by Dixon, Ruby
“Get dressed,” Varrik tells me, getting to his feet. “Where is my manservant? I need a fresh robe.”
“I can help you with that,” I say, as if I help him get dressed all the time.
He looks over at me in surprise, then shrugs and touches the fastening at his neck, and the robe drops to the ground.
And he’s fucking naked in front of me. Jesus Christ, I’m so not prepared for the sight before my eyes. I thought maybe he’d have alien undies or something on under there, but he’s completely bare…and far more muscular than I thought. Every inch of him is dark blue and utterly glorious, and I stare at the rippling chest down to the cock that lies against one hard thigh. Oh mercy, there are a few differences there, but I can’t get past the sheer size of him.
Or, okay, the clit-teasing thing on top.
Or the ridges on his cock.
Okay basically I can’t get past any of it and I’m staring. Hard.
“Do you know where my robes are at, Milly?”
“Uhhh.” My mind is blank. I can’t stop staring. “Robes. Yep.” I force myself to turn, robotically, and head toward the massive closet full of extremely similar-looking robes. I tug one down and bring it out to him, noticing that he’s got his hands on his hips as he stares out at the gardens, as if being buck-ass naked around me is totally and completely normal.
Mutely, I hold the robe out to him and notice that he’s got a nice, tight bubble of a butt underneath the tail that swings lazily back and forth. I never thought I’d be creeping on a guy’s tail, but I have to admit, his looks pretty fine.
He glances over at the robe, then at me. “That’s not a walking robe.”
“There’s a difference? They all look the same!”
Varrik’s mouth twitches again. “Let me show you.” He moves toward the closet and starts to point out the different kinds of robes, even though they all look the same to me. Morning robes. Evening robes. Robes for meetings with nobility ranked higher than him. Robes for meetings with nobility ranked lower than him. Robes for meeting non-nobles. Robes for meeting for business. It’s something to do with the sigils around the hems and the different collars and sleeves, but I’ll be damned if I can concentrate on any of it. He’s standing right next to me, naked, and I keep peeking over to see if his dick is this long and thick while soft or if he’s hard.
I can’t tell without touching, and I suspect he won’t let me touch. Ever since that first night he hasn’t shown the slightest bit of interest in me other than friendship, and it’s throwing me for a bit of a loop. If he wants me in that way, shouldn’t he show it? Just a little?
He takes the robe and slips it over his shoulders, still talking about hems and fabrics and I’m not listening. My brain is busy wondering if I’m brave enough to try and push him a little. Get him to show that he still likes me in that way. Is it playing with fire if I do? What if he claims me and takes me to his bed and then gets rid of me because the challenge is gone? What if he thinks humans are gross?
I’m so vulnerable as his slave.
“Well?” Varrik says, and I blink to alertness.
“Well what?”
“You need to dress in a walking gown,” he tells me. “For the party outside.”
“Oh. Okay. I’m sure I have one of those.” My clothing is in an adjacent closet, probably reserved for the wife of whoever normally stays in this room. I go to it and stare blankly at the clothes, trying to remember which one is for walking. “Maybe I should get Aldar to help me.”
“No.”
I’m surprised at Varrik’s tone. He practically growls the syllable out, as if the very thought offends him. Wasn’t Aldar going to help him dress just a few minutes ago, though? It makes no sense.
But he gives me a long, narrow-eyed stare that makes me shiver for reasons I don’t understand, and then he moves past me into my closet and selects a gown. “This one.”
“You shouldn’t be doing this,” I say, feeling shy.
“I know.”
Well, gee. No I’m doing it because I want to or I want to see you naked. No nothing except I know. If there was a chance he liked me before, it sounds like it’s dead now. No need to play coy or be shy about getting naked in front of him. It’s just another day at the office for him. With a sigh, I drop my sleeping gown to the floor and step out of it. I’m wearing panties and a bra-type band that I had the tailor make for me, so at least I’m not completely naked. It’s just a swimsuit, really. Nothing more revealing than that.
