103. Chapter Six
Chapter Six
A nya
“Certainly this isn’t what Captain Shadow meant when he said there would be other ways to provide payment,” Thing says, then purses that beautiful mouth.
If Zar’s in there, he’s suppressed very deep down, because Zar would never, ever be caught dead pursing his masculine fang-toting mouth.
Stop it, Anya , I scold myself. You’re not allowed to even think the “D” word.
“Actually, this is exactly what Shadow had in mind.” I toss my curls in defiance.
Zar loved that. He told me one night during pillow talk when we were making long lists of what we loved about each other. He said when I was pissed and tossed my head like that, it made him want to stop whatever argument we were having so he could throw me down and ravish me. I toss my head again, for good measure, then motion Thing to the table.
We’re not in his cabin tonight. We’re in mine. And when I say mine, I mean ours. I’m no longer avoiding the cabin I shared with Zar. I’m rubbing Thing’s face in it.
“I want to make it clear, Rynn.” God, I hate saying that name while looking at Zar’s face. “We’re going to do things differently tonight. You no longer have authorization to ignore me and allow me to do all the conversational heavy lifting. You no longer have the excuse that you have to go inside your mind and curate your information. No one will ever utilize your knowledge. You’ve been canned.”
I give him a steely look. Yes. I’m rubbing it in that he received his pink slip from his lifetime employer. Sucks to be him.
“Canned?”
Oh, I wish he’d quit with the pursed lips. I can barely keep from rolling my eyes.
“You have no need to curate a million years of history from a hundred civilized planets. You might even want to jettison some of the more boring parts.” That way, there will be more room for Zar to hear what I’m saying. “You will converse with me like a civilized male.”
He’s smart enough not to argue. He just cocks an eyebrow, which elicits a little clenching pain in my heart. When he does that, he looks so Zar-like.
I’m crazy. I can’t stand when he looks so other in Zar’s body, nor can I tolerate when this foreign, invasive enemy acts like Zar. It’s a no-win situation.
“Oh,” I say as if it’s an afterthought, “and you’ll be feeding me dessert. I hope you washed your hands.”
“Of course I washed my—” His eyes pop open in surprise when he perceives the full import of my statement. The operative words being “you’ll be feeding me dessert.”
“Tell me some of the most interesting stuff in your head,” I say as we take our first bites of anwar sheshwah . It was one of Zar’s favorites.
He makes a little “yum” noise in the back of his throat, finishes his bite, then launches. I thought Thing would be a horrible conversationalist and was fully prepared to endure the most boring dinner of my life. Which I imagined I would cope with by fantasizing about the body across the table from me.
Instead, I have to admit, Thing’s head is full of amazing stuff. And he doesn’t just rattle off fact after fact. He, like a seasoned raconteur, pulls stories together from interesting anecdotes from around the galaxy and rolls them into an interesting patchwork of tales that somehow go together. And bonus! I can listen to him and fantasize about the body across the table, anyway.
Dinner took far longer than I’d anticipated and was so much more enjoyable than when he was employed by the Council.
“Dessert,” I announce.
Perhaps he spent so much energy being a great conversationalist because he thought I would forget the other part of our bargain.Nope. I won’t let him get away with that.
We’d been sitting across the table from each other, but for this I scoot my chair next to him, accidentally on purpose sliding my thigh next to his.
“There are those on board who would kill for the light and tasty treat, Paragon cake,” I say as I picture Stryker elbowing people out of the way so he could get the first bite of his mate Maddie’s home-baked confection. “But me? I’m partial to Anathen cake. Which do you prefer?”
I have to close my eyes for a second as my tummy rolls in a sexy way. Clenching my thighs to stem the tide of my arousal, I try to push away the picture of Zar and me sharing a slice of Anathen cake in bed. In all honesty, I think Paragon is ten times better than its competitor. But Zar loved Anathen. The way he fed it to me, then smeared the icing between my folds and licked them off, will be chalked up to one of the ten best things in the universe.
I force my eyes open and stare at Thing , anxiously awaiting his answer.
Rynn
“I, uh.” I stop talking all together. Did she ask me a question? I’m… I’m having trouble thinking. Did she drug me? I’m lightheaded. Cake? Are we talking about cake? All I can think about is the feeling of her thigh on mine. Is she doing this on purpose?
What is that smell? That’s not cake. I’m in Zar’s body. This is not like a Boklorn body. Not in the slightest. I’m just getting used to the muscles and the swagger and the… tail. But… I take a breath in through my nose and then do something I’ve never done before. I open my lips, hoping I’m being subtle, and breathe in through my mouth.
