The Safety of Nowhere (5 page)

His mouth closed over hers. She tasted her wet pussy on his lips. “Oh fuck,” she begged. The pleasure spiraled into a blissed-out delirium.

He slid his hands under her shoulder blades, curled his fingers up to steady her, and
thump
, his body landed hard. She licked his corded muscles while he held her close and pummeled her. He’d have to stop—it was too wild, but he didn’t stop. His body evidently had the power and the will.

A wisp of something was uncurling in her body. She fell back on the bed and looked into his eyes as it advanced.
Thump, thump,
he pounded till the wisping, curling thing roared into life and closed around her, tugging her into a wrenching climax. Dinah jackknifed into him and shook. He kept the rhythm steady until she’d collapsed under him as senseless as spilled jelly. When he pulled his cock from her, she rallied, watching through dim eyes as he shot cum over her belly, each one of his muscles tense, his body beautiful and arching over hers.

* * * *

“You can’t do that to everyone.” Her mind had quieted a little. Her body still felt saturated with sensation. Occasionally an unknown something twitched under her skin and made her muscles jump.

“I can’t do what?” He turned toward her, totally himself again. No more evil master/wicked prince. Who was the default Malcolm? Was it this calm man with his princely look? Or was it someone else?

“If sex is your job, doesn’t it get boring?”

“It’s not a job,” he said.

“That’s right.” She’d read something that said Backusians viewed sex as their great mission in this life. “It’s a sacred calling, right? I don’t mean to be a brat, but that’s a stretch to my backwoods imagination. And while I feel completely marvelous, I can’t really say I’ve been transformed.”

“Did you want to be transformed?”

“No,” Dinah admitted. She’d wanted to feel hot and shaky and experience a mind-erasing, pussy-clenching climax. “I got what I wanted.”

“Good.”

Whose point had she just proven? Did that make him a sex priest or just a dude who was extremely good in bed?

“So tell me how you got to be a sex worker, or whatever.”

“Ambition,” Malcolm answered easily. “A fierce, unbridled will to lead the best possible life.”

“Really?”

“Really. Every man on my planet wants to do what I do. The competition is fantastic, and the training isn’t for the faint of heart. It takes at least ten years of study in most cases.”

“Ten years? So basically you’re like a doctor.” A
sex
doctor. She could see that, but he hadn’t cured her either. He’d just made her feel extremely good.

She settled back against him. “Tell me something else about your planet. What’s it like?”

“Backus?” He touched her pussy with a playful dabbling of fingers. “Backus is extremely wet.”

“Rainy?”

“No. Covered in water. We have very little land.”

“It must be green,” she said, imagining a lush array of emerald foliage. “Or is it all covered in concrete with a billion people piled one over the other.”

“Green,” he assured her. “And fairly spacious. When your whole civilization revolves around matters of sex, you learn to stem the tide of procreation pretty early. We’d be considered underpopulated by Earth’s standards, I suppose.”

“Is that why you came here?”

He didn’t seem to follow her.

“Because Backus is underpopulated? Did you run out of women to give screaming orgasms to?”

Malcolm shook his head. The beginnings of a smile drew attention to his sexy mouth. “Remember I’m ambitious. The tales of Earth women were alluring. Tending to their appetites seemed like a worthy challenge, with both dangers and rewards.”

The dangers being idiots with bombs.

“So what’s it like for you when you ‘attend to women’s needs’? Do you feel anything?”

“Do I feel anything?” That got him to one elbow, staring down at her like she was speaking gibberish. Finally he just said, “Yes,” and settled back, taking her hand. “Every time feels new.”

That was something Dinah wanted to be true. She wanted to be new to him. Unique among the thousands. She wanted it so much, she shied away from it and thought of something else she could ask.

“Do you like Earth women? Are we what you expected?”

He hesitated, and she worried that her planet was about to get a mixed review. “I don’t know how to answer that,” he said, head tilting slightly, “It’s hard for me to think or speak of women in the plural. I’d rather talk about one woman. About you for example.”

“What?” She was appalled.

