Silver Bound by Ella Drake

bad, but this was hell. He snorted and thunked his head again.
    A gasp sounded behind him before a group of women hurried past him in the corridor.
    Stop it, Sheriff. Don’t scare the ladies.
    No, he hadn’t had it bad then. The long-ago turmoil had been nothing.
    This was untenable.
    He wanted her so much his teeth hurt. And, hell and damnation, she’d give it to him. She’d spread her legs wide and welcome him to heaven. She’d bend over, fall to her hands and knees, and let him ride her to Valhalla. She’d wrap her silver lips around his cock and blow him to the stars.
    With a hard swallow, he tried to block the taunting visuals of her claiming, her ripe curves, the silver nipples that belonged more to him than her, and the damned slave collar that made her cream at his mere thought or touch. He needed to forget the velvet slickness of her because he couldn’t take her again until she could make her own decisions. He’d keep his hands off the sweet breasts that filled his hands perfectly. But, come hell or high water, he’d never forget her taste. Like honeysuckle.
    He groaned again, threw his head back and thought of the south pasture. He should mend the fence there. The ranch needed another robo-shepherd. Max was still serviceable, but he’d had to replace his power packs once already, and he wanted Max to retire. After his faithful service, he deserved to live out his days as a regular house dog. He’d never had a pet before.
    His train of thought got him under control, but he needed a real downer to be able to walk straight. Ah, at the last country fair the tenacious Miss Quartermain had created a night that’d douse the ardor of the most randy cowpoke. It’d been a hot, muggy night when the arrogant and petty Queen of the Carnival had dogged his every step.
    He sighed and relived every rustle of purple tulle as Miss Quartermain followed him from the main pavilion, through the booths, all the way to his solarcell carriage. She’d asked for a dance, hadn’t accepted his refusal—nor his veiled censure that she’d asked a man to dance—and had overstepped herself by flirting without a chaperone to hand. He didn’t really care at all about the high society’s ridiculous mores, but they came in handy when he needed to ditch overeager misses. Though he’d thought he should marry someday, he’d not had a flicker of interest in a woman since Jewel. Especially not Miss Quartermain. Let someone else keep her in purple tulle.
    Now Jewel was his.
    He halted the direction of his thoughts, wont to go in her direction. He’d spent years keeping those thoughts only in his dreams. She might be real, in the flesh—soft and inviting flesh at that—but he had to get them out of this mess before they both lost. She could lose herself inside him. He could lose all his self-respect for taking advantage.
    The signal between his bracelet and her collar would cover the entire cruise liner, so he walked. The chatter of the excited cruise passengers lifted him out of his musing. Children weaved around their caretakers, couples held hands, and groups of retirees smiled and shuffled together into a large reception area. Streamers hung from the steel crossbeams and a large banner exclaimed Bon Voyage.
    Lines of buffets filled with treats, savory and sweet, tempted him to stroll farther into the mayhem. Jewel’d always enjoyed cocoa cakes. Though the dessert couldn’t compensate for her pain, he hoped the offering would put a smile on her luscious lips. Silver lips.
    “Don’t think of her lips,” he muttered.
    He lingered, let the conversations surround him and blank his mind. With so much to hear, all the distraction, he’d always been able to empty his thoughts and float in a crowd. Smiles and eager expressions soothed him, and his tight muscles relaxed.
    Everyone celebrated the beginning of a pleasure cruise with simple, open joy. That was why the intent, malevolent pale eyes brought him up short.

Chapter Six
    Guy