‘Let me have you.’ His mouth moves against my ear.
Then he speaks inside my head, his voice reverberating like a drum in my skull.
TELL ME YES.
There’s no world in which I’d refuse him.
Not like this. Not with his hands all over my body. Not with his claws against my flesh. His caress between my legs. His teeth on my throat, biting down. All I want is more of him, whatever he is willing to give. The least I can do is reciprocate.
The word is fresh blood bursting from a gash. It is a curse. It is a prayer.
‘Yes.’
And then he enters me. He penetrates my softest parts, his clawed fingers gouging my too-hot skin as he possesses every part of me. And yet even as he claims me, the sensation of his body against mine, his heat inme, all around me, both solid and ephemeral, a touch and a thought … even then, a new sensation takes hold.
My body – so often not my own, so often working and moving and feeling at the whims of something I can’t control – grows heavy with purpose.
With power.
PERFECT, his voice rolls like thunder in my mind.GORGEOUS. YOU ARE THE UNIVERSE. YOU ARE ENDLESS. TAKE ME. ENDURE ME. FORGIVE ME.
He envelops me like a galaxy of pleasure.
The last vestiges of fear abate and I’m left with nothing but a churning, agonizing desire. This unreal creature, this vision of the god they call Anguish, his shadowed hands and his body and his voice, imbue me with a knowing that’s all-consuming. I know that his deep thrusts inside me, his claws gouging my hips, the darkness coiling all around me … it is all worship.
He is worshipingme.
And when we come together, he gasps my name into the cosmos, and my mind is full of him, and my pleasure is impossible to contain. I come apart at the seams, spread across the stars, until the light of every sun caresses me as I ride wave after wave of orgasm.
I fall limp, skin quivering, gasping for breath.
I’m still wrapped in his impossible arms. I blink, expecting the room to come back into focus. But thereis only darkness and silence all around me. The heat of the fire is gone, replaced by an ethereal chill. I feel the wind on my face, a voice in my ear, though I can’t understand what it’s saying. Exhaustion takes hold as I drift in this liminal darkness.
Am I dead at last? Or have the sisters sent me far away, across time and space to some unknown world?
My thoughts fade, becoming meaningless. The world falls away, and sleep consumes me.
11
Six Weeks Ago
I take the job because I need the money. Normally I wouldn’t. The fare is two passengers, both men. My typical policy is that I don’t transport men who outnumber me. But I’m behind on rent after a bad case of the flu put me in the hospital for a few days, and I’ve been living on dehydrated noodles for the past three weeks.
I study the passengers’ bios on my viewscreen, and I know that despite my gut’s warning, it’s the right choice to take them.
The memory of my boss’s voice comes to me:If you keep insisting on being so picky with your fares, you won’t last long here. We take what we can get. You grew up on New Earth; you know that.
I do know that. And he’s right.
When I touch down at the appointed pickup spot, my passengers are waiting with warm smiles. One of them is tall and gangly, pale, with eyes too big for hishead and a wide mouth. The other is of average height and build. He’s blandly attractive, with well-styled dark hair. They wear tailored suits, and their luggage is designer. I know the type. They’re new money.Dirtymoney. They either run a gambling den or a smuggling operation, or both. But their bios aren’t flagged for any sexual offences, and their credits, while probably obtained by questionable means, are legit.
I offer to help them with their bags, and they politely decline. I give them the usual spiel: Take-off is in ten minutes; make sure you secure your personal items properly; here’s how to strap in; let me know if there are any health concerns I should know about before take-off. They nod, smiling, and offer their thanks as they board my ship.
Many travelers require reminders before take-off, repetition of the rules. These men require none. They sit down, secure their seatbelts, and wait. We’re ready for take-off within three minutes. They are model passengers.
As we ascend toward the atmosphere, the ground falling out from under us, my throat tightens. There’s no reason for my anxiety. I’ve done this a thousand times. The dash readouts are normal.
At the corner of my viewscreen is a real-time feed of the passenger bay. I need to see if my passengers do anything that might put their lives at risk. To ensure their safety. And to ensure mine.
