Chapter 44
ALICE
Summer has arrived, and I busy myself with the work of wiping lenses and twisting calibration dials into precise positions. I focus on the task in order to push the thoughts away, deep into the pit of me, but it seems every time I pause, the cold reality of my empty nursery bubbles back up.
The observatory is full of notebooks tracking the moon and stars, and our bedroom is rife with notes of my womanly cycle.
Kodiak even purchased one of those glass thermometers; the doctor having said my temperature would show patterns in my cycle.
Tracking the moon phases, my daily temperature, waiting fifteen minutes with a glass rod under my tongue is less than appealing before forming our romantic union, and so far it has been no help at all.
Bless Kodiak and his tender hazel eyes when he tells me, “you’re all I need.
” But I’m no fool. He’s been talking about making me “round with his young,” almost since the day we met.
I know what he says now is nothing more than kindness.
That’s the worst of it; knowing deep down that something in him is missing and he can’t express it while sparing my feelings.
Footsteps creak up the observatory stairs, and from the weight and cadence, I already know it’s him before his tall, broad silhouette darkens the landing, his hair tousled from the pillow or the wind. The moonlight catches the dark scruff along his sharp jawline.
“Thought I’d find you up here fussin’ with that thing,” he says. “It’s late, sugarplum. Why don’t you come to bed.”
“The Astral Society will be here in two days. The eyepiece alignment on the new telescope was off.”
He shoves his hands into his pockets and ambles over. I keep my attention on the telescope as he nears. The sting behind my eyes, the tightening in my chest—I know if I look at him now, I won’t be able to stay in control.
He stops beside me, close enough I can feel the heat of him even through my sleeve. He smells of smoke and soap. “You’re frettin’ again.”
I bite down on my lip, fighting the quiver there. “It isn’t fair,” I whisper. “It isn’t fair that my body won’t do the one thing it was made for.”
He steps closer, rough palm cupping my cheek. “You were made for more’n that, Alice.”
For a long while we just stand there, the silence between us stretching. “When Joseph and I never conceived,” I say quietly, “I always assumed it was him. But now…” My voice catches. “Now I think maybe it was me all along.”
He says nothing. The silent confirmation makes it worse somehow.
“I keep telling myself it shouldn’t matter,” I continue. “But it does. Some part of me refuses to stop wanting—” My eyes burn, so I turn toward the open slit of the dome where the clouds have just begun to thin. A single star blinks through, then another, before the tears blur the sight of them.
“Didn’t I tell you a man that’s always wantin’ never has enough?
A man content with what he’s got’s already rich.
You gotta stop worryin’ about gettin’ what you want, lamb.
You know as well as I do, life don’t give a damn about fair.
What’s meant to be will be, and we just gotta make the best of it. ”
I turn on him, temper flaring. “Spare me your philosophy. You just stomp in here with your calm voice and think you can fix everything.”
“Usually works,” he says, grin tugging.
That grin does it. My frustration bubbles over. “Get out,” I say, pointing toward the stairs.
He doesn’t move an inch. “Now why would I do that when you’re just gettin’ good and feisty?”
“Because I asked you to.”
He steps closer. “No, you didn’t ask. You told. And that tone’s gonna earn you a consequence, Mrs. Collier.”
My pulse jumps. “Don’t you dare.”
“Oh, I dare,” he says, and before I can take a step back, he’s caught me around the waist and turned me against his hip.
“Bear!” I squeal, half laughing, half scandalized.
He sits on the low bench and pulls me across his lap. “Go on then, say you’ll mind your mouth.”
“No,” I say, knowing full well what it will earn me. He catches the back of my skirts in his fist, pulling them up where they gather around my waist. He yanks down my drawers before I can even catch my breath.
His hand comes down sharp, a fiery sting that startles the breath out of me and scatters the sorrow right out of my chest. “Kodiak,” I gasp, the name breaking loose before I can stop it. He strikes again, and I jolt with the impact.
“Quit your squirmin’, woman. Your rear’s gettin’ what it deserves for that smart mouth. Now apologize.”
He swats again, harder, his broad palm searing across me, too big to miss a single inch. My knees weaken and heat floods my cheeks, my core, warmth spilling where I’m most tender.
“I’m sorry, sir.”
“I bet you are. This hand’ll teach you manners,” he says, another swing coming down with a vengeance. I squeeze my eyes shut, seeing white. His palm soothes, fingertips grazing my center.
“You’re gettin’ all slick and soft, ain’t you?”
