by Black, Tasha
As soon as the blast of conditioned air and tinny John Phillip Sousa music hit her, Sage knew she was in luck. The other postal workers listened to jazz on the radio during their shifts.
“Oh my heavens, Sage Martin is that you?” an excited voice demanded before Sage was entirely sure she could have been spotted, let alone identified.
“Hello, Lainey,” she said.
The small blonde woman behind the counter clasped her hands together joyfully.
“I’m so glad to see you, Sage, honey,” she said. “I was very sorry about your grandmother. We miss her a lot.”
“Thank you,” Sage said, surprised at the lump forming in her throat.
“I noticed you and your sister are getting mail at the farm,” Lainey said, eyes sparkling. “Does this mean you’re taking over?”
“We’re taking it one day at a time,” Sage said.
“And who’s this?” Lainey asked, looking up at Riggs as if she had just noticed him, and liked what she saw.
“I’m Riggs,” he said, stepping forward before Sage had a chance to introduce him. “We’re bringing around flyers to let everyone know about Pick-Your-Own-Peaches at Martin’s Bounty. May we hang one here?”
Sage almost fell over. She had never known Riggs to be so quick to speak.
“Well, this is a government facility, so I can’t just hang it in the window,” Lainey said. “But we do have a community bulletin board in the town green. I’ll get the key for you so you can hang it up.”
“Thank you,” Riggs replied. “That would be great.”
They watched as Lainey reached for the key hanging on the wall beside the counter. Her short stature made retrieving it a challenge. She stretched up and gave a little hop and missed it by an inch.
“Let me help you,” Riggs offered.
“What a gentleman,” Lainey said with a big smile, opening the door to let him behind the counter.
He plucked it off the wall while Lainey looked up at him, examining him as carefully as if she expected to take a quiz on his exact physical specifications as soon as he was finished.
When he turned to her, she shooed him back out the door.
“There you go, just bring it back after you put up your flyer,” she said, winking at Sage.
“Thank you, we’ll be right back with it,” Sage said.
Riggs held the door for her and they ventured back into the sunshine on the way to the bulletin board.
He handed her the key and she used it to open the glass door.
When they had hung the flyer between a handwritten ad for a local karate studio, and an official notice of thanks to the town for sending the scouts to their annual canoe trip to Heaven Falls, Sage locked the glass again.
“I’ll bring it back in,” Riggs offered, jogging toward the post office entrance with the key.
Sage stared after him, amazed at this confident man with whom she was spending her afternoon.
It turned out his easy way with Lainey wasn’t a fluke.
A few hours later, the box of flyers was nearly empty.
They had visited most of the storefronts in town. Riggs had even gone into the tattoo parlor and made a new friend. The whole town was lined with Pick-Your-Own-Peaches info. At least if things didn’t go well this weekend it wouldn’t be because no one knew about the farm being open.
“Shall we head over to the hardware store and then go home?” Sage asked.
“That sounds good,” Riggs agreed.
They entered the door under the Helios Hardware sign.
“What can I help you with?” the clerk asked. “Oh, hey, Sage.”
“Hi, Angel, what’s new?” Sage asked.
“Not much, wow—” Angel replied, cutting herself off when she got a load of Riggs.
“Hi there,” Riggs said politely. “I’m Riggs.”
Sage got plenty of fresh air and exercise and a shower every morning. She knew she was young and healthy and she had always taken a bit of pride in her wavy brown hair.
But Angel Hicks sported a more cultivated look that included plenty of lip gloss and a lacy, low cut tank top. Sage could hardly blame the woman for playing up her femininity since she worked in a male-dominated industry. But as Riggs approached Angel with his hand extended, Sage couldn’t help worrying he might find her… interesting.
If he did, he didn’t show it.
As Angel gazed up at him, wide-eyed, Riggs shook her hand politely and stepped back, his eyes never going south of her neck.
“Angel Hicks,” Angel breathed, a moment too late.
“We would like to buy some paint, Angel Hicks,” Riggs said. “Do you have good paint for an outdoor sign?”
The mention of a need for something in the range of Angel’s expertise snapped her out of her trance, and she launched herself out from behind the counter and marched down one of the dusty aisles.
“I sure do,” she said. “Follow me.”
Sage and Riggs trailed after her and found themselves looking at a row of paint cans and canisters of spray paint.
“Enamel is the best for outdoor use, though acrylic is less expensive,” Angel explained. “Personally, I like to finish an exterior sign with a wood sealant to really protect the paint.”
“We’ll go with whatever you suggest,” Sage said. “We want a white background and we’ll do black lettering.”
Angel nodded as if they were soldiers at war, and Sage was her superior, about to send her on a mission behind enemy lines.
While Angel applied herself to snagging various cans and brushes off the shelves, Sage watched Riggs examine the shelves.
“What are you looking at?” she asked.
“Have a lot of people been buying sign paint lately?” he asked, his hand skimming a canister of red spray paint.
