Sextus

by Alana Khan

“What are you doing?” he asks, and now it’s clear his anger’s directed at me.

  “Flirting.” I flip my veil back and take a gulp of cool air. “It’s in the script.”

  “Shaking your breasts at me is in the script?”

  I nod.

  “Touching my thigh is in the script?”

  I nod, a bit more hesitantly.

  “You’re not acting like an untouched. Has all of this been an act? You called yourself a con. Has everything been one big deception?”

  “You think I’m lying?”

  “I know that answering a question with a question is a bad sign.”

  “I am an untouched. I’m not a liar. Well, I am, when I’m running a con. But Sextus, I’m not running a con on you. I…” Should I admit this? “I like you.” There, it’s out of my mouth before I can second-guess myself.

  “Explain the jiggling. And the thigh-touching.”

  Oh, that I can explain. I step forward, rise on my tiptoes, reach my arms around his wide t-shirt-clad shoulders, pull his shaggy blue head toward me, and kiss him on the lips.

  And he kisses me back—hard, claiming, unapologetically lusty kisses. He pulls my halftique to my thighs and lifts me up so I’m split wide astride his belly, the perfect kissing height. I’m kind of sitting on one of his forearms; his other hand is splayed open on the back of my head as he takes command of this kiss.

  “Your antics have made me insane,” his voice is low, almost a growl.

  He moves me lower and hitches against me, grinding his cock against my core, then lifts me higher so I’m riding his waist again. “I can barely pay attention to any threats in the casino,” he says hotly, his lips never leaving mine. “You could make a male forget you’re an untouched.” He grinds me against him again and then his own words seem to catch up with him.

  “You’re an untouched.” He slides me down his body until my feet touch the floor.

  “More.” I reach on tiptoe and try to pull his face back to mine. I want it back. I want his wildness, his passion. I want his lips pressing mine as if he can’t dive deeply enough into me. I want my pulse to keep pounding and my nipples to keep aching and my clit to keep quivering.

  He presses his back against the door again, but I follow, still trying to crush my lips to his, but I’m too damned short.

  “Look around you, Lexa. Breathe in through your nose.”

  I open my lust-slitted eyes. I take a breath. Whoosh, it’s like abruptly waking from a dream. I’m in a fucking, dirty casino bathroom on Lusion. It jars me like a hard and bumpy landing on an airplane.

  Shitty restroom or not, my body’s still vibrating with desire. He’s so handsome. And sexy. And I still want him despite the not-cleaned-recently smell in here. His jaw is firm. I crossed his invisible line.

  “There are still no available rooms on this planet. We’ll still share a bed tonight, Sex.” I can put too much emphasis on his nickname now, just like he did to me yesterday. “And I still want more kisses.” I’m pouting.

  I’m sure every other Earth woman figured out somewhere in her teens how to slow the burn, how to control the desire. But this is new to me and I don’t know how to tame the hot, molten yearning that’s zipping through my body. If I sound like I’m sulking and demanding, well, I am.

  He pins me with his stare. Those light-blue eyes are hot as magma. Without taking his gaze from mine, he reaches out, grabs my hand and presses it against his granite-hard cock. With his hand controlling mine, he strokes himself once, firmly—up and down. His nostrils flare.

  “I smell your arousal,” his voice is softer, it’s lost its edge of anger. He shudders. “You’re playing with fire, little Lexa. What you’re doing is dangerous. It has consequences.”

  “Good. If the consequence is more kisses.”

  He rides his cock against my palm again. “You’ve been warned. Keep that up and the consequences might be far more than kisses.”

  Those blazing blue eyes haven’t left mine. I know he thinks he just scared me off. If he only knew my core is clenched in need, and my nipples are hard and tight. I’m not feeling fear right now. No, not an iota. I’m feeling lust.

  “Everyone at the table thinks we came in here to have sex.” He sniffs the air. “They’ll all be able to smell your arousal. We’ll keep giving them a show, Lexa. Tomorrow we sell the painting.”

  He sounds so angry. I’m not certain why.

  Sextus

  On our way back to the gaming table I’m mindful not to pull on the leash. Her brows are lowered and she’s frowning in confusion. That, more than her words, convinces me she truly is an untouched. She doesn’t fully understand how far she can push a male before he breaks.

  One thing is for certain though, little Lexa desires me. Even her naive request for kisses in bed last night didn’t make the extent of her attraction clear. Her expression right this minima tells me she’s as physically uncomfortable as I am. This shouldn’t please me, but it does.

  Lexa

  Even though I’m thoroughly confused about what happened in the bathroom with Sextus, I add substantially to my stack, making sure some of it’s from the purple asshole. I want to ensure he comes back to my table tomorrow. You’d think I’d be preoccupied with the lightning strikes of desire currently zinging through my body, but when I’m at a poker table, I can laser focus on the game.

  I’ve identified tonight’s targets and found most of their patterns. No matter how good a player, only the superstars can vary their game enough to keep their opponents guessing. These are all skills I learned at my daddy’s knee.