I wriggle, my face flaming as I try to deny it, but my body’s betraying me, melting under his touch. “I can’t help it,” I whisper, barely audible.
“Is that right?” he says, teasing, his fingers slide lower, teasing that secret warmth. I gasp, my whole body tensing. He glides down, pressing at my entrance.
“That smart mouth of yours,” he whispers. “I know this is what you’re really after, ain’t it?”
I can’t hold back my moan. I push back into him, but he draws his hand away. “Ah ah,” he says. “Tell me what you want.”
My breath catches. “I want you inside me.”
“Beg for it,” he growls, his voice laced with that dangerous edge that makes my pulse spike. His fingers pause, teasing just outside, denying me the fullness I crave. “You don’t get a damn thing till you say it right.”
“Please, sir,” I whimper. “I need you inside me.” The words nearly catch in my throat, but they spill out, my pride crumbling under the weight of his dominance. He hums low with satisfaction, a sound that strikes like a match, igniting as he gives me what I begged for.
“That’s better.” His fingers, thick and unrelenting, stretch me with precision, teasing that aching heat inside me until I’m trembling, my thighs slick with need.
“You been wantin’ it deep, ain’t you?” He works me open, making sure I feel every inch of the ache.
My body jerks, instinctive, desperate to take more, to be filled.
He curls his fingers just right and I cry out, a raw, choked sound I can’t control. I’m his to unravel, and he knows it.
“You ready for me? Ready for me to fill you proper?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Up,” he says, pulling his fingers free. He pats my rear end and nudges me up onto my feet. My skirts fall into place, drawers tangled around my legs.
My heart slams against my ribs, each beat a frantic drum as his command cuts through the air. “Strip.”
My fingers fumble, clumsy as they tug at the laces of my bodice.
I can feel his eyes on me, patient and hungry, as the garment loosens and slips from my shoulders.
It falls to the floor with a soft thud. The warm air grazes at my exposed skin, raising goosebumps and tightening my nipples to aching peaks.
Kodiak leans back slightly, arms folded, watching me like a man admiring his favorite view. There’s a slow, satisfied curve to his mouth, equal parts amusement and dominion. My skirts follow, crumpling in a heap, and my drawers snag around my ankles, leaving me bare.
“That’s it,” he breathes, approving. “Look at you, mindin’ so sweet. Knew you could behave when you wanted somethin’ bad enough.”
He crouches slightly, takes hold of me and lifts me like I weigh nothing.
His arms band around me, thick with muscle and the warmth of him.
His chest is broad, heart beating against me in a steady rhythm.
I wrap my arms around him, carried by him until the observatory table’s hard edge digs into my flesh.
My legs dangle, useless, my body open and vulnerable, and a shiver racks me—not cold, but a raw, electric need that pulses low in my belly.
I’m exhilarated, caught in a storm of his quiet power.
His mouth casts heat against my collarbone, and my pulse spikes, a frantic rhythm.
“You’re perfect,” he growls, his voice a rumble that vibrates through me.
He steps forward, his firm body filling the space between my parted legs, the scent of leather and sweat rolling off him, laced with his raw musk.
It wraps around me, thick and familiar, like heat rising off sun-warmed earth.
I could drown in that scent. It always does something to me, sinks deep, dredging out every ache I have for him.
His fingers, deliberate and slow, work the buttons of his trousers, each soft clink of metal against cloth striking my senses.
I watch his hands—those capable, calloused hands—quick enough to draw a pistol, steady enough to calm a wild mare, and tender enough to touch me gentle like I’m the most precious thing on God’s green earth.
Now, they part fabric like pulling back the veil on something sacred, revealing the hard, undeniable proof of his desire.
His hand moves, guiding the thick length of him. The faint dew of his desire paints my inner thigh, an intimate mark that sends fire through me, a rush of warmth pooling at my core.
“You’ll take all of me,” he vows, the blunt velvet crown of him notched at my entrance. “And when I spill deep inside you, your cries’ll carry my name to those stars.”
His voice is a promise and a prayer together, and for a heartbeat, I forget the ache, the sorrow, the months of trying. All that’s left is the wanting.
I close my eyes and breathe, feeling the weight of him before he even enters me. I send the thought upward, past the rafters, past the glass, past the reach of air, up where heaven begins. Let this be the time. Let something take hold so I may carry a piece of him.
The stars blur above, and I almost imagine they’re listening. I picture a spark tumbling down from the sky, a seed of fire small enough to take root within me.
If the heavens ever wished me kindness, let it be now.