42. Chapter Eight
Chapter Eight
L yra
My heart is pounding. I’m terrified. And exhilarated. Perhaps this is the culmination of everything that’s happened over the last two lunars .
Dahlia’s lessons paid off. I can read well enough to find out anything I need from the Intergalactic Database. I can bake a Paragon cake from scratch, which is great because everyone onboard loves to eat them.
I can scramble up a rope and do a few turns on it. Although Petra says I’m naturally graceful, I’m not sure about that. It’s fun though. I’ve made my own leather gauntlets with Dax’s help. They make me feel safer when I’m sparring with the gladius or the long knife.
Axxios and Braxxus, the silver and gold twin pilots, have kind of adopted me. Ever since I learned to read, they’ve called me to the bridge when they have a spare moment and are teaching me the basics of piloting. Talk about exhilarating! Having my fingers on the instrument panel is a feeling of power equal to nothing I’ve ever experienced.
Right now, although I rarely think of myself as a pet anymore, I’m not feeling confident.
“You’re doing fine,” Savannah says with conviction into my earpiece.
“Those rotors look like they’ll cut me to bits,” I whisper as I flick a stray strand of hair off my sweaty face.
“That’s because they can cut you to bits, Lyra. Quit worrying. You should have at least ten millimeters to spare as you slide past it to the main hyperdrive housing.”
I know that in my head, but the rotors are whirring so fast, they’re so deadly, and they’re so dracking close. I breathe deeply, steady my nerves, and keep sliding through the slim metal duct.
“We practiced for this. You’re strong, Lyra. And smart. You can do this. Someday we might need you to do this for real. I want it to be second nature to you. There are only two people on this vessel small enough to crawl past the first turn and get all the way to the hyperdrive; I want you both trained for this.”
Her words spur me on. This ship has fed and housed me for the last two lunars . Everyone has been kind and generous with their time and knowledge. I need to find ways to give back. This is one of them.
I ince forward, past the deadly spinning metal, and into the relative safety of the enclosed duct.
“I’m at the hyperdrive housing,” I tell Savannah.
“Give me a visual inspection and use the camera I gave you to take pictures.”
I describe what I see, taking note of every nook and cranny. No cracks, warping, or metal strain. I smile, realizing I wouldn’t have known metal strain from muscle strain when I first came aboard. I’ve come a long way.
The slide back to the opening isn’t any easier than the trip in. Since there’s no room to turn around, I have to make the return trip feet first.
The air in this part of the duct isn’t breathable because the rotor allows oxygenless exterior air in. It mixes with onboard oxygen quickly, but it’s not safe to be here without a mask. My mask not only provides air, it has lights that illuminate my way.
“Someday someone should put a two-way vid screen in here, right before the duct makes the turn and gets tighter,” I say. “It might be helpful if a non-mechanic like me has to show you something.”
“I’ll put it on the list,” Savannah says with a laugh that I think means ‘never in a million annums’ .
When Savannah’s hands grip my ankles to pull me out, I heave a sigh of relief.
“You did great!” She pats me on the back and bestows a big smile. “Lyra, you’re an asset to the ship. I’m thrilled to have you onboard and happy to call you a friend.”
“Thanks. I’m really glad to be here, but I’ll admit I don’t relish crawling back in there again.”
“Don’t worry, we only need to do it twice a year, and Petra’s up next. Where are you off to? Reading lessons? Sparring? I hope it’s cake baking.” She raises her eyebrow in anticipation.
“Hydroponics lab,” I admit quietly.
Everyone on board gives me mixed messages about Vartan. The males gravitate toward him. Whenever I interrupt them in the ludus I catch the males laughing and talking to him with the utmost respect. They always stop their conversations when they see I’ve arrived and tell us to have a good time. I get the distinct feeling they want us to be together.
