Sextus

by Alana Khan

  I’ve stroked myself every night for the past week visualizing the picture of her standing naked and dropping to her knees between my legs the way she did in my cabin. But this is doing me no good. First, she’s an untouched. Second, she hates me—she’s made that very clear.

  “Stick close to me. A hovercar and driver are waiting for us at the bottom of the ramp. We’ll go straight to the hotel.”

  “You don’t have to tell me to stay close. Where do you think I’m going on a strange planet dressed like this?” she snaps.

  She’s feisty, I’ll give her that.

  Lexa

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” I grumble at the hotel clerk.

  Just because I’m on a freaking leash does not mean there’s a ball gag in my mouth. If the past month has taught me anything, it’s that I should expect nothing, and I do mean nothing, to go right. So I’m not sure how this latest blow snuck under my radar and threw me for a loop.

  “I’m sorry, sir,” the gray-skinned Lusion clerk repeats, acting as if no words just came out of my mouth. “Unfortunately, your reservation was never entered into our computer. We have no room for you.”

  “If this is a ploy to extort additional money…” Sextus threatens as he balls his fists and leans menacingly over the counter.

  “Absolutely not, sir. There are simply no rooms at this establishment. Wait,” his fingers fly over his screen, “I can secure you a room at our sister hotel.”

  Maybe I should have been an author because I could write this screenplay. Otherwise, how would I know what’s coming next?

  “It’s not as well-appointed as this establishment, but they have one room available. Shall I secure it for you before it’s taken?”

  “Yes,” Sextus says at the same moment I say “no”. Of course, the gray guy doesn’t hear any words coming out of a female’s mouth, so he’s busy booking the room.

  “Sextus,” I plead, “it’s going to be a roach motel. Please, let’s find something nicer.”

  “I’m sure it will be fine,” he reassures me.

  “The database says there are no other rooms available in the entire casino sector. With the Galaxy Klempto event starting in three days,” the clerk informs us, “you’re lucky. You just got the last room.”

  Oh yeah, I’m feeling lucky indeed when we pull up to the seediest motel this side of the Milky Way.

  I may be a zillion miles from Earth, the people here might be gray and twisted beyond belief wanting their females’ faces hidden and their breasts exposed, but I can spot a sleazy hotel at a thousand paces. I spent my childhood in them.

  Because of dad’s “profession,” we were on the move a lot. He’d scam the motel owners with the “one more day” ploy and then the “my daughter will have to sleep under a bridge” excuse until they locked us out of our room and notified the police. I learned to keep everything I valued in the little backpack I never let out of my sight.

  At our new hotel, the clerk’s first question is how many hours we want the room. Sextus pulls me in front of him and calmly places his hands on my shoulders—a silent cue to shut up and not put the kibosh on securing the last room in this part of Lusion. At least we’ll have somewhere to sleep.

  Before we walk away from the desk, I request ten extra towels. The clerk spears me with a lascivious look. Frankly, I have no idea how his look could get any more lecherous than it was, since he’s been salaciously ogling my boobs since I walked through the door.

  “That’ll be twenty additional credits,” he says with a shrug of his shoulders.

  Because even a blind man could see I’m vibrating with anger, Sextus smartly says nothing and just pays the guy.

  You’d think the room would evoke warm and tender feelings of “home” since it reminds me of every shitty motel room in which I ever had the pleasure of spending the night. But no, it’s just sad and pathetic and dingy. Not to mention creepy and filthy.

  “One bed,” Sextus announces, his voice level.

  He’s probably waiting for me to have a complete meltdown. I say nothing.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll sleep on the floor,” he offers.

  My first true surprise of the day. Sextus did something nice.

  “Do you have any idea what’s on that floor? Thantose said you were in the military. I assume you’ve been through a lot. Maybe you’ve slept on sand and dirt. Maybe you’ve fought in hell holes across the galaxy. But this floor, Sextus? No one’s that brave.” I shake my head. “Nope, we’ll share the bed.” I spear him with my firmest gaze. “Make no mistake, if you touch me I’ll find a way to stab you in your sleep.”

  I pick the side of the bed closest to the filthy restroom and take a moment to look around. Nice touch, mirrors on three walls and the ceiling. Dirty mirrors. Broken mirrors. Cracked mirrors. Plush red curtains cover most of another wall, but upon closer inspection, I see there’s no window behind them, just dull metal.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I glimpse myself in mirrors reflected in mirrors. I’m just a black blob in a burka, face obscured by the dark facial visor. My two pink-tipped breasts the size of ripe peaches poke out, drawing the eye like a gleaming piece of gold in a pile of coal. Subtle.

  I hurry to the dirty bathroom, pull off the loathsome haftique and dress in leggings and t-shirt in less than a minute.

  “You doing okay?” Sextus must see my facial expression cycling from disgust to horror to profound sadness when I return to the room.

  I want to tell him to go to hell and inform him in no uncertain terms that we are not friends. I’m tempted to remind him that the foundation of our relationship was forged on my knees between his in the close confines of his cabin. But for some reason, I don’t. I chalk it up to being too exhausted.

