Tor (Women of Earth Book 2) (15 page)

His hand slipped beneath the hem of the shirt she wore. His finger traced the line of her panties where leg met rear, then moved on to trace the space between her cheeks through the nylon of the cheap and basic undergarment. Reaching the waistband, Tor flattened his hand against the small of her back. So small a thing and yet her body arched with it. Tendrils of longing crept upward through her veins to her breasts and downward. Moisture pooled where none had been before.

Buttons released and the shirt she wore fell open to reveal what no other man had seen in its entirety. Wynne's instinct urged her to close the exposing gap, but one look at Tor's face stopped her hand. Her heart skipped a beat when he smiled.

"You're everything I thought you would be."

"Really?" she asked, not sounding breathy and sexy as she hoped, but more like relieved, which she was.

Tor chuckled. His tongue flicked out to lick the tip of her nipple. "Yes, Kushma, really," he said, his breath sending a shiver through the damp spot his tongue had left behind. He drew the nipple into his mouth.

Dampness no longer pooled between her legs. It gushed. Wynne moaned and the moan turned to a whimper as he left one breast only to address the other. She had no idea she was leaning into him until he fell back, laughing, and she went with him. He lifted her over him and rolled with her until he was over her and staring down into her eyes.

Could he see what she was thinking? What she was feeling? She hoped so because she had no words to describe it. Breasts to chest, belly to belly, flesh to flesh, his body enveloped hers. Want and need consumed her.

"Please," she whispered.

"With pleasure," he murmured and then he was sliding down her body, leaving a fiery trail of kisses in his wake.

His fingers grasped the edges of her panties. She felt them slide along her thighs and over her knees, and then they were gone and he was standing over her displayed in all his masculine glory. No sculpted statue could be more beautiful than Tor.

He positioned her feet, spread her knees, and positioned himself between them. Her hips rose to meet his probing erection.

She expected some pain, but all she felt was mild discomfort as her body expanded and molded to fit the unaccustomed intrusion. Tor moved slowly, tender in his care. He watched her face.

"Tell me," he instructed, his voice hoarse with his own lust.

Tell him? What could she tell him? That this was everything she dreamed it would be? That what she was feeling went beyond those dreams? That he was perfect?

"More," she whispered. She wanted more. Her body needed more, but she had no words to tell him what that was.

He nodded and his hand fell between them. His finger danced over and around her clit. Her body was already charged with the tendrils of passion, but with his touch, her passion grew, budding into that indefinable something that it craved. Heat rose, sensitive nerves tingled in anticipation. Her hips rocked, seeking more and more. His fingers continued to work their magic until she was panting with the need for release.

Her orgasm came in a blossoming of sensation that burned through her like a shower of sparks, prickling over her skin and leaving her flushed and sated.

It took her a moment to realize that Tor was fully seated inside her and moving. More surprising, her body was moving with him. Her legs were wrapped around him. Her heels were locked at the tops of his thighs. Together and apart, together and apart they moved, he, seeking his own release, she, feeling the need to help him find it.

And then something both delightful and wondrous happened. The tendrils of desire began to grow again, faster and stronger, as Tor's body pounded into hers. Her hips rose to meet his thrusts. This time when she came, it was more of an explosion than a blossoming. Her body shook with it. Tor drove himself into her one last time, before his body stiffened and he buried his face in the crook of her neck. He groaned with his release and then lay still.

Her hand went to his head and she ran her fingers over the bristles that were just slightly longer and softer than those on his cheeks and chin. Tears welled in her eyes, not of disappointment or shame, but of an emotion so strong it overwhelmed her.

"Kushma," he called her as he rolled from her and took her with him.

She didn't know what it meant, but she liked the sound when he said it.

Wynne wasn't ignorant when it came to sex. Mira had made sure of that. But in all her sister's detailed ramblings about what went on between a man and a woman, she'd never managed to get beyond the physical. Maybe, for Mira, it was only physical, or maybe, even for her daring sister, it was one of those emotions so deeply personal it couldn't be named.

Chapter 16

If Wynne had been used to sleeping with a man in her bed, she might not have fully awakened. Spooning with her naked rear end tucked into his warm and cozy crotch was certainly something she could easily adjust to. But the comfortable feeling was too new, so instead of dozing off into the warmth of her new cocoon, she forced her eyes to remain open to savor it.

