Authors: Mya Robarts
The v Girl (12 page)
My voice comes out breathy. “I’ll … have to think … your offer … through.”
His voice is low, husky. “I’ll give you something to think about.”
Aleksey slides an enormous hand around my waist, pulling me closer. He positions my body so the difference in height isn’t an obstacle. He’s building anticipation first, making the wait for his lips deliciously torturous. His face slowly, deliberately approaches.
When his lips touch mine, it’s a soft brush that makes my body melt into liquid fire. Then they move against my mouth hungrily.
And everything that isn’t his body vanishes into thin air.
He’s showing me that he can be gentle, but I want more. My hands grab his shoulders forcefully. I press my body tightly against his, and he mirrors my action with his pelvis, blending it with mine. Showing me through his erection the promise of greater pleasures.
I whimper. Automatically the kiss deepens. His bulky arms tighten their grip on mine. My skin burns and tingles in all the points in which our bodies are touching.
I’ve never been kissed like this. Deep and lingering at times, playfully pulling my lower lip at others. Expertly moving his lips to my earlobe and neck before returning to my mouth. He doesn’t make me feel like he’s kissing me. He makes me feel like he owns me. I feel it in the way his enormous hands move up and down my sides, the way his strong arms are constricting me. It makes my blood bubble deliciously with a desire I’ve never felt before.
I can’t get enough of him.
He keeps kissing me like this until he finally pulls back, touching his forehead to mine and resting his enormous hands at the small of my back. I struggle to control my breathing. My heart pounds harshly against my chest, and I’m sure he can hear it. It’s not embarrassing because I can see that I affect him, too. He’s struggling to recover his cool, arrogant demeanor.
“Surrender,
” Aleksey whispers, still holding me tightly against his body. He skims his nose along my jaw to my neck. “Surrender to me and I’ll …”
His lips at the hollow of my throat speak louder than words. If I surrender, the pleasure will be like nothing I’ve felt before. I can barely manage it now. If this is what he makes me feel with a full-dressed kiss, how would it be if we were scantily clothed, exploring our bodies in a private place? I’m dying to find out, but I can’t overcome my reservations.
I’ve willingly yielded to a moment with someone I should consider an enemy. For all I know, he could’ve forced other girls into his wicked ways. He’s been nice to me, but that’s not reason enough to trust him. But as I look at his blue eyes that, at this moment look kind and expectant, I decide none of that matters. He might look like a soldier, but he doesn’t act like one. He may have a past, but it’s his present actions which count.
He’s a soldier, but if we slept together, it’d be consensual. In my book, the word “consensual” is the key to my happy valley.
My breathing is still ragged and my face is all shades of red. Yet, the overwhelming lust Aleksey stirs in me can never match what Rey and I have. We have a history of mutual support. We protect each other and Rey has demonstrated he’s not a stranger to passion. Besides, there’s certain arrogance in Aleksey that makes me think he might be mocking me.
I escape the prison of his embrace. “You have to know that Rey … Come on! Don’t flinch … Well, the guy you’ve rudely mocked is still my first choice.”
He looks incredulous. Why would I prefer a regular guy over the quintessential super-soldier? The eighth wonder of penises?
“Him? You’re like an ocean during a storm, whereas he’s a slimy, moldy puddle,” he says scornfully. He leans slowly to kiss my neck again. “You can’t deny it. The way your body enjoys my touch … I could tell the sensations were new to you. He can’t make you feel like that. He never has and never will.”
I stubbornly refuse to admit he’s right. “I get lustful with you because apparently every girl feels like that when you’re around. And you know how to touch the right spots.” H
is scowling face looks slightly smug, so I add quickly, “
But that’s not enough.
I prefer Rey.”
I stride intently toward the city, and he follows me. “By the way,
I’d appreciate if you didn’t mock Rey again.”
He cockily arches an eyebrow. “Or …?”
“I’ll make you pay for it.”
His only answer is a skeptical, coy smile.
