by Allie Marell
Is she even aware of the way she responds to him?
Practicalities taken care of, he removes his own, snow-covered boots, grasps her hand and takes control.
Another lingering look, the air between them charged with anticipation. Andra’s chest rises and falls, taking in a shuddering breath. He’s having the same trouble, though guesses that for her, this is not the norm.
The thought humbles him. And he wonders at this overwhelm of feeling with something he’s treated as routine, merely a necessary release since Lina’s death.
“Your bedchamber or mine?”
“Mine.”
It’s odd thinking in terms of his and hers when he’s been here so short a time. Feels like so much longer. And strangely, Andra’s reply already means more to him than it should.
A show of trust. He wants this to mean something to her. Even if he leaves tomorrow, he wants to gift her something.
Jess noses his hand as they walk through the kitchen. Gently, he pushes the dog away. Andra laughs as the dog manages to look both hurt and offended by the rejection.
“It’s okay,” she whispers to the beast. “I still love you.”
He watches her bend to hug the dog, his throat constricting with old memories. Back in the market, was that only yesterday, he thought he remembered a black and white dog. A pet from his clouded, younger days. Now the picture comes into focus. He sees the young boy telling the dog he’ll never leave. Hears the dog’s anxious whine as he hugs it tight.
“What?” Andra notices, turns questioning eyes to his. “Did you have a dog like this once?”
He runs a hand through his hair, pushing the long strands off his face. “I think I did, yes.”
At the bottom of the stairs, he stops her for another, lingering kiss, an activity frowned upon by Centrum Command. Kissing was dangerous, distracting. Too intimate, it led to other forbidden things like need and want. And worst of all, love.
Dare to love and those dear to you got hurt. It was simple as that.
“I’m giving you one last chance to change your mind, Andra. If we go upstairs, I won’t stop.” He does not want it said he ever forced a female to his will.
“I don’t want you to.”
Andra takes his hand and now she’s in charge, leading him up the stairs to her own bedchamber of cool hues and understated comfort. A wide bed covered with a striped quilt. An open door in the far wall, revealing a closet of folded and hanging clothes. A chest of drawers in stripped wood, the top littered by an assortment of brushes and jars.
A brightly painted vase containing dried plant material sits on the window ledge, sending out a woody perfume that competes with the phenolic tang of the bare boards beneath his feet. A kind of polish used on this world?
He takes it all in, fitting it to the woman standing by the bed. Did she feel the freedom in that kiss on the high moors? Know what it’s like to be denied such a divine pleasure?
She’s fingering the fastening of her shirt-like top, looking at him to join her.
Or does she want him to do that for her?
He’s well versed in what a female wants. It’s not always what they need, and he’s always careful to ask. Not in words, but body language speaks volumes.
“Here,” he says and crosses the room to take the zipper from her hand. “Let me.”
She nods, a tiny movement of her head. Peers down at his fingers, slowly opening the garment, slipping it off her arms. She’s looking at him, wondering how to repay the favour. He takes her hand, places it on his tunic jacket.
She’s a little bemused as she tries to work out how to unfasten. He stands very still, growing harder by the moment. If she backed out now, he’d stop. He has that control. But it would kill him to do so.
Finally, she works out the snappers with a small laugh at how easy it is once you know. He shrugs out of the jacket himself, letting it drop to the floor. Aware he’s been wearing the military shirt underneath for too long now in stasis and it reeks of the chemical cleaners sprayed into the pods to stop them becoming too ripe.
If she notices, Andra says nothing. Her hair’s a mad tangle about her face, her cheeks flushed and when he nuzzles into her neck, thinking they should go slow, she smells of blossoms and exotic spices. It’s intoxicating.
“We have to be at the hospital by two o’clock,” she whispers in that uncanny way she has of reading his mind.
All right, slow can wait for another time. This is about sealing the agreement they made with that kiss on the high plateau. Seizing the moment before they come to their senses and walk away.
She’s fumbling for his shirt fastenings, wise now to how they open and close. Running a flat hand over the hard planes of his chest. He lost a little condition in stasis, but he’s still hard and honed. Battle ready.
He hears her small gasp as she traces a finger over the silvery scars, the puckered burn mark at his hip. Trophies of his military engagements from rookie soldier through to officer and spy.
“You’ve been through the wars,” she says and lays her lips on the largest scar angling across his three lower ribs. He lets out a rumbling groan at her mouth following the line down to his belt. She flicks the buckle open with focussed concentration. Unfastens his pants. A chink of metal as the belt drops to the floor.
Now it’s his turn. He grips her undershirt, peeling it upwards and over her head. Her hair rains down as he throws it aside and takes a moment to look at her so vulnerable in her undergarment. Andra bites her lip, looks at him almost in apology.
“My every day bra,” she says, the words tumbling over each other. “If I’d known...”
“Shh.” He touches two fingers to her mouth, stopping the words. With his other hand, he gently palms her breast through the silky material. “You don’t know how beautiful you are to me.”
“I’m not...”
Again, he stops her. With some females, it’s all a part of the game. But he sees no guile in her eyes. No false modesty employed to court his flattery.
