by Megan Hart
Sometimes they made love slowly, taking hours. Sometimes, like now, they came together hard and fast, with nothing more than a glance to serve as foreplay. It didn’t matter. She was as ready for him now as if he’d spent half a day caressing her.
The teacups rattled in their saucers as his thrusts rocked the table, and Marrin let her head tip back, back, laughing and gasping her pleasure as he filled her.
“Touch yourself,” Keane said, his voice hoarse. “I want you to come with me.”
With Keane supporting her she had no need to hold herself up, and it was easy to slip a hand between them to stroke her clit in time to his thrusts. She cried out as she rolled the small button under her forefinger. Keane stretched and filled her, in and out, while she rubbed.
He kissed her, mouths open, tongues darting and becoming desperate as their mutual climax approached. Marrin heard a clatter and a crack but took no time to see if they’d at last made the cups fall over. She lost herself in her husband’s kiss, in the pleasure of his magnificent, unique cock as it moved inside her, in the sensation of her own hand between her legs.
He gathered her closer, his grip tightening. Her face pressed against his chest. She found his skin with her teeth and tongue, tasted the salt and spice of his sweat and of their passion, and he groaned when she nipped him.
“Come with me, Marrin.”
She already was. Bright sparks of joy filled her. Her body jerked. Keane thrust inside her, sending another burst of ecstasy exploding through her. She cried out, riding him, digging her nails into his shoulders hard enough to bruise him.
He thrust again, this time hard enough to move the table. His back arched. He shuddered, then relaxed against her, panting.
Marrin heard a slow dripping and turned her head to see they had, indeed, spilled the tea. It had made quite a mess on the floor, too, but at that moment, she couldn’t rouse herself enough to care.
“You wear this old man out,” Keane whispered into her ear, nuzzling and nipping before hugging her tightly.
“Never,” she replied.
“You can try,” came his teasing reply.
“I can try,” Marrin agreed and put her arms around the man she loved.
Ninety-nine rotations ago
“Hurry, Keane! Hurry! It’s starting!”
Aliya danced, holding her pot with both small hands. Sarai joined her sister, a mug in each of hers. The baby, Hadassah, no longer such a baby, but a girl of nine rotations, held a mixing bowl up toward the darkening sky.
Keane, his long, dark hair tied at the nape of his neck, stepped through the glass doors at the back of the house and onto the slate patio. He’d put on the shirt she’d made for him Marrin saw, and though she tried to pretend the sight didn’t make her heart leap, it did.
“Keane, it’s starting!”
“All right.” He laughed and reached for the mug Sarai handed him. He tipped his face toward the sky. A drop of rain splatted him between the eyes and he laughed again, spreading out his arms as more water came from the clouds.
The girls squealed and held up their containers, trying to catch the still slow-falling raindrops. They danced in their festival dresses, their small faces bright with excitement. Marrin’s heart hurt to look at their joy, so fierce and overwhelming was her love.
“Look, Ima, look! Flowers!”
And indeed, what had been moments before a brown and barren yard had now begun to bloom. More rain pattered down, soaking instantly into the parched ground. Green tendrils that had been dormant an entire season now sprang up from the ground so fast they could see them growing. Flowers, red, purple, white and yellow, bloomed on vines and stalks. The smell of them filled the air, and Marrin breathed deeply, astounded as always by the annual miracle.
The blessing of rain. Lujawed was a desert planet, its water held so deep within its embrace it took the deepest wells to reach it. Yet once a year, thankfully without fail, clouds gathered. The skies opened. And water, the gift without which they couldn’t survive here, poured forth in torrents. Sometimes four days. Sometimes two weeks. Glorious, fresh, sweet and life-giving water.
The Lujawedi called it idvad, and so the colonists had taken on the term, adopted the holiday festival when all work ceased and every attention was given to collecting and appreciating the sky’s bounty.