  “I’m starved, sir,” I purr while spearing him with a come-fuck-me look which, sadly, is hidden under my black visor. I know I shouldn’t tease him. Our little tête-à-tête in the bathroom should have proved that I’m not skilled or smart enough to play with fire. But I can’t help myself.

  “I know just what to feed you,” he banters back as he reaches under my hood as if he owns me, then slips his thumb suggestively between my lips.

  I should feel mortified, like an object, a piece of meat. Instead, arousal blooms, then fires along every nerve and synapse of my body. I’m so horny I can’t hold his gaze.

  He hovercars us to a restaurant at a nearby casino. “I hear this place serves marquesa. It’s a bird from my home planet. I haven’t had it for years,” he tells me as we’re being seated.

  I take a moment to realize I haven’t felt embarrassed about my exposed boobs all day. It goes to show you can get used to anything if you put your mind to it.

  Six orders us several entrees, including the marquesa. I’ve decided to call him Six both in my mind and out loud whenever I can get away with it. It’s probably his name that caused my temporary insanity in the restroom earlier. Yes, definitely his name.

  There’s a running joke on Earth that every meat you’ve never tried before “tastes like chicken.” It’s used to describe turtle, ‘gator, and rabbit. I’ve tried those things, and trust me, none of it tasted like chicken. So I’m surprised when marquesa actually tastes like chicken.

  “I’m a fan. Is this how it was prepared back home?” I ask around a mouthful of food.

  “Mom wasn’t a fancy cook, she had nine children to feed. Never had anything like this.”

  I would think his thoughts are spinning with memories of home and childhood. I imagine his head isn’t a pleasant place to be.

  “Can you tell me your happiest memory?” Maybe I can get him to focus on something upbeat.

  He looks at me with narrowed eyes, as if he’s assessing whether I’m fucking with him.

  “It’s okay,” I back peddle, “I—”

  “There was a pond about a mille from my house. It was calm there. Quiet. It was our place, Septi and me. Being in public with her was hard; the other kids could be cruel. But in that spot, we could take a full, deep breath, if you know what I mean.”

  Yeah, I do. For a girl who never went to the same school over four months in a row, and who was con
stantly behind because of lack of consistency, yes I certainly do know what you mean.

  “We took our fishing poles every time, but I can’t say we always used them. In the beginning, I used the privacy to help her with her schoolwork, but that just drove a wedge between us. It never helped. So we’d make up silly stories—she was good at that. And we’d look at the white clouds in the blue sky and point out things we saw in the abstract forms.

  “Those moments were so calm, so peaceful. I’d hold her hand. It was the last time I felt truly connected to another living being.”

  A bite of marquesa lies forgotten on his spork. He’s avoiding my gaze.

  “You sound like the best brother a girl could have, Sextus. She was lucky she had you.”

  “I’m not sure about that, but she was clearly the best sister I could have had. For years she kept me from being a complete dracker, but as you can see, I’ve reverted back to my true nature.”

  I’m not a particularly nice person. Even with all my schooling, I never learned how to sugarcoat shit. So the words that blurt out of my mouth are honest, “Maybe that was your true nature, Sextus. Maybe the male I met on the Tranquility, the one who tried to blackmail me for sex, maybe he was born the day you met Daneur Khour.”

  He closes his eyes. Several muscles in his face are quivering. He’s using a powerful amount of self-control to keep deep emotions from surfacing. He swallows twice, his Adam’s apple almost convulsing, and then he honors me with his gaze.

  I’ve never seen this look before. I’ve seen him angry, I’ve seen him swamped with passion, but I’ve never seen him receptive and vulnerable and emotionally present.

  I’ll see your openness and raise you, I think. Raw. I’ll give him the raw Lexa. I’ve never before allowed anyone over this threshold. Ever.

  “I see you, Sextus. I’m getting to know you. I’m learning to look past all the walls and barriers and the red haze of anger. When I fight my way through all of that, I find an amazing male capable of kindness. A male who wants to protect me. A male who could have taken advantage of an untouched on more than one occasion but who didn’t.

  “I hated you a couple days ago. But, Sextus, I really like you now.”

  He spears me with the most serious gaze I’ve ever experienced. It’s as if he’s trying to discern the truth from a lie. And then his lips start a slow journey, the edges lifting upward into a compassionate smile.

  “You’re a revelation, Lexa.”

  Sextus

  I’m paralyzed. Half of me wants to pay for this meal, hurry out the door and hover home in the blink of an eye. The other half wants to stay here forever so she can continue to think I’m a good male. Because as the Gods are my witness, the moment we cross the threshold of that drackhole we sleep in, she’s going to see a side of me that will scare her enough to freeze the blood in her veins.

  I won’t be able to keep my hands off of her. To be honest, I’m not certain I want to.

  The decision to leave gathers more weight when I realize her eyes haven’t left mine. My little untouched is giving me an invitation. I don’t know what she’s inviting me to do, but the fact that she wants me couldn’t be more clear.