The females’ brows pinch together when I mention Vartan, though. I know it all goes back to what happened in that hotel room. I don’t hate him for that, and I’ve forgiven myself for my part in it. He didn’t know better, and I didn’t tell him. But that’s behind me now. When I think about that terrible episode, I only think of three things: how kind he was to me, how attracted I was to him, and how weak I was.
I’m not mad at myself for my weakness. Considering how I was raised, what I was trained—no forced—to be, how could I have been anything other than the female Vartan met at that auction on Hyperion? I smile as I replay in my mind what I just did in that narrow vent. I’m not a weak pet now.
“He treats you well, right?” Savannah asks.
“What?” I know from her tone this isn’t going to be an easy conversation and my hand flies to my pendant. It never ceases to calm and reassure me.
“You’re not going to the lab to kiss the flowers. You’re going to kiss Vartan, right?”
“Well, yes, I’ll see Vartan, but we don’t kiss.”
Her brows shoot up in surprise.
“His race doesn’t kiss?” Her brows now knit into a frown.
“Yes, they kiss.” I remember our bed-play, before the bad part.
“Then why aren’t you kissing? You’ve been onboard for months. It’s obvious you have a thing for each other. You spend all your free time together. What gives?”
“We’re getting to know each other from the neck up,” I repeat Vartan’s words. They sound hollow.
“Kissing is from the neck up. You’re attracted to him, right?”
“Yes.” I nod enthusiastically.
“And he’s attracted to you?”
I nod, then add, “I’m pretty sure.”
“Is there some religious prohibition?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Are you ready to . . . take things further?”
Am I? I remember the pain I felt in the hotel room. I’m not ready to go there. “I’m ready for some things, but not . . .”
“Maybe I’m not the one to be giving advice. I was never the girliest girl. I spent time in the military. Before I was abducted all my friends were guys. But maybe you two should talk.”
“Really? We got off to a . . . weird start.”
“All the more reason to talk.”
As I walk to the lab, my heart’s beating faster than it was with the breeze of those terrifying rotors fanning me. I shouldn’t be fearful; Vartan and I talk about everything. He’s told me about his childhood in so much detail I feel as if I know everyone in his family.
We’ve even argued about it. I don’t understand why he doesn’t want to return to Dauphus. It sounds as if he had a good life there. He says he’s a different male than he was when he left, that his family wouldn’t accept the things he’s done—the male he’s become.
Although we’ve talked a lot, he’s glossed over all his annums as a gladiator, telling me only a funny story or two about the males he trained with. When I press to know more, he says what I saw of his fight with Otol is all I need to know to understand his time as a slave.
Even though we’ve spoken about all of that, we’ve never talked about us. I decide that’s what’s on the agenda for the next half hoara .
After thanking Savannah for her support, I head to the hydroponics lab. Pushing open the double doors, I enter to find Vartan hard at work. He’s taken to listening to music in here, and it’s blaring. My entry wasn’t quiet, but he doesn’t know I’m here; he’s too engrossed in the melody and his work.
I allow myself the pleasure of watching him for a moment. Hard muscles play under his skin. And there’s a lot of skin to see, he’s only wearing a loincloth.
His hips swing and his head bobs to the music as he picks each strand of brenum one at a time, then plucks off every other head so the remaining ones grow plump and ripe. His fingers are strong and competent as he chooses which buds to cull.
I picture those fingers plucking my nipples that fateful night. I’ve not forgotten the pleasure they gave me. Memories bombard me as I replay that day in my cabin when Petra acted out her pleasure. I want to experience that. I came close to it, I think. I want to try again.
Vartan still doesn’t know I’m here, even though I’ve approached him and am standing close. When I barely touch his shoulder, he whirls away, eyes wide as if I’m Otol and just hit him with my spikes.
“Lyra! I didn’t hear you come in,” he says as he takes another step back.
“That’s because you were rocking out to your music,” I tease, using one of the English phrases the females have been teaching me.
He tells the computer to turn the music down, then smiles at me for the first time since I entered.
“How was your lesson today? It was with Savannah? You seem to enjoy your time in the engine room.”
