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An old Russian recipe, thrice filtered through ice, charcoal, and finally crushed diamonds. It is mana.

I pour a small sip for Ivan and myself.

“Za vas,” I say as I raise my glass.

“No,” Ivan answers, raising his in kind. “To you.”

We drink and Ivan’s eyes widen. “This is the smoothest vodka I have ever had the pleasure to taste.”

I nod, savoring the sweet flavor that will soon be a distant memory, at least until a proactive member of our company starts harvesting Martian potatoes and builds a distillery.

Ivan and I spend the next hour talking and drinking, unwinding together in a way we have not done since leaving earth.

After a final hug, my friend departs, leaving me with my joy for today and fears for tomorrow.

At long last, my dreams of life with Azalea are coming true. A mixture of luck and algorithmic flaws have made it possible to be together. It is my greatest wish.

Now we just have to make sure we can survive long enough to enjoy it.

I step into the hall, looking at the doorway to her room. I wonder if Robert has talked with her the way Ivan has with me. She certainly knows he has another partner.

After a few moments, she steps out, dressed in a yellow sweater and blue jeans, carrying a beige bag, looking as though she is off to a hotel for the night.

When she is within reach, I cannot help but pull her into my room and pin her against the wall. I did not know I would be granted another chance to take her body, to make her moan with pleasure, to feel myself inside her. With that promise right in front of me, I am overcome with an animalistic urge I can barely control. An urge that pushes away the exhaustion of a day with no end, the exhaustion of making heavy decisions with heavier consequences. An urge that centers her in my world as the only thing that matters.

“Fuck me,” she whispers.

25

ZAE

“Earth is the cradle of humanity, but one cannot live in a cradle forever.”

—Konstantin Tsiolkovsky, Russian Rocket Scientist

* * *

There is a lightness to our passion that wasn’t there before. Love washed with the relief of knowing this won’t end. We won’t lose each other. We can be together forever.

I’m giddy with it.

I much prefer this over sneaking around, despite the occasional thrill that elicited.

In the long run, I need this. Him. With me. Openly. Publicly.

But not right now. Right now I need privacy because I am horny as hell.

Marek growls low in his throat at my words, then pulls me into his suite--our suite--quickly before pushing me against the wall and kissing me senseless.

His mouth is hot, his tongue delicious as we consume each other.

“I need you.” He digs a hand into my hair, tugging my head back to expose my neck as he uses lips and teeth against every erogenous inch, sending shivers of pleasure through my body. His other hand slides under my sweater, undoing my bra with ease, then finding my breasts, his palm teasing at my nipples until they harden.

I moan, running my nails over his broad shoulders, feeling his hard muscles flex under his white dress shirt. I want to see him. To press his flesh against mine. I push him back, hastily undoing his buttons, and trace my fingers down his chest, his abs, the thin dark line of hair that leads straight to the hard line of his cock, straining against his pants. I need more.

More of his touch. His taste. His everything.

His hand moves lower, resting on my stomach just above my pelvis, his fingers drawing small circles on my skin. His lips devour mine, and I pull him closer, my hands in his thick hair, as he moves to my waistband, slipping under my pants. I suck in a breath as his long fingers slide over my panties, already wet with need for him. He teases me with soft caresses, parting me ever so gently--still through the thin cloth. Rubbing lightly at my clit, then brushing against my thigh and slipping a finger under the elastic band.