Extract of Maximillian Kei’s speech for the United Neutral Nations Organization Spring Conference
“Ouch!” I lick the finger that
I’ve just stabbed with the needle. The examination room fills with my siblings’ laughter. They’ve been repeating sexual puns all afternoon, and now they compete to come up with the best stabbing accident joke.
The purpose of my embroidering efforts is worth the age-inappropriate jokes. I’ve been embroidering the bridal sheets for the last authorized wedding before the recruitment. Sara Jenkins, an ex-Comanche, is engaged to a mysterious groom. I struggle to decorate the opening that will allow the husband to enter his bride without “offending her modesty” during the wedding night. The white sheets are a huge deal as they’ll be displayed for the entire town the morning after her wedding night. Starvillers expect there’ll be V-blood staining the sheets.
It’s tedious labor, but at least the Jenkinses will pay me well. I’m not at my best because I’ve been thinking about Aleksey’s proposal. About his mouth on mine. A
soft, sweet oppression constricts my chest whenever I think about that kiss. I can only alleviate it by sighing.
Sighs and needles aren’t a good combination.
Azzy covers her head with one of the sheets and puts her mouth through the opening, puckering her lips to make her mouth look like a duck beak.
“And they won’t see their bodies while doing it? Imagine if the groom is bigger than this. Poor girl! I can’t believe this is part of her ‘thrust-oh.’”
“It’s called
trousseau,
Azalea.
Troo-soh
,” I explain.
“More like true-sore,” says Azzy, tossing the sheet aside and giggling.
Dad enters the room and perches himself on a table for another homeschooling session. He heard our sexual bantering, but he’s used to it.
I look at Olmo, who sits on a stool next to the examination table, suddenly serious. In spite of his mirth—because I’m not sure he understands the jokes—he’s acting differently today. Perhaps it’s because he’s had difficult days lately. He’s been struggling to breathe even with his inhaler. Or maybe it’s because today’s lesson is about medicine, his least favorite subject. Having a disease like fibrosis type-Z is bound to cause distaste for talking about illnesses.
Lessons without our solar e-reader are tedious. To light them up, Dad plays “Guess the Disease.” I like medicine so I’ll participate, although my siblings will beat me for sure.
“The immune system turns against the patient.”
“Lupus!” I say.
Dad nods. “Rigidity of muscles. Body functions slow down.”
“Cataplexy,” says Olmo
“Catalepsy,” Azzy corrects him.
“Inflammation of the bowel … It can be alleviated by a gluten-free diet.”
I hesitate. “Cellist … Celia?”
Dad corrects me. “Celiac.”
The games go on and on several rounds before Olmo interrupts. “Dad, I need to go the washroom. It’s urgent.”
Dad looks concerned. “Are you struggling to breathe again?”
Olmo’s tone is innocently serious. “No, I think I got my period.”
Uh?
Azzy bursts out laughing while Dad blinks. Both twins know perfectly well the mechanics of the female cycle. Olmo tends to be forgetful, but this is ridiculous.
Dad climbs down the table and sits on his cart. “Olmo, men don’t have periods.”
“Uh? The brown spots I got in my underpants … Azzy told me I should get a tampon and …”
Azalea plays innocent. “I never said such a thing.”
Dad checks Olmo’s blood pressure and temperature and asks him several questions about possible bloody discharge. It becomes evident soon that Olmo hasn’t really been spotting his underwear … at least not with blood. Azzy’s messed with his gullibility.
Dad shoots Azzy a
we’ll-talk-about-this-later
look. “Olmo, diarrhea and periods are very different things.”
Azzy jokes again. “Diarrhea is hereditary; it runs in your
jeans
.”
My dad sighs. “Don’t listen to her, Olmo. You’ve been eating too much of Mr. Fürst’s food, haven’t you?”
Olmo’s face changes from slightly embarrassed to extremely confused. He opens his mouth to speak and closes it immediately. Olmo’s attitude is unusual. There’s more to this than mere confusion, and I’m suddenly worried about my brother.
