Page 41 of Love Galaxy

I copy his movements. The water’s much warmer than I’d been expecting, considering there’s no sunlight down here to heat it up. I glance around, searching for signs of… I don’t know. A pool heater? “What makes it warm like that?”

“That is the algae. I will show you.” He collects a long pole from where it’s resting against the wall near the ladder. The far end has a hook, like a shepherd's crook, and it’s that end which he sticks into the water. It goes down a long way; the pole’s maybe twice as tall as me, long enough to be unwieldy—unless, of course, you’ve got four arms and lots of muscles, because Sorin doesn’t appear to be having any trouble. When he withdraws it, there’s a green lump of goo hooked at the end. It’s dripping water and looking generally inedible. But when Sorin slips it off the pole, I see that it’s really more like hundreds of tiny threads all tangled together. He tears it in half, passing one lump to me, while he pops his half into his mouth.

I sniff it. It doesn’t have a strong smell, so I touch it with the tip of my tongue. Immediately the tiny hair-like threads cling to my tongue, almost like they’re spiderwebs, and I can either try to disentangle myself from them or accept my fate and pop the entire thing into my mouth.

That’s when I notice the camera. Of course. With me standing there, mouth open, tongue out.

If there’s too much wind and dust on the planet’s surface for cameras, then down here in the farm has got to be idealfor filming. It’s a natural-made film set, with mood lighting and ambiance. Our voices don’t even echo, and there’s no other sound but Sorin and I, meaning every single thing we say is crisp and clear.

Hastily, I turn my back to the closest camera and swallow. It slides right down, leaving behind a light tangy taste that’s surprisingly refreshing.

“I’m so glad you showed me your farm. I never could have imagined something as amazing as this. You’re literally saving lives.”

“I had a feeling you would like it.” His whole body seems to gravitate closer to me, although I’d swear he doesn’t actually move. Maybe that’s how it feels to be seen by Sorin. I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone with such a direct gaze. Even though his scales are tinged blue, he doesn’t blink or look away.

“You were right. I do.” I’m standing on my toes, before I’ve really thought about it, like I’m going to kiss him. I can’t imagine a more fairytale-like setting in which to make-out. Except, of course, this isn’t a fairytale, and there’s every chance Mr. Smith is watching us right now.

I break eye contact, silently promising myself that the second it gets dark outside, I’ll drag Sorin into the wind with me where there are no cameras.

“Hey, can we go swimming?” I ask. “Or is that like really gross when the algae’s for eating?”

“We can swim.” Sorin displays the rows and rows of his sharp teeth, which I’m guessing is his attempt at a smile. “But not in this lake.” He leads me a little farther along the water’s edge, and as we pass the closest camera, I look straight into the lens and give anyone who’s watching the finger.

I follow Sorin into a tunnel. It’s heaps smaller than the one with the cart we travelled in to get to his house. This tunnel is clearly designed for walking instead of riding, and after a shortdistance, maybe a quarter mile, we’re at another lake. This one’s smaller, about the size of an Olympic swimming pool. The roof is lower, and the stalactites aren’t half as large, like this is a baby cave. The water is lit by overhead lights that clicked on when they first sensed us moving, and gentle ripples disturb the water’s surface every time drops fall from the ceiling.

Sorin doesn’t hesitate, just wades straight in, pausing only when the black water is lapping at his thighs to glance back at me. I kick off my shoes, and after a moment’s hesitation, I pull my dress over my head.

I’m still wearing my old bra, the old crappy one whose elastic is on the verge of an emotional breakdown, paired with a lacy G-string that doesn’t match. The combo makes me feel both self-conscious and sexy. I don’t loathe the fact that my butt cheeks are on display, but I can’t stop myself from wrapping my arms around my stomach, as if I can hide it.

That’s when I catch sight of Sorin staring at me. In the shadows, his pupils have expanded, emphasizing the green-ness of his eyes. His scales are green, too, like he’s never been blue in his life. There’s a definite bulge at the crux of his thighs, and after last night I know exactly what that bulge means.

His penis had been a thing of beauty, and that’s saying something, because, seriously, have you seen a beautiful penis before? I doubt it. It’s sometimes hard being a straight woman and being attracted to ugly dicks.

But not Sorin’s. Last night, Sorin’s had been long and thick and deliciously red. It’s the only part of him that doesn’t have scales, and when I’d wrapped a hand around it, it had been hot. Hot as in temperature hot—but the other hot, too.

I’m obsessed with knowing how it extends beyond his body. Like, does he have to manually release it? Or if he gets hard enough does it just sort of pop out of the slit itself?

The slit, too, is fascinating. Kind of like a Human belly button, but much longer—eight inches, I’d guess. And most of the time it’s visually undetectable. Now, though, it looks close to popping open, all because Sorin’s seen me in my underwear.

I highly recommend getting yourself a guy who looks at you the way Sorin’s staring at me. It’s like his gaze is tangible, and tingles race along my skin as if I can feel him watching me.

I’m walking so fast water splashes up around me, and even though it’s significantly colder than the first lake we saw, I duck down as soon as I’m deep enough, suddenly understanding why guys are always talking about taking a cold shower when they’re horny.

Have I mentioned it’s been a long time since my last boyfriend? Embarrassingly, long. Longer than I care to admit (cough, three years, cough, cough).

Coming up for air, I flick my hair out of my face and tread water. I think Sorin’s standing. He’s so much taller than me; I can’t reach the ground, not even with my toes.

“Wow. You’ve got an entire underground lake to yourself.” I swim a slow circle around Sorin, breaststroke style. I might not be a particularly strong swimmer, but everyone grows up swimming in Australia, whether you enjoy the water or not.

And I’m really enjoying this water. It’s so much better than the beach, without the threat of sand, sunburn and tourists to ruin your fun.

“So what would a typical day at work be like for you?” I ask. “Maybe, while I’m here, I could help.” I’d like that. I’d like to feel useful again.

You want to spend more time ogling Sorin,the voice in my head (the one that sounds horrifyingly like Chloe commentating) accuses. I don’t bother arguing with her. Of course I want to ogle Sorin. Who wouldn’t?

“ … large nets.”

I blink. Sorin’s been talking this entire time, answering a question I barely remember asking.

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