“If we had more time, I’d tell you, Andra. But I want you too much.”
Taking her hand, he guides it to the front of his pants, showing her exactly how much he wants her. The whole of his body tightens when she runs a slow finger down the length of him. Cups him with her hand.
“What kind of protection do you use on this planet?” This is a responsibility he will not shirk, but only now does his fogged brain remind him that his procreation implant hasn’t been updated since stasis and should they be compatible, he may well impregnate her.
“Condoms.” Andra leans away from him, snagging open one of the bedside table drawers. Peering inside, she lets out a sigh of relief. “Oh, thank God, there’s one left.” She grips the small packet with finger and thumb, offering it to him.
He knows what it is. Has seen similar, primitive barriers on other worlds. Nodding, he takes it from her and sets it on the bedside table.
“Bit of an awkward moment.” Andra rubs her arm, eyes cast to the floor as if she’s lost the thread and doesn’t know how to continue. “I didn’t know if there would be any... It’s been a while.”
“Andra, forget everything, but this.” He shucks off his pants and small pants. Kicks them away and can’t help smiling at the way her eyes grow too large for her face and her hands creep to her cheeks to hide the growing flush.
No innocent, but to a male used to the hardened cynicism of the military sex workers, she’s like a blushing virgin awaiting her first joining. A wave of tenderness washes over him. Her compassion, her understanding, is a gift without price.
“Your turn, Andra.” He busies himself ripping open the foil packet and rolling on the sensation-numbing barrier. Studies her with veiled eyes as Andra hesitates and then goes for it, unhooking the garment covering her breasts. Stepping nimbly from her dark pants and the rather enticing small pants beneath.
He wants to look at her. The military corps were stocked and arranged by species and atmosphere tolerance, fo
rming specialist units to cover the whole of the sector. He classed as humanoid, like her. A male counterpart to the luscious female version standing shyly before him with her round, pink-tipped breasts and that wonderfully inviting cleft between her legs. When he touches her there, she’s wet and ready for him.
And suddenly it’s a frenzy and he can’t wait. Santar tips her onto the bed, covers her, feels her guiding him inside. Already, she’s quivering around him, lifting her hips to meet his heavy thrusts.
“Santar.”
When she whispers his name, he loses himself, ignoring all the warning bells in his head.
Not supposed to want, not supposed to feel. All of that’s forbidden. But not here.
Here, he can be anything, anyone he likes.
Light years past the point of return, now and he has one, fleeting thought that at last, he’s home.
All he ever wanted was to go home.
Chapter 12
All she ever wanted was this. A special man lying at her side, both of them sated in blissful, hazy exhaustion. Piecing themselves back together after the most incredible journey into their own special world.
A place where all she had to do was feel and know that he was right there with her.
Okay, maybe she wanted too much. Maybe that’s why she suddenly felt tears pricking her eyes. It was too good. Too incredible to last.
If only half of what he claimed was true, he’d never stay.
Blinking made it worse, blurring the strong features looking down at her.
“You are regretting this?” Gently, Santar traced a tear track with the pad of his thumb. The tips of his black hair hung damp from his face and the scent of their lust lingered in the air. “Have I taken too much from you, Andra?”
“No.” She pressed knuckles to her eyes, wiping away the useless tears. “Not regret.” This was the part where she made it easier for him. Where she said thank you that was great, rolled out of the bed and then never mentioned it again.
Don’t hope for things you can’t have. A practical girl kept it real, and she hadn’t just flown to some far distant planet with a Starman from outer space. She simply had amazing sex with a hot guy.
Only there was nothing simple about it.
Oh heck, she should do this more often. Get used to this feeling.
“That was good, Santar.” You’re good. “Do you...feel any better now?”
His tight, hard body lay flush with hers, the bedclothes on the floor. She felt too exposed lying there with the cool air raising goosebumps on her skin. Santar sweeping his gaze down the length of her, from her tear-stained face to her chilling toes. He’d taken way too much from her. But she wasn’t about to tell him that.
He lay back onto the pillows, taking her with him. They’d be late getting to the hospital, but Oliver would just have to wait. This was a moment too precious to squander.
“Only good?” The question held a note of wry amusement.
She poked him with her elbow, feeling him twist away from her in an almost instinctive move, like a man always on alert. He was a soldier, what did she expect?
“Are you fishing for compliments, Captain, General? What do I call you?”
“My formal address in your tongue is Qua7 SA NT AR12. And why would I solicit your praise when I know full well you were more than satisfied with my performance?”
Of course he did. He took and she held nothing back.
“Okay, it was amazing.”
“Then why the tears?” He turned his face to her, open and vulnerable. She owed him the truth, though most men ran a mile when a woman spoke her heart. Especially after sex.
He didn’t leave the bed to dress and act as if it never happened. At least he stayed for this.
“All right. That was almost too good. I know you have places to be, things to work out. But I don’t regret it for a moment. I asked for the kiss, remember?”
“I remember.” He rubbed an idle finger along her forearm, stoking the fire still smouldering dangerously between them.
