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“You’re comfortable with this, Miss Reece?”
“Happy to be a part of it, Colonel. Lucy is glad to be on board. The males are excited. I’d hate for anything to stand in their way. I can also offer my assurance that I will be present for all the rehearsals, so turning off the cameras won’t cause security concerns for you.”
“Hmph. How long did you two practice your pitch?”
My hand raises to my chest in a pearl-clutching parody as I give him my most innocent I-don’t-know-what-you’re-talking-about expression.
“Approved. I’ll send out a memo. Which one of you is volunteering to send me a daily email update?”
“I will,” I offer. I’m not the one who will be working up a sweat.
Chapter Thirteen
Tyler
When they liberated me three years ago, I’d pushed my emotions so far down I didn’t believe I had any. Perhaps that’s why my attraction to Olivia has taken me by surprise.
I’m all male. That’s never been in question. From my deep dive on the Internet, well, as far as the Net Nanny would allow, it seems my sex drive is higher than that of humans.
The soldiers no longer raise an eyebrow when they deliver supplies of lotion and extra towels to our barracks. I’ve never been ashamed of how often I relieve myself. It’s a fact of life that comes with my biology.
It’s just that I never thought my desires would be focused on one person, especially not someone I know. And definitely not a woman I spend over ten hours a day with in an enclosed space.
We’ve developed a routine in the few days since we met with Colonel Slater. We arrive at breakfast ready for our workday and then walk directly from the dining hall to Mane Street Fashions.
The first day, I thought it was a stroke of luck that I got to sit close to Olivia as we pored over clothing websites. I know nothing of fashion. The only thing I care about is comfort.
Even though I’ve heard the women speak critically about the Hawaiian shirts we’re forced to wear—I believe Riley called them heinous—I don’t mind them at all. They have plenty of room for me to roll my shoulders. And the khaki pants or shorts we wear have plenty of ball room. What else does a male need?
Olivia, on the other hand, is constantly griping that she wants tofeelthe material she’s forced to order over the Internet. When I inquired, she tried to explain it to me, but I still don’t get it. She was concerned about something to do with the thread count and vertical versus horizontal weave. I don’t know much. As long as I can wiggle and move around, I’m happy.
By early afternoon on the first day, though, I realized our enforced intimacy is more of a curse than a blessing.
When she’s engrossed in scrolling through the online catalogs, I have endless opportunities to watch her out of the corner of my eye. I know what every one of her expressions means. Simply by the set of her shoulders or the rate of her breathing, I know if she likes a particular manufacturer or not.
And her hair. That luscious, long brown hair. How does she manage to make dead keratin expressive? But she does. With every little toss of her head or the way she twirls a strand of it when she’s deep in thought, I can tell whether she’s excited, bored, or needs me to suggest she take a break.
It’s an odd combination of pleasure and torture to sit so close, my cock kicking in my khakis, my fingers itching to comb through her hair. I want to extend one claw and slice her shirt off, letting it fall to the floor. Pictures roll through my mind of rubbing my face against her, scenting her with my pheromones. It reminds me of my animal origins.
Don’t even get me started on herscent.Every morning she arrives with her delicious scent covered in the rose soap and shampoo she favors. It’s usually not until lunch that I can sniff out her true Olivia scent under all the fake perfumes.
All morning I can’t wait until I can get a whiff of the real Olivia, then all afternoon I wish she would cover it up again because it’s enough to drive a male insane. I’m a lusty male. Sitting with a hard cock all day becomes painful.
Why does she ask me so many questions? It’s obvious I know nothing about fashion, yet time and again she tilts her beautiful head, points to two different pictures on her screen, and asks which I prefer.
When she gives me her complete attention like that, as if she can’t wait to hear what I have to say, I become tongue-tied. It’s hard to think when she’s around.
The mirrors arrived today. The soldiers are installing them now. We’ll have our first rehearsal tonight. For the past few days, when I come home from the shop, I dance in the males’ lounge, working on choreography.
I snort quietly as I use that word. To go from a caged beast to a dancer who choreographs his own steps is beyond anything I could have imagined three years ago. It’s fun discovering aspects of myself I didn’t know existed.
It hits me with the force of a lightning strike that the next thing I want to discover is what it feels like to kiss a woman. No. I correct myself. Not any woman. Olivia.
Chapter Fourteen
Olivia
Torture. I’m trying not to be obvious, but I’ve been wiggling in my seat for the last hour and a half, subtly trying to ease my arousal.
