by H. E. Trent
What the hell was he supposed to do, send her away?
“Should I turn on a light?” Sera whispered.
Fuck.
“Or is this fine?”
“I… I don’t need the light.” He wasn’t even sure what he was doing—wasn’t certain if he could go through with the tryst, knowing that she’d already been claimed. She thought Marco was so honorable, but he wasn’t feeling noble. He was desperate.
And she didn’t go to Escobar. Sera was in Marco’s room. She’d MacGyvered a way into The Tin Can without invitation because she’d wanted to—because she’d wanted Marco.
That was never going to happen to him again. Marco may have been naive in a lot of ways, but he was intelligent. If he wanted her, right then was going to be his only chance.
And he did want her. Soft, curious Sera.
Sera who trusted him unlike any other.
Sera who thought him unique like no one had before.
For once, screw honor.
He swallowed hard, forcing the lump down his throat before sliding his hand up her arm to the back of her neck. “Do you…need some help with this?” He fondled the fastener of her sling.
“Yes, please. Go ahead. I’m holding my arm.”
He undid the snaps and carefully peeled the fabric away.
She made a pained sound as she pulled the weight of her arm out of the binding—a short, sharp inhalation that had his gut lurching.
“Sera. Is that okay?” he asked.
“Mm. Fine,” she said, but there was strain in her voice. “I’ve been remiss in my exercises. I need to strengthen my back and shoulder.”
“Priorities, lady.”
She chuckled again. “I know. I got used to not feeling anything at all, but now that sensation is returning in my arm, I have pain almost all the time. I guess I’m a coward.”
“You don’t want to hurt. That doesn’t make you a coward. You’ve already hurt a lot, right?”
“Yes, I guess I have.”
“Tell me what else you want me to do.”
She moved beside him, up onto her knees if his guess was any good. He sensed her looming over him a bit. “Pull this sleeve when I ask, please.”
“Okay.”
More wriggling, and then she tapped his shoulder gently. “I think if you grab the back of my collar and pull down, I can get both arms out at once. Normally, one of my sisters helps me dress when my arm is stiff.”
Marco smoothed his hand up her spine until his fingertips found soft, warm skin. She didn’t flinch or bow away from him as if she thought his chastity was a contagious disease.
Then he tucked his fingers beneath her collar and peeled the bodice downward, wriggling side to side as she pulled her arms free. He wished for a little light so he could see her, but maybe darkness was better. The dark was humiliation’s best disguise.
“Terran clothes might be better,” she murmured. “Easier to maneuver?”
“I like your dresses, though.”
“You do?”
“Mm-hmm.” He let the fabric pool at the base of her spine, figuring she could handle the rest from there. He didn’t want to take liberties—didn’t want to act unless she asked.
“I suppose they’re practical for Jekh,” Sera said. “They keep us cool while protecting our skin from the sun, but they’re not really made for hard work.”
“Maybe you could come up with something different. Something that’s a good cross between the two.”
“Perhaps so.” More wriggling, more shaking of the bed as she disrobed.
He heard the soft thump of the garment hitting the floor, and then two more. Her shoes, probably.
“Your turn, I suppose,” she said softly.
“Not much to take off.” All he had on was his boxer shorts. He wriggled out of those beneath the covers, wadded them, and flicked them toward the foot of the bed.
Yes, the dark was best. No critical looks at him. No overlong gazes sweeping down his body and lingering on places where he carried extra hair or mass or whatever. But the darkness prevented him from looking at her, too.
He wanted to see her, if she’d let him, but touching would do. He craved the weight of a woman—of Sera—atop him. Craved warm breath against his lips. Craved having someone feel his nakedness and decide that his body was appealing.
“You coming under?” he whispered. “I don’t know the way these things are supposed to go.”
“There’s no one way. And, yes. There’s a chill in here.”
“Air system’s on the fritz. I’ll fix that along with everything else tomorrow.”
She lifted the edge of the cover and nestled in beside him, hip-to-hip, and thigh-to-thigh.
His muscles bunched again and performance anxiety flared and they hadn’t even started anything.
“You’re always fixing things, aren’t you?” she said with a soft giggle. He never felt like she was teasing when she laughed. Only that she was content.
“I try to leave things a little better than I found them.”
“I like that about you. I like people who try to improve what they’re given instead of…using things up.” She’d whispered the last part, and the words hung with a particular poignancy.
So much on Jekh was used up. Many things, they’d be able to replenish in time, but the collective spirit would always have a stain of distrust. A new sense of xenophobia that hadn’t been there before they’d engaged with the Terrans.
“When you grow up like I did,” he mused quietly, “you can’t help being industrious. We didn’t have a whole lot, so we had to make things stretch. Had to build on what was there instead of getting brand-new everything. You ever notice that Precious’ clothes are about ten years out of style and look like they came out of Luke’s closet?”
“I don’t know much about Terran styles, but her wardrobe does seem broken-in.”
“Most of the stuff she wears was Luke’s. She doesn’t buy anything but underwear, I guess. She’s such a cheap-ass.” He laughed loud enough that Salehi might have heard him all the way down the hall, but if he asked what the hell was so funny in the morning, Marco could tell him he was having a funny dream or something. Being able to laugh in his goofy way and not be laughed at felt damn good.
