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“…so special…our song…want to do more…Earth…always taking…and taking…from me…I wish…”
They allowed her to cry, petting and uttering soothing sounds, surrounding her so she was encased in their shelter. They held her as her grief began to exhaust itself, leaving her so terribly empty.
She shivered despite the warmth of the men crowded around her. She felt the chill of her world’s grasp, unrelenting and cold. It was always there, but she could often shove it to the edges of her consciousness. She sometimes fooled herself into thinking it wasn’t there.
As her sobs quieted, Sherv whispered in her ear. “So sorry, Irene. So sorry they hurt you. What can we do?”
She dropped her hands onto her lap. She slowly raised her face to look at his. He stared at her, anguish unhidden. He suffered for her, the beautiful man who’d given her the gift of her first kiss. When she looked at Jemi, she saw agony. Rusp was tightlipped in impotent anger.
They were eager to help her. They couldn’t.
We never had a chance…
She swallowed the fresh assault of heartache threatening to bring on a renewed wave of grief. “You can’t do anything…except hold me. Let me have this moment where Earth can’t touch me. Give me this to hold onto after you’re gone, because it’s all I can keep.”
Jemi blinked hard and fast, as if he might give in to tears too. Rusp closed his eyes and breathed deeply, as if doing so kept him from erupting.
Sherv cupped her cheeks. He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Take time you need. We here.” He kissed her nose. Her cheeks.
Irene wasn’t sure why she pressed her lips to his, except she couldn’t get enough of the contact. She flailed in an ocean of sorrow. Sherv, Jemi, and Rusp were her only means of staying afloat.
Sherv hesitated, then his mouth firmed on hers. When his tongue flicked across her lips, she opened to him. If she had to drown, she’d drown in him. In the three of them.
Her insides lit at the delicious taste of male and the feeling of firm bodies pressed to her own. Her hands moved on Sherv’s chest as the kiss deepened and chased the chill of aloneness from her, then her arms circled his neck. She clung.
His lips parted, and he uttered her name. He kissed her again, and she let every thought flee.
She arched into the hands moving over her, smoothing over her head, neck, back, breasts, stomach, thighs. The clamor for more woke animal instinct, and when warning sensations bubbled in her brain, she shoved them away.
As she’d said, this was all she had. She’d allow the destiny that had brought her to Clan Sherv dictate what came next.
They stood, lifting her. Sherv claimed her from Jemi and carried her out of the room and down the hall to another room. It had the biggest bed she’d ever seen. She offered no resistance.
Chapter Eight
Sherv paused. He stood with Irene draped in his arms next to the clan’s sleeping mat with its metal-barred headboard. He couldn’t bring himself to ask the question she might say no to. He simply stood there, his gaze on her.
She was silent too. Her dark eyes beseeching, she kissed him.
He took it as a yes.
He lowered her to the mattress, its linens rumpled because the men never thought to tidy it when they rose for the day. She showed no sign she minded but continued to kiss him, her fingers alternating between clutching at his shirt and rubbing over his chest.
He ached for her pain. She was distraught, and for Irene to suffer was torture. Yet her desperate need to claim consolation, exhibited by a growing fierceness for physical interaction, set him on fire. Was he wrong to take her to bed? Was he claiming advantage of a moment of emotional weakness?
The questions couldn’t keep him from touching her everywhere. Her breasts were large and soft, and she moaned as he cupped and squeezed them. She writhed beneath him. Sherv didn’t have to look to know Jemi and Rusp, who bent over her on either side of him, were fondling her too, probably in the most intimate of places.
When a light questing stroke brushed his already wakening crotch, heat filled his cocks. Questions of right or wrong fled. He had to have her, to take her from the hurts she’d suffered. To erase the vision of her sobbing a heartbreak he couldn’t imagine.
He pulled on her blouse, barely able to keep from yanking it to get at her naked flesh. He found a taut but far from skinny body beneath. She was solid and in perfect proportion to the heavy breasts enclosed by a simple white bra.
Groaning in worship, he shifted to plant his lips just above her navel. Sherv began to kiss his way up to those incredible mounds.
Irene trembled under the glorious assault. As soon as Sherv left off her tingling lips, Rusp homed in.
She couldn’t put a name to the taste of him as his tongue plundered her mouth. He and his Dramok were of a similar flavor, but there was an unidentifiable difference…the only word her scattered thoughts offered to categorize Rusp was wild. Perhaps it was the utter abandon he threw in his kiss, the sense of feral hunger. He didn’t merely taste. He devoured her.
Sherv was mouthing a wet trail toward her sternum, his hands clutching her breasts, pulling at the cups of her bra. She gained the presence of mind to stop tugging on his hair to grasp the closure between her breasts and open.