Outside the window, a magpie set up a noisy warning chatter. Tam the cat must be about. A vehicle rumbled down the lane making slow progress through the slushy snow. Real life intruded, slowly replacing the floaty feeling of being in another place, another time.
Andra grounded herself in the feel of the high thread count sheets, one of the little luxuries she refused to compromise on. The scent of the wax polished boards beneath the bed. How amazing would it be to wake up every morning to this with him?
In her dreams, maybe.
“Andra, let me tell you how it was to be a vassal of Centrum Command.”
“I’m listening.” She was cooling down, trying hard not to shiver in his arms. But she wouldn’t miss this for anything.
“The first rule of law? No attachments. No parents, no siblings. No mates. The Grand Order owned every atom, every thought. Every feeling.”
He peered down at her to check she was listening. She squeezed his hand, encouraging him to go on. Silently thanking him for not pushing her further.
“The Grand Order was Centrum Command?”
“The Grand Order is an inter-planetary hierarchy of dominant species, banded together with the express goal of supreme rule over us lesser beings.”
“Us lesser being? You’re talking about Earth people?”
Did she really just say that?
“Your planet Earth is very low in their esteem, but a provider of good barrack fodder. I suspect it is one of their target harvest hubs.”
“You’re losing me, Santar.”
“The place they harvest their expendables, their recruits. I believe I was one of those.”
He let the sentence hang between them. Andra swallowed, wondering how this tale of intergalactic kidnapping could somehow feel more real than the sex they just had. The bedside clock ticked over, the morning rapidly disappearing.
“You said you weren’t allowed to feel?”
“They provided us with cyborgs and sex workers to ease our physical needs. Out in the field, I took it where I could. But I made the mistake of feeling once. Of letting myself believe there could be more. It was noted, and she disappeared.”
“You’re free now, Santar. No one will ever tell you how to feel again. Who to love.” It was all real to him, this tale of other worlds. She must remember that. Santar sat up, keeping her close. Kissed the tip of her nose, his eyes closing as his lips made contact. His lips moved to her mouth and this time they met as equals in a slow, lingering kiss that asked nothing, promised nothing. It simply was.
“Finally, I made you smile.”
He’d opened his eyes while she lost herself in the kiss, taking it for what it was, nothing more. She could handle that. Andra snapped her eyes open, her smile widening.
Yes, he made her smile.
“Sex with a hot alien will do that to a woman.” She swung her legs over the side of the bed, hoping she had the courage to walk naked to the bathroom while he looked on. They had their moment. Maybe there’d be more, maybe not.
Take it one minute at a time. The only way to deal with this and come out whole.
“We could do it again.” Santar made a lunge at her. Missed as she ran to the bedroom door. “I’m completely at your service, Andromeda.”
Hell, that was some offer. He lay back on the bed, openly ogling her. Grinning like a devil inviting her to damnation. A genuine smile that would tempt a cloistered nun. She hadn’t reached that stage—yet.
“No more condoms. I’ll put that one in the bank.”
Did she imagine him nodding? He rolled over to sit on the edge of the bed, elbows braced on knees, watching her cling to the door frame like a frightened rabbit.
“What we just did? That is what freedom feels like, Andra. Thank you.”
“Any time,” she said, and meant it.
In the bathroom, Andra splashed cold water on her face, grimacing at her dramatic reaction to what was, after all, only a bit of morning delight. Not like
her at all to melt down inside like that.
Despite the angst, she seemed to have managed an impressive afterglow. Now the whole town would know she’d spent the morning having hot sex with her mystery man. That she’d taken leave of her senses.
The question was, what now?
She’d never been a one-night stand kind of girl. The few mad moments of casual sex in her student days invariably left her hollowed out and feeling more alone than ever. She’d vowed never to go there again.
But this moment of madness felt so right. Even if it might break her heart.
Tugging a brush through her tangled hair, she found refuge in putting herself back together after Santar had so expertly taken her apart, piece by piece.
She paused, brush in hand. Be practical. The man was a skilled and considerate lover, leaving her aching in all the right places. The kind of good ache that came with toe-curling sex. But he hadn’t given her everything. No promises, no tomorrows. Not that she expected him to after one day.
Get a grip woman.
Furiously, she brushed out her long, wavy hair until it sparked and crackled. She only meant to offer him a small moment of comfort until it all escalated out of her control. She wanted him, but he needed her. And those two words made a world of difference.
She put down the brush, braced her hands on the bathroom basin. She’d climaxed. Oh hell, she cried out loud enough to wake the dead the fourth or was it the fifth time? Sobbing out her release, while he teased and brought her to new heights, almost without breaking a sweat.
He said they weren’t allowed to feel. Wherever he’d been, whatever he’d been involved with in the military, it had dehumanised him in some way. Maybe that was the only way of dealing with the things he had to do?
Add in a man burned in love, still carrying a ton of old scars, and of course he’d be wary. Andra dabbed a spot of blusher on each cheek, blending it in with her fingers and pronounced herself ready to face Oliver and the world.
She found Santar downstairs, his dark head bent over her laptop, Jess at his side. A soldier once more in the oil-stained military jacket. Maybe even a hero with all those coloured bars adorning his breast. What did she know of him, really?