Four #3
“Are we doing this now?”
“You should rest.”
“Again, two things can be true at once.”
“You’re injured.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not.”
“Na’ashq’ii took care of the migraine. I’m functional.”
He took a deep breath. “I was careless and hurt you. I’m sorry.”
“I know.”
“It won’t happen again.”
“That’s not what I want.”
Renjik studied her face. She broke contact first, setting the water aside. She unwound Na’ashq’ii carefully from her neck. The creature resisted for a second, then allowed her to put it on the pillow next to her. It tucked its many limbs under its body and stared at Renjik, clearly on guard duty.
Willow patted the bed next to her hip. “Sit. Having to crane my neck is annoying.”
“Willow—”
“Sit.”
He sat.
Willow shifted to face him, her legs curled around his hips. The low light didn’t hide how tired she looked.
“Show me your arm.”
Every muscle in his body locked. “No.”
She didn’t flinch, didn’t pull away, didn’t argue. “Okay.”
Accepting the boundary was worse. Silence stretched between them.
He hated that his arm was gone. Hated that the replacement obeyed and failed for no reason. Hated the memory of Scozid voices, the sound of the saw, the pain of it biting through his armor plate. He could have told her that. Instead, he said, “It’s ugly.”
“My standards for ugly have adjusted dramatically since I arrived in Denchui space.”
“This isn’t a joke.”
“No, it’s not.” Her face remained steady and open. Simply waiting.
Renjik looked at the limb. The metal began halfway between elbow and shoulder, anchored into reinforced bone and connected to nerve ports. Artificial muscles twitched beneath gunmetal plates. Functional and strong, better than no arm, the Molzaed said.
He knew that. Knew he should be grateful. He hated it.
Slowly, he presented it to her.
She didn’t touch him, like he’d assumed she would. Didn’t study it like a cultural artifact. Just looked.
“Does it hurt?”
“Sometimes.”
“Now?”
“Yes.”
“Because of what happened on the planet?”
“Yes. And because of the memory that never leaves. Because it’s attached to what remains of me.”
Her throat moved. Then her hand settled on the back of the synth wrist. Every sensor lit. Pressure, warmth, too much information and not enough. The implant translated her touch, but his body tried to make it memory. His missing limb ached with the impossible need to touch her skin.
“This isn’t all that remains of you.”
“You don’t know that.”
He couldn’t look away from her hand, where it brushed against cold metal that should be warm flesh.
“I know you’re annoying, protective, observant, terrible at pretending not to care, and surprisingly fun when you forget to be grumpy.”
His eyes snapped to hers.
“That’s a lot that remains.”
Rhun crushed his chest. He tried to breathe through it and failed.
“What are you struggling with, right this second.”
The words tumbled out before he could stop them. “You’re my rhun.”
Her eyes widened. “Oh.”
“You shouldn’t touch me until I can control it.”
Her fingers brushed the metal, a light touch.
“What if I want to?”
He forgot to breathe. “Do you understand what you’re asking?”
“I read the brief, same as all the other survivors.”
A low growl tore from his chest before he could stop it. “This is a bad idea.”
“I’m not going to pretend that it’s not scary. But I won’t pretend I don’t want you, either.”
Renjik struggled to stay motionless. “Tell me no.”
She shook her head. “I don’t want no. I want yes. I want you to kiss me like we’re alive and not pawns in someone else’s war.”
His restraint snapped. His hand snaked around her neck and he kissed her, carefully, gently. She was still exhausted.
But Willow growled, grabbed his shoulders and pulled him to her. Her mouth opened and her hunger hit him like a blast.
She pushed at his shirt and when they broke apart to breathe she demanded, “Off.”
He stripped in record time. He kicked off his pants and moved to rejoin her on the bed. He found her naked. “You have no idea what you do to me.”
She smiled, her eyes scanning his body, pausing on his straining cock.
“I have some idea.”
