Tarkken

by Annabelle Rex

  They had just a moment to make a decision. Run for it, risk being seen, risk being unable to escape through the crowds. Or think of a damn good reason they were creeping around back here.

  Marta could only think of one.

  She grabbed Tarkken, halting his progress. He gave her a questioning look, before glancing at the door as if somehow it might get closer just for his wanting it to.

  “Do you trust me?” she said, keeping her voice low.

  And despite the situation, despite their pounding hearts and frazzled nerves, he actually smirked at her.

  “What’s the phrase? About as far as I can throw you?”

  Marta grinned, then grabbed him by his shirt. “Just play along,” she said, before tugging him towards her and planting her lips on his.

  For a long, awkward moment, he didn’t move, just froze in place. She didn’t have the ability to read emotions like he did, but she was pretty sure what he was feeling in that moment - shock. She moved her lips a little, coaxing him. This would have to look authentic for it to work, and Marta was fully game to play. But if Tarkken wasn’t…

  Then his lips parted and his hand went to her face and he was kissing her. Really kissing her. And holy shit he knew what he was doing. He kissed her like he wanted to devour her, and Marta felt her body responding - almost violently. Passion overcame sense, and for a moment, she forgot that it was a ploy, a distraction, that they were on the verge of being discovered somewhere they really weren’t supposed to be, and just lost herself in the moment. In him. She kissed him back, tangling her tongue with his, her hands exploring his chest before sinking into his hair.

  His body pressed against hers, so firm and strong, his broad arms encircling her, pulling her closer. Marta tugged his shirt from his jeans and when she had a moment to think back on it later, she knew it wasn’t because she was trying to give the impression of someone swept up in passion, but because she actually was. She wanted, needed to feel his skin against hers.

  At the sound of a throat clearing, they jerked abruptly away from each other. Marta looked up at the man looming over them - a bouncer, she noted with relief - opening her eyes wide. She blurted out the first Polish words that came to her mind, trying to look coquettish and a bit embarrassed, hoping that an organisation that sheltered Nick Gillespie wouldn’t hire people with translators.

  The bouncer frowned at her, and she could practically see him working through the options. He’d probably been told to report anyone who came back here without permission, but that was a hassle. A double hassle when the offender spoke limited English. She knew a fraction of a second before his face caught up with his decision, because Tarkken’s vice grip on her arm relaxed.

  The bouncer waved a dismissive hand at her, before pointing back in the direction of the area with the dance floor.

  “You. There,” he said with a grunt.

  “Dziękuję,” she said, batting her eyelashes for good measure. “Thank you.”

  Before anything else could be said, she grabbed Tarkken’s hand and dragged him out of the corridor. She didn’t stop until they were all the way out of the club and on the next street over, far from any prying eye. She stopped in an empty side street, breath coming hard from both the adrenaline and the rapid exit from the club.

  And a little bit from the lingering taste of Tarkken on her lips.

  For a long moment, they just stood together, catching their breath.

  “Did you just tell him to load the dishwasher and make his bed?” Tarkken asked.

  “Yes, I think I did.”

  A twitch in the corner of Tarkken’s lips gradually spread into a full smirk, culminating in him actually letting out a bark of laughter.

  “What?” Marta said, putting her hands on her hips. “It’s not my fault the only time my parents spoke their mother tongue was to yell at each other. Or to yell at me. Their negligent parenting was why I never got on with any of my cousins when they visited from Poland. Couldn’t understand them.”

  “Nothing to do with the fact that you don’t like people,” Tarkken said.

  Marta grinned. “Well, maybe a bit of that came in to it. But who’s to say that’s not a defence mechanism, born of a frightfully lonely childhood?”

  “The fact that you’re being utterly melodramatic?”

  She laughed. “I suppose there’s no hiding anything from an Empath. Come on. Let’s go find a taxi and get out of here.”

