They all laugh at that, except Yahni, who is staring with open loathing at my presence.
“Over here,” Rawko calls. It’s a long, modern table with basic chairs. I walk around and take the spare seat between Rawko and Trip.
The captain speaks into his thumb, sending a message to the kitchen: “Reesa will be joining us in the mess hall tonight.”
I listen politely while the men discuss news of recent revolt activity in the galaxy. They continue talking as the doors slide open and the chef comes in carrying plates. None of the others even glance his way, but I look up to thank him when I feel his paunchy belly graze my arm and he sets a plate before me. He’s ogling down my shirt. I bring a hand up to my chest, breaking his view. That’s when he looks me in the eyes and gives the creepiest smirk I’ve ever seen. I quickly look away, around the table, but nobody else seems to have noticed.
I only eat half of my meal, feeling uneasy.
“Gonna eat that?” Rawko asks.
I shake my head, and he skewers the remaining meat while Tripoli puts a fork in a red potato and pops it in his mouth, giving me a wink.
“Y’all are pigs,” Tiko says across from me.
“Want a potato?” I ask him.
“Hell yeah.”
The others laugh as I push my plate across.
“Are you sure you got enough?” the captain asks me as the men converge on my leftovers.
“Yes, thank you.” I give him a small smile.
He links his fingers in front of him and goes quiet while the men banter. The chef comes back in to take our plates, and I’m careful not to look at him this time.
“Wanna play pool tonight, Rees?” Rawko asks me.
I smile at the shortening of my name. “Sure.”
“Dibs!” he shouts just as Tripoli says, “I’ll be her partner!” and Dev says, “She’s with me.” And we all laugh. It’s nice to be appreciated outside of the bedroom.
I catch the captain watching us, leaning back in his chair comfortably, a look of paternal pride on his face, and it warms me to see him at ease. Then I catch Yahni’s seething annoyance for all the happiness in the room, and the warmth is stolen from me.
“Do you play pool, Yahni?” I find myself asking, a slight shake in my voice.
The dining room goes quiet as all eyes turn to him. He practically bores a hole through my face with his icy glare. He leans forward across the table, strands of dark hair framing his face.
“I don’t play games. I’m not a child.”
I cringe internally, knowing this will not go well.
“Yahni is too mature to have fun,” Rawko says, successfully stealing Yahni’s steely gaze for himself. “Or maybe you’re just afraid you’ll suck ass at pool.”
More internal cringing. The room tenses, though some of the guys grin, as if enjoying the tension.
“Save it for the sparring room, boys,” the captain warns, but the men don’t look away from one another.
“I don’t recall you ever beating me at anything, fool,” Yahni says to Rawko through gritted teeth.
The blond is unconcerned, smiling confidently. “Unless you count women at clubs. How many flock to you? Oh, that’s right. None.”
The other guys hoot with laughter, and I twitch as I watch Yahni’s whole body go rigid, his hands clenching into fists so hard they turn nearly white. Oh, stars above…
He launches himself with a vicious growl across the table, and I scream as I jump from my chair to avoid the flailing of limbs and the flying of dishes and silverware. Liquid splatters my clothing, and I cover my face, but I can’t drown out the sounds of fighting: the meaty punches and tearing and shouts. I back against the far wall and peek to see the other men pulling Yahni off Rawko. It takes four of them to yank him away and subdue him. Rawko stands, his shirt torn from neck to mid-torso. His hair is ruffled and his mouth drips blood. I watch him glower at Yahni, the first time I’ve ever seen him truly angry. But what did he expect? I could have told him his taunting wouldn’t end up well.
“Get the fuck out of here, Rawk,” the captain says.
Rawko roughly wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, and shoulders past the others to leave. The men slowly release Yahni.
“You need to lighten up, man,” Devlar tells him.
“Fuck you.” Yahni still sounds half-animal. The captain wordlessly points to the door and Yahni storms out.
The room is quiet, and then I admit aloud, “I think my presence agitates him.”