Watching her daughters’ dance, Marrin’s throat closed with emotion. She held her face up to the sky, letting the rain hide the tears suddenly sliding down her cheeks. She blinked rapidly and her gaze fell on Keane, who looked up at her from where he bent, laughing, to help Aliya empty her pot of water into one of the rain barrels.
One full rotation had passed since the day she had gone to Bosie Starport to pick up the man who had answered her ad. One Lujawed rotation, one round of seasons, one passage of time, and yet so much more.
He stood, his dark eyes flaring briefly blue in the way he had that she’d found so disconcerting at first. Seveeran eyes changed color with emotion, unlike Earther eyes that always stayed the same. And now, not for the first time, Marrin wondered what other differences his race had from hers.
She blamed her shiver on the chill rain, but knew it had nothing to do with that and everything to do with this man she’d taken as her field-husband. Keane Delacore.
Though they wanted to, the children couldn’t stay up all night. When true night fell, Marrin dried them off, dressed them in warm clothes and tucked them into beds to be soothed to sleep by the unfamiliar sound of rain pattering on the roof. They fell asleep in moments, and she took the time to touch their faces, each one so precious to her she could scarcely bear it.
Her girls, Earth-age nine, seven and four. Growing so fast and so beautiful. She tucked the blankets around them and left their room, closing the door behind her.
The rain had grown heavier. It slashed the windows and sliced at the grass that had grown up in the past few hours. Marrin slid the glass doors open and went outside, water soaking her instantly to the skin.
Baths were a luxury. She wanted to spend as much time as she could with water on her skin. She let it wash over her as she walked into the garden that hadn’t been there earlier.
And she found him. Standing, arms outspread, face tipped up to the downpour, eyes closed, mouth open to drink.
It seemed somehow too intimate to see him this way, in this ecstasy. She had shared a home with him for a rotation. Taken meals together. Argued and been kind, laughed and wept, labored with him side by side in the melon fields that were only now beginning to take full root.
She had spent a rotation with this man, who was no longer a stranger to her, but she had never seen him lose himself in such joy. She made to back away, to find her own place to stand and take in the rain, but Keane, at that moment, turned his head and saw her.
He turned slowly to face her, his arms going down. The shirt she had made for him of white flaxene and red embroidered flowers had gone sheer, showing every ridge and muscle of his chest. It made her knees feel as though they would not hold her; she stumbled at the sudden, unexpected sensuality of seeing Keane wet and outlined by red thread she had sewn with her own hands. She had seen him stripped bare to the waist many times, but this was somehow all at once more and too much.
She took a step back on the tiles made slick with rain. She stepped onto grass and soft earth, smelled the scent of flowers she crushed beneath her bare heel. Her hair clung to her as her gown did, molding itself to her body as his shirt hugged him, and she realized his eyes were roaming over her as hungrily as she was certain hers had over him.
She had seen his eyes go blue and green and only once, red with anger. Now they were tinged with amber and gold as he blinked. He’d taken away the tie and his hair fell over his shoulders and halfway down his back.
She took another step back. Keane moved fast, smooth, with agile grace she’d always admired. His hand caught her by the upper arms just as she teetered with uncertain steps on the mushy ground. She gasped at his touch, fo
r other than an occasional brush of fingers when they passed each other something, Keane had touched her only once before.
He had never taken advantage of the rights granted a field-husband, never called on the contract they’d both signed that granted him conjugal rights in exchange for his labor. Keane had never pushed her, and she’d always been grateful…until now.
Now he slanted his head to hers without asking for permission. His kiss seared her, and Marrin opened her mouth to taste him. Her arms went around his neck. His went around her back, pulling her close. His tongue darted inside her mouth and she groaned.
She had almost forgotten desire. She had pushed it away for so long, since Seth’s death from a native virus, that she’d been certain she’d never feel it again. Now it crashed over her, blooming inside her like the flowers had bloomed all around them, brought to life by the rain, and by Keane’s hands on her.
