I need you, Cora, he whispers in my mind, his hips thrusting forward, desperate for my touch. I want you. Let me fuck you, please.
No, that’s not quite right. I swallow, pressing my fingers against my clit and moving them in slow circles as I imagine it, gasping a little with the pleasure that shoots through me. Claiming. That’s what they call it. Let me claim you, Cora.
God, those words.
They seem so much more primal, somehow, more passionate. More permanent.
Fire licks through my veins as I imagine Druxik lifting me up, sitting in the captain’s chair, and setting me in his lap, his thick cock pressed between my legs. I imagine his broad hand fisting my hair, drawing my mouth back down to his, his other hand guiding his shaft between my legs.
You’re so wet, he whispers against my mouth, his muscular body shuddering with desire as his fingers slide over me, pressing against my clit in the same place I’m touching myself now, the rough fingertips teasing my aroused flesh. Gods, Cora, you make me so hard. I need to be inside you…
I moan, sliding two fingers inside myself as I move my other hand faster, needing desperately to come. I’ve forgotten about the shower, forgotten about everything except the fantasy in my head.
Druxik’s calloused hands grip my waist in my imagination as I straddle him, his thick cock buried inside my pussy, bigger than any man I’ve ever been with before. He fills me completely, claiming me as surely as he said he would, possessing me with every hard stroke.
But I’m possessing him too, riding him as I clasp his face in my hands, kissing him wildly as I feel my orgasm approaching, every nerve in my body alight with pleasure.
It’s so good, better than anything I’ve ever felt, better than I could have ever imagined it could be. His cock inside me, his fingers against my clit, his tongue tangled with mine…
“Oh god, oh… oh!”
I moan aloud when the orgasm hits me, gasping out Druxik’s name as I come hard. My knees go weak, and I lean forward, pressing a hand against the wall as my hips buck, my body clenching with need, wanting more. Between my legs, my hand moves frantically, trying to draw out the last of the sensations. But the pleasure is fleeting, and I sink back against the shower wall after a moment, panting.
It’s all I can do to finish washing myself off. My legs feel like wet noodles, and my heart is pounding in my chest. I can’t help but think that if I can climax like that just from imagining sex with Druxik—what would it be like in reality?
Don’t think about it, I tell myself firmly.
It’ll never happen, and for my own good, I need to stop feeding my own fantasies.
I rinse the soap out of my hair, quickly finish scrubbing the rest of my body, and get out of the shower to dry off. There’s a small mirror in the bathing room, and I turn toward it as I reach up to dry my hair.
My gaze catches on my reflection, and I pause. Then my hands drift downward instead, my fingers brushing across my abdomen and over the long, thin scar below my navel.
My heartbeat slows as I trace it, the adrenaline rush of my fantasy fading as I come back to reality. I’m still thinner than I used to be, my hair shorter than it once was. But all of that pales in comparison to the complex relationship I have with this narrow mark on my skin that changed me forever.
I’m alive because of it.
Yet I also lost something on account of it.
I close my eyes, fighting back the memories of my cancer. Of loneliness and sickness like I’d never felt before. Of all my friends drifting away one by one, as if my illness were somehow contagious.
I remember losing my hair and pretending that it was okay, that it was just an excuse to buy fun, brightly colored wigs. And I remember throwing the wigs away when they came in the mail, hating them from the minute I saw them because the hot pink and mint green and navy blue fibers just reminded me that I was sick, that I could be dying, that I wasn’t me anymore.
When the doctor told me I’d have to have a hysterectomy, it wasn’t even a question that I would say yes. After all, I wouldn’t have been able to have kids anyway if I was dead. The surgery would save my life, she told me, with deep wells of sympathy in her eyes. The only question was how soon I could schedule the appointment.
Biting my lip and blinking back tears, I push the memories away. Those months were the darkest ones of my life. Most days, I feel good for having beaten cancer, for coming out on the other side. I’m proud of myself for going to therapy, for going back to school, for living my life, even if it didn’t look exactly like the one I thought I’d have.
People said I was brave, but I didn’t really feel brave. What else was I supposed to do?
I sacrificed a part of my body, giving up the chance to bring another life into the world, in order to live myself. And I knew I could find fulfillment in other ways. I’d always wanted to be a mother, but I could have other dreams.
It’s the same way I approached my new life on Kalix once I realized that we weren’t going back to Earth. I didn’t feel particularly brave or strong for not running and screaming in terror when I found out aliens were real and that I was going to live among them—it was just how my life was playing out. The cards had been shuffled yet again, and this was how they’d fallen.
I’m lucky, really. I lost the opportunity for one life, the ordinary kind of life most people live, and gained the opportunity for an adventure, a life most people could never dream of.
But the one part of this life that I know I can’t have—that I can never have—is the mate bond.
I know from everything I’ve learned about the Kalixians that the entire purpose of the mate bond is offspring. That’s why they’ve embraced it, because it means their species won’t die now, despite the genocide of the Orkun. Their warriors mating with the human women means a future for their people. But I can’t be a part of that future—because I can’t have children anymore.
My hand falls away from the scar, and I lift my chin, looking at my reflection in the mirror. I let the knowledge settle over me, reminding myself that there’s no point in dreaming about things I can’t have. No point in torturing myself with it. I know Druxik was right about our supposed “bond,” and I would have told him exactly the same thing if he hadn’t said it first.
It was just a mistake.
Nothing more.
10
Druxik
The next morning, I’m already out of bed when the lights come on in the med bay. The healing pod might not have been able to regenerate my destroyed arm, but it did an excellent job with my overall recovery.
I feel healthy and well, although the robotic arm still feels strange, as if it’s not really a part of me. Osynth has said it will take time, but I feel anger and impatience flaring in me every time I try to use it and fail. It’s worse that it’s my dominant hand, making me feel even more clumsy and useless than I anticipated.
Zhori comes to see me as I leave the med bay, insisting I resume my captain’s duties and take my place as the leader of the mission now that I’m healed enough.
I can do that, to an extent. As long as I don’t have to manually pilot the ship, I’m capable of setting controls and giving instructions. As the day wears on, I try not to isolate myself too much from the other warriors—they need to see their leader to maintain confidence in our mission. But I eat my meals alone so that they won’t see me fumbling with the utensils or struggling to eat.