Need frowned. “If she’s making a chemical scent, I can’t tell and my nose is very sensitive to that kind of thing,” he said. “As for making a ‘sweet secretion’…” He paused, thinking of the salty-sweet taste of her pussy honey. Her flavor was amazing but had it been special in any way? It was hard to know, since he hadn’t tasted a female in so long, but he didn’t think it was unusual.
“Well?” Glo’ll demanded and Need realized he’d left his end of the conversation hanging.
“I don’t think she’s making special secretions either,” he said.
“Well, maybe they just like her flavor. Or…” Glo’ll paused, looking thoughtful as several green and purple leaves sprouted from his temples.
“Or what?” Need asked.
“Well, it could be that the wash blossoms sense your new acquisition could be made to produce such secretions and they’re trying to stimulate her to do so,” the Cytovian said thoughtfully. “They actually live off the sweat they collect when they clean your skin. If they sense that more nourishment is available, they will attempt to get to it. They’re semi-sentient, you know.” He glared at Need. “Which is one reason you must be very careful not to harm them.”
“I’m careful,” Need promised him. “I would never hurt a plant—you know that, Captain.”
“Good.” Glo’ll nodded in apparent satisfaction. “Well, then—please get on with plotting that course, would you? I’d like to be in deep space and through the first wormhole before we sit down to Last Meal tonight.”
“Yes, Captain.”
Need nodded again and went to the navigational system. But his thoughts were only half on his task as he began manipulating the complicated instruments. The mention of Last Meal had brought his Trollox coworker to mind again.
He’d been hoping to keep the girl away from Drung, but it looked like that wasn’t going to be possible. She would have to see the big Trollox at least once a day—which was once too often as far as Need was concerned. He didn’t like the idea of the horny asshole leering at her beauty.
Fine—I’ll bring her out to Last Meal, he told himself. But if that big bastard gets anywhere near her…
He felt a possessive growl rise in his throat and swallowed it back down with difficulty. There was no point in feeling so protective and possessive of the girl when he was only going to off-load her at the end of this mission.
Getting her to Genu Six shouldn’t be a problem. He was certain he could find a planet where they’d pay well for the Yarrow root The Dark Star was picking up. It was a very popular drug which had been labeled a controlled substance on most civilized worlds—mainly because while it gave euphoric visions of a heavenly realm to ninety-nine percent of people who used it, it caused the other one percent to descend into a hellish nightmare they couldn’t escape from for a solid solar year.
That was a hell of a bad trip and you never could tell if it would happen to you or not. Need had heard of Yarrow users that had been taking it all their lives with no ill effects suddenly getting a bad dose and spiraling into madness. Despite that grim possibility, however, the visions it gave when the trip was good were so amazing the drug continued to be in high demand.
I’ll find us a buyer, Need told himself. Might even find one right on Genu Six. Then I could offload the girl and the Yarrow root at the same time.
Though he still didn’t like the idea of sending the girl to live as the property of some octogenarian senator who apparently discarded wives like used tissue papers. Still, what else could he do with her? It wasn’t like he was going to keep her, right?
Unbidden, the image of her moaning his name and the way she looked up at him with those gold-flecked eyes rose in his memory. She was so small, so young. She needed to be protected, cared for…
No! Need told himself firmly. Someone else can care for her—I can’t. I can’t care for a female ever again—it only leads to heartache.
Pushing his own misgivings away, he bent his mind to the task of finding the fastest route to their destination.
The girl would be gone before he knew it, and good riddance.
That was what he told himself, anyway.
Fourteen
Lan’ara put on the metallic bronze shirt Need had given her and cinched it at the waste with the long black neck cloth. The satiny material was soft against her bare skin and clung to her curves lovingly. It fell nearly to her knees and once she had rolled up the sleeves, it looked almost like a short dress, she thought.
Wanting to see how she looked in the clothing her new owner had given her, Lan’ara dared to leave the sleeping chamber and go in search of a mirror or a viewer. She was fairly certain she had seen one in the fresher.