Olmo looks at Azzy for a long moment before saying in a detached voice: “When you get your period, would you give me some blood?”
Azzy’s face is priceless, but I can’t find humor in her disgusted expression as I observe Olmo. There’s something wrong with all this talk. “Ew!” shouts Azzy. “You’re crazy.”
Olmo says something that makes my stomach do a summersault. “Blood of a V-girl heals and I’m tired of being sick all the time.”
Olmo never mentions his disease. He’d go to such extremes to avoid it by creating all kind of imaginary worlds that his words make me sink to the floor, suddenly anxious. Not that we press the topic much. It’s an uncomfortable reminder of a cruel reality. The reality that Olmo is living on borrowed time.
I desperately want Azzy to say something sassy that will make us all laugh, but she doesn’t. We always treat Olmo as though he’s healthy, but he’s growing up. He can’t keep reality at bay by making up stories much longer.
For a while, nobody says anything. The only sound comes from Aleksey’s music.
“No, you idiot. The blood of a V-girl doesn’t cure diseases.” There’s bitterness in Azzy’s irritated tone. This isn’t the usual chatter between the twins. There’s certain unspoken misery here, the misery of knowing Olmo can’t fight death magically.
Olmo’s voice is unusually grave. “That’s not what the soldiers told me.”
I gasp. Olmo interacting with soldiers is a terrifying idea.
Dad looks at Olmo tenderly. “They’re superstitious, Olmo. Don’t you think if it were like that I would have already cured you?”
“I don’t know. Maybe it has to be the first period. Ow! Don’t slap my head, Azzy! Dad, look at her!”
Dad’s voice is unusually stern. “Azalea, stop it.”
Olmo rocks on his heels. “It’s just ... I want V-blood because … I don’t want to die.”
Nothing breaks the silence this time.
Finally, Dad kindly leads Olmo out of the room, his cart creaking loudly. I know they’ll have a conversation. Azzy follows to spy on them, but I don’t need to know how dad will address death with Olmo. Before today, Olmo has always dismissed every single attempt by my father to explain to him his illness. I know Dad will be honest as usual, but he’ll also inject his explanations with hope.
It’s heartbreaking to realize that Olmo is not only more aware of his illness than I thought. He’s also sicker than I’d had realized.
Perhaps there’s hope for Olmo but we have to be proactive. I’m not for passive optimism. There’s something I can do. I can accept Aleksey’s offer.
I climb the metallic scaffold that leads to Aleksey’s room and nervously knock. He must be around. I heard him playing a tarantella not long ago.
Time goes by, and Aleksey doesn’t answer.
I stop knocking, feeling suddenly unwanted. Is he mad at me? This morning, because of the overwhelming sensation his kissed awoke, I felt the strange compulsion to grab his hand and hold it as we walked down toward town. But he looked remarkably uncomfortable and retrieved his hand from mine. As soon as we arrived to town he disappeared, leaving me confused. It was a foolish, impulsive gesture. We’re not a couple, and even if we were, soldiers are not famous for their sweetness. Most of them don’t relate to women unless for copulation purposes and in Aleksey’s case, fraternizing with me could ruin his life.
I sit with my back against his door, thinking. Aleksey’s a mature man who has seen the world. He must’ve understood my foolish attempt as a result of my youth and inexperience. If he’s not answering my knocks, there must be a reason other than him being mad. After all, he’s a loner.
Tristan’s silky, accented voice comes from below. “Miss Velez! He’s not there. He’s going to New Vegas on commission and won’t return for some days.”
I scowl. New Vegas is so far away. He could’ve told me. I can’t wait that long. I climb down in a rush and almost trip on my cloak. “Tristan! It is urgent.”
Please.
Tristan looks at me kindly. “I’ll tell you where to find him. You have about an hour before he departs.”
I call Poncho and sprint toward the staircase. I don’t turn back not even to look at Tristan when he shouts after me.
“He’s at the canteen.”