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felinoids were known for a high sex drive and low inhibitions—but this was so not the time.
    Not with both an armed Fiero and the local cops after them.
    Except her body really, really thought it was the perfect time. For all it was a terrible idea, her brain didn’t completely disagree.
    She had to pull herself together. Whether she wanted to or not.
    “Come on !” she urged, letting the orange jumpsuit fall to her feet and stepping out of it. “We’ve got to move. Those obstacles won’t hold them long, and we’re still too close to where we left the floater and…what?”
    “The Blemondians won’t anticipate this. And if you’re my pretend-lover,” he added boldly, “shouldn’t we put on a good show?” He leaned forward, put his arms and the coat around her, and then, under the cover of the coat, wrapped her in his glorious wings.
    Definitely something in the danger-as-aphrodisiac theory, because in a fetid alley, with the law and outlaws both after them and her no doubt out of both a job and a home when the guys found out she’d dumped the slag and abandoned the floater, Rita was getting more turned on than she ever remembered being. She’d been excitable to start with, from the kiss, and from simply being around Drax’s dangerous good looks, but now she could feel herself getting slick, hot, ready for the cock that she could now feel all too well against her bare skin.
    And his wings—marling stars , she’d never felt anything like the soft, sensual caress of all those feathers against her back, her ass. So good. His hands gripped and kneaded, and his wings stroked and soothed, and all the while he was kissing her, exploring her mouth with his tongue, sending sparks down the connections from her lips to the mouth of her sex. Her common sense told her they needed to move, couldn’t take the time to play there when the overpriced thugs in the Fiero might show up at any second.
    Her common sense lost the argument with her libido.
    Did they pump pheromones in the air for Kenu Aram, or was Drax just that good?
    Maybe she was more thrill-kinky than she’d ever guessed, or possibly just that horny. She didn’t want to calculate how long her most recent dry spell had lasted. Things were depressing enough with people shooting at them and the Malcolm ’s best contract in ages turning out to be some kind of complicated larceny that would leave them as the obvious suspects for the theft or worse if they weren’t careful and broke if they were.
    Maybe it wasn’t so illogical to be tempted to give in to pleasure in a world gone radioactive even by the high standards set by life on board the Malcolm .
    She squirmed against him, wanting more, needing more. Begging for more with little, inarticulate noises breathed into his mouth because she didn’t want to stop kissing him long enough to speak.
    With all Drax’s injuries, she was afraid to touch him other than with her lips, afraid to cause him further pain, until he moved one of her hands to his nipple. Already a taut little peak, it stiffened further under her touch as she caressed with light strokes, then, when he seemed ready, with firmer ones, rolling it between her fingers.
    Not all of him had been hurt. At least one area was fine, one she’d dearly love to touch. Her other hand traced down his chest, skimming lightly in deference to his injuries. Skin like hot silk—real biosilk, not synthsilk, because they did feel different even if they were supposed to be chemically identical—covering steel. No, over something more valuable and beautiful than steel, something like that gold alloy they made on Xylac, a precious metal harder than titanium.
    But when she reached his cock, she knew she’d found something more precious yet. It had looked promising while soft, but like just about everyone in the galaxy who liked to fuck penis-endowed people, she’d been disappointed that way before.
    Not this time.
    A heavy, hard weight in her hand when she first