  “I’m sleeping on that dracking floor tonight, little Lexa. You say you like me? You won’t like me very much if I act on half the thoughts currently floating through my depraved brain. Come.”

  As I rise to leave, she grabs my wrist and pulls me down to whisper in my ear. “I have depraved thoughts, too, Sextus. Maybe a female my age should let go of her untouched status. And if that makes you feel like a lech, there are other things we can do. I’ve learned a lot in the last week. I know what teeth are for, and when not to use them.”

  She smiles at me! As if this wasn’t a serious conversation. To top it off, she slips her little pink tongue from between her lips and runs it suggestively from one side of her mouth to the other. How can she be both dainty and lewd at the same time? And an even bigger question, how can I keep from attacking her in the hovercar on the way back to our hotel?

  Lexa

  I’m a shitty mind reader. I have no idea what’s going on in his head because he’s not talking. His perfect jaw is set in stone, his nostrils are flared, and his eyes are staring straight ahead.

  This new Lexa, the one I’ve never met before, is urging me to touch him, to put my hand on his cock like he had me do in the restroom earlier. She wants me to lean over and dangle my peaches in invitation. But I won’t do that. I’ve been clear enough about what I want. The ball’s in his court.

  When we’re back in our room I shower, then climb into bed. He takes a shower and comes out a few minutes later, a towel wrapped around his trim waist. He’s never bothered with modesty before. He’s always been happy to go commando.

  I don’t pretend I’m sleeping tonight. I don’t close my eyes. Actually, I sit up to get a better look. And trust me, I’m looking. Ogling in fact. I’ve been having a little talk with myself since we crossed the threshold. Am I ready to give up my untouched status? Yes. With Sextus? Oh yeah.

  There’s just the little issue of his decision to kill a guy in a couple of days. Which, trust me, I have no qualms with. Sounds like he’ll be doing the galaxy a favor. But there’s the fact that after he kills Khour he’ll be dead within seconds. Which will leave me…?

  Leave me with what? No Sextus. And I won’t like that.

  I bring myself back to the present and realize he’s making a little bed of white towels on the floor between the foot of the bed and the red-curtained wall.

  “You know my feelings about hotel floors, right?” There’s a warning tone in my voice.

  “That’s why you’ll be safely ensconced on that bed, Lexa.”

  “No, Sextus I won’t. I’ll be sleeping with you tonight. Have some compassion, will ya? Don’t make me lie on that floor.”

  He pierces me with his gaze as he plucks the towels off the floor one by one. Daring me to come lie with him now, on that filthy carpet.

  I close my eyes, swallow hard and stand up, setting my feet on the towel at the bedside. His gaze never veering from mine, he stalks forward, leans over, grabs the towel on the floor that’s between me and him, and snatches it up.

  Moment of truth. I can’t get to him without crossing the forbidden carpet which is awash with sticky goo and dirt and swimming in possibly-lethal bacteria. A soft grunt escapes my mouth without my awareness. I’m ordering my feet forward. They, however, are engaged in an act of unmitigated mutiny.

  And what, asks a little voice in the back of my head, are you going to do once you’ve crossed the ocean of filth? Are you seriously going to lie down on that floor? Naked? Unprotected by a barrier of white toweling?

  I can’t, I can’t, I can’t, one of my personalities pleads. I will, I will, I will, the other barks back.

  My right foot steps on the carpet. I tell myself I can’t feel anything from the ankle down. My feet don’t exist. But the soles of my feet are hyperaware of the gluey, tacky, dirty texture of the carpet. And yet, I march forward, setting my left foot closer to my goal.

  My eyes have shuttered closed of their own volition. I can only absorb the filthy, disgusting, gross information through one of my senses, not all of them.

  For some reason, I force my lids open in time to see the most handsome male on this or any other planet rush to my side and sweep me off my feet. Literally!

  “What were you doing, little Lexa? Facing your fear to lie with me?” He’s scowling, but it’s just for show. His ice-blue eyes are full of affection.

  He carries me into the bathroom and sets me on the edge of the tub. After sliding my leggings up to my calves, he turns on the water, taking extra care to make certain it’s the right temperature. He throws one of our last clean towels over his shoulder, then squats next to me and washes my feet.

  Why are tears springing to my eyes? I don’t understand the emotions swirling inside me. So I just watch. Observe, just notice, I remind myself.

 
I’m aware of handsome blue Sextus’s back, his muscles sliding under the skin. I’m aware of the most tender touch on my feet, as if firm contact would break me—as if I were porcelain. I’m aware of a clenching in my belly that’s so powerful I can’t ignore it. It has nothing to do with sexual arousal or yearning. It’s deeper than that. It’s affection so profound it can’t be denied. It’s connection. I’m aware that I feel cared for in a way I’ve never experienced before.

  He’s drying me now. Not like I dry myself which is practical and quick and utilitarian. No, he’s blotting my skin, tenderly wiping between my toes, being gentle and thorough.

  He lifts me onto a towel-covered toilet, kneels, and sets one of my feet onto his knee. He bends his beautiful dark head down, lifts my foot up and kisses each toe.