Chapter 9 Dom
NINE
DOM
My nanites offer a few interpretations for this word, but it’s important to Law-rah. More than that: something she fears. Her chest rises too fast, a faint tremor shaking her hands, and her scent sharpens with the salt-edge of fear.
Law-rah is bracing as if I might strike her down. Drok na, whatever this means, she thinks I will react badly. The thought twists like a blade in my gut. She has given me a gift—her trust—and I refuse to let her feel shame for it.
“I will not go through you,” I promise. That would require force, which I would never wield against a female, let alone one as delicate as Law-rah.
She cocks her head, silky blonde hair sliding down her shapely shoulder. “When I say no penetration, I mean your penis or whatever you have will not ever go in my vagina. That won’t happen under any circumstances.”
“Neither my cock nor my crinis will enter you,” I promise. Naming them in front of her makes them pulse with a quiver of anticipation.
She seems surprised at my reaction. “Well, that was easy,” she says. “Usually guys… I mean, that's great. What about you?” Her gaze drops down my body to my belt. It reminds me of the scene Nevare’s nighttime roving showed me, of myself on my knees, just as I am now.
“You can touch or take whatever you want from me. It’s your right,” I tell her.
“No, none of that,” she says, stern. “We're discussing proper boundaries. Is there anything you don't want to do?”
She’s allowing me to choose, but I want all of this. “I… don’t know.”
She nibbles one side of her rich red lips, her blunt white teeth flashing.
“Hm. This might be an experience barrier rather than a language one.
I'll tell you what, we'll explore your limits together, but in return, you must swear to tell me if something sounds too much or ever becomes uncomfortable for you.”
“I swear.” Nothing she wants to do to me will be too much. I know this already through interactions I've had with her, and especially this conversation: she’s focused entirely on me, and she cares for my wellbeing.
No one, let alone a female, has ever considered me as an individual apart from my crewmates.
When she told me she didn’t want a mate bond, I could have howled in sheer relief.
Even now, my mind shakes with the implications, so much so I can barely hold the link to Arik and Nevare steady, joy pulsing out of me like sunlight through a breach.
I would be a fool not to place my life into the safety of her hands, especially when she's offering this intimacy without attachment.
She licks her lips. “My third non-negotiable is work comes first, then I do.”
“That is also my situation,” I admit. “I am one of the Bases who supports Nevare. I cannot allow my feelings to affect him. Pain centers me, focuses me. Without pain, I cannot find equilibrium when I’m mentally unbalanced.”
“So you always have to be in control of yourself, I see. How does our play interact with that duty? Our real-life responsibilities have to come first, remember.”
“I… I won’t fail Nevare. I can consider it as training, learning to shield the others from these…” A wave of heat burns across my chest and shoulders, but it's not unpleasant. Far from it. “These emotions,” I choke out.
“Training, eh? I like that angle.”
I lick my dry lips. “May I… ask questions?”
“Always.”
“Why don't you want to do penetration?”
“That's personal,” she says coolly. I've annoyed her already.
“I'm sorry. I don't know where the limits are, this is new for me.” And that could be a problem. “Parthiastocks need hard limits, we feel out of control if we don't have them.”
“That's okay, we're talking hard limits now,” Law-rah says quietly. “I don't like answering personal questions, but I’m aware you don't exactly have context for when a question strays into being too personal for humans. I'll keep that in mind and have patience with you.”
“I won’t ask any more personal questions,” I promise.
“I’ll tell you when they get too personal,” she responds in return.
This is intoxicating: a woman, promising me things.
Gray lines ghost across my vision as I inhale, catching the heady swirl of her scent—floral with a sharp, spicy edge that stings and soothes at once.
This isn’t a command barked from above, it’s a negotiation.
A weaving of structure between us, line by line, order by order, shaped together.
It’s not the cold terror of chaos or the numbing cage of submission without choice.
It’s ours. I’m building it with her. I’ve always felt safest when the chain of command is clear.
I can do this—play, obey, explore—with Law-rah guiding me.
I can surrender without fear. I can feel safe under her command.
Her eyes glint with something that makes my cock pulse in response.
“Sometimes the best way to explore is to do,” she says.
Her cheeks redden, contrasting with her flaxen hair the same pale gold of the sands on Gorinda.
Humans change color too, a much more subtle set of shades than Olorian scales, and I must learn what every indicator means.
