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Author’s Note: Welcome to Chapter 2 of So Much Trouble! These chapters are not episodic, so if you’re just finding this here, you’ll want to read Chapter 1 (less than one Lit page) first, so things make some sense. 🙂
This story consists of three chapters and is already complete. The last chapter should be following this in a few days. And THIS chapter finally has some filth in it. YAY! All characters in all chapters are over 18.
Thank you to AwkwardMD and Shane for the last minute proofreads and lovely comments!
Now let’s get dirty!
* * *
Higher still into Zenith Tower they rose. She stared at him the entire time, and here he was, a man twice her size, flattening himself against the closed door like a cornered animal. When they came to a halt and the door slid away, the admiral all but fell into the space beyond. The elevator to what could only be her apartments closed behind her and dropped away to lower levels again.
Gallea strode forward and threw her arms around him.
He could only stand there, hands out away from her in a broad circle, like the pincers of a crab, and try to formulate any sort of strategy to extract himself from this mess. He couldn’t hurt her. Forget the political consequences, it was Gallea, for Unity’s sake. She buried her face in his uniform coat and let out a short whine of dissatisfaction. Argent relented and let his arms close around her, sighing as the gold of her hair tucked under his chin.
A survey of the space he found himself in provided zero ideas. Her apartments lounged around them in far more luxury than his own—though he spent at least a third of his nights on the sofa in his new office down at CODef, and that was even more drab and cramped.
Here were the minimal, expensive furnishings of the wealthy, though the Archregent’s daughter had dressed her rooms in unusual dark colors compared to what was popular among the upper ranks. No whites and pale greys in sight, no bare wide windows to the bright blue outside. Here was a dark wooden floor, a leather chair and bedding in charcoal. Deep blue-green rugs matched dense coverings to the windows, so the only light from outside filtered in as though they were at the bottom of the harbor below. Uncommon tastes on Imbria, but then in what way was it common to demand to bed the fleet admiral for a Wish?
There was movement between them. Delicate fingers worked at the fastenings of his coat.
Argent frowned and loosed his hold. “Gallea, we should talk about this.”
“You want to talk me out of it?” she said, eyes like sky looking up at him as she shoved the halves of his coat to the sides. “You think I don’t know what I want?” Warm hands pushed inside to slide over his ribs to his back, only his shirt between Gallea and her ambitions.
“I know what you think you want,” he said.
The elevator was steps away. She caught his glance, and her mouth tightened down to a line, obstinate. Her voice raised in the room, enunciating. “Strati Two, lock routine,” she said, eyes fixed to his. Something heavy chunked behind the elevator door.
Did she just …
“Passcode reset.” Challenge made a line between those pale gold brows. “Serenity. One four two nine.” A discreet chime sounded from near the door.
Gallea Strati, clever though no longer quiet, not today, had locked the two of them in her apartments, and then reset her personal passcode without assigning another. Argent wouldn’t be going anywhere until she made a new one. Even if she did, it was likely her system would only honor commands matching her own vocal print.
And you had to let her study all those tactics primers at CODef.
She thrust those small hands up over his shoulders and stripped his coat off, down to his elbows.
“Gallea.” Argent made a face and pulled his arms free, but she had the coat before he could catch it and tossed it in a rude heap across the wide leather back of a chair. He could chide her for disrespecting the uniform, but there were other concerns just now.
The Archregent’s daughter stepped again into his space. He moved back, but she followed.
Each evasive step she matched, backward until the edge of the bed hit his knees. The young woman crowded him until he toppled back on his ass, but he put a hand up, to do what, he hadn’t planned. Get his balance? Shove her away?
Gallea snatched up his wrist and nuzzled her face into his palm, pressing a kiss there. The thrill that shot up his spine shamed him down to the bone.
“This isn’t right,” he said, while not taking his hand back.
Pupils were huge in blue eyes. “Yes, it is.” She reached behind her head and pulled some clasp out of her hair. The length of it spilled deep gold over her shoulders and he heard the clasp make a muted drop to the rug, somewhere he couldn’t see. Gallea wouldn’t let him see anything else. Everything was her, smothering close with soft bahis firmaları skin and warm curves, and Argent was a terrible person. One of her knees pressed into the edge of the bed next to his thigh.
“You should be with someone your own a—oh fuck.”
