The Build Up (Darkstar Mercenaries and Dark Planet Warriors Short Stories)

2. Abbey

TWO

ABBEY

Cool rainwater soaks through my hair and my clothes. My face is wet. I taste it on my tongue. It’s fresh and faintly metallic.

Above us, the skies come alight, the flashes softer now as the lightning moves further away.

The thunder has faded to a soft rumble in the distance. The rain subsides a little, becoming a gentle patter, no longer a downpour.

Arms around my waist, Tarak holds me, pressing himself against me—just enough that his hard, honed body melds to the swell of my pregnant belly.

It’s dark out here. I can barely see him, except for when the lightning flashes.

And it does again, allowing me to catch a glimpse of his face.

Whoa.

Whenever Tarak’s expression softens like this, it takes my breath away.

That he could be capable of such a thing.

And all of this… all of him…

Is mine.

“I’ve seen storms like this on many planets.” He brings his lips close to my ear so I can hear his deep voice above the rush of the wind and the soft roar of the rain. “Wind, vapor, precipitation, electrical discharge… From above, they all look the same. A common phenomenon. Seemingly insignificant. But when you’re inside, you begin to realize that the storm has power. And sometimes, it can turn the course of a battle.”

“Things appear different when you’re close, rather than on the outside looking in,” I say, savoring his closeness more than ever before.

Our intimacy is divine.

I can never take it for granted.

“I know it now.” He shifts ever so slightly, letting me feel the unmistakable pressure of his arousal. “I have missed you, my amina. The things that take me away from you sometimes feel so very tedious. If only there were a way I could silence the noise of the Universe so I could have you at my whim, always. In fact, I would have you right now in the rain and the mud, but I can’t bear the thought of you experiencing even the slightest dirt or discomfort at my expense— especially in your current state.”

The child inside me flutters—along with something else.

Need.

It comes so easily whenever I’m with him.

And knowing how insatiable he is—how endless his desire and stamina, how much control he exerts to hold himself back—makes him all the more irresistible.

I would even do him in the rain and the mud right now… if not for my current state.

“I think I’ve seen enough of the storm, Tarak.” The Universe wraps its damp, electrified tendrils around me, and I almost feel whole again.

“Very well,” he rumbles, as deep and inevitable as the thunder. “Let’s go inside.”

“Okay,” I say weakly, giving in to the gentle yet insistent press of his fingers against mine, an invitation I can’t refuse.

My scant resistance has crumbled. I’m in the mood to be held and taken care of, spoiled at his whim, indulged…

And I want to savor all of him.

To give him what he most desires and revel in it.

He twines his fingers through mine, taking my hand, leading me back the way we came, through the sand-turned-mud, over the Earth’s gentle undulations. Not once do I step on anything unpleasant with my bare feet, and that’s because he’s guiding me.

He has perfect night vision, after all.

As we reach the house, he grows impatient and sweeps me up into his arms.

I don’t protest.

He does it because he can; because he knows what kind of mood I’m in.

Over the balcony railing, back under cover, through the glass doors, into our house on Earth—a structure of glass and metal and concrete.

Silent, graceful, he brings me down the hall, not caring that he’s trailing water everywhere. In the soft light, I catch a glimpse of his face.

His pale hair is slicked back. His features—hard, elegant, undeniably Kordolian—shimmer in the warm glow of the lamplight.

Like a sculpture wrought from silver.

He takes me through our bedroom suite and into the bathroom adjacent, where he sets me down on my feet and promptly goes about undressing me.

I let him do everything.

I know his intentions, and I know he likes to take charge, to be in control.

And sometimes, I just want to be taken care of.

I’ve been dealing with enough responsibility as it is. Between coordinating the orbital farms, taking care of Ami, and acting as a sort of go-to person for all human concerns while onboard Silence, I’ve done enough of late.

That’s not to mention the morning sickness.

Even Zharek and Zyara couldn’t sort that one out.

Thank goodness it’s passed now.

Tarak gives me a look. I know that look.

Allow me…

I nod. Neither of us says a word. It’s more profound that way, anticipating his thoughts and yet entranced by the mystery of what goes on in that labyrinthine alien mind of his.

He starts to undress me, pulling my loose, rain-drenched top over my belly, my torso, my breasts…

I lift my arms to aid him. He peels the garment up and over, then deftly tosses it into the laundry chute.

With the same fluid, practiced movements, he unclasps my bra and disappears it. My stretchy tights are next, slipped over my hips, along with my underwear.

He draws them down to my ankles.

I kick them off, leaving a trail of red mud and water on the floor.

Tarak’s gaze travels up and down my naked body, desire swirling in crimson. Electrifying me.

He runs his hands down my back, curving them around to the swell of my pregnant belly. Then, he takes one of my hands and twirls me like a dancer, leading me into the shower.

The sensors activate, sending a cascade of warm water from the rose in the ceiling—a different kind of rain, warm and steamy, the exact temperature that I like.

Still half-clothed, Tarak stands before me and cradles my belly again.