  Chapter 9

  THE TAXI DRIVER SPENT THE ENTIRE journey singing loudly - and tunelessly - along with the radio, so Tarkken and Marta had the chance to talk.

  “Were those pictures any good?” he asked, an echo of the terror he felt when she leaned out to take them passing through him.

  She pulled out her phone, flicking through it. Tarkken noticed that her case had a collage of pictures of Mouse on it.

  “Humans are obsessed with cats,” he said. “I don’t understand it.”

  “Don’t the Intergalactic Community have pets?” she asked, her eyes flicking up to meet his, her amusement illuminated by the light from her phone.

  “Some of them. It’s not as common as it is amongst Humanity.”

  “Aw, you’re missing out.”

  “Why would I want a creature that looks at me like I’m an insect to share my living space?”

  “Cuddles?”

  “Does it actually like cuddles though? Or does it endure them under sufferance.”

  “Mouse loves cuddles. Just on her terms. That’s the thing you have to understand with cats - everything has to be on their terms.”

  Tarkken frowned. “So is she your pet, or are you hers?”

  Marta laughed. “Maybe a bit of both.”

  She was still looking through the photos, her thumb tracking across the screen as she moved from one to the next. He felt her surprise a fraction before she flicked back to take a second look at a photo, her fingers moving over the screen to zoom in.

  “Take a look at that one,” she said, passing it to him. “Through the door. What does that look like to you?”

  Tarkken examined the picture. The first thing he noted was the clear profile of Nick Gillespie standing in front of the door. He’d been pretty sure as soon as he’d heard the accent, remembering that lilting, musical way of speaking from his videos online, but seeing it in the photo was still a punch to the gut. He’d been less than three metres from a man who would kill him, given half a chance. He looked beyond Nick to the room behind him, only a fraction of it visible through the gap in the door but…

  “That looks like a bedroom,” he said.

  “That’s what I thought. He must be living down there. Perfect place, really, right in the city, underground. He could stay hidden there for years and no one would know.”

  “So what is Deborah Fiennes for? Why would Ethan go there?”

  Marta shrugged. “She might be where he got the bullets from. Lots of old money families like that like to hunt and shoot.”

  It was a reasonable explanation, but they needed to be sure. He didn’t want to send the police down into the Starbright Lounge if there was a chance he was also spending some of his time at Deborah Fiennes’ place. When they went after him, Tarkken wanted to be sure they’d get him.

  As the taxi drove through the still busy city streets, the driver butchering some ‘twenties bangers’, Tarkken tried to think through next steps, next options. But his eyes kept wandering back to Marta. She was gazing out the window, her feelings quiet as he’d ever known them as she watched the world go by. The light of every passing streetlamp slipped over the curve of her neck like a caress, and Tarkken couldn’t help remembering how it had felt to hold that delicate part of her in his hands, to feel the jump of her pulse beneath his thumb as he’d kissed her.

  As he’d kissed her and her mind had been entirely on him.

  Even with everything else that had been going on, the potentially life threatening danger they were in, her entire focus had been him. No errant feeli
ngs of disappointment, fear or regret. No sense of detachment, which Tarkken had always found far worse than anything else.

  No, her entire mind had been caught up in the moment, a mix of passion and desire so powerful, so heady. He wanted to experience that again, but nothing that felt that good could possibly come without consequences. And this was Marta. Asha’s best friend Marta. Not someone he ought to be becoming so entangled with.

  “What’s going through your head right now?” Marta said.

  He looked up. She no longer stared out of the window, her attention instead on him. A hint of worry coloured her emotions, and Tarkken wondered what caused it. Fear from the near miss they’d just had? Concern about the safety of her friend? It hadn’t been a small box of bullets.

  And here he was, thinking about kissing.

  “Nothing,” he said.

  She folded her arms, and though a little annoyance started to bloom, it was still mostly worry that filled her emotional landscape.

