by Amanda Milo
Her eyes are slits of loveliness. My mouth curves up as I gaze down at her. “I might like it.” I enjoy the way her lashes lower. Not from fear—not anymore, no, I’m fairly sure she’s only attempting to hide the fact that she so badly wants to shank me. “Anyway, if you’re only drying my things, be sure to count thirty of…” I realize I have no idea what human measurements of time and timekeeping could be. “Thirty of those beautiful, angry, furious breaths you’re taking now.”
I move past her, crossing to the drawers set into the wall and gathering a clean set of clothes. Then I begin the task of transferring my weapon cache from my spent outfit to my fresh one as I dress.
When I’m finished, I point to the rest of my pile of discarded clothes. “Wash and dry those for me, and I’ll bring you a treat, agreed?”
Stiffly, Beth nods. It’s not enough; I want more from her. “Come give me a goodbye kiss, narra.”
She bares her teeth again, but she controls herself admirably quick, closing her lips and leaving nothing but an impression of flashing white, jaws slightly parted in an unguarded—or overwhelmed—expression of aggression.
It makes my heart rate quicken.
I watch her as she makes her way towards me, the question clear in her eyes, wondering how liable I am to leap on her at any moment. When she glares up at me, I don’t lean down for her, and I feel my lips curve up when she huffs.
She waves a hand at my head. “You going to get closer or do you want me to beg you?”
It’s my eyes’ turn to widen. Astonished, I ask, “Would you?”
Her eyes narrow before she jerks her chin down, breaking our gazes entirely and muttering under her breath with such a vehement storm of feeling that it sounds like she’s purring for me.
I like this too.
When she finally has control of herself, she tips her head up—and nearly falls back, because my face is in hers.
“Kiss me,” I tell her. And I must say it with too much of what I really feel: intensity—for her. I think it intimidates her.
She swallows hard, and the anger in her eyes starts to die. I don’t want it replaced by fear, I don’t—so I swiftly straighten.
The suddenness of my movement causes her to twitch—and her arms even lift, crossing a little in front of herself like she’s ready to block a strike.
I don’t frown, even though inside, I feel a painful crack in my heart. Instead, I force my mouth to curve up. “Actually, rewards come with good behavior. Let’s see if you can master my command to do laundry first, eh, narra?”
She hisses a short breath and spits out a word that sounds like it could have been, “Ass!”
Her reaction has a cheery whistle bursting out of me before I call a jaunty, “See you in my room later. Happy laundry-slaving!” as I stroll out the door.
CHAPTER 11—EKAN
EKAN
Much later, yawning into my fist, I make my way to the karzy off my room. I haven’t found Beth anywhere, though I’d imagined with the yard time I’d given my new acquisition, that she’d try something drastic—perhaps some vibrant escape measure.
That sounded fun. I was really looking forward to it.
But no, when I step into the karzy, here she is. Still... here? “Have you been in here since I left you?” I ask, cold settling along my stomach. She looks more tired than when I left her. Why didn’t she lie down? Sit down? I stayed out of my room, thinking she’d relax best with me gone.
At the sound of my voice, Beth jumps, seeming even more pistol-shy than when I stripped naked in front of her. “Yes.”
“Why?”
She shifts, a nervous movement, even though her eyes roll with a beautiful show of human sarcasm. “Aren’t I your prisoner?”
The almost overpowering smell of clean laundry is distracting me—it’s a nice scent, to be sure, but it’s odd that it’s so strong. It’s been spans since I left her to wash my set of clothes.
Then I realize I can hear the drying drum moving. As if it’s being operated. “Think of yourself more like my exotic trained pet, not my prisoner—I do,” I answer absently. Vaguely, I enjoy the way she clenches her hands. It’s almost as if she’s imagining stroking (or perhaps squeezing) my throat. “Are you washing something else?” I ask. “What is it?”
Now Beth shies away from me, startling sideways.
I move forward, towards her—and the drying drum.
Feeling curiosity at her behavior, I tug open the door and find… tiny clothes.
