Inara eased down into Mal’s bunk carefully, assuming that the Captain might be already asleep. She knew Simon had given him something a little stronger than usual when he’d wrenched his ankle painfully earlier in the day.

So, she was surprised to see him still leaning back against the bulkhead with a book in his hands. Upon closer examination, she saw in the soft light of the bedside lamp that he had indeed fallen asleep, the book resting lightly against his abdomen.

She tiptoed over to the bed, removing her clothing as she went. Realizing that the book he held was the book of poetry he’d procured on their morning away from Serenity a few weeks ago, she smiled as she tried to dislodge it from his lax grip.

Despite the mild sedative effect of the pain meds Simon had provided, Mal was awake instantly. “Tryin’ to steal my book, darlin’?” he asked lazily, causing Inara to jump in startled surprise.

“It didn’t look like you were reading it anyway, just then,” she said, letting go of the book and settling into bed beside him.

Mal sighed in contentment, still amazed even after all their months together that Inara chose to come to his bed more nights than not. He pulled her closer to his side, reaching to turn off the light.

“Wait,” Inara said.

Mal looked at her quizzically.

Inara’s smile was like an electric current running straight down his spine. “Read to me,” she said, her voice a sultry purr.

Mal balked at the notion. “Ain’t there somethin’ else you’d rather be doin’?” he asked, running one warm hand down her back to the base of her spine.

Inara shivered at the seductive touch, but she was undeterred from her purpose. “I want you to read to me, Mal,” she said softly, leaning up to nibble at his earlobe. “And if you read very well, I’ll read to you later.”

Having found some particularly interesting passages already, Mal figured that reading the book might be conducive to his other plans for the evening. “All right, bao bei, you win,” he said lightly.

He turned to one of the more evocative poems and began to read, his tone low and intimate, like a caress against Inara’s skin. She sighed happily, stretching like a cat against his warmth and closing her eyes in satisfaction. As he read, he could feel her heart rate increase, the erotic imagery of the poem catching her in its spell. Finishing the poem with a flourish, he leaned down to capture her lips in a slow, deep kiss. Inara melted against him as he set the book aside and moved his hands gently down her sides to rest on her hips. “Like that, bao bei?” he murmured against her neck.

“Mmmm hmmm,” she answered, her clever hands sliding like silk along his shoulders and back.

Mal pulled out of her embrace with an evil grin, leaving Inara bereft and bewildered. Her eyes popped open in surprise. “What are you doing?” she asked.

Mal held up the book. “Said you’d read to me,” he replied, his voice low and gravelly.

“Isn’t there something else you’d rather be doing?” she asked, a little breathless as she mimicked his earlier question to her.

“Just read,” Mal said, pushing the book into her hands and indicating the page.

Inara sighed, but began to read in a low, perfectly modulated voice, her eyes widening at Mal’s choice of poems. Liquid heat pooled at her center as Mal’s hands began a slow, steady exploration of her body, and her voice faltered. Instantly, Mal stopped the delicious motion.

“Mal, please,” she said, her voice strangled.

“Read.” His tone was demanding, though his voice was soft.

Inara swallowed and began again, her own voice trembling as Mal drove her to distraction with his hands, lips, and tongue. Each time she stopped reading, he stopped his ministrations as well, until Inara was fairly certain she would die from the tender torture.

She pressed on, reading verse after verse of the maddeningly long poem, her voice hitching and her body trembling like a leaf in a strong wind. Finally, blessedly, she came to the end of the poem, drawing in a deep shuddering breath as Mal pried the book from her bloodless fingers and eased himself between her gently parted thighs.

Sliding into her with one smooth, long stroke, he murmured, “Good poem.”

Unable to form coherent thought, she moved beneath him, caught up in the sheer pleasure of this man inside her. Arching her back as he found a rhythm that hurdled them both toward utter ecstasy, she did not even notice the book falling to the floor with their increasingly urgent movements.

Waves of pleasure rolled over Inara, and she could feel the gathering momentum of Mal’s release as well. All too quickly, they reached their fall together, crying out in the intensity of the moment. Afterward, they lay quiet in each other’s arms, limbs entwined and trembling in the aftershock. “I take it you enjoyed that, darlin’,” Mal said, still a little breathless from the exertion.

Inara gifted him with a sated smile. “Poetry in motion, love,” she replied. “Poetry in motion.”

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