“Yes.” He studied her. “You’re the only woman I can see. Who knows if any of the others still exist?” Again the warm caress of his perusal traveled over her, like dribbling honey. “You’re not what I expected, because no one could expect you.” He stroked his hand over her body, breast to hip. “You’re beyond imagination. The mind’s projection couldn’t hold a candle to the actual discovery.”

”Are we talking about sex?”

“Sex.” He smiled, stroking his thumb back and forth over her hipbone. “Beauty. Bravery.” He paused. “Too much bravery in fact, and yet I’m fascinated by this push in you. Your energy is sharp—a little like a heated poker. It agitates me in a way that I enjoy.”

“Oh great,” she said.

“The other side of you is infinitely touching.” He leaned away, a look of contemplation on his face. “You took such care of me. And then you kissed my scar while we were in the shower, didn’t you.”

Dinah nodded.

“It excited me.” He dipped his head and kissed the hollow of her shoulder. “It excited me a great deal.”

Through the druggy bliss of all that flattery, Dinah saw the opening to flirt—
Does anything else hurt?
she could say, glancing at his penis. Instead she needed to be straight with him.

“It’s not such a big deal. Kissing wounds is just what people do where I’m from.”

His brows rose slightly at the news.

“Not with strangers,” she amended. “Loved ones. Family members. A kiss when something hurts is supposed to make it better.”

“Make it better.” Something in those words seemed to intrigue him. He rolled onto his back, examining the ceiling. “
Make it better
is the difference, the great distinction between women on Earth and Backus.”

“Backusian women make it worse?”

“No.” He glanced at her, a patient smile lifting half his mouth. “Backusian women offer much that’s good but not this spilling over with concern. They have no wish to soothe or seek out wounds that can be touched and healed. Earth women seem uniquely drawn to this. I’ve caught hints of it at the Body House from time to time, but this is my first full, lingering taste of a woman’s concern. I find it quite intoxicating. Unnerving in the best of ways.”

“You should be careful,” Dinah said.
And so should she.
This handsome man’s complete attention was a lot to take. Her head wasn’t just turning; it was detaching from her quivering body, floating into space. “Maybe a taste for concern will be your firewater.”

“Firewater?”

“Alcohol. It’s probably all myth, but people say that when the European settlers introduced Native Americans to alcohol, the substance was so foreign to them that it caused a fierce and dangerous reaction. They enjoyed the intoxication but hadn’t any tolerance to fight off the effects. Maybe feminine concern will be your firewater, and you’ll soon become a hopeless, stumbling addict, helpless to resist.”

“Undone by a woman’s care. Not the worst way to go out.”

“Yes, but why go out at all?” She pushed herself up, sitting on the bed. “Speaking of a woman’s care, I have to do my chores. Will you be okay on your own for a few hours?”

He looked surprised. Shocked in fact. She thought she saw the facial equivalent of a loud, clanging crash come over him. Was she the first woman to get out of his bed? Never mind. Of course she was.

“I have a small accomplishment addiction,” Dinah admitted. She peered though the gap in the blinds. The sun was lowering. She’d lost nearly a day. “Obsessive gardening’s my only flaw.” That last part was a joke. The first part wasn’t. She couldn’t stand to go to bed without feeling she’d done something. Preferably a lot of things.

“Just let me weed the herb garden.” She rolled away from him onto her feet. “I keep putting it off.”

Those fucking herbs were always nagging at her. She should yank them all out and be done with it. She’d threatened nearly every day when Cy was still alive. “
Why not grow something useful?”
Men always said things like that. In her mind flowers were the only thing to grow. Watery zucchini and sickly tomato plants could not compete in usefulness with bloom.

Which meant the herb garden was in grave need of her attention. The rosemary and mint had run amok, so much so it was hard to see oregano and chives were even there. Every single day she made a promise to herself she’d do it. Every single day she got distracted by her flowerbeds. Today, however, she would triumph. That would make up for the extra time she’d spent in bed.

She found his bag and handed it to him. “They left this for you. Clothes and such.”

“Should I get dressed?” His surprise had faded. Now he just looked warily bemused. In truth, it did seem wrong to leave him. The minute she was off the bed, Dinah felt an unaccustomed sluggishness, a reluctance to go through with it. What would he do while she was gone? She felt a tiny string between her shoulder blades tugging at her to go back to him.