At first I think she is hesitant, but quickly her face clears and, with a confident set to her jaw, she says, “Give me your hands.”
I thrust them up to her, and her blue eyes widen ever so slightly. She swallows, her delicate hand hovering over my fist.
“Open your palms. Turn them up to me.”
I do so and, although I could hold my arms up for a score of Earth hours, my muscles tremble. Her fingers dip, questing, but not close enough to touch me.
Her eyes meet mine over our still hands. “What do you want right now?”
A thousand desires roar up inside me, clamoring to leave my throat all at once. I shove them back, then relent. Her second non-negotiable was clear communication, even accepting my refusals. She wants my honesty.
And yet, impossible to voice it all.
“Touch me,” I manage, my throat so tight my voice grinds out the words.
A smile spreads across her face; radiant, satisfied, delighted.
Then her fingertips alight on my palms. The slightest touch, triggering an unstoppable chain reaction. My scales send a thousand signals, my body responds, yielding, and I can’t help the gasp that escapes my lips.
Her smile widens, a perfect reward. I want to be the cause of that look on her face again, and again, and again.
Her tiny pale fingers wrap around my wrists as much as she can. A gentle tug. “This way.”
Slowly, I get to my feet. She tips her head back to track me, unafraid. Good, because she has nothing to fear from me.
She asks, “Do you have any injuries? Anything I should know about?”
“My nanites heal everything, but…” I tap the side of my head. Underneath my scales and skin rings a dull hollow chime. “I have a metal head plate.”
Her eyes flick up to note its placement. “What’s that from?”
“I took a blow meant for my Apex. It was… bad enough I was nearly disposed of, but that’s when a Gerverstock requested I was spared. It’s how I met Ilia. Gara was the one who installed the plate.”
“We really do come from different worlds,” she murmurs. She glances up at the steel beam bisecting the shed. “Jump up there and hold on, like you did last night.”
It’s an easy action to leap and clutch onto the cold metal, but it sends a pulse of electric excitement into my chest knowing she's watching.
Her face is level with my hips, her rich blue eyes dark in the shadows as her gaze roves over me. “How long can you hold yourself up there?” she asks.
“Many human hours,” I assure her. My arms stretch and bunch as I flex, partly to keep me in place, partly to show well for her, and I resolve to hang here until she tells me otherwise.
Her warm hand touches my unprotected stomach, and again I groan.
“So sensitive,” she murmurs.
“Yes.” My scales lie so primed for every small touch, even the brush of her breath over the interlocking edges of my armor sends sparks shooting across my nerves.
“Your skin is so cool.” Her voice is hushed, breathless, as her fingertips dance over my stomach.
“I’m cold? I'll warm up.”
“Oh, no, that's a human expression of appreciation. Your temperature is fine.” Her light fingers turn more firm as she presses. There’s nothing of the electricity of pain, no sharp shock as I expected; but just like the track of the veralash, every nerve fires in response.
It’s sudden. Different. Something I don’t know what to call, something I’ve never felt before.
My scales harden in reaction.
“Is that okay?” she asks, breathless.
I soften my scales with an effort. I want to feel every second of her touch, dive deep into it, suck it up greedily. It’s entirely different to pain; and entirely welcome. “It's perfect,” I admit, breath tight.
“I can tell you like it. Do you want more?”
“Yes.” The honesty between us lights me up almost as much as her touch.
“Close your eyes,” she says, and I slide into darkness, all my senses focused on where she might be, where her caress will come from next.
My scales harden automatically but I relax them, letting go as I hand myself to her, her breathing becoming more ragged as this play begins to affect her, too.
“Responsive,” she murmurs. She's right, I'm primed and for once completely in my body, not clamping down my emotions in my head and living halfway in Nevare's.
‘Dom?’ Nevare sends.
Drok na, I'm broadcasting everything! ‘Busy,’ I reply quickly.
His interest only grows. ‘New feelings. Taste different. What are they all?’
‘I don't know, we can look at them later.’
‘So many. What's causing it?’
I can't shut him out if he really wants to see, he's a powerful psychic, but I really, really want to be able to.
‘This is mine,’ I try, straining to be wholly present with Law-rah.
‘Come on, Nevare, let's find Shade,’ Arik says. I owe him a thousand thank yous. ‘Indeed; you'll be on my nightshifts for the next Earth week,’ he sends in a tight band to me.