“No,” the captain says. “It’s nothing to do with you.”
I can’t help but silently disagree as I look around at the mess.
“Those two are like oil and water,” Devlar says.
“True.” Milaz rubs a hand over his scruffy chin. “But Yhan has been more trigger happy than usual.” He looks at me. “I’m not saying it’s ‘cause of you. He’s always looking for a fight, but it’s worse this mission than any in the past.”
The door to the kitchen slides open, and the chef curses under his breath as he looks at the mess. I feel bad, and I want to help clean it, but I know they won’t allow it.
“Sorry,” the captain grumbles. He moves us toward the door where we all leave the angry chef to clean up our mess.
The next day I attend a sparring session, never able to turn down an invitation from Captain Lexon, and another fight breaks out. This one between Yahni and Tripoli because Yahni gave an extra hit to Trip’s ribcage after the timer sounded.
“You having trouble controlling your Keplar side, bro? Is that it?” Trip taunts, pissed. The other men stand and swarm them as the atmosphere thickens. Yahni’s shoulders go up, rounding in his fighting mode.
“You think you can use your heritage to be a mother fucking dipshit all the damn time?”
A spring seems to snap inside Yahni, sending him forward in a rage, and I jump to my feet, rushing from the room as the men converge in a mass of muscles.
I can’t take the fighting. It sickens me. And though the other men don’t believe it has anything to do with me, I know it does. I know I’ll only make things worse…or better.
***
Captain Lexon apparently enjoys tempting the bull, because he insists I join them at dinner again. I do really enjoy their company outside of the bedroom, but I’m careful to stay quiet and wear my most modest clothes to dinner. I also try to keep my eyes away from Yahni and the chef. Speaking of the chef, at the end of the meal, he stops by the captain’s chair and says something in a low voice. I can’t hear it over the others’ chatter and laughter.
“What is it?” the captain asks him. “Can you say it now, or is a private meeting necessary?”
Again, the chef answers quietly.
I see Captain Lexon stiffen from the corner of my eye, and he turns to the chef in slow motion, speaking through gritted teeth. The other men seem to take notice of the shift of emotion in the room, and turn to listen.
“You told me that would not be necessary,” the captain says. “And you were provided with a soft body.”
“Yes, sir, Captain,” the chef says. “And I thought that would suffice. But it’s been months, and I realize now that I need more.” His beady eyes move to me, raking my body, and I’m floored with disgust as it dawns on me what he’s asking for. The others must figure it out at the same time, because I swear they all sit up taller and suddenly look like they could kill.
“That’s too damned bad,” Captain Lexon’s voice is flat. “You’ll not have a place in the rotation.”
“Sir, you’ve brought her into my presence now, making matters worse for me. I’m only a man, after all. A Mars humana. You’re denying me my basic rights.”
Lexon stands, towering over the man. His voice is deadly calm. “In case you haven’t noticed, we are not on Mars anymore. And I don’t take kindly to men who break their word.”
Oh, stars. They’re going to fight, and there’s going to be more unhealthy tension on the ship. I’m ill at the thought of th
e chef touching me in any way, but even more anxious about what will happen if I don’t service him. I hate conflict.
Their voices are raising, and my heart is racing. When the chef throws up his hands and turns his back disrespectfully on the captain, Yahni jumps to his feet and grabs the chef by the throat, pinning him against the wall and raising him off his feet. The man grabs Yahni’s wrists as his face turns red. Everyone is out of their seat now, including me, and I’m shouting.
“Leave him alone! Yahni, please! I’ll do it!”
Yahni drops him and looks at me with eyes blazing, lost to madness.
“No,” the captain starts to say, but I slash an arm through the air.
“Stop! Send him to me. I won’t have this fighting among you if it’s something I can help.”
Why are men so foolish? I turn, eyes burning, and rush from the room.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Seconds after the door slides closed behind me I hear it open again and the captain’s low voice stops me in my tracks.
“Reesa, wait.”
