Under A Winter Sun Johan Dahlgren (digital e reader .txt) 📖

minutes until acceleration. There's plenty of time.”

Time for what? I almost ask.

“The bathroom is through there.” She points at a narrow door across the cabin. 'Across the cabin' meaning three metres away.

Bathroom? Who gets a cabin with a bathroom on a warship? When every kilo counts, a private bathroom is an extreme luxury. Does even the star marshal's suite include a full bathroom? Then again, this might be his suite.

“Don't be long.”

Jagr turns her back to me and zips open her combat suit and pulls it down to her waist. I'm not sure this was what she meant when she said my role on this mission was strictly to observe.

“And you can stop staring.”

She doesn't even glance at me as she pulls the suit off and reveals the legs I've been admiring all day. They are even finer than I imagined, and they attach to a tight ass, tucked into black panties. “Shower, Perez. Now. We have things to discuss afterwards.”

“Yes, boss.” I hurry into the bathroom and close the door. Whew, that was unexpected. Enjoyably so.

The bathroom is small, but an actual bloody bathroom. With an actual bloody toilet and an actual bloody sink. The shower is your standard Zero-G fare. It's a large transparent plastic bag strapped between the floor and the ceiling, with a water sprinkler at either end. As showers go, it's not much, but it's still a shower, and right now it's the height of luxury.

I strip, get in the bag and zip up. I turn on the tap and the warm water on my sticky skin is heaven. It is almost soothing enough to make me forget the quick view I got of Jagr's ass before I closed the door on her.

The water is already mixed with soap when it sprays from the nozzles and I lather myself up. My sore body relaxes, and I let out a sigh of pleasure. There is the sound of a zipper opening behind me.

Then someone grabs my ass.

What the hell?

“Mind if I join you?”

It's Jagr.

She climbs inside the shower bag and zips it closed behind her. It's barely large enough for the both of us.

“No, I don't mind.” She grabs my hips and turns me towards her.

“Do you always brief people in the shower?”

I'm painfully aware she is exceedingly attractive. And exceedingly naked.

“Shut up, Perez.” She wraps her arms around my neck and kisses me. Hard.

I didn't see that coming.

* * *

There's one major upside to being an immortal super-soldier with regenerative powers. You don't have to worry about scratches on your back after a romp in bed. Which is good, because Jagr is rough.

At one point she cracks two of my ribs with her smooth legs. As always, the pain is brief and the tingling as the nanobots repair the fractures adds an extra layer of pleasure. It's almost like she knows that.

I've never had sex with an immortal before, and it's amazing.

There's no need to be gentle.

* * *

We drift together in the middle of the suite. Pre-soaped water, sweat, and other bodily fluids float around us. Sex in Zero-G is not as romantic as they make it out to be in the feeds. It's messy and awkward. But fun.

I hold her in my arms and caress her back, stroking her spine with my fingers as we float. The smell of soap lingers on her skin under the more prominent scent of sex.

Jagr grunts. “The fuck are you doing, Perez?”

“I scratch your back, you scratch mine.”

“Stop it. That's way too close for comfort.”

“We just fucked.”

“That was sex. This is relationship shit. Cut it out.”

“Sorry.” I let her go and we drift apart.

“Never do that again.” Mental note not to step into that minefield again. Must be a sore point with her. Jagr wipes her moist belly and flicks the sweat away. It splatters on the wall. The motion sends her into a slow spin, showing off her toned, naked body.

She swipes a strand of platinum fringe out of her face and sighs. “Anyway. Thanks, Perez, I needed that.”

“Always happy to oblige.” I stretch, feeling something snap back into place in my spine.

To break the awkward moment, I change tack. “So. What about Soledad?”

“What about Soledad?”

“Isn't she going to be upset about this?”

“This?”

“Us.” I wave my hand at her, me, and the cabin.

“What us? I had an itch that needed scratching, Perez. You scratched it. Nothing more. We're done.” She splays her hands. I grab her wrist, stopping her slow gyration and pull her close. The motion transfers her angular momentum to me and sends us both into a slow roll.

The bruises on her skin are fading, but I can still see marks from my fingers.

I trace her smooth thigh with my fingertips and expect a kick in the balls.

Her breath quivers as I move my fingers down her leg. She shivers with pleasure and goosebumps cover her arms.

“That tickles, Perez. I once took a bullet there,” she muses. “Large calibre. Almost took my leg off.”

I push a little harder and feel a slight ridge of odd bumps on her femur. The regeneration is never perfect.

I scoff. “That's nothing. I took a knife in the eye in a bar on Utopia.” I show her where the scar would have been.

“Ouch.” Her fingers brush the unhurt skin under my eye.

She reaches down to her belly.

“A piece of shrapnel from an exploding tank sliced me open during the war.” She scrapes a sharp nail across the smooth skin between the bumps of her pelvic bone. “From side to side. I tripped on my intestines escaping the fire.” There's a slight depression in the velvet skin where she traces the old cut.

I wave my left arm around.

“I had this arm shot off once.” My fingers wiggle. “Fuckers. I lost my favourite watch.”

What watch? I've never had my arm shot off. Nor have I lost a watch.

I struggle to move my hands, but they refuse. Shit. The General is here. Where the fuck did he come from? He's