Page 58 of Sunastara & the Venusian
I accessed the time. “Ninety-seven minutes.”
“That long?”
Brushing his damp hair back from his forehead, I asked, “Have you ever been in a pleasure pod before?”
“No. They’ve always intimidated me,” he said. “For good reason, apparently.”
I traced his crooked smile with the pad of my thumb. “You don’t experience time when you’re in a pod. Or hunger or thirst. Or if your hair is on fire, for that matter. The only thing you experience is the pleasure.”
With the word hovering between us, we seemed to realize at the same time that he was still inside me. Sliding his hands over my hips, he started to raise me up, and I squeezed my legs around him. “Wait,” I said. “Not yet.”
Relaxing, slinging his arms low around my waist, he said, “Okay.”
After what we’d just done—and how many times we’d done it—some might call it ridiculous, the nerves tightening my throat. We’d just shared ninety-seven minutes of intense, carnal, worlds-shattering ecstasy. I was still breathless from it, my bones heavy, muscles loose, skin as warm as an afternoon lying under real sunlight. But it wasn’t enough. I still wanted him, more than I should, more thanSunnyshould. But even though the pods no longer drove me near to madness, the push was still there, the buzz, the hunger. Later, when I wondered what had gotten into me, I could blame it on that.
“Stay with me,” I whispered into his ear.
He was silent, his chest rising and falling like the tide. And I closed my eyes, bracing for the sting of rejection. But there was no sting, only his fingers sliding up my sides, his hand cupping my breast and bringing my nipple to his lips, sucking it into his mouth. I moaned when his tongue swirled over my stiff peak, in pleasure, in relief. Maybe both.
He spun me around, laying me down, pulling a towel over from one of the shelves to slide under my head. I was sore, my muscles aching, but it didn’t matter. The sight of him propped above me, gazing down at me, his lips curving into a soft, unguarded smile…nothing else mattered.
“How did this happen?” I asked him, running my fingertip over the crooked line of his nose. “Did you break it?”
“Aye.” His voice was quiet, soothing as he notched himself at my entrance. “I was twelve. A boy in my class had chased a girl during recess. She hadn’t liked it, so I’d told him to stop. He broke my nose, I kicked him in the shin, and that was that.”
“Did he leave her alone?” I asked, cupping his cheek while he slid into me again.
His smile grew as he started to move his hips. “He did.”
“Did she thank you?”
“Aye, Molly McDay. My first kiss.”
Snaking my fingers around his neck, I said, “Lucky lass.” Then I pulled his mouth to mine, losing myself in him while he lost himself in me. This time, of our own free wills.
23
The falloutfrom what would go down in history on the ship as Podgate was minimal, with the general consensus of all beings involved including some form ofthat was the best night of my life. Not necessarily surprising, considering the typical state of affairs on deck thirty-six. The final rule on the pod malfunction—excessive overuse—didn’t surprise me either. All the same, more stringent safety measures were being installed on all pleasure pods throughout the ship today.
Also a casualty of excessive overuse, I’d woken up brutally sore and completely worked, like I’d run a marathon—or had gotten fucked through one. At least Freddie wasn’t faring much better. He’d commed me to check in, admitting he hadn’t been able to get out of bed until the three anti-nox tabs he’d taken kicked in.
Despite the pain—and the bouts of staring off into space whenever the sense memory of being taken so many times, in so many ways, and for so long, invaded my brain—I still had a job to do. Today, that job entailed first having breakfast with Sonia,Sai, and Lena in their pod, where we’d discussed their lingering security concerns while I’d tried and failed to solve Sai’s newest puzzle. And now, because somehow this was my life, I was on my way to pick up the gigantic, hairy, and indescribably stinky Kravaxian bovine I’d miraculously secured before FFK day.
As I approached airlock A-6, the sharp, musty odor seeping into the hallway was enough to put a Gorbie off their lunch—and Gorbies thought fermented bog slugs were a delicacy. Burying my nose in the crook of my elbow, I pressed my thumb onto the techPad to sign the shipping receipt before gingerly accepting the kurot’s lead rope from the relieved-looking postal droid.
There were times in a being’s life when the realization that they were in way over their head felt as tangible as the ground beneath their feet. Walking out of the docking bay, pretending I had an ounce of control over a two-ton ungulate with a rope half the size of my wrist, was without question one of those times. Especially when she kept shying sideways at every guest that walked by, every digpic on the wall, every time the air conditioners cycled on.
“Need help with that?”
Wheeling around halfway to the Cosmic Spectacle stables, I spotted Makenna walking toward me.
“Yes. Yes, I do,” I said, and I would have fallen to my knees if it wouldn’t have put my head at the beast’s mouth. “Do you know anything about kurots? She keeps trying to eat my hair. And stars above, she smells.”
“Well, no,” Makenna said with a low, throaty laugh. “Not really. But I have been taking care of Dave for the last week, so…” She shrugged. “Heading to the stables?”
“Stars willing,” I replied.
“She’s cute,” Makenna said, taking the lead from me. “Shaggy. Butyeesh.” Her nose scrunched. “She does stink. Like cheese left out in the sun.”
