4
They married at dawn the next morning, with him wearing an old suit they managed to find hidden in a trunk. Dusty and creased, the style was way out of date, but he looked quite smart. She managed to find a frock and a shawl, the pink fabric faded. She left her hair loose, a rarity, given her nursing duties required she have it pulled out of the way. The fluffy curls framed her face.
“You look beautiful,” he said, the sincerity shining in his words and eyes.
Hands clasped, they stood in the yard, the mountain as their sentinel, and spoke the vows in their hearts. And for a brief moment, as they kissed, the sun managed to pierce the haze and shine on them.
Surely a sign their luck would change.
Their wedding night seemed too far for a couple who’d been shyly dancing around their attraction for a long time.
Taking him by the hand, she tugged him into her bedroom, and as she stood with uncertainty before him, he realized, She’s my wife.
He was allowed to kiss and touch her.
As if a dam broke, their frantic need overwhelmed. Their mouths met in a clumsy crash of teeth and lips. But they didn’t mind. The kiss hot and arousing. Clumsy fingers tugged at clothing as they did their best to denude the other. He got only brief glimpses of her body. Smooth skin. A curve of a hip. The swell of her breast.
Their lips clung hotly, her soft moan swelling a cock already fit to burst.
The bed creaked as they fell upon it, the touch of skin on skin electrifying.
Jool lay atop her, nestled between her parted legs, his shaft pinned between their bodies, throbbing insistently. Her fingers dug into his scalp, holding him close, their mouths open that their tongues might slide against each other.
He wanted to kiss her forever, but she squirmed so deliciously. Rather than embarrass himself on his wedding night by finishing too quickly, he chose to ensure her pleasure first.
Tearing his mouth from hers—giving her several quick pecks when she protested—he nibbled his way down to a tempting, puckered nipple. He rubbed his face against it. Felt her shiver. Heard her moan that turned into a cry as he latched on.
He sucked at the peak, drawing it into his mouth, suctioning it, gently scraping it with his teeth.
She moaned again and said, “Touch me.”
She commanded. He obeyed.
He shifted to the side, all the while still playing with her breasts, letting his hand travel down over the slim plane of her body, through the trimmed thatch on her mound. Her hips pumped against his hand, and he cupped her, feeling the heat of her. Moisture met his fingertips when he parted her nether lips, and it was his turn to moan against her flesh as he rubbed the slit of her sex, back and forth.
While not a man of much experience, he did have more than a passing acquaintance with how to please a woman. And himself.
He slid down her body, lips trailing across her flesh, making her gasp and arch as he made his way to the heated honey between her legs. He lapped her like a man dying of thirst. Flicks of his tongue that had her bucking. An arm around each thigh anchoring her in place that his tongue might tease her flesh, and he didn’t stop until he drew an orgasm from her.
As the pleasure clung to her, he slid a finger into her sex, feeling the spasm of her climax. It subsided, but not completely, as he kept lapping at her, teasing her clitoris until the tension he sought clenched his finger tight.
Only then did he finally cease and cover her body with his own. “Onaria.” He murmured her name softy.
She opened her eyes, the lids heavy with passion, her lips swollen by his kisses. He slid into her. Her gaze widened as he stretched her. Lips parted on a sigh.
“I love you,” she whispered.
“Until the end of time,” he said, thrusting into her. Pure bliss. His head tilted back as he held himself inside her, feeling the tight grip of her sex, the heated pleasure of being inside the woman he loved.
“Kiss me,” she demanded.
He gladly complied, their lips meshing hotly as he began to move inside her, short strokes that mostly ground him deeper. Swirling and pushing, trying to hold on, but it was so hard. He quickened his pace. Her hips met him stroke for stroke, and her soft, panting cries urged him onward. He thrust faster, and her channel tightened. Squeezed.
When she came, her body literally rippled, and he couldn’t help himself. He pushed one last time as deep as he could go and climaxed. A perfect joining that left him happier than he’d ever imagined.
They spent that afternoon making love, and for a few hours, she could almost pretend everything would turn out all right.
A few days later, her cough took a turn for the worse.
5
It killed Jool to hear Onaria gasping for breath. To see the brightness of her blood on cloth, the pain pulling her features taut.
So unfair. They’d just gotten married. He’d hoped for a second chance. A reprieve.
A miracle.
Tucking her into bed, he headed into the yard and kept moving, past the fence to the very edge of the mountains themselves. Glancing upwards, he grabbed hold of the stone and began to climb, needing the exertion. He exulted in the pain as his bare fingers clung to rock. He made it a quarter of the way to the top of the first ridge and collapsed onto a jutting ledge.
Panting with the exertion, he couldn’t stop the hot tears that filled his eyes and rolled down his cheeks. Anguish, but also anger. He pounded his fists into the ground, not caring he scraped skin and drew blood. It couldn’t penetrate the ache in his heart. Down below, he’d have to be strong for Onaria. But out here, alone, he screamed his frustration to the sky. Wailed his anguish as he broke apart inside.
What would he do if she died? He didn’t want to be alone. Didn’t want to live without her.
It took a while before he’d exhausted his pain. He huddled on the stone, his mind whirling, looking for an answer. But there wasn’t a way to fix this.
Don’t be so sure.
He hated the whispered optimism. Where did it come from? Because he saw no reason to hope.
As he got to his feet, he felt the stinging in his hands. Turning them over, he grimaced as he noticed his scholarly fingers scraped and bloodied from the climb. And he’d yet to return. The imagined pain brought a wince.
Not wanting Onaria to wake and worry, he began his descent, only to curse as his talisman somehow managed to dangle free and get caught on a jagged piece of rock. Plastered to the stone, his feet wedged in cracks, he tugged at the chain, but it was well and truly looped.
“Stupid thing.” He fisted the broken cog and yanked hard enough it bit into his flesh. The chain snapped, the suddenness almost sending him flying from his precarious perch.
He clenched the artifact and hated it in that moment. Perhaps if he’d spent more time focusing on solutions to save his planet, rather than digging into the past, he’d have found a way to reverse what had been done.
There’s still a way.
Damn his mind for being contrary.
The cog he clenched warmed in his fist. He loosened his fingers and glanced at the broken piece sitting in his palm. He’d smeared it with blood, the wetness seeping into the crevices.
I can help.
I? Who was this “I” that thought to make him feel crazy? He threw the chain, and the talisman far from him and finished his climb.