“Sure,” Angel said, emerging from the shelves. “Lots of local folks like to touch up their signs from year to year. Or change them up. Especially with all the newcomers around lately.”
“Anyone buy red paint?” Riggs asked.
“I guess,” Angel replied. “People buy all sorts of colors.”
Riggs nodded, looking a little disappointed.
But Sage was thunderstruck.
Riggs might be on the quiet side, and at times his inexperience on this planet could make him seem childlike, but the big alien was anything but innocent.
He was attractive, yes, but that was not his most remarkable quality. He was smart, charismatic, and he had a drive so singular that it felt familiar.
It felt like her own.
They paid for their purchases quickly and then emerged into the sunshine once again.
Riggs turned to her and she nearly lost herself in his startlingly azure eyes.
“Where should we go to paint the sign?” he asked.
His voice was husky, as if he were noticing her in the same way. As if he wanted to be alone with her.
She found herself naming the one place she knew she shouldn’t mention. The place she had often escaped to during the summers she’d spent on the farm with her grandparents.
A place where they would most definitely be alone.
10
Riggs
Riggs looked around the clearing.
Sage had parked the truck half a mile away and they had carried the sign and supplies through what felt like the wilderness for fifteen silent minutes.
“Where are we?” he asked, looking around at the circle of small shelters surrounding a shady area with a stone pit at its center.
“This is a scouts’ campground,” Sage explained. “But the kids are at Heaven Falls for their annual canoe trip. We have the place to ourselves.”
Riggs noticed the color staining her cheeks a moment after the words left her mouth.
He tried not to smile, though he felt a sense of victory that she wanted to be alone with him, even if it was only to paint a sign.
“Is there a good place to work?” he asked.
“The mess hall,” she replie
d, heading toward one of the rustic looking shelters.
When they got closer, he could see that the walls were made of screens. Two rows of picnic tables filled the single room in the structure. Sage opened the door and flicked a switch. A ceiling fan turned on but no light.
“I guess the bulb is out.” She shrugged. “It’s still light enough in here to work.”
She placed the sign on one of the tables and Riggs unpacked the cans of paint and sealant, and the brushes from the bag he carried.
“What are these for?” he asked, pulling two wooden sticks and a metal loop out of the bag.
“The key is to open the paint cans and the sticks are to stir the paint,” Sage told him.
“What about these?” he asked, pulling out a copy of the Stargazer Gazette and three bottles of water.
“The newspaper will protect the table from being damaged by the paint,” Sage said. “One water is to clean the sign before we paint it.”
“And the other two?”
“Those are for us,” she said. “That was a long walk.”
Riggs laughed and watched as she spread the newspaper on the table.
“Want me to clean the sign?” he offered.
“Sure,” she said.
He took the sign and one of the water bottles outside and did his best to get it clean.
When he returned to the mess hall, Sage had already opened one of the paint cans and was stirring it. The paint was creamy and white - watching Sage’s delicate hand swirl the stick around in it was almost hypnotic.
“Okay, I think it’s ready,” she announced.
Riggs found the largest brush.
“That’s perfect for the white background,” Sage said approvingly. “Do you want to do it?”
“Sure,” he said. He was pleased, he’d been curious about the consistency of the white liquid.
Sage gestured for him to begin.
He dipped the brush gently into the paint and applied some to the wooden sign. It was satisfying to feel it go on smoothly and to see it covering the offensive words.
“Paint with the grain of the wood,” Sage suggested, moving her own hand left to right to show him.
He tried again and noticed how easily the brush moved along the surface of the sign.
It was silent in the room except for the calls of the birds outside. The air swirled cool against his skin in the wake of the fan.
And Sage stood so close beside him, her presence not engaging any of the five senses he had learned about, but stimulating him in a different way, until his body thrummed like a tightly strung violin.
The moment seemed to stretch for hours as she watched him smooth away the writing on the sign until it was a wash of snowy white.
He placed the brush down on the newspaper and turned to her.
“You have a little paint, right there,” she murmured, going up on her toes and extending her hand to his cheek.
He grasped her wrist in his hand before she could touch him, and pressed his lips to her palm.
She gasped but did not pull away. Instead, her arm relaxed in his hold, as if she were melting.
Sage gazed up at him, lips slightly parted, her big brown eyes telling him everything her voice would not.
The air between them sizzled and Riggs suddenly thought of Zeno’s dichotomy paradox - two bodies halving the distance between themselves an infinite number of times, never touching.
He had to go all the way.
“Sage, may I kiss you?” he whispered.
She nodded.
He bent to press his lips to hers and it was everything he had dared to imagine and more. Her lips were so soft and sweet.
She went up on her toes again, sliding her arms around his neck, maddening him with the press of her breasts against his chest.
He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her closer, deepening their kiss.
Sage whimpered slightly against his mouth and he licked her lips, plunging his tongue inside when she parted them for him.
