Page 9 of The Build Up

He’s just Tarak.

And I get to play with him.

He leans forward, placing his hands against my back, gently laying me down on the bed.

I would have done it myself, but I’m so ungainly right now.

He looms over me, shining like a god, and all I can do is marvel.

My need stirs again, this time in the form of a deep ache: desperate, primal, sending me half-mad, an itch that onlyhecould ever scratch.

I see the towel wrapped around his hips, resting just below the defined V of muscle that leads to his very obvious erection.

“Take it off,” I tell him.

“As you wish.” He smiles, flashing a hint of fang.

Muscles bunch and flex, shimmering in the golden light as he whips the damn thing away.

He’sbig.

I knew that already.

Thesightof him.

I want him inside me now more than ever.

Urgency consumes me like an inferno.

“Come on,” I whisper, reaching for his hand.

Smiling wickedly at my eagerness, he takes it, threading his fingers through mine, lifting my arm above my head, pressing my hand against the soft sheets as he leans in and enters me, taking every care not to put pressure on my belly.

And yet, he’s just rough and forceful enough—the way I like it.

It’s started raining again.

Tarak is in control now, fucking me into blissful oblivion for as long as he wants and as much as he can take.

Until he sends me right over the edge—again—and I drag him with me, plunging into the Universe and the stars, beneath the falling sky.

THREE

ABBEY

In the brightlight of the morning, the angry clouds have all but disappeared, leaving a fresh, glistening landscape in their wake.

I’m sitting at the kitchen table alongside Ami, who’s battling with a hard-boiled egg, trying to remove cracked pieces of shell.

We’re so lucky to have access to real eggs, thanks to Aunt Kenna’s insistence on keeping chickens. Not that there’s anything wrong with recombinant egg protein—I used to eat it all the time when I was on the mining station—but it just doesn’t taste thesame.

I look across at our guests, who are helping themselves to the breakfast platter I’ve hastily put together this morning—with the help of the kitchen-bot.

Soft-boiled eggs, smoked salmon, hash browns, sliced avocado, sun-ripened tiny tomatoes, freshly picked baby spinach, crispy bacon.

Not a bad spread, if you ask me.

Xal is heaping a plate with all the proteins. Sera is more measured, taking a bit of everything.

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