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was no way to conceal her
    open enjoyment. Peyton arched shamelessly, her clit tingling with
    each powerful thrust of his cock into her pussy, a deep yearning for
    that singular exquisite pleasure to wash over her again, taking the
    breath from her lungs.
    She gasped.
    She clung.
    She came.
    Three times. It seemed like as each shuddering peak of ecstasy
    waned, another one crashed over her until she wanted to beg Gallico
    to stop, but at the same time implore him to continue.
    This was what it was supposed to be like, she thought, pressed
    against him, her arms around his strong neck as she quivered in

    36
    Annabel Wolfe
    response to the motion of his lower body. When he went rigid, his tall
    form tense and his head dropping so his face was buried in her
    outspread hair, the pulse of his orgasmic release filled her with such
    force she shuddered with him in perfect sync.
    The whole thing was…enlightening. Empowering.
    Who would think being reprimanded would turn out to be a
    rapturous experience?
    He adjusted his position, sliding free of her body and rolling to the
    side. The broad expanse of his chest lifted and fell rapidly and his
    eyes were half-closed, his expression enigmatic. There was a slight
    sheen of sweat on his forehead. Peyton felt deliciously limp, wellused, but then again, well-pleasured also. Her thighs were streaked
    with semen and her breasts still tingled.
    “You’re probably exhausted.” Gallico murmured the words.
    Deftly he turned her so her back was to his front, her ass nestled
    against his groin. “We’ll save “all night” for some other time. I’m
    tired myself. Let’s get some sleep, Lieutenant.”
    The warmth of the embrace was almost shocking, maybe even
    more intimate than the actual act they had just completed. One strong
    arm circled her waist and his breath stirred her hair. While she’d
    known she would have to service him sexually, she really hadn’t
    pictured sleeping nude in his arms. She blurted out, “And here we all
    thought you never slept, Commander.”
    “Is that so?” His tone was dry.
    “You must know you project a somewhat…” she searched for the
    right word, “formidable presence.”
    “You seemed to have no trouble disobeying me.”
    “There you’re wrong, sir.”
    “I’m wrong? Oh really? I think you just disagreed with me,
    proving me right.”
    She had. Peyton felt her cheeks flush but at least he couldn’t see it
    with their bodies spooned together. “I meant taking the transport
    without permission wasn’t something I did lightly.”

    Under His Command
    37
    “I’m aware of your reasons, Peyton. But you should also be aware
    that the ultimate decisions about what happens on this ship and with
    this crew are mine. I was given the responsibility, and in the end, I am
    the one to face the consequences if something goes wrong. Had you
    been less skillful, and less lucky too, I would have had to answer for
    not only the loss of life on Epsilon, but a destroyed transport craft and
    a dead crew.”
    She protested, “ I disobeyed. It wouldn’t have been your fault.”
    “I’m afraid the Minoan government wouldn’t take the same
    view.” His arm tightened just a fraction. “A commander is supposed
    to be able to control his men.”
    “I—”
    “Peyton, go to sleep. That’s an order.”
    Continued argument was probably a bad idea, she acknowledged
    silently, stifling her reply. She was tired, he was correct on that point.
    Obediently she closed her eyes and listened as his breathing began to
    shift in rhythm, the sound comforting in the sterile room. Behind her,
    he felt solid and large.
    When this was all over, she thought sleepily, she might have to
    disabuse her fellow officers of Gallico’s cold, distant persona. The
    crew routinely—behind his back of course—called him The Ice Chip.
    There was nothing icy about the heat radiating from his rangy
    body or those long, intoxicating kisses.
    The last thought she had before slipping