Tor's arm was draped over her waist. His hand cupped her breast. His head was curled over hers. She'd been pleasantly surprised when he didn't chase her off back to her own bed after their encounter. His bed wasn't meant for two and Tor was a large man, but once he'd recovered, he simply rearranged them so that she was partially draped over him with her head on his shoulder and her hand on his chest. His arm beneath her cradled her to him. She liked that position, too.

They didn't speak, but he absently stroked her hair while she drew lazy circles on his chest with her finger. It was a comfortable silence and she was happy with it. She would have gladly stayed there until the sun called her in the morning.

At first she thought the sound was one of the many people tended to make in their sleep. It wasn't suspicious or threatening, just a loud sniff and then nothing, but another came a minute later along with an infinitesimal cry as if someone was trying to hide their tears. That sound was accompanied by the opening and closing of a door.

Wynne slipped from beneath Tor's relaxed embrace, slipped her panties on, and grabbed her shirt from the floor. Truca's room was the most likely source of the cry, so she checked there first. The bed was empty. She hurried to the main room, but that was empty too. The door to the outside, however, was closed but unlatched.

Although she'd been assured time and again that the compound was safe, Wynne was still leery of the creatures that lived outside its walls. That, and the frightening thought of what the girl's purpose might be had her running to the door.

The light in the dome was on. Truca was there, but knowing where she was did nothing to alleviate Wynne's concern. A muffled crash sent her flying.

Truca hadn't closed the door to the dome, either. Wynne's relief at seeing the girl was short lived. Truca was methodically tearing pieces from the inside of the hopper and tossing them through the hatch. The most recent castaway almost hit her. Wynne climbed in after her and forcefully stopped her from tearing out another piece.

"Truca! Stop. What do you think you're doing?"

"He's going to send me away. After all he said, he's going to send me away." She struggled against Wynne's hold, but not too hard.

"Who? Tor? He wouldn't do that, Truca. He couldn't."

"I won't go. I won't. He can't send me away." Truca started to cry in earnest. "I'm the mechanic. They need me. They all said so. They need me. They need me."

Translation: I need them.

It was exactly what Wynne feared. Truca knew she could no longer be the child she once was and the young woman worried that they wouldn't want her if she changed. It was nonsense, of course, but strange fears surfaced under stress.

"They do more than need you, Truca. They love you. No one wants to send you away."

"A lot you know. You think because you had sex with him he'll keep you?" she asked viciously. "You're wrong. He's sending you away, too."

Oh-oh. Wynne wasn't ashamed of what she'd done, but she hadn't planned on making a public announcement either. Was that what this was all about? Truca was young. Tor was her superhero. It would be perfectly natural to believe she was in love with him.

"Truca, honey, I'm sorry. If I had known how you felt about him..."

"Me? You think I..." Under other circumstances, Truca's horrified look would have been comical. "Eeuw. Tor's old enough to be my father."

"Then I don't understand what you're talking about."

The next look was one Wynne was all too familiar with. Her brother, David, was an expert at it. Dorrie and Mathias, ages fourteen and thirteen, hadn't quite perfected it, but were working hard at it. It was the oh-my-god-I-can't-believe-you're-so-stupid-look. She'd assumed the young woman was too old to use that look and it made her wonder how old Truca really was.

"He's sending us away. You, me, and Mohawk."

Misunderstanding weren't unusual, but Wynne had always wondered why most of them had to come to light in the middle of the night. "Can't this wait until morning" never seemed to go over well, either. She stifled a yawn.

"Honey, he's not sending us away. We're going first, that's all. The others will meet us there."

Wynne didn't think there were levels to the I-can't-believe-you're-so-stupid-look. She was wrong. "They're not going to meet us. They're leaving us and Tor's not coming back." Stone faced and stubborn, Truca wasn't going to budge.

"Maybe you'd better explain. From the beginning, please." Wynne backed out of the hatch. "And no more throwing parts."

Truca followed, bringing a soft cloth bag with her. Wynne pointed to a sturdy looking case, a match for the one she'd chosen for herself.

"Sit."

Truca reluctantly sat.

"Now tell me why you think they're sending us away."

"I don't think. I know."

Wynne sighed. "My bad. How do you know?"

"I couldn't sleep. I started thinking. There are a few more things I can do to lighten the load. Posy and Tor are both big men and Mohawk's no lightweight. Ish is no lightweight either, but don't say anything. She's sensitive about it."

Ish? Sensitive? The effort it took not to laugh made Wynne's eyes water. "I'm listening," she choked out.

"So I came out here."

"Without telling anyone where you were."

"I'm not a child," Truca said. She had no idea of Wynne's fearful concern. A good sign. "Anyway, you were busy with Tor."