  “Come on,” she said. “You get to know what I’m thinking, it’s only fair you reciprocate.”

  “I don’t know what you’re thinking.”

  “Feeling, then.”

  He tried to formulate an acceptable answer - something about Nick Gillespie and what they were going to do about him. But the truth kept fighting its way to the front of his mind.

  “I was thinking about how, when you kissed me, you weren’t thinking about anyone else.”

  Her eyes widened a little - whatever she thought he’d been thinking, it clearly wasn’t that.

  “Thought you didn’t know what I’m thinking?” she said, a hint of tease in her tone.

  “I don’t, but it’s fairly obvious when you kiss someone and they’re not thinking about you.”

  She grimaced. “And has that been a common experience for you?”

  He shrugged. “It’s a Universal experience for Unmatched people. Except most of them don’t have the delight of actually knowing it. They can... selectively forget.”

  Confusion, followed quickly by understanding.

  “The Match test,” she said.

  “Exactly,” Tarkken said. “They know they aren’t meant for you. It... colours things.”

  “So you were thinking about someone else other than me?” she said, and though her face was all wry amusement, a hint of hurt crept into her emotional landscape.

  He thought about it. Had there been anyone else on his mind? He didn’t think so. Her emotions were too all encompassing, too intoxicating.

  “It’s okay,” she said, mistaking his silence for an admission. “I did rather spring myself on you.”

  “You did,” he said.

  “Worked, though, didn’t it?” She shot him a grin, and Tarkken could practically see her boxing up her hurt and disappointment and shoving it down somewhere deep inside her.

  “I wasn’t thinking about anyone else,” he said.

  The rest of the journey passed in silence - or as close to silence as it was possible to get with a driver who acted like he was Earth’s greatest undiscovered singing talent. Tarkken recognised the street by Marta’s home with some relief.

  “How are you getting back?” she asked, busying herself looking for her keys so she didn’t have to look at him. Tarkken let her go ahead, until the distance between them was enough that he couldn’t sense her without purposely trying to.

  “I’ll call for a driver. They work round the clock.”

  The only reason they’d used taxis tonight was to avoid being conspicuous.

  “Oh, good.” She turned to him, chewing her lip. “I would let you stay but... only one bed.”

  She gave a little shrug.

  “It’s fine.”

  “Okay.” A pause. “Do you want to come in while you wait, or...”

  If he went inside, he’d kiss her again. If he went anywhere near her, he’d kiss her again.

  “It’s fine,” he said. “They won’t be long.”

  “You sure?”

  He nodded. For a moment, they just stared at each other across the gulf of space between them.

  “Alright, then,” she said. “Good night.”

  She headed down the steps and opened her door, glancing at him one last time as she turned to close it behind her.

  Tarkken stood paralysed, staring at the space where she’d been moments before. All he had to do was take his comm from his pocket and call for a driver, but the thought of leaving seemed… intolerable.

  He headed down the steps, trying to keep his footsteps quiet. He would reach out, sense her emotions - see that she was just getting ready for bed. Forgetting all about him. Then he would walk away, make the call, head back to his rooms on the Station.

  Alone.

  He reached the bottom step just as the door yanked open and Marta flew out of it.

  “Tarkken, I...” she crashed into him before she could finish her sentence, clearly not expecting him to be lurking outside her door like a creep. But her emotions didn’t colour with anger or annoyance, instead going as soft as her expression as she looked up at him.

  Resolve went out the window and he bent his head to hers, claiming her lips again. She threw her arms around his neck, a low moan of need escaping her throat. Tarkken lifted her into his arms, crushing her against him as he stumbled forwards with her into her home. She released him long enough to reach for the door and slam it shut behind them.

  They staggered together towards the bed, shedding clothes as they went. She tugged his shirt from his jeans all the way this time, fingers fumbling through the buttons before, finally, pushing it from his shoulders. Her top came away in one smooth tug, revealing a black lace bra. She reached behind her, unhooking it, then tossed it aside before pressing herself up against him and kissing him again.