Weight shifted and her other knee swung over his lap. She straddled him, and the scent of tea leaves and saltwater told him she’d been outside that day. He fought the impulse to burrow his face into her neck, her hair.
“I should be with you,” she said, and brought fingertips to his jaw. Did he have stubble already? Her careful consideration of every angle of his face had the room receding around them.
How long had Gallea been looking at him like this? Her internship? Every Ministry meeting? Defense meetings? State functions? It could have been months. Longer.
Her face tilted, quizzical. She leaned in, and her lips had brushed his before Argent understood she tried for a kiss. He drew back, probably not far enough, and her spine slumped. Again, that fine line between her brows.
“You don’t want me?”
His cock thought these were stupid questions, but Argent had responsibilities. He had to act like it.
“Gallea, I … you’re …” He shook his head, clearing up nothing.
A strap on one side of her top had fallen from a shoulder, and why the new placement of a deep blue line of fabric made her more naked now than it had before, he couldn’t have said. He only shifted below the trap of her legs, restless to escape before he did something he’d regret.
Seeing no firm denial out of him, Gallea ducked in a second time. He didn’t pull away, an abject hypocrite, but let those soft lips press into his. Some little mew of sound came from her throat and, when his mouth came open for his breath to catch up to his hastening pulse, the tip of a hot tongue slipped past, cautious but testing limits. Blood rushed to his prick, the length of it filling out along his thigh.
He did not stop her.
Argent did not stop her. He was a disgrace.
He let her tongue in, but it wasn’t enough. She asked him to dance and he did, angling his face up to hers, pushing back into the silk of her mouth until she made helpless, hungry sounds. When had his hand come to squeeze at her hip? When had her fingers started working open the front of his shirt?
Stop this, fool. Be the voice of fucking reason.
But reason hadn’t been working. Not in the reception hall, and not here. Of course, it hadn’t. Had he listened when people told him they knew what was best at the same age? Nineteen and full of himself at academy? Gallea was reckless, fearless in this, and Argent remembered the headlong rush all too well.
And you’re admiral of the entire Imbrian fleet.
He was that, and it wasn’t meekness that had impressed Minister Durehn enough to promote him. Maybe he should put the fear into her. The former CODef intern would panic, and Argent could get his ass out of these apartments and into a cold shower.
But not until she set a new passcode.
Then make her want you gone. Make her see the mistake.
He let his free hand travel to her waist. Both hands slid up to her ribs. Pretty kisses tore in half when he heaved her small weight off his lap. With a grunt and a hard shove of his right leg against the floor, Argent had her on her back, but he didn’t stop.
She gasped when her shoulders hit the mattress, and the sound fueled exactly the wrong impulses. Eyes wild, limbs unorchestrated, Gallea hadn’t planned for this. He rolled to his hip and kept coming, climbing over her. A knee went between hers, and Argent loomed above, braced on his arms. His erection would be plain, mashed into the bone of her hip.
“This is what it means, Gallea.” He let his voice go rough, the useless, patient pleading cast aside. “This is what you ask for.”
Her mouth was pink and swollen from their kissing, and the parted lips made Argent seize hold of her jaw. “This. A grown man on top of you, rough hands everywhere, doing what he wants.”
When white teeth sank into her lower lip, and all she did was reach for him, Argent growled. He snatched up both her seeking hands and pinned them by the wrist, over her head. A one-handed grip was enough to keep her in place.
Dark blonde hair pooled out under her head, messy now on the charcoal bedcover. The place where her skirt panels wrapped had fallen aside, and the floor-length style so popular now in the capital fell open to the hip. Argent followed the long line of bare thigh up alongside the grey of his trousers. Beyond the skirt’s waist, the lower hem of her top had ridden up with her raised arms, exposing her belly and higher, almost to the curve of her breasts.
His hold tightened down on her wrists, driving the message home: the admiral was crude. Harsh. He would use her roughly and this was starting to be more than she could handle.
“You don’t want this,” he said, kaçak iddaa and nudged her thighs wider with his knee.
“Yes, I do.” She slid her bare knee up to his hip.
Unity’s fucking sake, woman!
“This?” His free hand made a fist in her top, right in the center, as though he would rip it from her. “You want this? To be pawed at?” Argent shoved a palm under the deep blue fabric and mauled a handful of breast.