"Moving right along," Wynne prompted as she lost the battle of the blush.

"I was cleaning up and I just happened to look inside." She held up the cloth bag and threw it to Wynne who missed the catch and had to leave her seat to retrieve it. "I took it back to my room, got angry, and came back."

"You snooped," Wynne accused, partly because it was true and partly because she had to fetch the bag. She opened it and began to snoop, too, a point that wasn't lost on Truca. "Fine," Wynne huffed. "Sometimes it's the only way to learn.

The two conspirators shared a nod.

The contents of the bag held no clues for Wynne. There were several credit chips, a bracelet she recognized from Gisela's stash, and two pieces of paper. One looked like a note, the other a letter. She handed the papers to Truca.

"You'll have to read them to me. I can't read Godan." She nodded at the young woman's surprised look. "You're right, it's time I learned."

Truca picked up the short note first. "It's to Mohawk. It gives him the place he's to go in Celos where he can contact someone named Roark and arrange transport for us. Us," she repeated. "You and me. The credits should cover it." She looked up at Wynne. "Now will you believe me?"

"And the other?" Wynne asked, too stunned to think.

"That's to you. Mohawk's supposed to give it to you with the bracelet. After we leave," she added pointedly.

"Read it."

"Kushma," she began.

The translator called it an endearing term which meant there was no literal translation. Tor had called her that before and Wynne had taken its use to be the same as people used terms like honey or sweetie. They didn't necessarily have any significance, but why start a letter that way if it didn't? Was she wrong about its meaning?

"You know where the bracelet comes from," Truca read on. "I regret that I have nothing else to gift to you in remembrance of our time together. Had circumstance been otherwise, I would have purchased something more to your tastes.

"Please keep Truca close to your heart as I have kept her close to mine. She is like you in so many ways. She shares your smile. Help her find that smile again. Help her grow strong again. She will hate me, I know, but you will understand this is the only way I have to save what is left of my crew.

"The gods have long forgotten me and lately, the fates have blown only ill winds my way, yet there you were; a blessing in my last hours of freedom, and my hope for Truca's future. You say that you are not, yet in my mind, you will always be my princess, the woman beyond my reach. Tor"

Truca looked up from the letter. "Need any more proof? He's not coming back, Wynne. I don't know what he's going to do, but it isn't good. He's sending me away because he knows he won't be coming back. I can't let him do that. I won't."

The girl wasn't only thinking of herself. She was thinking of Tor.

A solid knot of dread formed in Wynne's stomach. Tor knew how important it was to Truca to remain with his crew. They were her family. She could also think of several reasons why he would want the girl to spend some time away. She needed medical care and counseling. But never seeing her again? The letter didn't say so directly, but it certainly sounded like it, and there was only one reason she could think of as to why he wouldn't return.

He couldn't do that to the girl. Wynne wouldn't let him.

"I'll kill him myself," she muttered. "Right after I kill Mohawk."

"What?" Truca's shock had Wynne waving her hand in apology.

"It's just a phrase. I don't mean it literally," She assured her. "Ass chewing isn't literal, either, but they're about to get one of those, too." She waved at the hopper. "How long will it take you to put this back together?"

"I hid the important parts. The rest of the stuff was just for looks. It won't take me long to fix it."

Truca's grin was sly and encouraging. Tor, at least, was right about this. The young woman's ordeal would change her, but not in the most important ways. Her spirit had survived and with that spirit behind her, so would Truca. He'd missed the mark, however, about something else and it made Wynne laugh.

"You're not like me at all. You're like my sister. That's a good thing, by the way." She looked around the dome. "It's almost dawn. You start making repairs. I'll start making breakfast. When everyone else is up, we'll have this out."

Big talk. Wynne had never 'had it out' with anyone in her life. It wasn't that she didn't get angry. It was that she couldn't hold on to it. Confrontations made her stomach clutch, her heart pound, and her hands tremble. When she was younger, she would cry. She'd been fortunate that she'd had people who only had her best interest at heart. Most of the time.

Her parents and grandmother, God rest them, were long gone. Mira couldn't fight this one for her. Mohawk had obviously chosen the other side. She was on her own.

Wasn't this what she'd secretly wished for? Wasn't this why she'd looked forward to going away to college all those years ago before her world went to hell? It was, but the independence she'd looked for back then was more about what she wore and how late she came home. They were baby steps. This was a giant leap.

She did what she always did when faced with something she dreaded. She squared her shoulders and took a deep breath.

"You can do this," she told herself. "You can do this."