Page 41 of Rogue Starfighter

“The cockpit privacy shield is active.”

“So, they really can't see in here? You lied? You could’ve mentioned the privacy shield before you brought up the cameras.”

“The superior officers have override codes. I couldn't risk it.”

"Risk what?"

"Talking myself into fucking you here."

The technician came back over the comm. “Also, Lieutenant, the cradle sensors are registering abnormal pressure on the copilot console. Do you want us to send the ship for diagnostics?”

"Oh, shit." Laughing, I scrambled off the copilot console. The only thing their mechanics were going to find wrong with it was an outline of my ass.

“Clearing the cradle. No need for diagnostics.” Vesh said, his voice perfectly flat.

I laughed harder.

We climbed out of the Wraith and tried to look like two officers who had spent the last six minutes just talking about the mission. The deck technician refused to look at either of us. That made it worse. Vesh put one hand at my waist to lower me from the cockpit. My body slid down the front of his. Slowly. His erection pressed against my stomach before my boots reached the deck. Neither of us pretended not to notice.

“You are enjoying this,” he said.

“A lot.”

“You have no shame.”

“I left it on Earth. Luggage restrictions.”

His mouth twitched. He stepped back before I could grab him again. “Tomorrow we fly into the most dangerous space in the war."

“I remember.”

“Then perhaps you understand why we should not pursue this further tonight.”

“That ship sailed about six minutes ago.”

“Priya.”

“Vesh.”

His jaw tightened. “I lost one partner. I will not survive losing another.”

The desire in me settled. It did not disappear. Nothing short of heavy weapons fire was going to accomplish that. But I heard the fear beneath his words.

“You think kissing me makes the mission more dangerous.”

“It makes losing you more dangerous.”

“For you.”

“Yes.”

At least he was honest. I stepped close enough to put my hand on his chest. His heart was beating as hard as mine. “Then we’d better not die tomorrow.”

He stared at me. Then he laughed. It was rusty and surprised, like the sound had escaped without authorization. “You’re not afraid of anything."

“I’m afraid of plenty.”

“Name one thing.”