  I lay a bath towel on top of the spread—I don’t even want to think about the last time they washed it. “Give me an hour’s nap and I’ll be ready to play.”

  “I’ll lie on the floor and nap, too. Just wake me when you’re ready.”

  “Sextus, we’re not friends. I’ll be honest, after the stunt you pulled in your cabin, I don’t even like you. But condoning any living being touching their skin to this carpet...well, it’s unconscionable. You said an untouched was untouchable, right?”

  He nods.

  “So don’t touch me.” I almost pat the bed on his side to motion for him to lie down, but I stop my hand in midair since the spread’s not covered with a towel—I simply point.

  Maybe it was the fact that my body was tired from being on high alert, but I must have fallen asleep before he laid down. As my eyes pop open, I instantly remember where I am and why I’m here. Despite the shitty planet and the burka and the exposed boobage, I’m excited about playing.

  Poker is thrilling. It’s as close to battle as I ever want to be. It often boils down to mano a mano, like a duel. Only in poker, it’s usually the smartest player who wins. Of course, there’s some luck involved, which is why I love the game. The surprises can be both heartbreaking and electrifying. It depends which side of the luck you’re on.

  I turn toward Sextus, about to wake him, but I stop. It’s the first time I’ve seen his face without his angry stare. He’s...peaceful. He followed my lead and is lying on a white towel. He’s on his back completely nude. He took me at my word about the no-touching rule. I guess I should have laid down a no-naked rule as well.

  I can’t take my eyes off him. How could I have been in close quarters with him for weeks and never really noticed how beautiful he is? His face in repose is handsome. The hard edges of the anger he wears like a second skin have smoothed out. The planes and angles of his face are softer.

  His blue flesh has the faintest lavender tinge—my favorite colors. The cobalt tribal markings I thought at first blush were elaborate tattoos are definitely not tattoos. I guess they were standard issue at birth. The one on his temple that seems to give him the perpetually sullen and annoyed look seems tempting when his muscles are relaxed.

  My eyes wan
der downward from his high cheekbones to his straight nose, to his kissable lips. Kissable lips? Did I really think that? I’ll have to give myself a stern talking to. But I’ll do that later, after I complete a full visual inspection.

  I lean up on an elbow and my eyes continue their slow journey downward over corded neck muscles, firm pecs, and washboard abs.

  I take my time before I arrive at his cock which is neither flaccid nor fully stiff. It’s a slightly darker blue with mesmerizing cobalt swirls circling and whirling around it. The swirling markings are slightly raised, and my mind flies to decadent thoughts of what they’d feel like under my fingertips.

  “Take your time,” his deep voice rumbles. “Want a picture? Use your wrist comm.”

  Fuck. Oh my god, I’m so busted. There is no explanation for what he just saw other than what it was—I was perving on him.

  “Sorry. So sorry. So, so sorry,” I say as I scoot off the bed so fast I forget to put my shoes on and my feet actually touch the carpet. It’s tacky, just as I suspected. I slip into my flip-flops, scurry to the bathroom, and slam the door. “Sorry. Sorry,” I keep repeating until I hear his derisive laugh.

  “Don’t be so sorry, little Lexa. After all, I’ve had all day to inspect those perfect breasts of yours.”

  Shit. I liked him so much more when he was sleeping.

  Chapter Four

  Lexa

  We took a small, two-person open-air hovercar from our hotel’s front door to the huge Luxon casino a few miles away. Sextus meandered there, giving me a good look at the sights.

  What I’ve seen so far of Lusion reminds me of pictures I’ve seen of the Middle East. It’s unpleasantly hot, and there’s a fuck-ton of sand blowing in what seems like every direction at once.

  When we spot the Luxon up ahead it reminds me of pictures of huge, ancient, stepped ziggurats from Mesopotamia. Maybe there’s something about hot, sandy climates that make males want to obliterate their females’ individuality.

  I watched some women walking on their leashes on the way here. Besides killing a little part of my soul, I discovered how it’s supposed to work. As I suspected, proper etiquette is to walk a few paces behind.

  Just pretend you’re in a performance, I admonish myself. This isn’t real. Have fun. You’re putting on a costume and role-playing. Yeah, this will be child’s play.

  Actually, it’s fairly easy to forget the fact that my peaches are hanging out as soon as we enter the casino. There’s something about the sound of the gaming machines and the dull roar of talk and activity that’s vaguely soothing. We find the Klempto Room and Sextus exchanges the gold bar for chips.

  Sitting at a red-felt table with Sextus behind me, I motion to the dealer not to give me a hand right away. While all the males at the table are sizing me up—and by that I mean they’re all sizing up my boobs—I’m assessing everyone’s style of play. I “accidentally” knock over several stacks of chips, then ask my “owner” to remind me if a straight beats a flush or a flush beats a straight.