He hands me the robe, practically tossing it over my head, and walks away.
I sputter, then bite back my irritation at his arrogance and slide the robe over my body. Guess he didn’t even want to see me in swimwear. Frowning to myself, I slip my bra off so it won’t interfere with the deep cleavage, muttering about his pissiness. I shove my arms through the long, embroidered sleeves and reach for the auto-fastener in the back. No matter how I twist, though, I can’t reach the one mid-back. It has an intricate set of laces programmed into it, and they make a braid up my spine when completed, but I’ll be damned if I can reach the toggle to start it up. After twisting a million ways to Sunday, I come out of the closet and give Varrik a pleading look. “Can you help me if we can’t call Aldar? I can’t reach the fasteners.”
Varrik nods tightly and moves to my side. He doesn’t look at me, and I wonder if I’ve somehow offended him. The man’s hard to decipher. I know a lot of it is because he’s around all these horrible nobles all the time and has to wear a poker face constantly, but I’d really, really just like a hint of how he feels about me.
“Turn,” he says quietly as he approaches.
I do, holding my hair up so it doesn’t snag in the auto-fastener.
I hear him inhale sharply, and before it registers in my brain, his big hand lightly skims down the back of my neck and traces down my bare spine.
Oh.
My nipples prick with need and I shiver all over. If I’d wanted a sign, it’s right there. He still wants me.
I’m so absurdly pleased. I wait for him to touch me again, to trail his fingers lower, to slide the gown off my body and take a good look at me. Is this why he didn’t want to look in my direction? He was being polite while I stripped down in front of him? But he did the same for me…or was he hoping I’d be overcome with lust, too?
It’s entirely possible I’ve been reading him wrong, and the thought makes me so happy I want to laugh.
Instead, I wait, utterly tense. Do it, do it, I chant silently. Touch me. Touch me.
There’s a gentle whirr, and then the auto-fastener tightens the dress against my body.
Damn it.
I turn around and look up at him. “Thanks.”
His mouth is pressed into a firm line and there’s an unreadable expression on his face. I suspect it’s utterly deliberate, and it makes me want to kiss that hard look off his mouth. He’s so utterly controlled all the time that I just want to lick him all over and make him go wild. The thought sends another shiver through me.
Varrik’s frown increases. “You’re cold?”
“Just thinking about the garden party,” I lie. “They’re so much fun I can hardly stand it.”
His mouth twitches on one side. “They’re meant to be social events, for houses to intermingle and make alliances. I don’t know if fun is even on the agenda.”
I make a face.
Varrik just gives me that typical icy stare, but he’s making no move to put on his boots or brush his long hair back into its normal queue. Could it be that he doesn’t want to go either? I wonder if I can sweet talk him into staying up here. The thought of spending yet another beautiful day in the presence of all those snooty vultures makes me want to scream. Sure, it could be worse…but it could also be a hell of a lot better.
So I decide to try some persuasion. “Varrik, do we have to go?” I bat my eyelashes at him, trying to look innocent and sweet. “You know they all hate me.”
“They still have to toler
ate you because you are with me.” His expression is cool. “Has anyone said something to you?”
“They don’t have to. I can see it on their faces. The way they treat me. They ignore me or look at me like I’m a piece of lint.” I shake my head and then impulsively reach for his hand. Part of me expects him to pull away and I’m absurdly pleased when he doesn’t. I squeeze his big hand in my smaller ones. “I know you like my company but…I think it’s not a good thing.”
He goes very still. “What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean,” I say. “Having me at your side is causing all kinds of problems.”
His eyes narrow. “Such as?”
I give him an exasperated look, throwing up my hands. “You know exactly what I mean! You’re here to hobnob and make all kinds of handshake deals with the other nobles, right? But since I’m with you, they’re treating you like a pariah. They go around you. They whisper about you. I see it happening. I’m embarrassing you.” I bite my lip. “You’re losing face having me at your side. I think I should stay in.”