He pulled at her dress, tugging it upward over her thighs. His hands trailed along her heated skin and she shuddered when his fingers reached the spot between her legs. He pressed against her and she cried out, the noise muffled inside his mouth, still kissing.
He lay her down on a bed of soft grasses and flowers and left her mouth to pull off his shirt. He took her hand and put it over his heart, which thumped so hard it moved her fingers against his skin.
“Do you want this?” he asked, voice hoarse. “Marrin, I have to know if you want this. If you want…me.”
She nodded. “I want you, Keane.”
Had he been afraid she would say no? He closed his eyes for a moment and his shoulders heaved, but when he opened his eyes again, he smiled. He stretched out along her to kiss her again. He put her hand on the bulge in his trousers and groaned when she curled her fingers around it.
Wet clothes were difficult to remove. They fumbled with desperate fingers, both laughing and kissing and shivering in the rain, but at last they were naked together and Marrin looked over his body in wonder. To see that his penis was basically the same shape and girth and functioned in the same manner was a relief, and she couldn’t help reaching to touch him as he knelt next to her.
“You’re perfect,” she told him, cupping her fingers around his length. His erection throbbed at her touch, and she smiled. Not so different.
Her touch had made him shudder, but he still smiled. “Glad you think so.”
“I wasn’t sure—”
“You’ve heard stories?”
She nodded. Keane bent down to kiss her, his body covering and warming her. “Yes. It does extend and retract during lovemaking, but not enough to hurt you.”
She let out a breathless giggle. “Good to know.”
His hand smoothed away the hair from her forehead, then slid over her cheek, down her neck to her shoulder, further down to cup her breast. “You’re sure you want this?”
To answer him, she brought him back to her mouth to kiss her again. He tasted so good, so sweet and fresh. It made her stomach leap and jump and her clit follow suit. He was smooth and firm and fully masculine. He was kind and a hard worker and good to her children. She wanted him for all those reasons, but also for one more.
She loved him. The knowledge of it, of realizing what she must have known for months but ignored, made her gasp aloud. Her eyes opened and she stared into his.
“Marrin?”
She shook her head, not wanting to speak or ruin this moment they had taken so long to reach. Keane searched her gaze, but said no more. He bent to kiss her throat. His mouth slid down as his hand had, and he suckled at her breasts one at a time until she gasped and put her hand on the back of his head.
His lips moved further down her ribs, to her belly, and she tensed. Hard exercise had kept her fit and poverty had kept her trim, but three children had changed her body in ways that would never recover. She bore scars. His lips traced them slowly, kissing each silver line as she tensed in mingled self-consciousness and desire.
“I’ve never seen such beauty,” he murmured. “My people have nothing like this. No birth. You’ve done such a blessed thing, Marrin.”
She had no time to reply because he had slipped lower. He parted her thighs and nuzzled her. She cried out, wordless, and put her hand over her face. Her pelvis bumped up against his mouth and he put his hands on her to hold her still. Her reaction should have embarrassed her, the enthusiasm of it made her blush, but it felt too damn good. His tongue found her clit and he licked her while she wiggled.
Whatever difference their races had, Keane knew how to make love to her. He used his mouth to bring her to the edge, then moved aside. He slid a hand under her buttocks and tilted her toward the sky. He parted her folds, exposed her to the beating spatter of the rain.
She’d gone mindless with pleasure. His tongue had made her throb, but this, this was unbelievable and unbearable. The rain, so rare and precious, pattered against her swollen flesh. Marrin broke, shattered, and exploded into shards of bright, shining desire.
He slid inside her while she was still pulsing. She climaxed again at once from the feeling of his cock inside her. She had gone so long without love, without touch. Now, as the skies had opened up, so did her body open to Keane.
He moved inside her, his face buried against her neck. Marrin put her arms around him, her fingers sliding along his wet skin to clutch his buttocks and urge him to move.