I can taste the smell, and it’s definitely not cake, nor pastry of any kind, for that matter. I don’t know how I know, but I do. I’m certain what I’m smelling, no, what I’m tasting , is female arousal.
I’m a smart male. Some would say brilliant. Why then do I have to confirm with myself that the scent of female arousal is coming from Anya, the female sitting so close her thigh is touching mine? Of course the scent is Anya. Who else could it be coming from?
I should be outraged. No, I should be appalled. Instead, I breathe in again through my mouth, rolling the scent, the taste, on my tongue.
I realize just how different Ton’arr and Boklorn bodies are as right this moment my cock, my thick, heavy feline cock which is so different from any I’ve possessed before, is punching against my pants.
I’ve never had one of these before. An… erection. And for 56 lifetimes I’ve been very proud and happy about that fact. Many times I’ve gloated that I never had to deal with the inconvenience of such a thing “popping up” at inopportune times. How often did I thank the stars I didn’t have to feel what were described as compelling, primitive emotions? I was so happy to be blissfully asexual.
And now this!
My erection is so obvious to me, it has to be obvious to her. Right?
“Rynn?” she asks softly.
She knows. She must know. This is embarrassing. I don’t know how to deal with it.
“Your part of the bargain? You were supposed to feed me.”
Am I imagining it, or did her voice just dip low? I’m a repository of civilization’s information. I know what this means. She’s aroused. Is she aroused? I’m hopeless at this. I wonder if I can escape.
She slides the plate closer to me and lifts an eyebrow.
I swallow as I pick up the fork, all the while coaching myself that I can do this. I can feed her. It’s a simple matter of placing a piece of cake on the fork and transporting it to her mouth. How hard can this be?
I didn’t think it was possible, but she wiggles closer, her hip nestling against mine. Then she turns to me, closes her eyes, and opens her mouth. Like a baby bird.
I freeze. I’m paralyzed. My cock twitches against my trousers in a most insistent manner. If that weren’t bad enough, my eyes will not look away from her mouth.
That mouth. Pink lips that are flawlessly bow-shaped, white teeth that are perfect and straight except for a tiny chip on the front one. A mauve tongue. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen that particular shade of dusky rose before. And there it is, as if it’s the most important discovery ever made. I’ll call the color “Anya” in my repository—not that the information will ever download to anyone in the future.
Her eyes flick open and gaze directly at me. “Rynn? Dessert?” she prompts.
Her eyes shutter again, but I’m certain she caught me. She knows everything. My… erection. How could she miss that? And my fascination with her mouth. She saw that. Right?
Perhaps the cake will make her forget what she just saw. I scoop a big piece of cake onto my fork, push it past her teeth, and deposit it on her tongue. This will distract her.
The piece was huge. I can see her struggling to chew around it, get it down to a manageable size, and finally swallow it. When she opens her eyes, they’re blazing with anger.
“Were you trying to choke me?”
“N-no. I…” She thinks I was trying to choke her? How awful. Although, I guess that would serve as a distraction.
“Here. Let me show you how it’s done.”
Good. The pressure is off. I snatch my napkin off the table where I had placed it when I thought dinner was over, then cover my erect penis. Now that she’ll be feeding me, this whole horrible disaster will be over. I can’t wait until we get to our next port of call. It won’t be soon enough.
“Turn your chair to face me.”
I do as I’m told, placing the table at my side so I can face her. She gets up to move her chair so our thighs are touching as we face each other. My heart sinks as I realize this may not be the escape I was hoping for. This might be worse.
“Close your eyes.” That tone isn’t normal for her. It’s deep, commanding. Is she trying to seduce me? That couldn’t be true. I told her the other night I couldn’t have relations with her. She must remember that.
I’m looking longingly at the door to her room, dreaming of escape, when she repeats, “Close your eyes.”
I comply. At least I won’t be forced to look at her Anya-colored tongue for a moment longer.
I open my mouth, assuming a bite will be on its way soon. I’m not a lucky male. Perhaps I’m being punished for invading this body without an invitation.
I’m sitting here with my mouth open and she’s not moving. If I didn’t have a raging erection jutting from my lap, I would open my eyes and perhaps stand to leave. How can I do that now? It would call attention to my predicament. I simply wait.
She’s moving. Good. Perhaps this torture session’s end is in sight. But, no. Instead of feeling a cake-loaded fork invade my mouth, I feel her hand on my thigh. On. My. Thigh!
It’s soft, like the brush of a bird’s wing. Just a graze.
I have the repository of many worlds’ worth of information, eons of it, and I never knew a touch this soft could command my awareness in such a compelling manner.
