Zev had fucked up. More than fucked up if that was possible. In a drunken moment of weakness, she’d called on the holy planet.
She closed her eyes and pressed the heels of her hands into her sockets. Humiliation ran hot through her flesh and her hands dug harder. She wanted the pain to pull her thoughts away…but it didn’t. She’d broken the rules. The need to laugh out loud gripped her. More than broken them. They’d been smashed into little pieces with a great big fucking hammer.
She’d called on the planet for her own pleasure, her own satisfaction. She couldn’t have committed a greater sin. As a worshipper, as a devoted member who respected, who protected Uranus, her first priority, her first law was selflessness.
Except when she was drunk. Obviously. Because at that moment, she wanted Jannes with an almost overwhelming lust. Worse, her offence had happened during a Quiet Ritual, a communion. Her life was a wild ride of peaks and troughs. Yes, she’d picked the wrong moment for a communion, but she wanted the peace, the balance that touching her mind to the planet’s vastness brought her.
“Zev. Report to the bridge.”
She closed her eyes. There he was, sounding as pissed off and as short-tempered as usual.
This was all his fault. He’d been naked. Naked. How was that supposed to be fair? How was she supposed to remain detached and selfless when her assigned captain flaunted himself in plain view?
Zev let out a long sigh. That wasn’t exactly honest. True, he’d been naked, but she had been waiting in his room and he had been in the shower. His quick look of shock, anger and bitterness had swept over her, her mouth fell open from the burst of his reaction and well…his being naked, and she bolted.
Four shots later—and Jannes would have her hide for drinking aboard his ship—and a moment of communion and she was reaching out to the vastness of the planet. She wanted him. She always had. In three years, her need for him hadn’t waned.
It didn’t help that he asked for her, for her piloting skills to guide him through Uranus’ turbulent atmosphere. Why didn’t he choose another pilot? Didn’t he have a clue about the need she had to shove him up against the nearest bulkhead? To cover his sarcastic mouth, to taste him, dear heavenly body, to fuck him to within an inch of his life?
“Zev. Bridge. Now.”
Yes, he was pissed off.