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “I revere you and this life you hold within you. The first was miracle enough. To know that we will have a second … I’m fortunate beyond my wildest imagination.”

Through the cascade of the shower, my eyes flutter wildly in surprise. “Tarak…”

Sometimes, he gets like this. A mood overtakes him. His aura burns so hot and bright it’s as if I’m standing before the sun.

I know there isn’t a single thing I can do to dissuade him right now.

And I don’t mind.

He’s incredibly sexy when he’s like this.

“Turn around,” he commands.

I furrow my brow, giving him a questioning look. What are you doing?

He tilts his head a fraction—stern, insistent, perhaps a tad impatient. “Allow me to indulge.”

“Me, or in me?” I say playfully.

“Both.” His tone is deadpan, his expression unreadable.

“Of course. Why not both?” I quip, trying to keep my voice light even though the anticipation nearly brings me to my knees. It doesn’t help that the hormones of pregnancy heighten the intensity of everything, especially arousal.

I give Tarak a little smile and dutifully turn around.

Suddenly, his hands are on my waist, sliding over my hips, caressing my ass. He moves in, molding his warm, hard torso against my back.

His pants have miraculously disappeared. His cock intrudes on the small of my back, pressed between us, a constant reminder of his hunger—and restraint.

He’s a man who can tolerate almost any kind of pain.

It’s almost scary how long he can hold out.

But he chooses to prolong the tension, drawing it out with skill and control, like a master musician with his instrument of choice.

I don’t mind.

He can do whatever he wants, especially when his touch feels so good.

He applies a squirt of body wash—sweet, vanilla-scented, deliciously silky—then proceeds to rub it all over me, sliding his devious hands over my breasts, encircling my nipples with his thumbs, slipping over my belly, down between my thighs.

Pressing his lips against my neck, kissing me, grazing my skin with his fangs.

Biting me oh-so-gently as he slips his fingers between my thighs and easily finds my already tender clit.

I’m so ready.

He teases me with his thumb and slips his fingers deeper inside me.

Closing my eyes, I writhe and moan, pressing my lower back against him, feeling his hardness, which has become even harder.

A low growl issues from deep within him, reverberating through me.

I’m in heaven already.

I tip over the edge into a slow, devastating climax.

The first.

He brings my arms above my head, capturing my wrists with his other hand, which he presses against the wall as he gently moves his body up and down, pleasuring me with his fingers over and over again.

The beginnings of another orgasm stir—a series of waves that build higher and higher until I come again, turning into a helpless, quivering mess.

The second.

The soapy suds are rinsed away.

He brings my arms down. Releases me. Draws me away, stepping out of the shower and draping a fluffy towel over my shoulders.

He wraps me up in warmth and softness. Another towel is procured, this one wrapped around his waist, barely concealing his erection.

The plush white towel contrasts with his silver hardness: chiseled torso and sculpted abs, the result of years and years of brutal training and combat.

“Tarak…” I whisper, engulfed by wonder all over again.

It never gets old.

“Shh.” He puts a finger to my lips as if not wanting to break our trancelike spell.

Then, he proceeds to dry me all over with the soft towel before letting it drop to the floor.

Naked, I’m led to our bedroom, my bare feet crushing the soft carpet.

“Sit down,” Tarak orders.

“All right.” Flushed, warm, tingling all over, with the aftershocks of climax coursing through me, I smile, wondering where he’s going with this.

I perch on the edge of the bed.

He gets on the bed, too, behind me.

Then, he starts to massage my lower back, which has been carrying a lot of weight.

I ache down there. I’m stiff and uncomfortable—I didn’t realize how much.

Tarak gently kneads my body and works out the knots, making me feel tender and supple.

A sweet aroma fills the air—lavender and jasmine. His fingertips are coated in silky liquid.

Is he using… massage oil?

How would he even know about that, or where to get it?

But he is Tarak, after all.

He can do anything and everything.

Rule the Nine Galaxies with an iron fist. Give me the best pregnancy massage of my life, and make it sensual as hell.

My toes tingle from how good it feels. My cheeks are burning. I could disappear into delirious, happy eternity right now.

I moan softly as he works on my back. He knows exactly where the tension is, how much pressure to apply, and what points to press to send a goosebumpy ripple of pleasure all over my body.

He’s both tender and firm, and his patience is seemingly endless.

But I can’t ignore the obvious—his unsated arousal.

So I let him have his way with me, surrendering to the feeling of being taken care of. When he’s done, I slowly turn around and look up to see him staring at me with deep, crimson intensity.

I uncap the small glass vial of oil and pour it onto my hands. Then, I rub it all over him, making his already gleaming skin glisten even more.

And he lets me.

Stars, he’s so delectable. I just want to eat him up.

He watches in fascination and surprise, a hint of a smile playing on his lips.

I ogle him even more, hardly believing my blessed luck—that I get to have this powerful, otherworldly being all to myself, and he isn’t distant or lofty when he’s with me.

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 only he could 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’s big.

I knew that already.

The sight of 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.