Frak. Frak. Frak. I was completely at the toaster's mercy – and judging by that smug smirk, Leoben knew it too. That bastard. His hand tightened a little around my neck and I whimpered, but not out of fear. His eyes flitted from my mouth back up. I should've been more than a little concerned, terrified even, but I wasn't. The longer he held me there, physically dominating me, showing me he could take whatever he wanted from me, the more aroused I got. Damn him, he knew that too.
It wouldn't be long before the guards entered from the rear hatch. I gripped his hands in mine, but I wasn't sure if it was to stop him or urge him to keep going. There was a subtle shift in his grip; I knew the kiss was coming and I did nothing to stop it. Gods, what am I doing? There was a ferocity to his kiss I hadn't experienced before, a desperation to prove he was alive that ended up making me question everything I knew, everything I'd done before now. Do not get turned on. You can't get turned on. He's not real.
"Fraking toaster," the curse slips out as his hand loosens further, the kiss deepens. But somehow it's no longer an insult, it's a term of endearment, and I hate myself a little. This is what Leoben's do; they mess with your head. But gods help me I liked it too much to care. The guards ripped him off me, neither able to look me in the eye. But Leoben looked, his blue gaze raked over my body like it belonged to him. But then he started talking about my mother.
His candor scared the hell out of me; he wanted me to know how deeply he knew me, to prove his gift for prophecy. So I watched, I watched them torture him until I couldn't take it anymore. He slouched back into the chair, his dirty blond hair slicked back, gazing up at me reverently. Leoben was strong but in his eyes I found my own power. I wanted nothing more than to straddle his lap and grind against him, to embrace that beauty inside myself. Judging by the smoldering looks he kept giving me, he was thinking the same thing.
We spent hours in that room, engaging in a battle of wills. At first I was determined to break him down, to force him to acknowledge he wasn't human. But now I can't help but think he is the most human being I've ever known. His philosophical ramblings, lies or not, stir something in me I thought I'd lost.
But before I could confront him about it, the whole operation was taken out of my hands. Instead of kissing Leoben, I found myself staring at him inside the airlock, his hand pressed against the glass. He was waiting; he knew I would press my hand against the glass, knew I would seek his comfort – give him mine.
I was only half listening to the president as Leoben's possessive gaze raked over me one last time, his mouth quirking in that smug smile. And just for a moment I debated the merits of not placing my hand against the glass. I debated allowing my need to win our little game, to save my broken pride, to keep me from him. But then the possessive look slipped and I saw his fear.
"He's not afraid to die," I said softly, "He's afraid his soul won't make it to god."
And I knew then what I had to do.