by Alana Khan
“When you come apart at the touch of my fingers or tongue or cock, I don’t want you to pause to make certain the name you call out is mine and not someone else’s. I don’t want you to ever tolerate a touch or action because you don’t feel comfortable saying no.
“I want you to be able to initiate touch without fear, say no if it’s something you don’t want to do, and enjoy what goes on in our bed as much as I do.”
The fiery arousal in his eyes melts me. If I wasn’t already half in love with this male, I would be after that passionate speech . . . especially with the molten look in his gaze.
“Then let’s go slow, T, but let’s start now.” My stare is bold. Something changed on that plank earlier today. Part of fearful, tearful Brin packed up and leaped to her death. The female standing here is more Ballsy Brin than she’s ever been before.
“I think it’s time for a backrub—mine. Without the pesky interference of clothing. I’ll meet you in bed in five minutes.” As I walk into the restroom to wash up I toss over my shoulder, “And I think it should be called our bed.”
Chapter Nine
Thantose
Speechless. She’s rendered me speechless. Underneath her pale skin and those emerald green eyes, she has more strength than anyone I’ve ever known. I nod as I make a pact with myself. I refuse to push her, but I’m not going to baby her anymore. She knows her own mind.
The lights in the bedroom are dim, but it’s not too dark to see she’s lying face down on the ancient white bedspread, wearing only black leggings. Her head is cradled on her hands, facing away from me. I rummage in my backpack to find the lotion I would have never thought to bring; it was still in there from yesterday.
“Same rules?” I ask. “You tell me what you like, right?”
“Yes.”
“And when to stop?” I ask, my eyes already arrowing in on the swell of her breasts at her sides.
“That will be harder, T. I don’t think I’ll want you to.”
If my cock wasn’t already interested in this conversation, that statement would have woken him up.
“Think of it as a game, Brin. The go-slow game.”
“I’ll try.”
I toe off my boots and straddle her ass, my knees at her hips. My fingers itch to touch her back, it’s like a blank canvas. Now that my eyes are accustomed to the darkness in here, it’s all I can do to muffle my grunt of surprise.
By the balls of Freyd, I can see the faint remnants of whip marks all over her back. Her pale skin camouflages them well, and they’re old. But I still see them crisscrossing from one side to the other. Some of the marks reach onto the tender skin at the sides of her breasts.
“I’m just warming up the lotion,” I tell her to cover for the fact that I haven’t touched her yet.
Some of the marks trail under her leggings. I’m certain they’ll cover that beautiful ass when I finally see her in all her naked glory.
My jaw clenches and my hands ball into fists. How can two such opposite emotions war within me? I want to kill. I could easily murder her abuser if he was in the next room. Without question I could do it slowly, painfully, and with my bare hands.
At the same time, the tender concern welling up inside me feels boundless, endless, and infinite. I want to cradle her and rock her and touch her head as if I could erase the memories by magic.
Instead, I rub the lotion together in my palms to warm it, then span her waist with my hands and press upward toward her shoulders.
“How’s the pressure, B?”
“Perfect.”
“No, it’s not. Tell me.”
She just needed that little nudge, and she opens up, telling me where it should be softer, and when to press harder.
If I was an artist, I’d paint this. I’d use artistic license to remove all remnants of the lash marks that document her pain, but my canvas would show the lovely contrast of my dark hands on her pale skin. I could look at this all day.
For the next half houra I map every ince of her back. By the end, I’m giving her the perfect back rub. I know many of her tells, too. This will help me as we map more intimate spaces. My anger has bled out of me. I can’t hold those two warring emotions inside me for long, and I want to nurture the caring, the concern.
I’ve been keeping one word at arm’s length for the entire span of the massage, but it won’t retreat. It’s hovering nearby, lighting up like a supernova at the periphery of my mind. Love. I’m falling in love with her.
She’s so smart, she catches on so quickly to everything I teach her. Better than that, she’s such an interesting package of vulnerability and courage. At first, I was attracted to her fragility. It seemed the perfect contrast to my masculinity. But something changed on Kallion. Now I’m more attracted to her strength.
I lean forward and kiss the nape of her neck. “Did I put you to sleep, B?” I whisper into her ear.
“I’m wide awake, T.” She lifts on her elbows, grabs one of my hands, and pulls it to cup her breast. Her hard nipple spears my palm. “My whole body is wide awake for you.”
“As is mine for you. But we’re playing the go-slow game and I can’t allow you to cheat.” I pull my hand off her warm, full breast and move off the bed in one smooth move. “I don’t know how to cook much more than sumra. We’re going to have breakfast for dinner,” I announce from the galley.
If the next two days don’t kill me, I’ll emerge from this vessel a much stronger male.
Brin
He shut the bedroom door, so I have privacy here in this tiny, barren bedroom. I stay in the moment and allow the wave of painful rejection to wash over me. A blast of anger explodes through me. Anger at the male who just gave me the perfect backrub and didn’t pressure me for sex.