“You are my companion—”
I exhale the breath I’ve been holding, because he’s still not listening. “You need to get rid of me, Varrik—”
“Never.”
The word is so vehement it startles me into silence. I stare at him in surprise and see that his tail is flicking under his robes and his hands are clenched at his sides.
“You’re not going to make a single alliance with me here, Varrik. They don’t like me—”
“I don’t give a kef what they like.”
And I blink again, because that’s the first time I’ve heard him cuss. He’s losing his cool, and underneath that solemn robe, he looks as if he’s practically bristling with anger. Not at me—at the others.
It’s so stinkin’ sweet that I can’t help but take a step closer, utterly drawn to him.
“If anyone tries to take you from me,” he begins, voice all growly with possessiveness, and it sends another shiver through me.
“No one’s taking me from you,” I say, and then because I can’t stand another moment of this sexual tension, I fling myself at him, launching myself into the air.
He catches me. Of course he does. He’s enormous and strong, and I’m a dainty flower next to him. It’s awesome, but that’s not why I have a crush on him. It’s because he needs me so badly. He needs joy in his life, and I plan on providing it.
Also? He needs to be kissed, bad.
So I fling my arms around his neck and press my mouth to his.
Varrik goes completely still against me. He doesn’t kiss me back, and when I lift my head, he makes an agonized groan I’ve never heard from him before. “You just broke several sanitary laws, Milly.”
“Sorry not sorry,” I say breathlessly. “I’ve been wanting to do that for forever. Human custom. Are you offended?”
“No.”
“Should I stop?”
“Kef no,” he breathes, and then his mouth is on mine again.
Just hearing him cuss makes me wet. I moan against his mouth, loving the hard sweep of his closed lips against mine. It’s oddly sexy because it’s so unskilled—he doesn’t know how to kiss but he just wants to touch me and it’s amazing.
“Lower us to the bed,” I whisper against his mouth, nipping at his lower lip.
He groans again, and then our bodies shift. A split second later, my back is on the mattress and he’s looming over me, dark hair spilling around us like a curtain. I hold his chin with my fingers and carefully angle my mouth over his.
“Let me show you how you kiss a girl,” I murmur, and slick my tongue into his parted mouth. I taste him, and he tastes sweet, like breakfast, and when his tongue flicks against mine, I can feel the ridges there. Oh, mercy. The kiss deepens, and then we’re lost in each other, him learning how to kiss me with every deep, questing stroke of his tongue, and me just trying to remember to breathe between kisses, because he’s so good at this instantly that it makes me lose all rational thought.
I was supposed to be the one kissing him, but it’s obvious that all he needed was a suggestion, because he’s taken over the kiss completely and is busy rocking my world. This time, when he drags his tongue against mine, I’m the one moaning. When his big hand slides to cup my breast, I whimper and arch against him.
“Tell me you want me,” Varrik murmurs against my mouth. “Tell me you want me to take these clothes off of you and taste between your thighs. Tell me you want to be mine in all ways.”
I suck in a breath, pulling away when he tries to kiss me again. “I’m already yours in all ways. I’m your slave, remember?”
Varrik sits up, his hard, kiss-wet mouth frowning down at me. I want nothing more than to drag him against me again, tease the frustration from his face. But if I do…I’m digging my own grave. “Are you telling me you don’t want this between us?”
“I do,” I pant. God, do I ever. I’ve been lusting after it for what seems like forever. “But we can’t.”
“Why not?”
“It’s the power imbalance.” I shake my head. “It just…feels weird. I’m sorry. Even if we go forward, there’s always going to be this weird little spot in my mind that’s going to tell me I can’t refuse because I belong to you. Because I’m property.”