Too far, Argent. Too far.
But she only nodded, vigorous. His prick all but sang a tune.
“It’s not what you think it will be, Gallea.” Somehow, he managed quiet and threatening at the same time, all while worrying a thumb over the tightening bud of her nipple. There was nothing about it that wasn’t selfish. Argent wanted to touch her. This was an excuse.
The admiral leaned low, close enough for another kiss, but filled his voice with menace. “I’ll ruin you.”
“No you won’t!” She pulled her wrists against his hold, but it felt like a need to gesture rather than escape. “You’re not like that,” Gallea insisted. “You’re not … Jerrich.” Blue eyes dodged away from his when she said the name.
He reared back, aims to terrify forgotten. His grip dropped so he could brace on his knuckles. “Did he fucking touch you?” Argent would throw DiVerio’s corpse down a second stairwell.
Gallea squirmed, evasive. “No? He only … he said things.”
Argent had to breathe. He would murder the next person who made her cringe and try to be small like she was doing just now.
“When?” he demanded.
“At … at CODef.” Her hands were free now, and she moved one to placate at the bare skin where his shirt hung open. “I was the only one in the mess,” she said, watching her own fingers trace along his collarbone. “He … came in there. He came and sat by me and said …” A little shake of her head. “It doesn’t matter. I threw out my lunch and left.”
He scowled. “Lucky he’s already dead.”
“Argent.” Her touch rose to his neck, the line of his jaw. Her eyes begged. “Don’t talk about him now. I don’t want to waste my Wish on that.”
“On that?” The caress was too tender, too sweet. He swept her hand away and pinned her wrist to the bed again. This time only the one, though. “You’re wasting your wish on me,” he said.
“No I’m not!” Her loose hand clasped his supporting elbow, but her face looked like she wanted to throw something. “Argent, why are you acting like this?” Desperate eyes searched his. “My mother isn’t here—no one needs you to look shocked.”
His mouth came open to argue, but Gallea wasn’t finished.
“I sat next to you at the Ministry dinner last month,” she said. “I put my hand your leg. You didn’t move it. You pushed your foot next to mine. I saw you smile and try to hide it.”
Fuck me, why? Why did I think that was a good idea?
Innocent games to give a young woman a thrill; he should never have thought he could play them. What was he going to tell her, it was an accident? That she was remembering wrong?
How could he not have seen what was happening? Strati’s daughter had been around him for months. He held a position of power and minimally was not a vicious fuck like DiVerio. Perhaps the new admiral cut a figure in his dress greys. A young woman could grow infatuated with all that.
Gallea wanted to feel important. To feel desired among all the rampant fires burning in someone her age. That’s all this was. And it wasn’t as though Strati was letting her daughter out alone in Cirrivus to go douse those flames.
She looked up at him now, dim light from the covered windows filtering across her face. Still ready to argue for her Wish, Argent could see it.
He could do this. He could make her feel good, feel wanted, and then he could leave. He wouldn’t even have to open his trousers. Wouldn’t have to take anything from her she didn’t know better than to give.
“I shouldn’t have done that,” he said. “At the dinner?” Then why were his fingers lacing with hers above where he held her wrist? “I should know better.” The pulse at the hollow of her throat mesmerized. “I shouldn’t be doing this.”
He sank down to breathe kisses on her neck, and the skin there whispered so smooth and delicate he might tear into it with his teeth. Gallea moaned, which did not help anything, at all. The flimsy top was easy to ruck up out of the way, and there were shell pink nipples topping off full breasts he knew no man had ever gotten to see. Argent took one into his mouth. She took in a sharp breath.
Below him, her spine and hips began to rock like the subtle waves just inside the breakwater around the harbor, likely without her knowledge. He molded her in his free hand, squeezing, nipping with teeth. There was no one else here. No one could stop him.
You should stop yourself.
“I shouldn’t be doing this,” said Argent, and he snaked his hand down to brush the fallen panel of her skirt aside as another example of how this was all kaçak bahis wrong. Her pussy lay naked now, just out of his sight, but he couldn’t look. Not yet. Blue eyes clung to him like he was the only anchor in a storm.
“Shouldn’t be touching you.” Fingertips traced up the inside of her thigh, soft as an all-fired lotus petal. “Not here.”