He crawled over her, careful to keep his weight off of her slight form and his synthetic arm as far away as possible. She grabbed his wrist again and brought his hand to her breast.
“Willow—”
“Shut up and touch me, Renjik.”
His fingers flexed and he started to pull back.
“I trust you.”
He groaned and kissed her with the last shreds of his. He moved down her throat and her pulse beat beneath his lips. His senses were filled with her, and for the first time since the Scozid, his arm wasn’t the loudest thing in his mind.
She was.
He kissed his way down her chest and to the nipple of one breast, sucking it lightly before moving to the other. She grabbed his biceps and he froze.
He braced for her horror, or pity. Her fingers traced the scars that remained deep valleys in his plate above the prosthetic.
“They cut you more than once?”
He nodded.
Her expression turned cold. “I’d like to dice that Scozid into calamari.”
He didn’t know what calamari was, but he laughed anyway.
“Is it dead?”
“Yes.”
“Good.” She yanked on his arms. “Resume the kissing.”
He chuckled and lowered his mouth to the space between her breasts. As he made his way down her torso, she arched and moaned—sounds that stretched his cock to a near painful degree. He settled between her legs and licked up her seam, swirling the tip of his tongue around her clit.
She jerked beneath him. “Oh hell.”
He smiled and did it again. Then he sucked the small bud into his mouth and put a finger inside her. She was so wet, so tight, so delicious that he knew he wouldn’t last long.
“Fuck!”
Her thighs trembled next to his ears and he doubled his efforts. In seconds her back lifted from the bed, her muscles strained, her mouth opened in a silent scream.
He slowed and let her come down gently. Then he started again.
She grabbed his hair and pulled. “Nope. Get up here. I want more.”
He obeyed. The breath was sucked from his lungs when she reached between them and grabbed his cock. He hissed in a breath.
She fit the head to her slick, waiting pussy and he hesitated. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“I’ll tell you if I need you to stop.”
He nodded and eased into her heat.
“Holy shit.”
He stopped.
“I didn’t say stop!”
He moved and sank another inch inside her. She gasped and he kept going. Tight heat surrounded him inch by inch, her small sounds driving him forward until he was buried in her. One perfect moment of stillness, as if every broken, useless piece of him finally stopped rattling inside his head.
“Move.”
She clenched around him and he groaned. He pulled out and pushed in, trying to establish a rhythm that was good for them both. He kept his weight from crushing her, but the rest of his brainpower was focused on how she met every thrust like she couldn’t get enough of him.
His synth hand grabbed the sheets beside her head. She reached up and wound her fingers around his wrist and he broke. He surged into her and felt her come apart again just before his own orgasm erased what little thought he had left.
He rolled them before he collapsed, situating her on his chest. There was no sound in the room except for them trying to catch their breaths. Eventually, even that slowed and faded. He looked down and tried to see if she was okay, but the angle didn’t allow it.
“You still with me?”
“No.”
He chuckled and then sobered. “Did I hurt you?”
“Only in the best possible way.”
“Your head?”
She lifted herself up on her arms and kept a perfectly straight face as she said, “Still fine, but you should know, orgasms are good for migraines.”
He nodded solemnly. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“See that you do.”
She relaxed back onto his chest. He stared at the ceiling, one thought on repeat. My rhun. My heart. Mine.
He slowly stroked her skin with metal fingers. She hummed in pleasure. He felt a weight lift from his shoulders. “Thank you.”
Her voice was sleepy when she answered. “For the orgasm? Because honestly, I got the two for one deal.”
He smiled and she snuggled deeper in his arms. She was asleep in minutes.
He carefully slid from underneath her and moved to the other side of the bed.
He didn’t want to disturb her sleep. As he moved around, Na’ashq’ii appeared from under the bed.
It curled itself at the nape of her neck, its tentacles stretched over both shoulders and down her back.
When Renjik laid down, he moved his arm so it touched her from wrist to elbow.
He fell asleep convincing himself she wasn’t a dream.