With great consternation, I lean back, around the drying drum door, and glance at her stomach.
Beth shields her belly from me, or tries to.
I make a wordless noise of quiet admonishment, because she really has nothing to fear from me and I thought earlier she was starting to believe this. I look back at the clothes, wondering who brought her items to fit our very first spawn. Who’s been keeping spawn-sized items?
Then I get a good look at the pile. None of the items are much larger than a sock—yet they bear a disturbing likeness in color and appearance to my shirts and suit pants. “Beth?” I ask hollowly. “Are those… did you…?” In a daze, I reach for a shirt that cost me nearly three hundred credits. Blood washes out of this fabric beautifully, and it’s softer than the inner thigh on the loveliest female. I love this shirt.
This shirt that’s now the size of my hand. “Have you shrunk my entire wardrobe?”
“I did,” she manages with admirable solemnity—at least right up until a snicker bursts free. Horrified, she claps a hand over her mouth, but it only manages to half muffle the nervous twin-snicker that follows.
I stare down at my shirt, dumbfounded. “You deserve a beating,” I say in disbelief.
Instead of snapping a retort at me, she shrinks back.
I flick a glance at her, taking in her posture that suddenly holds none of her pluck, nothing but regret. I frown. Could this have happened by mistake? She is an alien—I told her to count her breaths, but it’s possible her kind doesn’t measure time anything like mine or any other race I know.
But then I turn my attention to the rest of the pile. My Creator. It would have taken spans and spans to reduce my whole wardrobe into something that might fit a freshly spawned babe. One load, maybe two could be mistakes if she made an error and had to adjust her timing, but all of them?
The back of my throat spasms, but I force myself to contain my reaction a little longer. I turn my full attention to her.
Despite the fact that her body is cowering, defiance shines in her eyes, and her small ears notch back the slightest fraction, as if she’s challenging me.
Somewhere inside my Beth is a fiery spirit just waiting to tussle with me.
I want to free that part of her.
I also want to toss her down on my soft bed of now-spawn-sized clothes and rut her until we’re both satisfied. This little show is making me even wilder for her.
As if she can read my thoughts, her eyes narrow to those pretty sparkling slits I find so fetching and she bares her upper teeth.
That tickle in my throat intensifies, but I choke it down, lunging for her. I want her. She tries to scamper back, but I edge her into the corner and block her escape by using my body. I raise my arm, fully intending to plant it above her head and make her an offer I hope she won’t refuse—when she flinches.
Terror pours off of her—in her scent, in her already-pained grimace, as if she can feel a strike I’m about to deal her.
I’m sickened. And considering how aroused I’ve become, sick is not the sensation either of us were supposed to be feeling just now. “No, no, no,” my voice is a rough whisper. “Narra, I said you deserved a beating; I didn’t say I’d give you one. I’ve never struck a female, and this—” I give in to the laughter that’s been crawling up my throat the moment I digested the atrocity she committed to my clothing.
Beth flinches at the sound, clearly not expecting it, and I regret ever trying to hold it back. I’ve tried telling others that
a specimen such as myself isn’t meant to temper the awesomeness of my reactions, and here’s proof.
I indicate my clothing. “Your sparking at me isn’t going to earn you the feel of my hand on your ass.” And curses for that, because she has a fine, fine ass. I’ll not hesitate to pet it, kiss it, bite it, and spank it if she ever gives me a signal that she’d like me to. “See me?” The humor in the situation dies as I take in how absolutely shamed Beth looks.
Voice barely above a whisper, she manages, “I see you.”
I lean back enough to give her the illusion of space. “How can you when you won’t give me that fearsome fire in your eyes?”
Like it’s the most difficult thing she’s ever done, she drags her gaze up to mine.
Immediately, I want to draw back. Her eyes are lifeless, dull. When Tiernan noted her fear of harm before, I’d long already been cataloguing it, testing ways to dispel it. She likes being razzed, and she likes affection—if she’s not already afraid. Who made Beth afraid? Who would DARE? “Was it the auctioneers?”
