Snowburn

by E J Frost

  “You’re a beautiful girl.” I poke her

  again. “You don’t need to lie to me.”

  She yawns. “I’m not. I just . . . you know,

  I was around Nevie all the time. Guys go for

  her anyway. But like you said, it’s not for the

  right reasons. I didn’t want it to be like that. I

  didn’t want to have any . . . regrets

  afterwards. So I said no a lot more than I

  said yes.” Another yawn. “Okay, I told you

  mine.”

  “Yeah, and?”

  She nips my shoulder. “Tell.”

  “Five.”

  She looks up into my face. “Bullshit.”

  “No bullshit.” I rearrange my hold on her.

  “That’s how many women I’ve slept with.

  Including you.”

  “Five,” she says disbelievingly. “Wait,

  you said ‘slept with.’ How many have you

  had sex with?”

  “More than five.” But the rest have been

  pros. I paid them for an hour of relief. That’s

  what I got. I don’t remember their names; I

  couldn’t describe their faces, except for the

  girl with the amazing lips. It’s not that they

  don’t count. It’s just that it’s different.

  “Cheat.”

  “Truthfully, I don’t remember.” I tuck her

  a little closer. Run my fingers up and down

  the sweet curve of her upper back, avoiding

  the scar. “They weren’t anything like this.”

  “What were they like?” She sounds

  genuinely curious.

  “Professional.”

  “Oh.” She’s quiet for a moment, studying

  my face, although I doubt she can see much in

  the dark. Then she says more emphatically,

  “oh.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Wait a minute. You’re, what, forty

  standard?”

  Cheeky kitten. I reach down and pinch

  her ass. “You’re just begging for another

  spankin’.”

  “I’m being serious!”

  “Thirty-five.”

  “Okay, thirty-five, and you’ve been doing

  it since you were, what, fifteen?”

  “About that.” I was probably sixteen

  when Selly first came to me, but close

  enough. “I see where you’re goin’ with this.

  You are definitely gonna end up with a red

  ass.”

  She giggles. “I just don’t want to be alone

  at the loser ball. So that’s like two a decade,

  right?”

  I cup her ass-cheek menacingly, but I’m

  not particularly inclined to carry through on

  the threat. I’m more than satisfied after our

  last go-round, and spanking her is way too

  much of a turn-on to do in any other context.

  But I can threaten, which is part of the fun.

  And I can always carry out the threat later.

  “Seriously.” She strokes my shoulder.

  “Why so few?”

  “Seriously?” When she nods, I consider

  it. Seriously. “Trust issues.”

  “Because women come to you for the

  wrong reasons?”

  “Yeah.” And because I’ve always been

  aware of my size and strength. Coupled with

  the way I like my sex, there’s always been

  more than a possibility that if I misread a

  woman’s interest, I could end up forcing

  myself on her. Something I swore, after Selly

  taught me how much fun sex could be, I

  would never, ever do. So paying for it has

  been safer, as well as less complicated.

  “And ‘cause I’ve spent long periods of time

  in a same-sex environment.”

  “Oh.” She ponders that for a moment.

  “That was stupid, wasn’t it? I should have

  asked how many men you’ve slept with.”

  I rap her ass-cheek with two fingers.

  “No, you should not.”

  She giggles. “Sorry, I just thought—”

  “What happened to takin’ a break from

  thinkin’? That is definitely too much thinkin’

  outta you.”

  She cuddles close. Buries her face in my

  neck. “I love that you’ve only really been

  with four other girls. That’s so hot.”

  “Yeah?” It hasn’t felt hot. It’s felt . . . no,

  no point in thinking about how it’s felt. I

  don’t need to feel that way anymore.

  “Uh-huh. It’s like . . . no, I’m not saying

  it.”

  I roll so I’m on top of her. Hear a thump

  from the end of the bed and realize I’ve

  forcibly evicted a rabbit or two. That’ll

  teach them to sleep too near my feet. “You

  don’t get to keep any secrets from me.”

  “God, you’re heavy when we’re not

  doing it. Get off.” She pushes at me

  ineffectually.

  I settle more firmly on top of her, but

  slide my forearms under her shoulders so I’m

  holding my chest off her. She needs to be

  able to breathe to tell me what she was

  thinking.

  “Say it,” I coax.

  “No, you can’t make me sound like a

  moron more than twice in one night. I’m over

  my quota.”

  “Waaay over,” I drawl.

  “Prick.”

  “My arms’re getting tired.” I settle a little

  more heavily onto her. She gasps.

  “Get off!”

  “Can’t. I need to hear it.” And then I

  might need to fuck again. Lying on her like

  this, her soft body pressed all along the

  length of mine, her thighs cupping the little

  monster so I can feel each beat of my heart

  pulse through it, is giving me ideas.

  “Okay!” she gasps. “It’s like you’ve been

  waiting for me. Which I know you haven’t!