“Well, she wears them well,” Sera said reverently, tugging the covers upward. “She could probably wear anything and no one would notice the clothes weren’t meant for her. She’s so pretty.”
“The pretty hides the evil.”
Sera giggled and eased onto her side.
Her breath was suddenly tickling his chest hair.
He scooted down and turned to face her, too, fixing the covers over them both.
She was right. There was a chill in the room. Or more likely, she was the cause of his goosebumps and of the anticipatory knot in the pit of his stomach.
“She’s not evil,” Sera whispered. “She’s got a wonderfully large personality and doesn’t let weak people stop her from succeeding.”
“Ah, she’s got you brainwashed. Typical of Precious.”
“Well, she must not hate you so much. She hasn’t said anything negative about you behind your back.”
“That’s surprising.”
“She’s said plenty about Luke.”
“That’s not surprising. Those two are oil and water.” He rubbed his chin, wondering if he should amend that. They were actually more like oil and vinegar. They repelled, but if shaken together hard enough they could work cooperatively. Marco tended to be the thing that emulsified the two of them. He hadn’t really understood his place in the Cipriani brood until Precious came along. He was so laid back in comparison to the rest of them. Laid back for a guy who was a hundred percent Italian, anyway.
Sera slid her toes up his shin, making slow curlicues and figure-eight drawings. “I like your textures. Do you mind?”
“Hell, no. If touching me makes you happy, don’t ever stop.”
“I’ll try not to, then.” She must
have pried her right arm out from under her body because her fingertips were at his navel then, petting the hair on his belly; up and then back down, lower. Slowly.
And then she stopped altogether her fingertips an atom’s-width shy of the base of his cock. Soft, still, but he couldn’t help that. He was wound too tight. Too anxious for her, but he didn’t want that to be a deterrent to her. He opened his mouth to tell her to do what she wanted. She didn’t need further permission from him. No part of him was off-limits to her.
But then he heard the quiet snore.
The beauty slept.
He pressed his lips tightly together to keep from laughing again and waking her.
Shit.
She probably needed the sleep, and Lord knew he did, too, but of course that would happen to him. If anyone could make a naked woman fall asleep before he could talk his dick into getting hard, it’d be Marco Cipriani.
He rolled onto his back, closed his eyes, and tried not to shake the bed too hard with his chuckling.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
There was a hand on Sera’s ass, and she required all of ten seconds to remember that she hadn’t fallen asleep in her own bed and that she hadn’t waked to find Elken invading her space yet again.
That was a man’s hand. Marco’s large hand.
His arm was slung over her body, he had her head tucked beneath his chin, and there was a very unsubtle protrusion originating from between his legs.
Oh.
She dragged her tongue across her dry lips and forced one eyelid open, and then the other.
The room was dim. The tiny porthole was covered with what looked like one of Marco’s shirts, so she couldn’t guess the time. It didn’t seem to be particularly bright outside, though. Her wrist COM hadn’t buzzed with a query from Ara, so Elken had to still have been asleep or else was distracted enough with a meal that she wasn’t asking for her mother yet.
Sera wriggled the fingers of right hand. They were numb from her lying on her arm all night, but she wanted to touch Marco while he slept. He’d been tolerant of her tentative strokes and pats, but she’d felt like she was putting on a performance she didn’t know the script for, and he was not only her audience, but her subject and most important critic.
She’d been honest about wanting to claim back her sexuality for herself, but that wasn’t all she wanted. Perhaps she was selfish, but she’d wanted to put a claim on Marco in the only way she knew how. She’d heard the women in town when they’d lingered after dropping Jasper off.
“Who’s he with?” one had asked her friend, and the friend had responded, “Me, if I have anything to say about it.”
Marco hadn’t been paying attention. The moment he’d set the hover-truck down, he’d made a beeline for a pile of metal scraps that Allan Rowe had left outside the meet-shop.
Sera had wanted to jump out of the truck and smack the woman, and she’d never felt such a compulsion before. How dare you? she’d thought, furious that someone would dare purport that he was available.
But…he was, and she’d complained so much to Ara about the conversation she’d heard that Ara had sighed and suggested in no uncertain language that Sera should fix that. She’d balked.
And then got over herself when Marco had returned from the shop later on bearing a fresh tray of chalks for Elken.
If Sera had her way, no one would ever touch him again except her.
She couldn’t move her arm enough. Sighing, she tipped herself onto her back slowly, careful not to dislodge Marco’s warm arm from around her. She tugged her left wrist to her face and squinted at the time on her COM’s display.
Six. Early.
She put her arm down and rolled onto her left side to brace herself enough to type out a message to Ara. Is Elken awake? I’ll be home soon. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be gone so long.
Sorrier, still, that she’d forgotten to worry. Her life had been consumed with fear that she hadn’t been doing enough for her daughter. She’d finally let herself be distracted. She didn’t know if that was a good thing. It was certainly a guilt-making thing.
Moments later, Ara returned, She didn’t fall asleep until two hours ago! You should speak with Dorro about her.
