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When she had disrobed, his cock had flexed against his own clothing, lengthening and straining against the fabric. No big deal: she was a female, and Vokl had long been interbreeding on their own planet with the multiple humanoid species there. That a human would arouse him meant nothing.
To find she was a virgin, that had been another blow to him. Another ball of rooted desire that began to creep into his body and wrap its vines around his heart. Voklish males were of two types, and he had always assumed he was a warrior type; it was in his blood. Warriors did not mate for life, did not get enveloped in the encompassing Voklha, or mating force.
It just couldn’t be happening to him. Not with this human, who couldn’t ever be his even if he wanted to succumb to this force.
And yet it surged inside him, a force so powerful it was all he could do to keep it in check as she disrobed. As his eyes wandered over her body while she was examined. His protective, possessive nature surged from the depths of his Voklha, like a monster. Even though a drone, not another male, had inspected her, he fantasized about destroying it with his bare hands, shredding it to pieces.
He had managed to perform his duties today in spite of this. But the disciplining had only fed his desire, his monster, his Voklha. Maybe at the beginning of this day, he could have denied this to himself.
But not anymore. It was like a trapped animal inside him, clawing to get out.
“Quaia Sangsen is not yours and cannot be yours,” he told himself sternly.
It was best to repeat that as much as possible. Because that was the way it was, no matter what he thought or felt about it. No matter how she reacted, blossoming to his touch. No matter how much he wanted to claim her as his own.
CHAPTER 8
She was relieved to find a modest compartment prepared for her on level C. A single bed, carefully made, a desk and chair and a tablet that was hopefully linked to the ship’s information net. There was also a set of pants and top lying on the bed.
As soon as she was alone, she shrugged off the robe and kicked off the shoes Torian had made her wear. But instead of immediately putting on the clothing, she found herself shivering in excitement, wanting to remain naked.
She walked to the small washroom in the compartment and turned her back toward the mirror. It was long enough to display the plug protruding from between her cheeks. Seeing it made her acutely aware of the sensations she was feeling because of it: arousal, an aching soreness, fullness… her cheeks grew hot again and she wasn’t able to look herself in the eye.
She couldn’t believe herself. Leaning on the counter, positioning herself to the right of the mirror so she wouldn’t see herself, she leaned over to work her fingers to the flange and remove the plug.
As her hands moved over the flesh of her bottom, she ignited the red imprints left by Torian’s discipline, and her mouth fell open as she gasped and her eyes fluttered while she enjoyed the sensation.
“Dammit,” she whispered, a chill rushing over her upper body. She hastened to find the flange with her fingers and tug at it. It was difficult at first, but she removed it. When a feeling of emptiness engulfed her, she felt hot again with the sting of humiliation, and she hurried to toss the plug in the sink and leave the bathroom without looking back at it.
Returning to the room, her insides still sore in ways she would have rather died than admit was pleasant, she picked up the pants and stepped into them. She pulled the top over her head. Both were a far tighter fit than she normally would have worn. But they were much more comfortable and at least a little less revealing than the ridiculous shift she’d been dressed in earlier. She threw the robe over them, tied it off and started pacing.
“You are Quaia Sangsen,” she said, balling her hands into fists at her sides, then releasing them. Sometimes she just felt the need to give herself a good talking to. “You are Quaia Sangsen. Solo pilot. Soon to be free of this barren wasteland of an outpost.” She stepped into the bathroom and stared at her reflection in the mirror. “What is wrong with you?”
The answer did not come naturally.
“He is here to do a job,” she said, as if her earlier thoughts needed to be vocalized to be believed. “You are that job. Submit. Do what he asks, and you’ll be free to leave.” She gave a heavy nod to emphasize the last point to herself.
She walked back out into the compartment to pick up the tablet and distract herself from her thoughts. But the pep talk only worked as long as she kept the memories of his hands on her body out of her mind.
As those started to crawl back in, she found herself unable to concentrate on anything. Three times she refreshed the ship’s local information page. Three times she caught herself blanking out as she tried to read what was on it. Lost in a slurry of memories about the sensations he’d inspired.
She finally dropped the tablet on the bed, walked back into the bathroom, and placed her hands on either side of the sink to lean forward toward the mirror. “You’re so close,” she whispered. “So close to freedom. The Falcon’s fueled and ready. This place, this life, will both be far behind you soon. Captain Torian will be behind you soon,” she said through clenched teeth.
Which didn’t help because it made her immediately think of Torian standing behind her with his heavy hand on her back and the other between her legs. Her sex throbbed and an ache formed beneath her belly. She couldn’t find the will to resist the memory. She let it blossom in her mind for a few delicious moments before shaking it out of her head, storming out into the compartment, dropping to her hands, and pressing out twenty push-ups.
As she got up off the floor, she felt much better. Her heart was pounding in a way she was used to, not the sickly-sweet trembling she’d endured under Torian’s touch. She paced back and forth a few more times to let her breathing settle. Then she flopped down onto the bed and flicked the tablet open.
She needed to concentrate on not concentrating.
There was not much news on a ship the size of the Andomocles. Public crew reports and cleaning schedules. She tried to link to the station’s feed but couldn’t authenticate. She found a few games in the lower menu, selected Space Donkeys and let her mind zone out as she started tapping on the screen, zapping bad guys.
A few minutes later, the entry speaker buzzed.
She paused the game, laid the tablet on the desk, and walked to the hatch. “Who is it?” she asked into the speaker. As if it made any difference.
“Might I come in?” The voice was soft and feminine. Quaia made a face and shrugged. What next?
She took a step back from the hatch as it hissed open. The female form standing in front of her was somewhat startling. She was obviously Vokl as she shared many of Torian’s facial features. But where he was broad and imposing, she was slight, almost petite. There was even a kindness in her eyes that put Quaia at ease. “Uh… can I help you?” Quaia asked.