I turn on my heels, swallowing my emotion. “Is dinner with the men always so adventurous? Or only when a woman is around?” I knew I should have refused to join them.
He sighs, running a big hand over his cropped hair. “No. And you shouldn’t have said what you said in there. I won’t allow—”
“Again,” I say. “It’s my choice. After this I won’t eat with you again, and he doesn’t have to see me. Perhaps we can get this out of his system and he’ll forget about me.”
Another caustic laugh, and he gazes up at the ceiling. “Not likely after he’s had you.”
“I can make things unremarkable for him,” I say.
“Doubtful.” The captain’s eyes land on mine, and I am filled with a flush of heat that makes me look away.
“Just send him quickly. Please.” I want to get it over with. “I’ll have two Vestos in one day. I don’t care. I can’t take this fighting anymore.”
I ignore his responding growl and turn to get to my room. I will put on my blandest underclothing, pull my hair into a ponytail, and remove all makeup.
The nervousness I feel when the chef shows is not the same kind I feel about the other men. In fact, not one single thing is comparable. I stand there, unable to move as he comes into the room and watches my face while he strips off his clothing. He moves forward and reaches behind me to grasp my ponytail and push me down to my knees.
Every slap of skin, every pull of my hair, every foul explicative spoken, is so different. I fight back tears the entire time, wanting so badly for it to be over, and wondering why this man seems to have extraordinary stamina when all I want is for him to be done already. I’ve never had sex before that I didn’t want to have, and I never want to again.
One terrible, disgusting hour later, he finally leaves and I go straight to the bathroom, turning on the shower and waiting for the water to heat. I’m shaking and my stomach is turning. I let out a squeak of a scream when someone knocks hard on the bathroom door just as I’m about to step in.
“Reesa.” The Captain’s voice booms. I sigh with relief and put on my robe, then press the panel. He steps into the bathroom with one long stride and shocks me by taking my face in his hands. He moves my head gently from one side to the other, and I realize he’s looking me over.
“I’m fine,” I say, but my voice breaks.
The sound of it makes his face scrunch. “You’re not fine.”
All I can do is shake my head. I’m not fine. “I can’t do that again.”
“I’m sorry,” he whispers.
His voice is a kind and gentle rumble that courses through me. When a tear streams down each of my cheeks, he takes me into his arms and cradles me to his chest.
“It’s not your fault.” My body lets out an embarrassing sob and he holds me tighter. His touch is such a wonderfully welcome contrast to the chef’s. I can’t help but wrap my arms around him and pull him closer, breathing him in and letting my tears soak into his cotton undershirt.
“It is my fault. I’m responsible for everything that happens on this ship. I should have gone with my instinct instead of letting you insist. It will never happen again.”
I nod into his shirt and slowly look up. We’re standing close, our bodies pressed together. Captain Lexon doesn’t look away, and I feel him go completely still under my stare. His eyes travel my face, and then his hands move up to gently brush back my hair. The gesture is kind and nurturing, with a complete lack of expectation. It pushes away the churn in my belly and sets my heart aflutter in the strangest way. My fingers move against his back, and he abruptly drops his arms and steps away, blinking, clearing his throat. The softness that was in his eyes has returned to firm control.
“You’ll take the rest of this evening off. We’ll push back the rotation until tomorrow.”
“Okay,” I whisper.
He gives a curt nod and leaves without another word, but his strides are purposeful and I would really hate to be the chef right now.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The more I think about Yahni and his upbringing, the sadder I feel. I know it would enrage him to know that, but something deep inside of me is reaching out, needing to somehow heal some of the hurt inside of him. I’m not naïve enough to think a bit of kindness from me will help. The only way to reach a man that broken is to put myself at his level, an idea that scares me more than I want to admit. I don’t know exactly what sort of things he has in mind, or what my threshold for pain is, but I think I’m ready to find out for the sake of peace.