I calm myself down and talk myself through it. This is a trigger. I vowed I’d inspect my triggers and not react with a knee jerk.
Okay, Brin, what happened? I offered my body to him, he rejected me, albeit sweetly, and I felt hurt. My hurt morphed into anger in an instant.
I examine the sequence of events, strand by strand. Within two minutes, I realize this isn’t rejection. This is the way an honorable male treats the female he likes. This isn’t rejection, this is respect. This is a signal he likes me.
The storm circling in my chest calms. I feel happy, maybe even . . . treasured. His cock is always hard around me. He admitted he wanted to have sex with me. He’s definitely interested. His treatment of me is a testament to how much he cares about me.
I bound out of bed, pull on my t-shirt, and mosey into the kitchen.
“Sumra, my favorite.”
“You told me my ahma taught you how to make all my favorite dishes, have at it.”
“I did not tell you that. I told you she taught me how to make drumma sul and frendgrum. Those are your favorite dishes?”
He nods.
“You kept telling me your mom was matchmaking but I didn’t believe you. Why would she do that, T? I’m not even the same race as you and she has to know at least part of my backstory. She must suspect at least a fraction of how messed up I am. Why would she throw us together?”
“I have no idea, BB. But I’m pretty convinced.”
I rummage in the cupboards. Noodles and canned goods. What did I expect, my pirate to have stocked this rental ship with exotic food?
“Maybe, if you’re a very good male, I’ll make you drumma sul, but it will have to be another day, because all we’ve got on board are ingredients for every variety of sumra.”
“Sumra it is, then.”
“How democratic is the Jewel of the Skies, Captain?” I ask.
He simply lifts an eyebrow, which seems exaggerated by his tribal markings.
“I have a suggestion. Is there a suggestion box?”
His brow lowers. It’s obvious he has no idea what I’m referencing.
“I’d like to propose that we ditch the little cot you’ve been sleeping on and put the metal dining table back in its place. That w
ay we’d have a place to eat like civilized people.”
“And where would your captain sleep?”
By the piercing look in his eyes, he already knows the answer.
“The bed in the bedroom could comfortably sleep two, captain.”
“Actually, B, sleeping in the same bed with you while still participating in the go-slow game would be anything but comfortable.”
I sashay over to where he’s standing at the hotbox, grab his shoulders to turn him toward me, and say, “It would be delightfully comfortable for one of us, Sir.”
Those caramel eyes smolder, his gaze holding mine. One hand sweeps up my back and lodges at the nape of my neck, the other splays across my back. He yanks me close to him as if he possesses me.
His tongue invades my mouth, delving into me, claiming me. The wet heat of him, his total masculine power, pulls my attention from the kiss to the jolt of desire slicing through my body. It arcs from nipples to clit, back and forth, forcing my arousal through the roof. Dear God, I want this male.
My hands find the hem of his shirt and burrow up the warm skin of his back. I close my eyes and picture every white and black curve and line that marks his skin. My fingers trace them from memory.
One of his hands cups my ass and lifts me off my feet, pulling me even closer. My legs straddle him without conscious thought. My aching core rides him even as I press my tongue into his mouth, exploring.
I want him to take me, fuck me, but I won’t ask. I know he’ll say no. I’ll simply delight in this. I hear rough grunts escaping from the depths of him. He wants this, too. I know he does.
It takes a moment for either of us to register the sounds coming from the stove. The pot is boiling over, droplets of water are dancing across the surface of the hotbox.
T disentangles us, but takes the extra moment to drop a chaste kiss on my lips before he turns back to the pot and removes it from the heat.
“First mate’s chair. Now,” he barks.
My eyes flare open and fear darts through me. I know that tone. It’s how owners talk to their slaves. I’m in the chair, sitting on the edge of the seat, my eyes subserviently cast down, my hands folded in my lap before he reaches the captain’s chair.
“Close your eyes, breathe in,” he says, his tone is soft and low and serious. “I want you to think about what just happened. Correct me if I’m wrong, but I just told you to do something and you complied like a . . . like a slave.” That last word was barely a whisper. “True?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“You’re still at least partially in slave mode. You called me sir just now. Right?”
I nod. I still feel like calling him Sir.
“And this is why we need the go-slow game, Sweet Brin. I want you. You want me. I’d bet it would take less than three modicums for us to be nude and in bed if we wanted to. But the problem is . . . I don’t know if you really want to. And you don’t either. You’re still on autopilot half the time. Like just now.
“Beautiful Brin, when we finally come together, and trust me, we will, it will be incendiary. It will be better, more sensuous, more intimate than anything either of us have ever had before. But Brin.” He waits for me to look at him. Dear God, he looks fierce when he’s this serious, his eyes lasering mine. “When we finally come together it will be consensual, not on autopilot, or due to reflex.”