“It was scary, but I did well.” I consider making small talk but decide to come straight to the point. “I’d like to talk.”
“Of course.” His gaze fastens on me, letting me know he’s happy to listen.
“In my cabin.”
The smile falls from his face as he asks, “Is something wrong?” He reaches to touch my shoulder, then snatches his hand back as if it were burned.
“No. Nothing’s wrong. I just want to talk. When can we meet?”
“I could be done here. I’ll pick up tomorrow where I left off. I’ll swing by my cabin to clean up and meet you shortly.”
When he arrives at my cabin smelling of soap, I know he’s taken the time to shower. Much to my disappointment, he’s wearing the black pants and a t-shirt some of the males like to wear. I like him better in a loincloth.
He slides into the chair across from me at the table, a serious look on his face, and asks, “What’s wrong?”
It’s obvious why he wonders if something’s wrong. I’ve never asked to talk to him before. I’ve never invited him to my cabin since we had our last serious talk, the one where he said we should get to know each other above the neck.
“Are there things you want to know about me, Vartan? Questions you haven’t yet asked?”
“No?” His answer came out as a question. He clearly wonders what this conversation is about.
“Any burning issues, things about yourself you think I should know to understand you better?”
“No. I believe you know me well enough.”
“So . . . you’ll agree we know each other above the neck?”
His muscles sag as his gaze darts back and forth across my face. He’s examining me, wondering what’s coming next.
“What are you getting at, Lyra?”
“If asked, I could draw a picture of the house you grew up in. I know the names of your two best childhood friends. I know you were walking home from chukkaball the moment you were stolen from Dauphus.
“You know that Mistress used to enjoy pinching me in that sensitive spot high on my arm next to my body. It hurt like the devil, bruised easily, and was just as easy to hide.
“We know each other’s past. We know each other’s thoughts. I want to . . . get to know your body. And I want you to know mine.”
That was perhaps the most words I’ve ever strung together and said out loud. I wait for his reply.
“I would . . .” His eyes shutter closed, and he expels a long breath through partially closed lips. “I would like that, Lyra. Very much. My hands ache to touch you, to hold you in my arms. I long to taste you; I spend hoaras imagining it.” His gaze darts to the tabletop as if that thought embarrasses him.
“Because of what happened on Hyperion, though, I think we should wait longer.”
I inspect his face. If he didn’t look as miserable as I feel, I’d be angry at him—or hurt. But he wants to touch me. Of this I’m certain.
“The females have taught me a few things. They explained the problem that night was because I wasn’t ready. I know now there are things I can do to prepare. Things I can do to myself. Things you can do. I think we can make it work. I want to try.”
That was forceful. I’m not a pet anymore, but being demanding is new to me. This is worth it, though. I need to ask for what I want.
“I made a vow I wouldn’t touch you, Lyra. I’m so proud of you, of all the changes you’ve made over the past few lunars . You’re not a pet anymore and it thrills me to watch you grow into the powerful female sitting across from me. But I want you to be even stronger before we cross the next threshold together. I made a mistake before. You’re too important to me to make that mistake again.”
His words are sweet. The look in his eyes is burning, passionate.
“There’s nothing I can do to change your mind?” I ask as a plan forms in my mind.
He shakes his head.
“You know how to let yourself out, Vartan, but I wish you wouldn’t.”
I nod once to myself. It’s quick and firm. I’m going to do this. Perhaps this will prove to him not only that I know my own mind, but how far I’ll go to get what I want.
I stand and walk toward the bed, then turn toward him. “No touching, Vartan? Okay, but you can watch.”
I grip the hem of my t-shirt and shimmy it up my body, trying to entice him with every movement of my hands and hips. When the fabric lifts to uncover my braless breasts, I watch his eyes dilate as he sucks in a quick huff of breath.
“No bra, Lyra?”
Good. He’s still sitting, which means I think he’s going to stay.
I rip the shirt over my head and toss it behind me, not caring where it lands. A moment later my leggings join the shirt.
