It takes the lady-like crashing of her spaceship for stubborn Molly to find love.
Attacked and forced to crash on a barbarian planet, Molly must come to terms with never leaving this world and allowing the chieftain to have his way with her, all whi...
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She released a shaky breath and squared her shoulders against her self-appointed task. "Where are my gloves?" she mumbled, trying to blink her thoughts into focus.
"On the wall where you usually hang them."
"Argh, can't you just babysit them and leave me alone?" She snatched the gloves off the magnetic band and slapped them across her palm.
"The same?" MARC asked to which she grunted.
Ancient music called 'rock' blasted the cargo bay, and she sighed, letting the rhythms vibrate through her. She slipped her gloves on and powered them up. The energy pulsing through them activated the Illonion steel, and the crates became as light as a feather.
Invigorated by the fast pace of the music, she sorted through the closest crates. She sang along, not pausing when she sliced her inner forearm on a crate's sharp edge. Injuries were common. She scanned the wound with the med-sensor while singing about being born in a specific place. Weird subject matter, but it had a catchy tune. The laceration stopped bleeding, the stinging lessened but didn't leave completely, not yet. Blood stained her white shirt, and she shrugged. The laundry closet would take care of it, so she continued to sing and sort crates.
She danced around the cargo bay, swinging her backside, and twirling on the spot, satisfied that she had reduced half the number of crates she needed to transport. One crate held med-sensors, one held cocoa plant seeds. That had been an impulse buy and would pay off now. Amy had complained at the expense, but Molly had insisted. They might crash land and never see chocolate again. She wished she had thought of coffee, as well. One crate held the weapons, one held their spare toiletries. Buying it in bulk was cheaper, and since they had the space, the purchases made sense.
"...loves my baby!" she sang, swaying her backside as she lowered another crate.
"Molly!" Anzar roared, surprising her, and she squeaked, jumping back to slam into him. His arm looped around her waist to steady her, his fingers splaying out on her lower stomach shooting fireworks to burn in her core.
She shuddered even as she melted against him. "Sorry, Anzar, I didn't hear you."
"I am aware of this." He frowned. "You did not respond to the band."
"The music's loud." And at that moment, MARC switched it off, so she was yelling for no reason. She gritted her teeth, tossing a glare at the ceiling. Anzar glowered at her, though, as if she had ignored him on purpose. "Look how much I did?" She gestured to the stacked crates, delighted with her progress. In truth, she wanted to distract him from any forth-coming lecture he felt inclined to share.
"You are wounded." He scowled, spinning her to gather her arm in his hands. His touch was hot, his fingers sending goosebumps across her skin.
"It happens. I ran the med-sensor over it. Should be gone in a day or two. Are you done for the day? How did they do, MARC?"