  So don’t give me that blank, sheesh, Kez is a

  moron but I’ll keep her around ‘cause she’s

  fun in bed look.”

  Not waiting, no. One in a billion is long

  odds, even for me. But I’m damn pleased

  with what’s found me. “Is that that look?

  Huh.”

  She struggles under me. “You could at

  least deny it! Now get off!”

  Oh, I’m going to get off all right. And so

  is she. “Kezra,” I say, dropping my voice

  deep and low. “You wanna know what that

  look is?”

  She stills as soon as I use her full name.

  Perfect. All of her responses are. She really

  is one in a billion.

  “Yes,” she says grudgingly.

  “That look is blank ‘cause I’ve spent too

  much time in places where showin’ what I’m

  really thinkin’ woulda gotten me killed.”

  “What do you—” She licks her lips,

  thinks better of what she was going to ask

  and tries again. “Will you tell me what you

  were thinking?”

  “Yeah, if you ask nicely.”

  She smiles. “Hale, what were you

  thinking?”

  “I’m thinking it’s like watchin’ the sun

  rise for the first time.”

  “I—” She lets out a breath slowly. Slides

  her arms around me. “Oh.”

  “That all you got to say?” ‘C
ause that

  would be a first.

  “No, I, uh, I just don’t want to mess it up.

  Does that, um, mean what I think it means?”

  She’s right. She’s going to mess it up.

  “Shut up, kitten.”

  She sighs, and it’s a happy, contented

  sigh. Presses little kisses on my mouth and

  chin; squeezes me tight. Wriggles under me

  and rolls her hips so my cock is nestled

  between her thighs. Oh, we’re definitely

  going to fuck again. Except maybe it’s not

  just fucking. Maybe it’s something more.

  Sometime in the early hours, the room

  grows oppressively warm and Kez reaches

  out of the tangle of our bodies and the sheets

  to tap a control that opens a skylight. I watch

  the stars twinkle through it, framed by

  darkness, until I fall back to sleep.

  When I wake again, the skylight is a

  bright rectangle over our heads. Golden light

  and the pink clouds of Kuseros’s dawn. Kez

  is lying across me, her head on my chest, her

  fingertips tracing the muscles of the arm I’ve

  got wrapped around her. We lie like that for

  a long while, insulated against the cool

  morning air by the bedding and our shared

  warmth. Kez kisses my shoulder from time to

  time. Neither of us speaks. We’re both held

  silent by the sense that words will burst this

  fragile moment like a soap bubble.

  When the knock finally comes, Kez

  startles. As does a lump of rabbit that’s

  returned to sleep across my feet. Kez

  murmurs something that sounds like, “I’ll get

  it,” and rises slowly. She doesn’t drag a

  sheet with her or pull on clothes. Her

  bruised, scarred back is to me, and she must

  be aware of it, but she’s finally lost her self-

  consciousness. That makes me smile as I

  watch her cross the room.

  “Yeah?” She puts a hand against the

  door, holding it closed.

  “Kez?” Gig’s voice. “Deal brought a

  package. Said he was paid double to deliver

  it first thing. It’s addressed to you.”

  Kez cracks the door open and Gig’s arm

  emerges through the crack, proffering a

  small, black box.

  “I’ve scanned it,” Gig says. “It’s clean.

  Small piece of mech. No signal to or from.”

  “Okay. Thanks, Gig.” Kez takes the box,

  closes the door and returns to sit on the edge

  of the bed.

  “From Tyng.” It’s not a question.

  She nods. She opens the box slowly,

  takes out a flat plaz rectangle and sets it on

  the bed between my knees. “Threedy deck.

  Same as before.” She fiddles with the side of

  the little deck. “There.”

  She sits back against the wall, tucks

  herself against my side and pulls my arm

  tight around her. I turn my head and nuzzle

  her temple.

  The deck buzzes, a gentle vibration I feel

  up my legs. A moment later, a voice issues

  out of it. “Congratulations on the success of

  your first run.”

  Definitely a distorter. The voice is

  completely flat, almost mechanical. Could be

  a man or a woman, from anywhere. But we

  both know it’s Tyng.

  “Thank you,” Kez says.

  “Is there a reason you have turned off the

  vid?” Tyng asks.

  She wasn’t supposed to tell anyone.

  Better not add anything to the conversation,

  then.

  “I’m not dressed,” Kez responds without

  missing a beat.

  “Ah, yes. It is early and you are young.

  The young are fond of sleep.” There’s a

  pause, then Tyng says. “I said I would

  provide the details of your second run once

  the first was complete. You will collect the

  package from Zhonnys at noon today. Dock

  Eleven B. You will deliver it to the

  Cloudlands before midnight. Your pay for

  successful delivery is fifteen thousand

  credits. There will be no negotiation as to

  the price.”

  Kez lets her head hang forward. “Plus

  expenses,” she says. Immediately

  negotiating. I like her style.

  “What expenses do you anticipate?” the

  mechanical voice asks.

