In Enemy Hands by K.S. Augustin

own. His skin was hot against hers, his mouth moist and welcoming, hard where her fingers met bone and her tongue met jaw, soft against the flesh of his cheeks and the answering probe of his own tongue.
    She thought she was beyond this, cleansed of any desire, stripped of everything except her brain and her utility and duty to the Republic that had finally released her. But the feel of Srin against her, his chest brushing against her breasts, his thighs, strong and firm against hers, resurrected buried and primal longings.
    She heard a moan—was that muffled voice hers?—but didn’t stop. How had she ever thought she could bury such intense feelings? She was no virgin; she knew the pleasure in feeling another’s hands against her skin. How stupid was she to imagine she could forgo such sensual touch for the rest of her life?
    Srin’s fingers were skimming her back, dipping down the curve of her back to cup her buttocks, sending dozens of tiny shivers through her body. Her nipples were already hard from his touch.
    Moon wanted his deceptive assertiveness, wanted to explore the hardness of a body that she could feel through her own, and surrender to whatever he wanted to do to her. She was sick of thinking. All she had done for the past three years was think. She held intellectual achievement up as the only goal left in her now solitary life. The trembling touch of Srin reminded her that she had needs beyond the merely cognitive, if only she could bear to be reminded of them.
    Eventually, he tore himself away, his breathing ragged and uneven. The intensity in his pale eyes not only warmed her but set her on fire.
    “I’ve always thought life is too short,” he said in a half whisper. “You’ve got to grab happiness whenever you can.”
    “Is that what you’re doing?”
    He stepped away, slow and reluctant. “It’s what I’d like to do.”
    “With me?”
    “With you.”
    She hesitated, on the brink of making a choice regarding a question she had never even considered before. The specifics of the equipment surrounding them faded into the background, only their blinking lights visible. Moon imagined herself away from the ship, just the two of them on a planet somewhere, civilised life—for the moment—far behind them. But, was that image alone enough?
    “It doesn’t have to be now,” he said into the faltering silence, kissing her forehead. “How long do you think your experiments will take?”
    The heat from his breath against her skin made it hard for Moon to concentrate. She closed her eyes to block out the sight of his face, so close to hers, but the scent from his body still teased her senses. “Well, we need to get to the Suzuki Mass. That will probably take six or eight weeks.” She opened her eyes. “Then several weeks for experiments. And then we have to get back.”
    “So you’re saying perhaps six months.”
    Yes, that sounded about right. Moon nodded.
    “A lifetime,” he murmured.
    Moon smiled and dropped her head on his chest.
    Yes. They had plenty of time. There was no need to rush.
     
    The wonder of it was, she didn’t feel the slightest bit guilty.
    Moon tripped around the space of her quarters, humming under her breath. After she and Srin parted the previous night, she sat at her private console, reviewing her working equations. Despite the small intimacies she had shared with him—or perhaps because of them?—the numbers and symbols on the screen seemed sharper than normal, her own thinking more acute. It took an effort to lie in bed and close her eyes. She felt as though she had been jolted by electricity, her body alert and humming.
    And the sensation didn’t diminish when she woke up the next morning, her vestige of anxiety dissolved on the slumberous night air. What was there to feel guilty about? She was a civilian and so was Srin. And they were both consenting adults. It made her lips quirk to think that there wasn’t a thing anybody could do about the situation. She