunning for me for so long.

  “Not to mention whether Chew-wen is still alive,” Wang Jie added. The man had serious doubts over their success. Even Tan hadn’t been able to convince him otherwise.

  “He’s dead,” Tan said in a tone that screamed, been here done this.

  Wang Jie stared at his boss for a long, taut stretch, and then finally nodded his head. Anyone could see he didn’t mean it.

  “What’s our current intel on where they’re being manufactured?” I asked Si.

  He swept what he was working on to the side and brought up the schematics for the drone factory in Remoh Ehrah. It had taken several days of intricate hacking for him to get it without setting off any alarms. We were able to operate on-grid relatively safely here, using Lena’s Shiloh unit as a buffer, but some things were too damn sensitive for that. The security around the drone building was phenomenal. Understandable, but the fact it outstripped the Ohrikee, the Chief Overseer’s former home, made you wonder where Wánměi’s priorities were.

  Where General Chew-wen’s priorities had been. Shiloh was his creation, his legacy. His and, I was beginning to suspect, Calvin Carstairs’. An uncomfortable knot made itself known in my stomach.

  “Getting in is only half the problem, and believe me,” Si said, “that’s one hell of a problem on its own. Drone guards every twenty metres, watch towers on all four corners of the block, including one above the building itself with line of sight over the rooftops and the entire complex. Manned security gate with guard house, razor wire topped fencing, infrared with motion detection external cameras, pressure sensors and laser trip wires dotted about the facility, retina scans plus holographic identity card recognition, all before you even cross the main entrance, then metal detectors and full body x-ray at the front door.”

  And that’s why we’d decided to concentrate on the docks instead.

  “Get through that,” Si pressed on, “and you’ve got to do almost all of it again once inside. The cameras, laser wire trips, pressure sensors, drones, guards, retina scans and holographic identity card recognition are on every level, at every fire-door you come to. On top of that, iRec constantly identifies the few humans in the complex, requiring a check every thirty minutes at designated stations throughout. If an employee fails to check in, the facility goes on lock-down. And, if that’s not enough to scare you off, no employee has access to the entire complex, only those areas they work in, plus the cafeteria.”

  Jesus.

  “So, everyone goes to the cafeteria,” Lena suddenly said from over our shoulders.

  My heart skipped a beat. Fucking ridiculous. The woman only had to speak, appear, and I was a lovesick sap. My eyes darted towards her face, but she didn’t acknowledge me. Something else, something foreign, settled in my gut this time.

  “Yeah,” Si replied. “But I can’t see how that would help us, even getting to the cafeteria will be a challenge.”

  “Foods gotta be delivered somehow,” Alan offered.

  “True, but what then? The people who deliver the food can’t go anywhere else other than the cafeteria.”

  “Irrelevant,” Lena said in Elite perfection, walking closer, close enough for me to smell the clean, fresh scent of her skin. Close enough for me to feel her. To want to reach out and touch her. I clenched my fists instead. “Get in there,” she added, “and you have access everywhere.”

  “How?” Jared demanded, and the need to growl at the imbecile was comical, if I hadn’t actually done it.

  All eyes flicked to my face, Jared’s quickly dipping down like a kicked puppy.

  Lena was the last to look away. I couldn’t decipher what her expression meant. She was practically an Elite statue; something I had seen before but thought I’d never witness again.

  I’d been wrong.

  “Get me in there,” she said, facing Si again, “and I can steal any identity card we need.”