  She was all soft, warm skin, and Tarkken’s cock strained in his trousers. His hands quested across her back, round to cup her breasts, thumbs brushing the hard peaks of her nipples, sending a shiver of pure lust through her emotional landscape.

  He swept her up into his arms again, depositing her on the bed, and if her kiss was overwhelming, the feel of her body beneath his took it to a new level. He never wanted to move, wanted to spend the rest of eternity answering this clawing need to be inside her.

  She kicked off her shoes, shimmying her leggings down, her panties going with them. He shed the last of his clothes and then she was pulling him closer, reaching for his cock and guiding him to her entrance.

  He pushed into her with one hard thrust. She cried out, and he could feel the echoes of her pleasure in his head, enveloping his extra sense, just as her body did the rest. The taste of her lips, the touch of her skin, the sight of her perfect body, the smell of sweat and sex ridden by the last few hints of her perfume. And the sound of her moans as he drew back and thrust into her again, again, again.

  She urged him onwards, kissing him with ferocious abandon.

  And her mind never wandered. Not even once.

  Chapter 10

  MARTA DIDN’T KNOW IT WAS POSSIBLE to feel quite so boneless after an orgasm. She blew out a shaky breath, still trembling a little, still feeling the aftershocks. Tarkken lay next to her, his arm pressed against hers, but otherwise not moving, not speaking. She rolled on to her side, taking in the rather magnificent form of his body - the sculpted pecs, chiseled abs.

  Unable to resist, she brushed her fingers over them.

  “How does someone whose job is essentially being a nerd with a computer end up with such a good body?” she asked.

  “Mandatory exercise program for all people living on the Station.”

  Marta wrinkled her nose. “Ugh, did I say I wanted to live on the Station? I changed my mind.”

  “Did you say you wanted to live on the Station?”

  “What, don’t people like it up there?”

  “It’s fine, most people just prefer living on planets.”

  “Two words: climate control.”

  “No breeze - no win
d in your hair.”

  “No bugs.”

  “The rooms are small.”

  “Eh, I rarely leave my house anyway.”

  He looked at her like he couldn’t quite believe she was real.

  “How’s the headache?” she asked, brushing a thumb across his brow, smoothing out the frown that almost permanently existed there.

  “Better,” he said. “Being at the club helped.”

  Marta gave him a questioning look. “I don’t think anyone in the history of time ever said a club helped their headache.”

  A small smile crossed his lips. “All those people to read. Scanning through all those heads… I’m supposed to read people regularly. It doesn’t do me any good not to.”

  “That must be hard,” she said, thinking of the way he’d tried so hard to stay out of her head, so sure she’d be annoyed with him if he didn’t. That sort of conviction tended to come from bitter experience.

  “It is. That’s partly why I’ve been finding it so hard around you - it’s not just that you’re louder than everyone else. It’s that I’m already exhausted from trying to keep out of everyone else’s heads.”

  “But Cael and Randar are your friends, surely they’re okay with it?”

  Tarkken grimaced. “It was keeping me going. But when Cael met Asha...”

  “And Randar met Angela,” Marta said, “I can see how you’d want to avoid all that.”

  He turned so he was facing her. “It makes me sound bitter. I’m not. I’m happy for them, I really am.”

  “But you don’t want to have to be reminded of their happiness all the time when you haven’t found your own?”

  He hesitated a moment, mouth paused in the act of forming a word.

  “You must think I’m awful.”

  She pressed her forehead to his. “What do you think?”

  “I think I can’t read your thoughts.”

  “Yeah, but you sort of can.” She smiled. “I don’t think you’re awful. I think it’s natural to be a bit jealous. Even I’m a bit jealous when I see Asha and Cael together all loved up and ridiculously cute. But you can’t go on the way you were. You were hurting yourself.”