He’s mentioned fucking my ass twice now, and while I’m not morally against it, I know it will hurt, and he will not take it slow. My heart hammers in my chest just thinking about that kind of erotic intimacy with a man like that. I take a deep breath and let myself out of my room, heading for the gym.
Today is Yahni’s day in the rotation, a day I’ve come to think of as a day off, though a small part of me still nearly panics between eight and eleven at night, wondering if it will be the night he finally shows. I walk on shaky legs down the hall. It’s been a long time since Yahni closed himself into the gym with me. It’s been a long time since he’s even looked me in the eye. I feel seething lust roll off him every time he’s near, but he prefers to pretend I don’t exist. I’m about to change that.
I’m going to poke the chained bear.
I purposely leave the gym door open a few inches as I work out. Captain Lexon finally agreed to tell the men he’ll be on conference call Stateside. Of course I’m distracted the entire time I do my exercise cycle, sneaking peeks at the door, paranoid he’ll be right behind me when my back is turned. And though that’s what I want, I’m still frightened.
When my hour is complete and he hasn’t shown, I have to admit to myself that I feel disappointed. Even a little peeved. I huff as I wipe my face with my towel. When I pull it away, the gym goes completely black, and I yelp with surprise. Is the electric system malfunctioning? Wait…no. If there were something wrong with the ship, I would hear the men calling out or running. It’s too quiet, and as I squint in the general direction of the door, I’m pretty sure it’s been shut.
Yahni.
My heart escalates as I become very still, listening intently to the silence. Nothing. I wanted this, right? Because at this exact moment I’m questioning my sanity, wishing I could take it all back.
“H-hello?” I start to gingerly make my way around equipment, bumping into things and maneuvering my way around them. My breaths are coming obnoxiously loud, and I’m halfway to the door when a hand curls over my mouth, and I’m yanked back against a solid, hot body. Every nerve fires off a series of panicked bursts through my skin. My first awful fear is that the chef is touching me, but he’s not this strong or tall or hard of body. My hands go up to grip a forearm of tight, unyielding muscle. This is Yahni.
“You shouldn’t leave the door open, pet. A predator is likely to find you.”
A tre
mor rocks through me and he chuckles. I know I need to take advantage of the situation. I need to somehow let Yahni know I’m willing to be used by him without scaring him away. But maybe it won’t be necessary. Maybe this time he won’t hold back.
Gently, almost as if it’s on accident, I push up on my toes and my ass brushes the hard length within his pants. I whimper as he hisses, clutching me harder.
“Do that again,” he whispers harshly. “I dare you.”
Air rushes in and out of my nose at the same quick pace as my heart. A second passes. Two. Three. Then I lean back and very slowly raise up onto my toes, rubbing my ass crack up the full length of him.
He roars in my ear, and I feel myself tossed, but then he’s catching me, and my workout leggings are being yanked down in the back. I cry out as cooler air surrounds my skin, and then my abdomen is crushed down onto a padded bench. I’m bent over, and an excruciating, stinging slap reverberates across my ass cheek. I scream as hot humiliation zings through me.
I scramble, but his hand grips the back of my neck and his knee presses into my lower back. Yahni then proceeds to whip my ass no less than ten times, making small grunting sounds of pleasure with each smack. My wails are muffled by my hair and the bench, which I’m clutching with all my might. Tears squeeze from the corners of my eyes. I had expected him to have sex with me, not to hit me! It’s not like the sexy smacks Milaz gives me. This is a full out hard spanking.
He finally stops, and in that moment, with him breathing hard above me, as the sting subsides and leaves behind blinding heat across my exposed skin, complete shock overtakes me. I’d quickly gone from a state of fear to demoralization to…something else. Being in this submissive position beneath him and having taken his beating has made me wet. What is the matter with me?
He shoves away, leaving me in the darkness to pull my leggings up over my sensitive, stinging ass. I don’t hear him move, so I know he’s still standing there. I’m glad it’s dark. So glad I don’t have to look at his smug face. So glad he can’t see me swipe the moisture from my eyes.
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