  She glances up at me. “Docking fees.” I

  mouth ‘a hundred’ at her. “Two hundred,”

  she says. I raise an eyebrow and she shrugs.

  “I’ll need to pay the Mirrormen for safe

  passage to the shore. That’s another five.

  And I might need to rent some finboards.

  That’s another hundred. Call it an even

  thou.”

  “Agreed.” It’s such an insignificant sum

  to Tyng that he doesn’t hesitate or quibble.

  “Package type?” Kez asks.

  “Organic. Less than a hundred kilos.”

  “A lot less than a hundred kilos or a little

  less? It makes a difference,” Kez says. She

  taps her fingers against the back of my hand

  as she speaks. I don’t think she’s aware of

  what she’s doing. She’s intent, wholly

  focused on the negotiation. Of course, it’s

  her ass that’s at stake.

  “To hazard a guess, sixty kilos. It would

  be impolite to ask. Never ask a woman her

  age or weight.” Through the distorter, Tyng’s

  chuckle is the grating squeak of a rusty hinge.

  “Is the package a woman?” Kez asks, her

  voice rising a little.

  “Does it matter?”

  “Yeah. I don’t transport people.”

  “Why not?” Tyng asks, incurious,

  although whether it’s the distorter or lack of

  curiosity is hard to say.

  “They can’t keep up.”

  “She will. You are cut from the same

  cloth, you and she.” Tyng pauses for a

  moment, then he says, “In any event, you will

  transport anything I wish you to. Remember

  what you owe me. What your family owes

  mine.”

  Kez hangs her head. I stroke her shoulder

  with my free hand.

  “So you’re asking me to smuggle a

  person into the Cloudlands?” Kez says

  finally.

  “A person and her equipment. Try not to

  get caught, or killed. Neither will do your

  brother any good.”

  “Fuck,” Kez whispers.

  “Was that a no, Miz Kerryon?” Tyng

  asks.

  I didn’t know Kez had a last name.

  “That was I’ll be there at noon,” Kez

  responds grimly.

  We bathe and dress in silence. There are

  things to say, but neither of us is in a hurry to

  say them. Kez takes out work clothes and this

  morning I don’t argue with her. I watch her

  pull on a black neopoly vest. The tight top

  molds her slender curves. With her dreads

  spilling over the shiny black fabric like

  seaweed, she looks like an exotic sea

  creature: smooth, sleek and extremely sexy.

  The little monster stirs briefly in

  appre
ciation, but he’s too chapped for

  anything but a faint roar.

  Kez takes my hand to lead me to

  breakfast. I stop her before we reach the

  bedroom door. Trace her soft pink mouth

  with a fingertip before I kiss her. Grimace a

  little at her morning breath.

  She notices it, too. “Why don’t you ever

  have bad breath?”

  “Implants in my teeth.” Cheaper for the

  military to bond the teeth of new recruits than

  ship out a dentist with every company. My

  teeth don’t decay, and the fact that they’re

  reinforced is why I still have all of them.

  “Last night—”

  “Was the most amazing night of my life,”

  she says earnestly.

  I kiss her again despite her tiger breath.

  “Yeah. We didn’t talk ‘bout the run.”

  She grins. “Because we were busy doing

  other things.”

  Lippy kitten. I stroke her mouth with my

  thumb. “What I’m tryin’ to tell you is,

  whether or not you need my ship, I’m comin’

  with you.” I’m not letting her out of my sight

  again. Not until Tyng’s dead.

  She smiles against my thumb. “I was

  going to ask you to.”

  “Now you don’t need to. But you do gotta

  tell me the play.”

  “Oh, right. I usually go over the day’s

  runs with Gig after breakfast. Is that okay?”

  I nod. I can wait. I want to hear her plans

  before I formulate my own. Hers will likely

  end with the run. Mine won’t.

  Kez leads me into the kitchen, where Gig

  and Chiara have already started breakfast.

  Gig looks at Kez anxiously as we approach.

  She smiles at him. His eyes flick to me,

  seeking reassurance. Following Kez’s lead, I

  nod at him as I pass.

  There’s no sign of Ape, or the beautiful

  girl, as we make breakfast. Kez, Gig and

  Chiara whip up scrambled pagia eggs,

  sausages, and roasted tomallos in less than

  ten minutes. They move around each other in

  the U-shaped kitchen with almost military

  efficiency. Gig and Chiara banter lightly as

  they cook; Kez doesn’t say much and I can

  tell she’s thinking. Turning over what Tyng

  has said. Maybe letting fear chew at her.

  Other than touching Kez a few times to

  reassure her, I stay out of the way, squeezing

  the juice of the local dark pink citrus fruit

  into a jug. Chiara takes the jug from me when

  it’s full. She winks and says, “Strong hands,”

  before handing me a towel so I can wipe off

  the pulp.

  I debate for a second. I could flex a

  couple of muscles, show her how strong I

  am, but Kez seems to have serious jealousy