Indeed, humans as well had standards for behavior, did they not: His relief was as great as his tension had been. But then, it was not wrong to look for morality and decency in females—or males.
As he replayed the pictures for her, she shifted her focus to the miracle that had happened . . . and found herself shaking her head at what she saw. “Truly, I was unaware. How is . . . this possible?”
Her healer cleared his throat. “I’ve talked it over with Jane . . . and she—well, we—have a theory.” He stood up and went over to inspect a fixture on the ceiling. “It’s crazy, but . . . Marvin Gaye might just have known what he was talking about.”
“Marvin?”
With a quick shift, he picked up a chair and placed it under the camera. “He was a singer. Maybe I’ll play you a song of his someday.” Her healer planted his foot on the seat and rose to the ceiling where he disconnected something with a yank and got back down. “It’s good to dance to.”
“I do not know how to dance.”
He glanced over his shoulder, his lids dropping low. “Something else for me to teach you.” As her body warmed, he approached the bed. “And I’m going to like showing you how.”
When he leaned down, her eyes latched onto his lips and her breath got tight. He was going to kiss her—dearest fate, he was going to—
“You wanted to know what coming was,” he all but growled, their mouths merely inches apart. “Why don’t I show you what it is instead of tell you?”
On that note, he flipped a switch and put out the lights, plunging the room into a dimness that was broken only by the light in the bathroom and the line at the base of the door into the hall.
“Do you want me to show you?” he said in a low voice.
At that moment, there was one and only one word in her vocabulary : “Yes . . .”
Except then he backed off.
Just as a protest was about to jump out of her throat, she realized he’d stood in the line of illumination that streamed in from the bathroom.
“Payne . . .”
The sound of her name leaving his mouth had her struggling for air even more. “Yes . . .”
“I want you . . .” Reaching for the bottom of his loose shirt, he pulled it up slowly, exposing the carved muscles of his stomach. “. . . to want me.”
Oh, sweet destiny, she did.
And he meant what he said. The more she looked, the more those abdominals of his curled and released as if he were breathing hard as well.
His hand drifted down to his waist. “See what you do to me.” He smoothed the baggy fabric over his hips and . . .
“You are phearsom,” she breathed. “Oh . . . fates, you are.”
“Tell me that’s a good thing?”
“It is . . .”
She stared at the rigid length that was confined and straining against the front of his no longer billowy slacks. So thick and smooth. So big. The mechanics of sex were not unknown to her, but up until now, she hadn’t been able to fathom why they would appeal to a female. Looking at him now? Her heartbeat would cease and her blood would turn to stone if she didn’t have him within her.
“Do you want to touch me?” he growled.
“Please . . .” She swallowed through a nearly closed throat. “Oh, yes . . .”
“First, look at yourself, bambina. Lift your arm and look at yourself.”
She glanced down just to humor him so they could get on with things—
Her skin was aglow from the inside out, as if the heat and the sensations he called forth from her had manifested themselves in illumination. “I know not . . . what this is. . . .”
“I think it’s the solution, actually.” He sat down next to her feet. “Tell me if you feel this.” He gently touched her lower leg, laying his hand upon her calf—