He had seen this in movies, read about it, but nothing prepared him for the actual intimacy of tasting her mouth, feeling her sweet tongue caress his.
Desire raged in his blood and he was torn by his own opposing needs - his body’s fierce demand that he claim her immediately and his heart’s instinct not to rush, not to miss any facet of this tremulous new experience.
And he would not make the mating bond before she had accepted him.
But he could feel Sage’s nipples graze his chest through the thin fabric that separated them. Her heart was beating so fast. Her body pressed to him as if she wanted him to consume her.
He knew what she needed. He would give her every pleasure imaginable without claiming her, if she would allow it.
The idea excited him terribly and he kissed her with renewed fervor, until he felt her nails sink into his shoulders.
As gently as he could, he lifted her in his arms.
She wrapped her legs around his waist without breaking their kiss.
He carried her to the closest table that wasn’t covered in painting supplies, and sat her on it.
“Riggs,” she murmured as he pulled away to look at her.
“You are my mate,” he told her roughly. “But I cannot ask you to accept me now. Just let me please you.”
She blinked up at him.
He pulled his t-shirt over his head and relished the way her eyes went wider as she stared at his chest. He was glad his body excited her. He had not earned the muscles, any more than she had earned her soft curves or dark eyes, but he was grateful if they gave each other pleasure.
He rolled up his shirt and placed it on the table behind her, a perfect pillow.
She looked up at him hungrily.
He kissed her again, gentleness forgotten for a moment as he slid his hands under the hem of her shirt and lifted it slowly.
She raised her arms, making it easy for him to remove it.
His heart pounded in his chest and he pulled back slightly to look at her again.
She was exquisite. Her skin was smooth and tan except for a dark freckle above her belly button, and her breasts were generous, nearly spilling over the lacy contraption that held them prisoner.
“Sage,” he breathed.
She blushed pink but did not look away.
He took a deep breath.
This is literally what you were made for. No need to be nervous.
She held perfectly still as he wrapped his arms around her, found the tiny hooks and released them. He eased the straps from her shoulders, kissing the tiny indentations the garment had left there.
She tilted her head slightly, as if in invitation, and he nuzzled the place where her neck met her shoulder. She smelled like the orchard, peaches and cinnamon and summer.
Need bubbled up inside him and it took everything he had to restrain it.
For her. Be patient for her.
He pulled back slightly and was beside himself all over again at the sight of her bare breasts. Each pale orb was as beautiful as the moons of Aerie.
She arched her back slightly, as if to offer herself to him.
He reached out and stroked one rosy nipple lightly.
Sage gasped.
Worried that he had hurt her, he searched her eyes, but they were hazy with need.
He cupped her breast and lowered his face to taste it.
Her nipple stiffened further on his tongue.
He licked it into his mouth and Sage moaned and gripped his upper arms.
Overcome with lust he feasted on her breasts, first one and then the other, glorying in her every sigh and moan until her grip on his arms tightened and he knew it wasn’t enough anymore. She needed more.
He cupped her cheek in his hand, kissing her forehead tenderly as he lowered her to rest her head on his t-shirt behind her.
She looked up at him with such trust in her eyes that it almost hurt his heart.
I love you. I will never leave you. I am yours. We belong to one
another.
These were the words he longed to speak, but he did not want to frighten her with the depth of his feelings.
So he tried to express himself with the brush of his lips against her belly, the gentleness of his hands as he removed her shorts and underthings.
11
Sage
Sage trembled with anticipation as she looked up at the wood plank ceiling.
Although she knew this was all real, it felt dreamlike.
Maybe because she had dreamed of surrendering to him so many times.
As good as her dreams were, none of them had anything on this.
She gasped as she felt his breath against the tender skin of her inner thigh.
Sage had never liked this kind of thing. Men in general did not know what they were doing down there. And this one especially could not possibly know what to do. Riggs’s inexperience made the idiot she’d done this with in college seem like an international playboy in comparison.
But she was feverish with honeyed desire. It seemed her whole happiness began and ended with the places he touched her - a hand on her thigh, lips against her skin.
She felt she could come apart at a thought. Or not come apart at all and not care.
She only knew that she needed his touch more than she needed her next breath.
His big hands parted her sex.
“Oh, Sage,” he groaned.
She actually felt her body respond at the sound. She was pulsing, opening like a flower seeking the sun.
When he pressed his lips to her opening she cried out helplessly.
He growled and stretched his mouth over her, licking and sucking as if he wanted to consume her.
Sage felt her hips lifting off the table to meet his mouth.
He slid a finger against her, teasing as he lapped at her.
She sank her fingernails into the wooden table.
He groaned against her and pressed his finger inside slowly, so slowly.
Sage whimpered, her thighs shaking.
He eased his finger in and out slowly, massaging her interior in a way that made her eyes roll back.
“Please,” she keened, astonished to hear herself beg.
Instantly he strummed her clitoris with his tongue, his fingers playing the rhythm she needed inside.