She didn’t think herself capable of another orgasm. The two she’d already experienced had left her wrung out and drained. She would concentrate on Keane’s pleasure now, but to her surprise, her body began to respond again as he made love to her.
He pushed inside her, pelvis to pelvis, but then to her astonishment, his cock kept moving inside her. It grew. It nudged her cervix, which should have been painful but wasn’t. When he pulled out, she lost the sensation of anything different. In again, and the feeling of his penis moving deeper into her made her tunnel spasm around him.
He groaned. “Oh, you feel so good.”
He moved faster, riding her. The ground had churned to mud beneath them. Slippery grass allowed their bodies to slide with every thrust. Desire puddled between her legs and in the pit of her belly again.
He moved faster, panting. She joined him. He gave a low cry and so did she. They moved in unison, giving and taking, each move as orchestrated as a dance they’d practiced for hours instead of performing for the first time.
He lifted himself onto his hands to thrust harder inside her, and to look down into her face. His eyes met hers. His face contorted as his climax approached. The sight of him in such bliss made her own fill her again.
She climaxed a third time, a small fluttering that didn’t match the intensity of the first two, but was still enough to make her gasp aloud. Keane smiled when she did, eyes showing pleased surprise. In the next moment, they closed and his face contorted again.
He thrust inside her again, hard. His body tensed and he shuddered. Then he collapsed on top of her.
Marrin put her arms around him, holding him tight to her. Warmth filled her. She started to cry.
Keane got up on one arm to look at her. His body shielded her face from the rain. Concern filled his eyes. “Marrin?”
She shook her head, her emotion making her feel foolish and awkward in a way their lovemaking had not. Keane caressed her cheek. He smiled and bent to kiss her.
“I love you too,” he said into her ear.
And there in the garden, in the mud and rain with the smell of flowers blooming and going to rot, Marrin kissed the man who was no longer her field-husband, but her husband entirely.
One hundred rotations ago
Where was he? Marrin kept a firm grip on Hadassah’s hand, no matter how hard the little girl tried to get away. Sarai and Aliya were running in circles around her, trying her already thin patience. Marrin searched the crowd exiting the starport, many of them greeting colonists who’d come out to meet them. Some carried the bags and bore the pale skin of new colonists as yet unburned by the harsh Lujawed s
un.
She didn’t see the man she sought anyplace. Tall, he had written. Dark hair to his shoulders. He’d be wearing a blue jumpsuit with white piping, and carrying a black leather bag.
His name was Keane Delacore. He was forty Earth years old, though Seveerans aged differently than Earthers and she shouldn’t be surprised if he looked younger. He looked forward to meeting her in person, and her daughters.
If he didn’t show up, she’d take her children and go back to the homestead. She would feed them and put them to bed, and maybe she’d go decadent and fill the washtub for a bath. If he didn’t show up, she’d be no worse off than she already was—and maybe she’d be better.
If he didn’t show up, she would somehow find a way to pay a labor crew to help her in the fields. How, she didn’t know. She had no cash and, as yet, no crop to count on. She had nothing to barter, nothing to sell.
Seth had left her with nothing but three children and debt. In the three years since his death, Marrin had watched everything they had brought with them from home be sold off or break down in the harsh desert atmosphere.
He had been a good man with a wonderful dream, and it had not been his fault the immunizations against native viruses hadn’t worked for him. It happened in .0001 percent of the population, a risk so miniscule even Seth, who calculated everything, had been willing to take it. It wasn’t his fault the idvad had been scarcer than usual their first two years on Lujawed. And it wasn’t his fault he’d taken sick as their first crops failed, or when he died, but though none of those things were Seth’s fault, there were days, many of them, when Marrin blamed her husband bitterly for her current situation.
The crowd of exiting passengers had trickled to nothing. Marrin kept her back straight, her eyes dry, her grip firm on Hadassah’s straining hand. He wasn’t coming.