She blinks, her gaze clearing a bit. “Was what the auctioneers?”
“Who hit you?” I ask softly.
Just the question makes her flinch again, and fire rips across my chest, filling me with the alien urge to punch something—someone—namely, whoever put fear into my Beth-gift.
I must make some sound, because she raises her head—and stares at me. Stares at me like I’ve grown eyestalks.
I clear my throat, and make an effort to loosen my uncommonly tense shoulders. “You said this is all of my clothing?”
She bites her lip, regret soaking her expression. “Except for what you’ve got on… yes.”
I can’t pinpoint precisely why it sticks me so deeply that she’s exhibiting fear. I don’t like her growing upset, that’s part of it, but it’s more. That I inspired this level of deviancy in such a sweet female is both thrilling and hilarious… what a display! But somewhere along the way, someone taught her to have real, true fear of retribution. And that’s a shame. Beth’s only dealt me what I’ve had coming, what with ordering her to sashay around in the outfit I put her in today, and then with ordering her to wash and dry my clothes. She’s just giving me volley for volley. If she knew me better, she’d know she has no reason to worry. “I’m not going to punish you, Beth,” I tell her. “However… your actions have consequences.”
I expect the way she tenses. But I hate the way her voice is empty of all her hardihood. “What are you going to do?”
“Nothing to you,” I assure her. I watch as hope enters her expression, even as her body jerks like it’s rejecting the possibility of getting away with no penalty. I leer at her without entirely meaning to when I force my lips a breath from hers and add, “But you do realize…”
Eyes large and blinking to stay focused on mine, she warms my mouth as she asks, “What?”
I smile against her skin. “Thanks to you, now I’ll be forced to walk around naked.”
Her jaw slackens.
I take advantage, and steal a hells of a topgallant kiss.
CHAPTER 12—EKAN
EKAN
Startled, Beth laughs.
Pleased with myself, taking credit for bringing this reaction out of her, I preen, running my fingers through my hair—then I think of a better idea, and I take Beth’s hand, and make her run her fingers through my hair. She feels so good, I lean into her touch and tell her, “That’s it, just like that. Training you so well.”
And this makes her want to toss me a retort in a bad way. And probably slap me. The air around her nearly shimmers with her effort not to respond.
Oh how I want her to snap and respond.
She doesn’t, but evidently concluding that I’m not monster enough to strike her for her little fit, she breathes easier, the shakiness leaving her. She stands a fraction taller, and drops her hand from its attention on my hair to rub low at her back. I wonder if the spawn she’s incubating pulls at her. How could it not? She’s got the belly of an overdue yanak—but without the fur. Her belly skin is bare and tight like she’s about to have her offspring burst out of her at any moment.
What a terrifyingly alien idea.
“Are you tired?” I ask. My hand joins hers on her back and I feel overstuffed with elation when her shoulders, which had been pitched about her rounded ears, lower to rest at their normal level. There’s my Beth-gift. She got even with me, I didn’t punish her for it, she trusts me a fraction more—I’m delighted with the progress we’re making together in a mere rotation. “I like you, my well-trained human.”
In no way do I consider her well-trained, but I do love how she’s looking less afraid, and her responding growl of irritation makes my lungs feel like they’re filled with Yaardvakian air—the lightest member of the family of gases.
I offer her my hand to take, and when she doesn’t take it, I assist her by taking up hers. “We’re landing soon, and I need to help Breslin roll out,” I start. “But before he leaves for his homestead, I wanted to offer you the chance to say goodbye to the other human on this ship. Do you want to see her off?”
Beth’s expression turns anxious. “She’s leaving?”
“Krit,” I murmur, staring into her eyes. “If it were anyone else, I’d coax them to stay just for you. Unfortunately, Bres has to get back, he’s got livestock that can’t be on their own for too long a stretch at a time. He’s got to go.”
Beth is happy to meet the other female, Sanna, who has calmed down nicely with Breslin’s special ways. He has that effect on things, females especially.