  Sextus plays right along with me and indulgently reminds me while rolling his eyes. This leads all the males at the table to make assumptions about just how far the big, blue guy will go to get some pussy tonight as well as about what a terrible player I’ll be. One of the best advantages you can have at a poker table is for your opponents to underestimate you.

  In less than ten minutes I’ve identified my two main targets: a shaggy blue guy who’s way more interested in his drink than playing klempto, and the tiny orange male with two antennae who’s perched on several extra seat cushions. The blue guy has a “talking tell” and won’t freaking shut up when he’s bluffing. Antennae-guy plays every hand and keeps betting even if he has nothing. Easy pickings.

  An hour later I’ve doubled my stack and felted antenna-guy. When I’m not in a hand, I’ve made a show of being all lovey-dovey to Sextus, thanking him for staking me to the game, and marveling at how lucky I’ve been today.

  “I’m so sorry, Mr. Khour, this is the only available seat at the moment,” the serious, gray floorman says as he brings in a new player. “As soon as a seat opens at the higher stakes game, we’ll get you moved. May I provide you with a complimentary drink? A meal? A female to administer you a massage?”

  Obviously this new player has some major prestige. His pale lavender skin accentuates his bright purple mohawk. I don’t know much about the ways of the galaxy, but it’s clear this guy’s threads are probably worth more than the substantial stack of chips sitting in front of me.

  I’m so focused on sizing up the new player at the table that it takes a while to notice something has drastically changed with Sextus. Every muscle in his body has tensed. When I look behind me I see his jaw vibrating in anger. He’s balled his hands so tightly I’m relieved he’s not yanking on my leash.

  “Hey, sir, want to take me for a walk?” I ask, trying to act like a respectful slave.

  “Keep playing, pet,” he says; the timbre of his voice has changed to a deep growl.

  I can’t read his mind, and he’s the one holding the leash, so I get back to the game. The purple guy is not my target. First, it’s obvious he has so much money there’s no way to push him off a hand. Second, he’s a pretty good player.

  Even though I’m not targeting him, an hour later I’ve taken a significant amount of his chips in two huge pots. I don’t think this guy likes women. He keeps giving me eat-shit-and-die looks when he’s not ogling my chest.

  If I read him right he either wants to fuck me or intimidate me or both. Sorry, that won’t work, purple guy. At the poker table, these are just two lumps of flesh. I’ll have time for modesty the rest of my life when I’m a rich female landowner.

  Three hours later I’m having trouble concentrating because I have to pee so badly I can think of nothing else. I didn’t get the memo on how females relieve themselves in public since we have to stay on our leashes. I’d hate to go home because I’m not tired at all and purple guy’s having a very unlucky day. Most of his money has migrated from his side of the table to mine.

  “Sir?” It takes a moment for Sextus’s eyes to swing to mine. “I need to…” When he doesn’t catch on I whisper, “Relieve myself.”

  “Come, pet,” he says as he rises. I obediently trot behind him so I don’t get dragged by the neck across the entire casino.

  Although I see male restrooms every hundred feet—subtly marked with a picture of a penis with a dotted line spurting out the end—we have to walk the length of a football field to find the women’s room. It’s marked with a picture of a black haftique-clad figure with two round protuberances at the chest.

  There are about twenty stalls that each open onto the main room. Sextus opens one, urges me forward, joins me inside, and then closes us both in. It’s about three feet wide and eight feet deep with a toilet at the far end and a sink toward the front. No interior door separating me from my “master.” Fun times.

  “Sorry,” he says as he faces toward the door—such a gentleman.

  “When in Rome…” I say lightly, trying not to reveal my true level of mortification.

  I finish my business, thankful I didn’t have to do number two. After washing my hands, I stop him from opening the door.

  “Mind telling me why your teeth have been grinding for the last several hours?”

  “Nothing,” he shrugs.

  What? Since when did he become a twelve-year-old who doesn’t want to answer his parents’ questions about where he snuck out to last night?

  “Sextus, something’s eating you up inside. What’s going on?”

  “You informed me earlier that we’re not friends, little Lexa. That means you’re not entitled to my private thoughts.”

  Ooh, have I hurt this big male’s feelings, or is this payback? Interesting, his words sting.

  “Maybe we could...call a truce.” I’m not sure how that slipped out, but as I reassess, I realize it’s the right thing to do. “Truce?”

  He thin
ks for long moments, all the while piercing me with that icy blue stare of his. “Truce. Let’s get you back to that table and keep playing like you’ve been playing. You’re masterful, Pet.” He puts emphasis on the name, but winks and gives me a tiny smile. “Thantose is right, you are the Klempto Queen. Keep beating that purple bastard and I just might treat you to dinner.”

  I don’t understand what overcomes me, but I want to touch this male. My hand itches to reach up and cup his cheek. Am I so lonely that the tiniest smile melts me? Instead of tracing the tattoo at his temple with my fingers, I pull the damnable hood over my face and down to mid-chest. He opens the door and I follow him back to the table like the good pet that I am.

  Sextus