Dylan smith's Arc

Chapter 2 of 12

Morning light came through the tall windows of the black stone hall. Dylan still wore the polo and the cargo pants. The collar at his throat pulsed soft blue. Voracia walked him out a side door onto a flat terrace of black stone. A long wooden table stood there, loaded end to end with roasted birds, bread loaves, fruit bowls, and tall pitchers. Beside the table, a clear dome held glowing orbs of gel that drifted in bright liquid. She pointed at the bench. "Sit close," she said. He sat. She lowered herself beside him. Her belly pressed against the table edge and lifted it half an inch. She tore a loaf in half and started eating. Dylan watched her jaw work. She drank from a pitcher without setting it down. When she finished, she set the pitcher back and burped, low and long, and the stone under his boots hummed. She did not cover her mouth. She did not apologize. "Hand," she said. Dylan put his hand on the side of her belly. The skin was warm and tight. He rubbed slow circles the way he had wanted to since he was sixteen. She kept eating. Another burp came up and rolled over his wrist. He smiled before he could stop himself. She caught it. "You like this," she said. It was not a question. "Yes," he said. "I've liked it my whole life." She nodded once and kept chewing. He kept rubbing. His shoulders dropped. The shame he had carried around the tire shop floor for years went quiet. She ate for another hour. He stayed at her side and worked his palm in slow passes across the curve of her stomach, low to high, the way he checked a tire for soft spots. Each burp she gave him landed bigger than the last. By the end she leaned back and let one out that shook the pitchers. "Better," she said. She looked at him for a long moment. "You are not pretending. Good." She reached into a pouch at her hip and pulled out a watch on a black band. The face glowed with faint colored marks around the rim. She fastened it on his wrist herself. "Yours," she said. "You are special. Too special. The others will see it once the collar fades and they will come. Let them look." She tapped the watch, then her own belly. "This belly is the only one your hand touches. My burps are yours alone. No other woman gets either. That is the rule." Dylan looked at the watch, then at her. "Yes," he said. He meant it. She went back to eating. He kept his hand on her. For the first time since he had landed on this planet, he was not hiding and not waiting. He had been claimed, and he had agreed to the terms.