“When I lived on Hyperion, I never had the privacy to explore my body,” I tell him as I cup my breasts in my palms. “Since I’ve been on the Fool , I haven’t wanted to touch myself, much preferring you be the one to help me discover my sensuality. Since you don’t want to do that, we’ll do it this way. I’ll explore. You watch.”
I strum my already hardened nubs with my thumbs and notice the sharp pleasure zinging through my body.
“I’ll narrate, so when you finally touch me, you’ll know exactly what I like.”
A tiny feeling of shame bolts through my body, but I order it banished. I walked naked my entire life for others’ enjoyment. Why shouldn’t I be able to own my body and enjoy the pleasures it offers me now?
I pluck the nubs, then roll them between thumbs and forefingers, then pluck again.
“This feels good, Vartan,” I announce, my voice breathy.
I repeat my actions, then shake my head lazily. “I can’t decide which I like better. Perhaps alternation is the key.”
Closing my eyes, I pay attention to the feelings this evokes. The pleasure slicing through me with each pluck and twist, and then the cascade of heat rolling down my body and pooling in my pelvis.
When I open my eyes to look at Vartan, another jolt of pleasure ricochets through me. His beautiful red eyes are heavy-lidded. His lips part in desire. I needn’t have worried he’d desert me. He’s not going anywhere.
“The strangest thing,” I report. “When I pluck here. Hard. I actually feel something here.” While plucking with my left hand, my right hand smoothes down my skin over ribs, past the indent at my waist, over the flat of my belly, through the tuft at my mound, and between my folds.
Just like the night we discovered each other in bed, my fingers encounter humid warmth in my folds.
I explore with the pad of one finger, delving deeper into the heat to find the fountain of moisture.
“I’m wet down here, Vartan,” I say as I widen my stance. I feel powerful when I see the effect this has on him. His nostrils flare and he swallows so hard the knot of muscle in his throat bobs with the effort.
“This is what we needed more of. I think we’ve discovered the secret now.”
After swiping two fingers through my folds and capturing more of my cream, I pull my hand from between my legs and sashay to the table.
“See?” I say in my most tempting voice. “Want to taste?”
He swallows hard again, then looks at me as if I’m both a goddess and the most tempting devil.
While he nods in answer to my question, he says, “No touching.” His voice is but a whisper.
“I’ll try it,” I say gamely as I lift one finger to my mouth and inspect the glistening surface. Poking out my tongue, I wave it at Vartan who slides back into his seat and groans.
“You’re not enjoying yourself?” I ask with a pout.
“I’m enjoying this. Painfully so.”
“Good. I wouldn’t want to waste all this.”
I prolong the suspense, taking long moments to bring the pad of my finger to the tip of my tongue. I don’t care what taste I’m going to discover, this process alone is so enjoyable.
“Hmm,” I say after I take the smallest lick. “Salty. Sweet.” Another lap. “Hard to describe.” I open my stance even wider, reach between my folds and take another swipe. Holding my fingers out to him again, noticing them shining with my essence, I ask, “Sure you don’t want to taste for yourself?”
He groans and moves in his seat as if he’s in pain. From what the females explained, he has to be hard by now. Hard for me. I like having that effect on him.
“Maybe I didn’t know you as well as I thought I did. I knew you were a male of principles, but I never knew how strong your convictions were. No taste, Vartan? Okay, but how about a nice, deep, long smell?”
I approach him again and thrust my fingers under his nose.
“What do you think?”
I wondered if he’d pull back, maybe even rise and then storm out of the room. Instead, he leans toward me, so close he would touch me if he moved a micron closer. He pulls in a long, lusty drag of breath, then sighs with a groan, all the while his gaze never left my face.
“Good, Lyra. So. Very. Good. This is enough to fuel my dreams for a lifetime.”
A bolt of lust slices through me as I realize it won’t just be dreams. The females talked about what males do to themselves. I picture him with his hand palming his enormous erection. In my mind, I see his head thrown back in passion and hear his grunts of pleasure. These thoughts cause a gush of moisture to flow between my thighs.
