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“Kiss,” I confirm with a choked laugh.
His lips meet mine, their softness contrasted by the intensity of his kiss, the way he presses himself against my body, the desperation with which he runs his hands through my hair.
His tongue nudges my lips to open and I comply with a light moan, wrapping my arms tighter around him. He’s mine and he’s not going to die.
I meet his tongue with mine, caressing his, nudging his teeth playfully, sucking in his warmth and love. Suddenly there’s an additional pair of hands on my body, fingers massaging my breasts. Jim has joined us, taking position behind me, his chest rubbing against my back. He twirls my nipples through my shirt and my brain is telling me to lean back against him while at the same time insisting that I bend forward to deepen the kiss even more.
“We won’t let you die either,” Jim whispers as one of his hands slips under my waistband. I’m wearing the most comfortable and therefore most baggy clothes I could find, and right now, it makes it easy for him to get access. Jordan’s hardness pressing against my thighs just intensifies the shivers of lust running over my skin. I almost come apart when Jim’s middle finger slides deep inside of me, rubbing my inner walls with fervour, but Jordan distracts me by cupping my arse with his hands.
These two men will be the end of me, I think as they bring me to new heights of pleasure, both of them, at once, in me, with me, everywhere.
I’m one lucky Martian.
Day Two
29:31
I don’t think any of us got some proper sleep. We ignored the schedule and all slept together in Bastian’s bedroom, the biggest of them all. Jim and Jordan slept on the floor; they’d already had their fill of Louise, as Han put it. The others got their fill on the bed; a desperate lovemaking that had something of a finality that made my heart ache deeply in the moments before I fell into a restless sleep. Their closeness helped, the way their bodies surrounded me, but whenever I woke, their warmth just reminded me that their lives may be extinguished soon and they’d turn into the same cold, rotten corpses I’d seen all my former crewmates become. At least I wouldn’t be around to see it this time. I’d be dead as well, united in death. Maybe there was an afterlife that would let us be together forever. Yes, that was a thought I should keep close. I’d never been religious, but maybe, my mother had been right and there was a God and a Heaven and a place to be happy forever.
"Are you awake?" Bastian whispers, his arm snuggled around my waist.
"Yeah, I've been awake for a while."
"Me too." He sighs. "Shall we wake the others?"
"Not necessary." Jordan's deep voice from behind me makes me turn around, straight into his waiting lips. I kiss him back, wishing I could enjoy the moment. Instead, dread fills me at the thought that we only have less than forty-eight hours to go until we might all die.
The guys are in a similar downtrodden mood, and we get dressed quietly before heading to the common room for breakfast.
Toby makes us a big pot of porridge. When he puts it on the table in front of us, he adds a sprinkle of cinnamon.
"We might as well enjoy it," he says with a shrug. I smile at the irony of it. We're eating porridge because oats are one of the ingredients we still have a lot of, so we don't need to ration them. And now, he's adding cinnamon, one of our rarer goods. All our spices are for special occasions only - they're not on the list of priority food we used to be sent from Earth. And now that there won't be any more deliveries... this little glass of cinnamon is likely all we'll ever have. Once it's gone, the taste of cinnamon will be nothing but a memory.
Why are there tears pooling in my eyes? Because I'm thinking of cinnamon? Pull yourself together, Louise. You've got through worse. Now's not the time to get emotional.
To hide my traitorous eyes from the guys, I stare down at my porridge, trying to enjoy it, but it could just as well have no taste at all. I force myself to eat it all; I need the energy to get through the day. There's a lot to be done, whether it turns out to be preparing for survival or preparing for death.