This isn’t the first time he’s said this. But it’s the first time I’ve heard it. Interesting, as I process it instead of hurting my feelings or making me feel rejected, I feel safe and cherished.
“TT, I apologize. I finally get it. I’m going to learn to love the go-slow game. Because I get to play it with you.”
My heart has never felt so light.
Chapter Ten
Brin
I watch T’s capable hands as he docks us on Carden II. I’ve never seen the Ataraxia; they bought it while I was with Valeria on Primus. I don’t really care about the ship, though. All the space vessels I’ve seen have one thing in common—they’re airplanes on steroids. They have different numbers of rooms and berths, but they’re mostly metal rooms and hallways with computer screens scattered everywhere.
What concerns me more is the crew. I haven’t seen them since they launched into hyperspace from Primus five months ago. Since then, Thantose tells me they’ve taken to calling me beautiful Brin. He says it’s with the utmost respect, but a lifetime of living with various types of humanoids has taught me that most are mean at heart. I nurse the sneaking suspicion they don’t like me and have been making fun of me all this time.
“Is your stuff packed? We’ll move it to the Ataraxia,” T is all business.
“Thantose, I’m asking one more time.” I grasp his upper arm. “No, I’m begging. Please let me sleep in your cabin. I get it. The go-slow game. I’m now a big fan. But the idea of being on a new ship with people who’ve been talking about me for months. People who know my history. I’ll feel safer with you.”
He doesn’t say no right away, which he’s been doing for the past two days every time I’ve brought it up. That’s a good sign.
“I’ll sleep on the floor. Maybe tomorrow I’ll move into the room you’ve set aside for me. But just for tonight can I stay with you?” My eyes run from his, then stare at the floor.
“We’ve both been aroused every waking minima of the past two days. This won’t be easy,” he says. “You can stay in my cabin and sleep in my bed. By the Gods, the thought of you sleeping on the floor makes me want to set something on fire. But B, you have to promise not to make this harder on us.”
“Thanks, T.” I give him a flying leap of a kiss. “I’ll follow the rules. Harden’s honor.”
We’ve docked within walking distance of the Ataraxia, and arrive within minutes. I take it all back. Not all space vessels are created equal. “T, she’s a beauty.” She’s newer than the Tranquility, and a bit bigger.
The ramp clangs down and I suppress the urge to grab Thantose’s hand. He might not want his friends to know our relationship status has changed from ‘Single’ to ‘It’s Complicated’.
He grabs my hand and powers up the ramp with me in tow. Everyone is there in the little unadorned metal entry airlock. I’m counting the seconds, waiting for him to snatch his hand from mine to disavow any emotional connection to me, but he doesn’t. In fact, he doubles down and puts his arm around my waist—a statement.
Last they knew, their Captain was being forced on a mission with me to buy the Meris to please his mother. Now it’s clear we’re a couple.
“It’s good to see you, Captain,” Marcus the pilot nods. “And you, Brin.”
Everyone is super polite. I don’t know if T comm’d ahead and actually sent a ‘be nice to Brin’ memo, or if they’re all so dumbfounded at this turn of events they have nothing else to say.
“Griff, Sextus, can you go over to the Jewel and retrieve the Meris? Stow it carefully in the hold. It now carries the honor of being the most expensive item on the Ataraxia.
“Tawny, even though it’s late and we have a big day ahead of us tomorrow, can you meet me in the dining area in ten minimas? I want to make certain everything is squared away for tomorrow’s auction.”
“Sure.” She’s smiling, not just at him but at me. She’s dropped any pretense of ‘captain’ and ‘Sir’. They were a pretty informal bunch last I flew with them.
Tawny was held captive in an emperor’s dungeon for three years. She and Devolose had been in love for years in captivity. After their escape, they worked out their problems and I’m told they’re deliriously happy here on the ship. We never sat down and compared notes, but Tawny and I have a lot in common.
It’s really Lexa I’m afraid of. She’s the one who diagnosed me with PTSD and Stockholm Syndrome—and not very pleasantly, either. I’m also not thrilled about seeing Griff again, he was very, very interested in sharing quarters with me last time we met.
“Hi, Brin. It’s good to see you again,” Lexa spears me with a sincere l
ook and a genuine smile. “Maybe we could talk when you have time. I want to give you a personal apology.”
My eyes flare wide. Did she really just say that? In public? In front of everyone on the ship? “Uh, okay. It sounds like you just did, though.”
“I owe you more than that. Let me know when we can meet.” She smiles at me again and doesn’t shy from my gaze.
“Okay.” Shocking. Talk about a metamorphosis. I feel a thousand percent more comfortable already.
“We meet at 0800 here at the ramp tomorrow,” Thantose says. “Marcus and Seneca—”
“Excuse me, Thantose,” Tawny interrupts. “They’ve changed the schedule. Your lot has been moved to later in the day. You’re invited to a formal dinner with some of the other major contributors to the auction. Our goods will be sold after that. The dinner starts at 1800.”