"No," he argued roughly, "not yet."
Cassia whined when he pushed her hand aside and curled his shoulders upward. "Oooh," she cooed, her disappointment fading as he captured her nipple between his lips.
Sinter ignored the faint taste of aloe from the lotion he'd slathered over her body, but it nudged his conscience, and caution curtailed his passion, making him far more gentle than he might otherwise have been. Instead of nipping and suckling, he limited himself to teasing the tender bud, pinching it between his lips, and laving her flesh over and over with the broad, flat pad of his tongue. When he might have squeezed her breasts, he chose to map the contours of her ribcage, holding her high above his teasing lips as she writhed, trying to tug his head closer.
Some corner of Sinter's subconscious took note of her gasping desperation: apparently none of her lovers had been burdened with oral skills. On that thought, he rolled, putting her beneath him to devote himself to the project. By the time he finished with her nipples, Cassia was keening in frustration. She pushed his head south with such enthusiasm that Sinter smiled against her breast, and briefly considered tying her hands again. Fortunately, he was a lot bigger. His bunk was not. Finally, he tumbled off the bed and onto his knees, pulling her with him. Cassia wrenched herself sideways and lifted her heels to his shoulders, grateful he'd finally conceded to her unspoken demand. She was still shaking from the feeling of his tongue tracing leisurely circles around her nipples. She'd never seen the point of having a man's mouth on her breasts before. She couldn't imagine how good it would feel elsewhere, but she damn well wanted to find out.
Running his hands from her knees upward, Sinter gradually forced her thighs apart. He stopped with his thumbs almost touching her perineum, and leaned forward, placing tender kisses in the diamond shaped area of silky flesh between his hands. For a moment, Cassia feared he might tease her with this, too, but the captain took pity on her. A few gentle strokes of his pointed tongue to part her labia, then he lapped her swollen clit, all the way from her puss to the lightly-furred vee at the crest of her mons. Over and over, Sinter's tongue repeated the silken trek, but Cassia was so aroused, it took very little stimulation to push her over the edge. He slowed drastically, trying to make it last for her, but after only a minute or two, Cassia's body tensed. Her back arched and she held her breath for a long, aching moment, and then she exploded.
Fluid drenched his tongue, but Sinter didn't stop. Not-so-subconsciously, he wanted to prove that pleasure didn't come with a price like the pain Snake had doled out. He held her legs up, dipped his head, and went to town. Cassia's first orgasm was nearly silent, not so the ones that followed. She screamed and moaned and begged and pleaded.
"No! No! No-o-o-o-o!" she wailed, her pussy throbbing against Sinter's grin. There was no chance the crew members on duty would miss the noises Cassia was making. Her lesser gasps and moans would probably be hidden in ambient noise, but her screams would pierce the insulated steel, reinforcing his reputation with the crew. If it hadn't been serious, it would have been funny. He could have kept a girl in here for months, and none of the cutthroats out there would have thought twice about the nature of the relationship, Sinter mused, softening his final few strokes.
Cassia lay limp and moaning, breathing like a runner at the end of the road, while Sinter held his body still above her, his aching cock just barely touching her wet raspberry folds. He bit down on his back teeth, determined to wait for a clear signal.
Cassia gasped herself into sanity and felt the soft nudge of his penis between her open legs. In the near-darkness, she could see his hard expression and feel the heat of his eyes on her face, but his body was a mountain, stony and motionless. She blinked.
Was he waiting for her?
Another tremor shook her body, this one born in neither ecstasy nor fear. She wriggled her hips and ribcage into line and reached down between her legs. With her calves around his forearms and her fingers on his waist, she pulled him into her body.
Sinter groaned, long and low, as he buried himself in Cassia's hot, forgiving flesh. He should have stopped, should have backed off, more than once, he realized later. She was sore, no doubt, and young, and small, and he should have been gentler as he entered her, but he couldn't wait. From her body's first damp embrace, Sinter was desperate. He wanted to consume her, to be consumed, to lose himself, body and mind, in the blissful comfort of Cassia's flesh. Slowly, unstoppably, the swollen column of his cock forged a path through her delicate inner tissues. Cassia moaned and whimpered, but she never objected.
At the very last, Sinter backed off an inch, reversing immediately to slam his cock all the way home. She uttered a startled shriek just before he collapsed atop her, but her hands crossing behind his neck reassured him. As he stroked her sides, Cassia relaxed. When she linked her feet at the base of his spine and rocked her hips against him, Sinter crawled back onto his bed, steering them both toward his pillow.
He paused when he got there, lifting his head and wishing he could see her face more clearly when their eyes met in the semi-darkness. To Cassia, the moment seemed to last forever. At least until he moved his hips again, setting every molecule of her body afire. She moaned, closing her eyes to savor the sensation, and he complied with her unspoken wishes, doing it again. When Sinter retreated, fullness and friction pulled hard at her sore channel, despite her wetness. He leaned forward, filling her, and Cassia grunted inelegantly when his cock bottomed out against her cervix. She was near to bursting, pressure spreading from her pelvis to her breasts. She ached, she burned—and she wanted more. Another long pull, another hard thrust, again and again. Cassia's body soon stretched to accommodate the thick invader. Her arch became a curve and she buried her face in the nook between his neck and shoulder, inhaling his warmth and vitality. Sinter turned his head slightly, and she felt his breath against her hair, sensed him scenting her in return. Her spine curled, her knees lifted, and she tilted her hips upward, offering her body.
Sinter took what she'd given, dropping downward with enough force to drive the air from her lungs. She oof-ed, but her next breath was a shaky gasp of pleasure. He did it again. And again. With each plunge, her arousal grew, until her juices coated his cock, drenched the hair at its base, and seeped outward, audibly squelching between them.
In another world, Cassia would have been embarrassed by the sound, scent, and sheer abundance of the liquid seeping from her body, but not now. In the half-light of Sinner's cabin, everything was as it should be. His cock, her cunt . . . the sounds they made, the way he smelled and the head of his body . . . everything was perfect.
Above her, Sinter groaned, muttering imprecations between the pillow and her hair. The muscles of his neck began to cord against her temple, the liquid thunder of his carotid loud in her ear. Breathless in the heat radiating from his body—or was it hers?—she gasped and moaned sporadically until the awful, swelling ache in her belly became a constant, throbbing whine, high and soundless until it exploded, whiting out her vision. She screamed and didn't know it, and only vaguely heard Sinter's answering shout as she collapsed, ceding consciousness to the aftereffects of her completion.
—o—
Cassia was chained to the wall again when she woke, and the captain acted like the night had never happened. She supposed it was the least-awful thing which had happened to her in the past week, but it didn't feel that way at the time.
As usual, Ghan brought her meal, and as usual, the scraps were barely edible. He dragged her off to the showers when he collected her empty plate, which was drastically different than the occasional bucket of cold water being thrown over her down in the hold. The difference was both good and bad. Good, because she got to pee somewhere other than where she slept, and she was cleaner than before; bad because Ghan and the guards watched over her, touching her and taking pleasure in her discomfort.
