Now I just hope he's telling the truth. But since I've got nothing else to go on, I'm just going to assume the best.
I glance up at him as his fingers skim along my mouth. He's been utterly insatiable, this Zakoar, and while I'm tired and would like to go to sleep, when I see the intense heat in his gaze, my body clenches involuntarily. Sleep can wait. Pleasing him needs to be the top priority, and really, it's no hardship to do so, especially when he wants me to come before he does. "Are you tired?" I ask softly, already knowing the answer.
"No."
I lick my lips at the same time his fingers graze over my mouth, and then I'm licking his metal fingertips. I keep expecting them to be cold and unpleasant, but they're warm and as hard as the rest of him, and oddly enough, I like it. I lick them again, watching him as I do. "Female," he begins.
"Tessa," I correct.
"Tessa," he amends, his fingers playing at my mouth. "Hands and knees."10TESSAHe fucks me twice more, and then tugs me into the shower and washes me off. I'm half-asleep as he carries me back to bed, and the moment he sets me down on the mattress, I try to crawl away. I haven't been invited to stay, and I don't want to overstep. But Zakoar just makes a sound of annoyance, pulls me back into bed, and then tucks me against his side. I go to sleep with his hands all over me, as if I'm his personal teddy bear.
I wake up several hours later when the bed shifts, and he gets up. He pads away, heading for the bathroom, and I roll over, determined to squeeze a few more minutes of sleep out of the situation before he returns and fucks me again. I'm drifting off when I hear a sound of displeasure, and the trained slave in me immediately jerks awake, eyes wide. I sit up, panicked.
Zakoar is gazing at me from the edge of the bed, a deep frown on his face.
"What's wrong?" I ask, worried. "Should I…do you want me out of bed?" Is he mad that I'm still asleep?
He reaches over and I instinctively flinch, which only makes his mood even more sour. He flicks me an irritated look and pulls the blanket out of my hands, uncovering my body. "You didn't tell me that I hurt you."
Huh? I glance down and sure enough, my hips are covered in light bruises, some of them finger shaped, from where he was holding me as he fucked me. "Oh. You didn't hurt me."
"You're bruised."
I nod. "I am. I bruise easily. That's why I was in the window instead of serving customers." I immediately shut up, because he probably doesn't want to hear about me “serving” customers. As possessive as he is, he might freak out at the thought of someone else touching me. So I bite back any more of an explanation and smile brightly. "Truly, I'm fine. I would have said something if you'd hurt me…or at the very least, I'd have yelped a few times."
"Mmm." Zakoar is still frowning. He reaches over and caresses my hip and backside, clearly displeased at the marks on my flesh. "I think the med-bay will have a cream for this."
"It might, but it's not necessary." Abuar never gave me anything like that because a med-bay machine is expensive, and refilling the medical goods even more so. "It'll heal up in a day or two."
"You're getting cream," he says stubbornly. "I don't care how keffing expensive it is." His fingers brush over my skin again, his expression thoughtful. "I'm going to have to be more careful. I didn't realize."
"It's okay, really," I say in a soft voice. "We're still in the figuring each other out stage. Don't beat yourself up." In a way, it's rather sweet that he's so worried over a few bruises. That makes me feel better about the situation. He's not into pain, then. At least, not mine.
"Wait here," Zakoar commands, striding away. He leaves the room—heading to the med-bay installed in the house, I'm guessing—and I watch him leave, fascinated at the studs all the way up his tail. That, and he's totally naked and his backside is fascinatingly tight and I like the sight of it.
Then, I really do pinch myself because I must be dreaming if I'm lusting after an alien who bought me. I wince and then smooth my hand over the mark. I don't want to leave another bruise for him to fret over.
My stomach growls, and I ponder waiting in bed, but my mouth is dry, too. I decide to head into the kitchen. I still don't have clothes to wear, and the sheets smell like sex, so I pad across the cool metal floor on bare feet, hoping he doesn't mind a naked slave wandering his apartment. His kitchen is full of high-tech machinery, the walls covered with dispensers of every kind, buttons flashing, and I can't read a word of the writing. I double tap one of the screens, hoping there's a visual guide, and to my joy, there is. I flip through the pictures, looking for something appetizing, when I hear footsteps behind me again.