I’m emboldened. I throw off all the bounds, the fetters that have dictated my behavior for a lifetime.
“Get up!” I order. I’m only slightly surprised when he immediately rises.
I grab his chair and drag it to the side of the bed.
“Sit.” I point at the seat and he immediately complies. His eyes are dilated in lust. I imagine he’d do anything I say at this moment.
I lie crosswise on the bed, so my feet are toward him, close my eyes, and play with my nipples again until I feel my heartbeat not in my chest, but down below. This is the feeling I had that night. The need. The urgency. I think I know what I need to do to quench it.
Skimming my hand down my skin, I notice for the first time how soft my skin is and how sensitive. I’ve worn this skin, lived in this body all my life, but never really paid attention to how much pleasure it’s capable of. Just a soft touch wakes it up. Every ince is aroused now.
After my fingertips slide through the hair at the juncture of my thighs, they delve lower. A different me, the me of planet Hyperion, would be fearful and shy, but I’m not. I pull my heels toward my bottom and open my thighs until my knees hit the mattress.
Gazing down my body, between the valley of my breasts, I watch Vartan. He’s not looking at my face. He’s mesmerized by the show down below. His tongue swipes between his lips as he hunches just a bit to be closer to the action.
I dip my fingers into the well that has sprung a leak between my legs. It seems to be an endless fountain of cream. But it doesn’t give me the pleasure I found that night we shared. The feeling that ramped me up and made me desperate with need.
It’s only when my fingers backtrack that I find a little lump of flesh that seems to be the center of all pleasure. This is what the females described. They called it a clit and said if I rubbed it I’d feel what Petra acted out.
I make one more attempt and ask Vartan, “Are you sure you don’t want to help me?”
“I do,” his voice cracks and he forces himself to swallow. “I sincerely do, little Lyra. But no. I made a vow.”
With that, I close my eyes and focus on my explorations. I discover when to rub and when to tap, when to make long strokes and when to make tight little circles, when to go faster and when to back off.
I’m panting now and straining just like I felt that night with Vartan. It’s like I’m running a race and want to get to the finish line. No, not want. Need.
I can’t think anymore. Can’t narrate the action in my own head. I’m running on impulse, just allowing my body to respond in its own way. My fingers circle faster, and my lungs pump harder. Whatever was constricting, coiling in my belly winds even tighter.
I’m making small little mewling sounds, and then the snake in my belly unwinds and strikes. Only this isn’t pain, it’s pleasure. No, it’s bliss as every muscle in my body tightens and releases in jerky little spasms that pull moans and nonsense words from my mouth. Even my face is squeezed in a grimace of pleasure as my head flails back and forth on the bed, then every muscle relaxes, and I fall against the mattress.
Crazy thoughts fly through my head as I come down from that wild ride. I imagine this is what Mistress’s vids tried to depict in their heavy-handed vulgar way. Nothing on a vid could capture the way I feel.
I’m afraid to look at Vartan. If I see him, I’ll want to fly into his lap and make him hold me, and I don’t want to do that. He’s a grown male; he knows what he wants, and he wants to wait.
I spiral back to reality and realize I’m chilled. After flipping the bedspread over me, I gather my nerve to look at him.
“You’re magnificent, Lyra. Someday I want to share that with you. That and more. I’ll never hurt you again. I promise you only pleasure. But it can’t be today.”
“Can you lie here with me?” I ask, my voice small as a child’s because I want this so badly. I’m close to begging, but I won’t stoop that low.
“It’s killing me to refuse, but no.”
I turn my back to him and whisper, “Let yourself out.” I tried to understand, but I can’t. Perhaps his refusal to touch me sexually makes sense, but to refuse to lie with me? To wrap his arm around me and comfort me to sleep? I don’t want him near me anymore.
I thought this would be the turning point in our relationship, but I’m now aching with loneliness.