Gallea’s chest jerked. Her mouth came open when he did it. The wrong thing. The bad thing. His fingers slipped. She was soaked. Short fur matted and damp. He nudged at her clit, gentle, and she sucked in air. Her legs tried to snap closed, but the near one lay trapped under his weight, and the far one his bent knee kept wide so he could continue being a horrible person.
“And not here.” He cupped his fingers over her mound. Let the middle one curl up to press inside. Gallea was a wet mess, and he used it to go smooth and slow.
“Deep blue sea.” Those eyes had drifted to the ceiling. She chewed at her lip.
“Am I hurting you?”
Ah yes, concern will scare her off.
“No, it …” She whined and it made his cock flex. “It doesn’t feel like this when I do it.”
Unity, the thought of her touching herself. Spread out here, on this same bed, cheeks flushed. Or perhaps face down and riding her fingers. If he had knuckles free, he would have bloodied them with his teeth.
“What do you think about?” His words were hoarse, and he pushed his ring finger in, as well, to watch her react. “When your hands are here?”
She found his eyes again, gaze hypnotic. “You,” she said. “Always you.”
Argent’s grip on control slipped like his hand between her legs. Could she? Could she have thought of him? It was too much. Too much.
“And do I do this?” he said, running headlong into it. “When you think of me?” His wrist bent lower so he could circle her sensitive little nub with his thumb. She made a noise that nearly had him coming in what was left of his uniform and began to work herself against his hand.
“S-sometimes.” Her free hand reached for what it could. His shoulder. The bridge of his busy thumb, as if she wanted to be sure it wasn’t another fantasy. “You … you … fuck me,” Gallea went on, unable to meet his eyes with her confession. “On the Ministry Hall table. The big one, where you can look down and see the plaza. Or in your office. On the sofa.”
He’d interviewed her in that office. Fuck, he was never going to be able to sleep there again without beating off.
“This is not the Ministry Hall, Gallea.” He let go her wrist, and the little blonde whined. “I’m not going to fuck you.” His fingers punctuated the denial with a deeper, rougher intrusion. The Archregent’s daughter whimpered, miserable to not have what she wanted.
The admiral pushed himself lower and covered her with his mouth.
The seam of her split around his tongue, and he oozed it down among all those hot ruffles of flesh. Her hand was at his ear, the side of his face, as though she didn’t know whether to hold him close or shove him away. The slick tang of arousal smeared his nose and cheeks, and Argent Iqarius greedily became the first man to eat little Gallea Strati.
Oh, she was so pretty trying to capture every piece of what was happening. Her touch couldn’t find anywhere to light. Her legs didn’t know where to be. And all those sounds coming from her throat, from shock to pleasure, all out of her control. This was happening to her. He was the one doing it.
Argent parted her with thumbs and latched the circle of his mouth to the stiff pink point he revealed. He suckled in a rhythm, her hitching breath and bitten groans a perfect fuel. This virgin needed fingers in her. He gave them. She needed to be overwhelmed. The admiral made sure of it.
He thought he would die when her bare foot came up to brace on his shoulder. Somewhere, her shoe had to have fallen off. She spread herself wide for him, splayed her fingers out in the short burr of hair on his skull.
There was a hot little patch of texture inside her, and his touch curled up to find it. She squealed when he did, and Argent grinned like a madman into the pussy scrubbing his face. The assault began. She couldn’t retreat. He lapped and sucked and fucked into her with his fingers, the juice of her rolling down past knuckles, into his palm.
Gallea’s panting became a wail. Her fingernails etched his scalp. All her writhing froze and the pretty snatch he had no business violating nursed and clutched at his fingers.
Argent licked and chased her past the edge until somewhere in her sputtering he might have made out part of the word ‘stop.’
She tried to breathe, ribs heaving. He slipped his hand away to stroke at her fluttering belly. Instant shame surged to his cock to picture the spill of his come pooling in her navel.
It’s done, you sick fuck. Done.
He needed to clean up. Get her to let him out of there. The fleet’s newest admiral needed to be on the other side of Cirrivus right now. Anywhere but here; it was too dangerous.
With a short reach, he pulled her top back to cover her breasts. Her eyes were unfocused, lips a deep pink. One limp hand draped over her collarbone.
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