I’d be working harder to keep him away from mine, but as he and I roll his wagon out of the bay, Beth’s all kinds of nervous about him, keeping a wary eye as he goes about hitching his beast to the wagon he and Sanna and her strange, furred creature will be riding in to get to his plot of land.
If it weren’t pouring rain and black as Qolt’s heart out here, I’d offer to take them directly to his place, but his livestock are of the aggressive sort—and they see in the dark fine.
No beast is going to be eating my Beth tonight. If anything gets to eat Beth, it’ll be me.
Beth sheds a few tears when Breslin’s wagon rolls away. “At least Sanna’s alien seems nice to her,” she says, trying bravely to marshal her emotions.
“Breslin’s already well on his way to being madly in love with her, and I assure you he’ll be very nice to her.” I urge her back into the ship, drying her off with a towel, and it pulls my mood to something more quiet to see her so morose. I raise my arm to offer her a snuggling place, and to my surprise, she moves herself right to it, warming my side.
My heart revs, and I’m happy once more. “You look ready to drop where you’re planted. Come to bed with me, narra.”
CHAPTER 13—BETH
BETH
Ekan’s room is like a mirror to his mind—it’s chaos. Happy chaos. Lots of shiny things; weapons, gadgets—all sorts of stuff, and there’s clutter everywhere, like he brought in pretty little discoveries, got distracted, and took off. The hooking chair from earlier is still by the smorgasbord of food spread out on the bed.
Ekan manages to pull it about three feet back, before he turns and digs into the food pile, searching for something. He comes up with what looks a bit like duck hunter orange jerky—and he holds half of it out to me after he tears it in two and crams one side of it into his mouth.
“No, but thanks,” I say.
“Iffyurrshurr,” he says with his shoulder roll move as he stuffs the rest of it in his already packed cheek, and finishes scooping the bed free of food by filling up the seat of the chair.
Despite the fact that the bed is half-set into the wall, sort of like that tusked alien’s ‘cubby’ offering, it’s a huge bed. And clean, if you don’t count the disordered clutter surrounding it. The ceiling to the half cubby is high enough Ekan could stand up on his mattress without clonking himself, if he wanted to.
He searches a couple of wall cupb
oards, where there looks to be spare sheets kept next to knives, a ball that lights up when he bumps it (when he does, it squeaks—leading me to believe it might be a toy, not a weapon), and when he doesn’t seem to find what he’s looking for, he herds me towards his bed.
“Lie down before you pass out,” he says distractedly, and when I get one knee up on it, he boosts me from behind, copping a feel of my rear end as he ‘helps.’
Before my lips can form a protest, he flips me so I’m no longer on my hands and knees—I’m flat on my back, facing him.
His eyes heat, and whatever was distracting him is forgotten—he’s all about eye-licking me.
He flings his shirt off, revealing an incredibly toned body—and just like earlier today, he’s a sight to behold. But in this setting, in these circumstances, he somehow manages to look even bigger when he’s not wearing a stitch.
“I’ve been waiting for you my entire lifespan,” he says with feeling.
Romantic, right? ...NO. Not even if we were in a movie—I don’t know this alien well enough to be able to tell if he’s being serious with me or not. He always looks like he’s joking, but the location I’m currently lying on, plus his clothing removal, let alone his declaration, feels super darn serious.
Ekan starts working at the fastening of his pants, with an intention I can’t mistake.
My body tenses. THIS IS MOVING TOO FAST! Yes, sure, I can admit this alien is stupid-attractive—I wouldn’t judge myself in the morning for falling into bed with him. And sure, I’ve already had sex-thoughts about him in the short time we’ve known each other—but there are so many things to consider! Like alien dicks doing stuff dicks aren’t supposed to do. Alien STD’s. Weird reactions to alien bodily secretions of all kinds—including the aliensperm kind. What if alienjizz burns like ginger juice? Causes a rash? An infection? Fuck’s sake, it could do anything, I don’t know!
But do I even have a choice?
This alien bought me. He owns me now.
