Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
Sorin
I should not be angry. I definitely should not be fuming with rage. And I am not, not with Briar at least.
John Smith is another matter. And it takes all my self-control not to lower the hatch and throw the camera to the oblivion of the dark tunnel.
He did this to her. Abducted her and then offered her up to me as though she were chattel to be traded. All for the entertainment of LOVE GALAXY viewers.
And I, in my… delusion? Denial? Lust? I had vowed to prove to Briar what a good Mate I could be, when all she wishes for is to return to her birth planet.
We complete the journey in silence. I could not have continued talking calmly of my home when the strength of my conflicting feelings had felt almost too strong to be contained within the boundaries of my own skin. Had I opened my mouth, I would have been afraid of… what?
Yelling at Briar? Never.
Demanding she stay with me forever? Probably not.
Pleading for more of her kisses? Most definitely. So that when she does leave and I am once again alone I will at least have the memory of her lips against mine with which to stroke my cock, desperate for release and ashamed, too, for thinking of the Female who rejected me.
When the cart finally comes to a stop, I release the hatch, and Briar scrambles off my lap. This section of the tunnel is illuminated with more lights set into the ceiling, and without needing to be shown the way, Briar sights the ladder leading out of the tunnel and up into my cottage.
I follow behind, carrying her bag, and when I step up into my own kitchen, I pause, watching her turn a slow circle examining everything she can see.
“This is your stove?” she asks, not quite meeting my eyes. “Wow, Sorin. It looks like something from a Jane Austen movie.”
“I do not understand what that means,” I respond, and am proud that my voice sounds relatively normal.
“Well, the kitchen back at the other house had a couple of touch screens set into the backsplash, but you don’t seem to have any of that technology here.” There is tension in her voice I think she is trying to hide. Regardless of her efforts, she does not sound the same as when we were talking before the kiss, back when things were comfortable between us. “Do you not like modern conveniences?” she asks.
“Not particularly.”
“Oh, okay.” She shrugs. “That’s cool.”
Is it cold? The stove is not currently on, so I suppose that is accurate.
“When my family left Ril I,” I say, attempting an explanation and wishing she would look at me, “we could only bring with us that which we could fit into a single Freighter. My parents had to make a lot of compromises.”
“But that was years ago,” she says, studying my stove. “Surely, you have enough contact with other planets to order in new supplies?”
“Yes. Although, I prefer cooking my meals than eating prepared food .”
I count three cameras watching us, clipped to my kitchen bench and mounted onto the wall.
“Well, I like it,” she says, and the corners of her mouth stretch up. “It’s really nice, Sorin.”
I look down at my feet. Before Briar, it had been easy for me to ignore these desires. I had merely to turn my thoughts in other directions, focusing only on the farm and the work that needed doing by my brothers and me.
Now that I have met Briar, now that I have seen the potential shape my future could take were she to stay with me, everything has changed. I can no longer brush these thoughts aside. I can no longer ignore my aching want for a Mate. For a family. For companionship.
For Briar.
I clench my hands into fists, my claws digging into the palms of my hands, in an attempt to hide my feelings from the cameras. But there is nothing I can do to disguise what I’m sure is the expression of desperate loneliness my face wears.
I must reek of it. Of loneliness and fear. And longing.
Briar
“I… I have work to do.” Turning his back on me, Sorin climbs another ladder, taking the rungs two at a time, and disappears through a trapdoor in the ceiling. No staircases in this house, apparently.
I follow him up, hating that I’m in his home when it wasn’t Sorin’s idea I be invited.
Upstairs consists of a single room with no furniture. Instead of four walls, it’s circular, with a curved ceiling, a couple of windows facing different directions and a single door through which Sorin has already left.
My hand’s on the door, but I don’t open it. Through a window, I can see Sorin with his head bowed against the gale-force wind, but he’s too far ahead; I’d never catch up.
I mean Jesus fucking Christ! What work does Sorin have to do that’s outside in that hellscape? He’d said his algae farm is all underground.
I try hard not to stare at his perfect naked ass, but where’s a girl (even a confused, messed up girl) to look when Sorin’s got his back to her? It must be so useful having scales and not needing to wear clothes for protection or privacy. Even now, in all the dust, his scales glisten softly, so neat and clean and self-contained.
Self-contained: that word describes Sorin perfectly. He only speaks when he’s got something he considers worth saying. While the way he moves with precision and focus proves how comfortable he is with his own body. And I’m not saying that because he’s naked all the time.
He glances over his shoulder, back toward the house. I swear my heart skips a beat. Has he changed his mind? Is he coming back? But his glance backwards only seems to spur him on until he’s all but sprinting away from his own home.