Varrik traces a finger along my jaw, staring down at me for so long that I worry I’ve offended him. “If I free you,” he murmurs, “you are worse off, Milly. Trust me. Confiscated humans are made to disappear, sent away to backwater planets where the government doesn’t have to deal with the situation. I can’t free you and let that happen to you, not when it’s my duty as your male to protect you.”
He’s mine? I smile at him, warm at the thought. “So what do we do?”
“On your world, how would we become equals? Mates?”
“Mates?” I laugh. “You’d have to marry me or something.”
Varrik thinks for a moment and then stands up. Before I can ask what he’s doing, he turns and leaves the room.
19
VARRIK
Mates. Marriage.
Of course. The answer is a simple one…and woefully complex with its ramifications.
I want my sweet Milly. I’ve wanted her from the first moment I saw her, and it’s turned into the most pleasant, delicious ache of need as the days have passed. I love her spirit, her vibrant personality, how she says outrageous things to try to get me to smile. I love her fearlessness and how she wants to protect my reputation.
Get rid of her? I’d sooner rid myself of this entire planet and its simpering nobility.
Marriage is the answer. Most of my people don’t have official ceremonies anymore—matings are simply sanctioned on a few legal documents. The older families like mine sometimes have extended parties and festivities to celebrate a union, but we no longer call it “marriage.”
The other noble houses will shun me if I mate a human. I’ll be a pariah, no longer welcomed in polite circles here on Homeworld. My political connections will die and take down anyone associated with me.
The thought makes me smile.
How long has it been since I’ve enjoyed this life? How long since I’ve looked at any sort of party or meeting with anything but apathy? Milly has brought joy into my world, and if she needs marriage to feel safe with me, then marriage is what she will get.
It will mean leaving Homeworld behind. It will mean leaving society and galas and these endless robe changes behind. It will mean self-imposed exile on one of my many remote estates, and my family name will be whispered with scorn.
It will mean Milly in my arms every night. Milly’s smiles over breakfast. Milly’s hot mouth on mine, spurning all sanitary laws.
The choice is obvious.
I’m barely down the hall before Aldar is rushing to meet me. “My lord?” he asks, a question in his gaze. “You are not dressed for the party. Your hair. Your boots—”
“Find me a priest of the old gods,” I say to him. “
This estate has one, do they not?” Most of the oldest families still retain a chapel on site, but like many things, they are for lip service more than devotion.
“I…of course. Is there a problem?”
“No. Bring him to my quarters immediately.”
Aldar opens his mouth to argue, and I glare at him. He snaps it shut without a word of protest, nods and bows, and then races off.
I turn around to go back to my rooms, and once there, shut the door behind me. Milly’s still on the bed, her red hair disheveled and wild around her face. Her mouth is bright pink and slightly swollen from kissing, and it makes me want to go and claim her all over again.
I smile.
Her eyes widen in shock. “Varrik? What are you smiling about? What’s wrong?”
“Aldar has gone to get a priest,” I say, heading toward the closet of gowns I’ve had made for her over the last several weeks. Most of them are emblazoned with my house symbol and her status, and I don’t know if I want her wearing something that declares her property in that way. “What gown do you want to be married in? The one I first saw you in? It has no symbols on it.”
“What?”
“Do you not like that one?” I ask, turning to her. “Is it inappropriate for a human marriage?”
She gets up off the bed and races to my side, her brows going up. “You’re serious? You want to get married?”
“I would not lie about such a thing.”
“Varrik!” Instead of looking pleased, Milly puts her hands to her smooth, hornless brow, so different from mine. “You can’t do this. It’s such a bad idea.”
“It is not a bad idea at all,” I say, and take her hands from her forehead. “Do you not wish to marry me, my pretty human? To be my mate? Is this not what you want?”
Her mouth opens and she makes a small sound of protest. “Varrik…it’s wonderful for me but awful for you.”
“No,” I correct gently. “It is wonderful for me, too. I get you in my life, forever.” I smile broadly. “As equals.”