He clearly didn’t like the thought of separation from her much at all. But she couldn’t spend a day without her garden, and he might be here for at least a week, meaning he should get used to her charging out the door.

“Come on.” She rubbed his arm. “Get dressed and come out back with me. The air will do you good. It won’t be more than a few hours.”

He looked inside the bag and pulled out clothes he clearly didn’t recognize. She watched him step into a pair of gray trousers. He pulled on a T-shirt and a sweater. They fit. He looked exquisite, like an ancient movie still. More digging through the bag brought out the infoscans and then the messager.

“What’s this?” he asked.

“It’s from your rescue unit. That thing’s going to buzz or beep or something when they want to come get you.”

“I see.” He looked at her and dropped the black rectangle back where he’d just found it.

Dinah stooped to put Cy’s things back on his trunk. His pocketknife was beautiful, the casing made of bone. She paused to run her finger over it.

“You lost your husband,” he said in that soft, consoling voice of his. “That must be very hard. I’m sorry.”

It had been hard. Much harder than it was supposed to be. She’d married a man forty years her senior, so the idea she might one day be a widow had occurred to her. She’d thought she’d take it all in stride. And so she hadn’t been prepared for all the grieving she’d gone through when sweet Cy was gone.

“He had a heart attack,” she said, arranging everything just so. “Under the lemon tree out back.” Dinah pointed to it even though he couldn’t see it through the wall. “The tree was absolutely bursting that year. Big, juicy lemons that Cy loved taking to the market. He had to pick them, wash them with a brush until they sparkled, get them loaded in his car, unload them, sit out in the sun all day, and then go have drinks with all his buddies. And all that for forty bucks a week. It was stupid, but it made him really happy.

“I was in the front yard cutting flowers when he died. I had a lasagna in the oven, which Cy loved, and I was going to put my favorite white roses on the table by the bed. So how far was I from him? A hundred feet? Two? I didn’t hear a thing. The doctor said it probably took under a minute.” She looked at Malcolm for the first time since she’d started this sad recitation. He was riveted, the cast to his broad features pained. “It’s just the kind of death Cy would have wanted. Maybe a few decades later, but it was quick, and he was doing what he loved. For me, however, it was very hard.”

She paused to let the wave of grief move through her, up and out. Cy had been a good man, and he’d had a decent death but it was still a painful tale to tell.

“Come on.” She needed to be outside working. In minutes she was back into her gardening clothes and at the door. “Come and keep me company.” Those had been the right words. He nodded, followed her outside.

The herb garden was closest to the house, which was convenient. He brought the bag with him and sat down on the stoop. Dinah started weeding, cutting back the mint and rosemary, throwing everything onto the lawn to be put in the trash can later. From time to time she glanced at him, still amazed at such exotic company. The sun wove through the branches of her trees, casting him in shadow, then in bright light once again.
Now you see him, now you don’t.
Not a bad idea to keep that fact in mind.

She worked, and soon the task at hand took over. The sharp, clean aromatic scents were all around her as she coaxed the chaos into distinct patches of green surrounded by dark, moist, upturned earth. When she was finally tired enough to take a breather, Dinah turned toward him with a smile.

He didn’t see it. His head was bowed over the infoscans that had been left for him—the accurate accounts of what had happened. The names of the deceased.

Once Dinah was on her feet, she brushed the dirt off, quickly dumped the weeds and cuttings into a trash can, and climbed the stairs.

“That’s enough,” she said.

He lifted his chin slowly, and she saw a wave of anger rising in the air around him. Underneath the anger there was mourning. Dinah felt it too. She glanced down at the infoscans; a list of names that meant nothing to her and everything to him.

“I shouldn’t have left you alone,” she said.

“I’m not alone.”

And that was true. Neither of them were alone. For the time being anyway. She sat beside him on the porch and stretched her back.

“I’ve been on my knees too long,” she said. “I need to soak in a hot tub. Will you come with me?”

Malcolm stared into her face for a long time; she thought she saw a good half-dozen thoughts flicker in the blueness of his eyes. Taking care to put the infoscans back into the bag, he nodded, rose to his feet, and followed her inside.