Amidst a Crowd of Stars by Megan Hart

Today
    The medica was young, perhaps just out of the training academy. She still wore her uniform crisp and pressed, her blue hair slicked back from her forehead and held in place by the woven band marked with the symbols of her profession. She gave the man at the patient’s bedside a warm grin and patted his shoulder.
    â€œHow nice of you to stay with your grandma all night.”
    The man was handsome enough to make her flutter her eyes. His dark hair, streaked by the harsh Lujawedan sun, fell to his shoulders in sheaves that made her fingers itch to run through it.
    His hair might show the effects of the sun, but his face showed no sign of weathering. He smiled, his hand in the patient’s, thumb stroking the paper-thin skin of her hand over and over.
    â€œThis is my wife,” the man said without any condemnation at her assumption, for which the medica was grateful.
    â€œOh, I beg your pardon.”
    He looked back to the woman in the bed, her eyes closed and face pale. He leaned forward to stroke her hair, long and lush and bleached white the way the sun bleached everything on this planet. His hand caressed her cheek for a moment, and in the presence of such admiration, the medica blushed and left the room.

    Yesterday
    Marrin woke to the feeling of kisses on her bare stomach. She kept her eyes closed, but smiled as her husband trailed his lips along her skin to the slope of her hip. She waited, breath held, for him to continue, and he didn’t disappoint.
    He never did.
    â€œGood morning,” he whispered against her skin, teeth nipping in a way that made her sigh. “The sun is shining again.”
    This made her laugh, as it always did, for on Lujawed, the sun almost always shone. “Good morning.”
    She cracked open an eye to look down at him, settled between her thighs as though he had no place else to be for the rest of the day. He laid his cheek on her thigh and let his hand stroke along her side. Her hand came down to rest on his hair, the glorious length of it that time and the sun could burnish but not diminish.
    â€œI love you, Keane.” The words slipped out without effort. She stroked his hair, like silk against her fingers.
    â€œI love you, Marrin.” He turned his lips to kiss the skin beneath his cheek, then grinned. “I would love you better.”
    She parted her thighs in reply, her eyes already going half-lidded in anticipation of the pleasure he would bring her. She heard his chuckle and felt the hot puff of his breath on her clit a bare micron before his lips kissed her there. She sighed, shifting. His hands curved around her hips to hold her to him while he began to make love to her with his mouth.
    He kissed and licked her gently no matter how much she squirmed, taking his time. He always did. It was one of his charms, this constant ability to give his full attention to any task he performed, as though he had all the time in the world to complete it.
    Because he does, she thought, lifting her hips as his mouth teased her flesh. To a Seveeran whose lifespan was limited only by accident or choice, anything worth doing was worth taking time for.
    Her breath caught as his tongue fluttered against her folds. He nuzzled her, then parted her with his fingers to taste her. His low noise of arousal urged her own, and she answered with a gasp.
    â€œKeane!”
    He didn’t answer with words. He slid a finger inside her to stroke in time with his tongue. He’d found the pace she adored. Smooth, steady, alternating patterns of light tongue flicks and harder licks. He slid another finger inside her love-slick passage, filling her.
    She wanted more, but he wouldn’t give it, her deviously sensual husband. No. Keane teased her, adding a twist to his hand that had her crying aloud and clutching the bedclothes as her hips rocked upward. He pressed his mouth to her clit, not moving lips or teeth or tongue. Letting her get off by rubbing herself against him.