Sera cringed and started to type, but Ara sent, Don’t hurry back. I will keep an ear tuned on her. I am in the kitchen with Courtney and Erin helping them pack lunches for the day. The farmhands are going out to a far field in an hour.
I will be back soon, Sera said.
Why?
Sera tapped, What do you mean, why? To mind Elken. I’ve been gone for too long.
Did you read what I said, woman? She is asleep, and will likely sleep until noon! Where is the giant, anyway?
Sera swiveled her gaze up to sleeping Marco’s face. His lips were parted and eyes flitting rapidly behind his lids. She’d never noticed before how thick and long his lashes were. The way they swept against his cheeks like perfect dark feathers made her pout with jealousy.
She huffed and tapped, Here. Sleeping.
Did you?
Did we what?
Don’t be daft. Overnight visits are good for one thing in particular.
There was no point trying to be subtle with Ara, and Sera knew damn well she’d be foolish to try. No. I fell asleep. So silly.
Not silly. Tired. Shall I send Dorro a message?
Sera fidgeted the strap of her COM band, loosening the fastener. She’d been telling Dorro for months that everything was fine with Elken, but maybe it wasn’t. The child should have been sleeping better, and certainly on schedule, even if she had spent the majority of her short life in space. Sera hated to make a medical issue out of what she worried was simply a parenting issue.
I will send Dorro a message, Ara said. Let Auntie Ara be the villain. Get some rest.
The connection closed with a decisive crackle, indicating that any message Sera sent wouldn’t be immediately received. Grimacing, she set the COM on Marco’s cluttered nightstand and rolled back toward him.
His rapid eye movements had stopped, and he’d closed his mouth. He was likely coming out of his sleep cycle. She didn’t want to wake him—not when she finally had a chance to get her fill of looking at him without shame. When his eyes were closed, she didn’t have to be timid about committing his features to memory. He wasn’t looking back, scornfully judging her and preventing her the opportunity of deciding whether or not she liked what was in front of her.
She wished she could lift her arm and fondle the scruff on his chin, and toy with the thatch of hair beneath his bottom lip. It was a little lighter than the hair on his head—a golden brown compared to the shiny dark coffee locks that fell to his collar.
His eyebrows were the same, she realized. Fairer. Closer to the color of his eyes than his hair.
Terran colors, not Jekhan ones.
“Mmm,” came his deep, sleep-laced moan, and she stiffened a bit, somehow forgetting that things that slept also had to eventually wake. “Your breath is tickling my shoulder.”
“I’m sorry,” she said.
He raised first one eyelid, and then the other, and she watched enthralled as his pupils shrank and enlarged again to accommodate for the dim light.
She was wrong. His eyes actually weren’t brown. Not totally, anyway. They had streaks of olive in them that complemented the golden undertones of his skin.
“You’re still here,” he murmured.
“I should have left,” she admitted. “But you were warm.”
And she was selfish and too needy by half.
His Adam’s apple convulsed with his swallow and he slowly shuttered his eyes. “Not saying I wanted you to. I’m just surprised you’re here.”
“Why?”
“That’s never happened to me before.”
“Oh.”
Right.
Because he hadn’t been touched. No one had spent evenings in his bed, asleep or otherwise. She was the first. Finally, the first at something she actually wanted to be d
oing.
The fingers of her left hand twitched as she pondered moving her hand to his waist, but even that small action would require a great deal of energy. She could lift the arm, but unless she used her right hand to assist, the arm would fall in a graceless plop. She wouldn’t be seducing him so much as thrashing him.
Nothing to be done for it, except…
She worked her toes against his shins. “Marco?”
“Hmm?”
“Can we…switch sides?”
“What’s wrong?”
“I want to be able to move my arm. I’m on top of my good one.”
“Oh. Yeah. Of course.” He rolled onto his back, shifted toward her to make a little more room on the wall side, and then gave her a speculative look. “Uh. Sorry. Not a whole lot of space for maneuvering. I guess this ship wasn’t furnished with couples in mind.”
“That’s okay.” She heaved herself up onto her right arm and tossed her left leg over him, beginning the process of vaulting over him, but as the inside of her knee touched his thigh, she wondered why she was bothering.
She pushed herself upright, pausing in a straddling position over his hips, suddenly conscious that she was entirely bare and effectively spreading herself for his consumption.
He certainly wasn’t ignoring her. His eyes had been hooded before, but with her looming over him, they were as round as Jekh’s moon and he’d parted his lips again either to speak or to breathe. She couldn’t tell which. He wasn’t doing either of those things, as far as she could tell.
Had she been a decent person, she would have continued her arc to the space beside him, crawled under the covers, and very piously hidden her battered body from view, but she wasn’t a decent person anymore. She was a jealous, selfish wretch who should have been saving herself for a Jekhan trio for the good of the population.
To hell with the population.
She was human, too, at least in part. She could choose, and she was choosing Marco.
“Do you need help?” he asked.
“Yes.”
He reached for her waist, but she didn’t need help with her balance or with finishing her crawl over him. She took his right hand and pressed it unambiguously to her sex. “You have large fingers.”