I clear my throat, trying to catch her attention, remind her she’s supposed to be feeding me. Although there is one thing and only one thing I know for certain right this moment—I am not hungry.
“Hungry?” she asks.
Her voice is so low, so… rough. Does she know what she’s doing to me? She already tipped her hand. She asked to sleep with me before I met with the Council. Is she… trying to allure me? That couldn’t be true.
Finally, I hear the fork scrape the plate and then feel the air stir as she brings it to my mouth.
“There you go,” she says after delivering the food into my mouth.
The taste bursts upon my tongue, but I can’t describe it. I can’t pay attention to it. All I can focus on is what she’s doing. She places the fork on the plate with a soft clink, then rests her hand on my thigh.
How am I supposed to eat, or think for that matter, with a female’s hand resting so near my penis? My erect penis? The penis that seems to pulse with every beat of my heart?
“Good?” she asks.
Stars! Her voice was too close to my ear. She’s not still sitting in the same position she was a moment ago when I closed my eyes. Her breath actually ruffled my hair. I mean my mane.
I finish chewing, then force my eyes open. She’s sitting against the back of her chair, one hand in her lap and the other still innocently holding the fork. No, not innocent—angelic. Did I just hallucinate the caress on my thigh? The breath that swept through my mane?
“Ready for another?” she asks. The question is accompanied by a raised eyebrow.
This female isn’t an angel. I’m now convinced she’s the devil’s spawn. Certainly she’s cast a spell on me. I’m mesmerized.
“Close your eyes and open your mouth.” Although it’s spoken as a whisper, it feels like a command. I comply, and she places another bite of cake onto my tongue. After she deposits a small bite, but before I chew, she asks, “How are you managing with your fangs? It must be a shock to eat with them.”
Why did she mention my fangs? It throws me off, confuses me, makes me pay so much attention to them that I forget how to eat. I may not have a sexual appetite, but I’ve always had a healthy appetite for food. Now I’ve forgotten how to chew.
After I swallow, I open my eyes and say, “Let me feed you dessert. Just as you desired.”
The word “desire” lingers in the room, echoing off the walls and circling back to me, sounding more sordid and sexual and arousing with every iteration. Will this interminable dinner ever end?
I’d hoped she would resume her previous position, facing the table, but she sits right where she is—facing me.
“Close your eyes,” I say, keeping my voice all business.
My breath catches in my lungs when, in the process of reaching the fork to the plate of half-eaten cake, I catch a glimpse of my lap. The napkin is still there. Yes, that’s true, but Zar’s manhood is so… enormous, and my pants are so loose that it’s sticking up like a flagpole. The blindingly white napkin does nothing but call attention to my condition.
I swear to the stars that when this is finally over, I will not leave my room until we have landed on the next planet and I can hurry out the exit.
“Yumm,” she says after she chews her first bite, then opens her mouth for another.
I can’t shove the next bite into her perfect Anya-colored mouth fast enough.
“All done,” I say a few bites later, just as I’ve observed mothers say to their infant children.
Pushing my chair back—far back—I stand and stutter, “Th-thank you for your hospitality.”
On my way to the door, she asks, “How did you like the Anathen cake?”
I’m not sure what possesses me to turn to speak to her. Common courtesy, I suppose.
“Delicious,” I reply, although if a laser were pointed at my head, I wouldn’t be able to describe the taste. Well, yes, I could. Sawdust.
“I enjoyed our… talk,” she says sweetly, then grants me a smile with her perfect mouth. “Same time tomorrow, then?”
Anya
I count to ten slowly, then count to ten again to make certain he’s all the way down the hallway. Then I stand up and fist-pump the air. Never leaving well enough alone, I jump up and down, then pump my knees in happiness.
“Rynn had a boner!” I exclaim, then make a little song of it, “Rynn had a hard-on, Rynn had a stiffy. Yes!”
Did he or did he not tell me less than a day ago that he didn’t get them? He could have been lying, trying to rebuff me without breaking my heart, but A, I don’t think he cares about breaking my heart, and B, by the way he handled said hard-on, I think it was his first.
Don’t most guys figure out in Junior High how to keep them at bay? Or at least mitigate the circumstances by how they pack it? I mean, he was sprouting some major wood and the white napkin was almost as effective as a neon sign.
I get serious all of a sudden, remembering this isn’t a game. It isn’t a battle of wills. This is a fight for my mate’s life, and I think I just proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that the big guy is still alive in there—the very big guy.
I need to strategize. The stakes couldn’t be higher. For the millionth time since that avalanche, I recall the fight for our freedom. Somehow, this battle seems even bigger because this time I have even more to fight for.