Planet Athion: The Complete Series by Angel Lawson

46

Damon

For daysI’ve lain in bed, day or night, thinking of the woman so close but so far away. What happened in Mercy’s room after the baby was born…it was undefinable. Something about seeing her at her best delivering that baby shook me. It brought back memories of my wife, Dinah, and our child, Colin. Mercy ignited something in me that’d been missing for a long time.

Feelings.

Sure, I’d had emotions. Anger, mostly. Rage. I’d lost my empathy at some point, outside the few people I let close. But tenderness towards a woman was something I didn’t think I’d experience again.

I roll on my back and stare at the metal ceiling. Sex is one thing. It’s not like my libido declined or anything, it’s the attachment that’s been missing. The desire for more than a release. Mercy’s a beautiful woman—that much was obvious when she stood defiantly on the auction stage. I knew the instant I saw her why my brothers found her appealing; the fire-red hair and her pale, flawless skin. Even under the heavy makeup and revealing, scandalous dress there was a softness to her flesh, the gentle curve of her breasts and backside. I chalked all of it up to the environment—to me playing along, but I’d felt the stirring of arousal ever since.

The night she hugged me? When she pressed her body against mine and provided herself as an anchor for my adrift, lost soul?

A different want developed inside of me, one that lingers days later as I lie restless and alone.

I don’t know how to read this woman. I barely know her. That hug may have just been that—a hug—an olive branch between two people forced to work together. Reading more into it may be arrogant. Horny, for sure, but there is something there. Something I haven’t felt in ages. Something I thought I’d buried so deep it would never see the sunlight again.

Tonight, it had been worse. When I went to check on her, she seemed sad—melancholy. I wanted to make her feel better so I did the one thing I could. I brought her the data pad to communicate with the guys. Maybe they can give her the comfort I can’t.

I run my hands through my hair and sit up, feeling a draw to go find her. Talk to her.

It’s not my job.

She’s theirs, not yours.

I’m on my feet before my brain can stop my body.

Since when have I listened to logic or reason?

I’m at the door before my brain can take control.

It’s when I swing it open that I know the tug isn’t one-sided.