Page 50 of I'm Not Your Pet

A home where Huu-goh would always feel beautiful.

A home where he felt safe.

You know what’s weird? Aliens. I mean, seriously. One day you’re riding around on a guy’s shoulders, he’s calling youbeautifuland telling you you’resafe. Then that same night he’s leaving you alone in your room—instead of banging you with his sexy tenta-fingers, like he should be—only to return so early the following morning it feels literally criminal.

I mean,seriously.

What is up with that?

Talk about mixed signals.

When he’d woken up—after only a few hours of sleep—Roark was affectionate as always. He disappeared to get ready for the day, disappeared again to wherever he came back sweaty and ripped from—and returned for breakfast.

He petted me with those massive, gentle hands. But his behavior was so bizarrely normal I couldn’t fully enjoy it. Okay, yeah. That was a lie. I definitely enjoyed it. After lying alone in bed all night I was even more starved for his affection than usual.

He left to work like always, and while he was away, I used the fork I’d fashioned into a makeshift screwdriver to try and pryapart a nanobot. It was tricky, but not impossible. And it took way less time than I’d hoped it would. Which left me with even more time to overthink.

When Roark returned for lunch—and his hands were empty—I knew the day before had not been a fluke. This time, he hesitated as I stood in front of him, head tipped back, waiting for him to clip my leash.

Huu-goh the dog now had daily walks!

Sounded fucking sad, but was truly such an improvement.

When Roark didn’t clip the lead, I frowned, confused. His hand hovered for a beat longer, but eventually he abandoned the leash entirely, re-clipping it to his leather belt though his gray spots betrayed how conflicted he felt about the motion.

Was I not going out?

I squinted at him, trying to figure out what the fuck was happening.

But then he held a hand out to me, waiting expectantly, and I knew things had just irrevocably changed. Once was an anomaly. Twice was a pattern. And the lack of leash spoke volumes.

My hand slid into his and he squeezed, little tendrils wrapping all the way around me till I was encased in a warm cocoon of pink as Roark pulled me out the door and into the hallway to go eat lunch at the canteen with him for the second day in a row.

We didn’t hold hands for long. Only because both of us had enjoyed the way we’d traveled the day before. With Roark’s broad shoulders beneath my legs, and the swoop in my belly after he’d swung me high in the air, I was on cloud nine—the lonely night forgotten.

All during lunch, Roark’s tentacles felt me up, poking, rubbing, exploring. He’d rumble and nuzzle my hair as I ate, hislong slithery tongue tracing the curve of my cheek like he missed me as much as I’d missed him, audience be damned.

I hadn’t seen many of the crew since we’d been space-borne. And they kept their distance, though I caught more than a few curious, and amused looks. Sahrks were interesting people. All different shades of pastels, all seemingly friendly despite their plethora of teeth. That remained true, even with me—an outsider—attached to the man in charge of their ship.

I had no doubt they’d never seen their captain like this before.

Hell, I was surprised myself by how he was acting.

Apparently, Roark was touchy-feely when he was tired.

A fact that I found ridiculously cute—even if I was still super confused as to why he hadn’t come to bed like usual.

Dutifully, Roark cut my bark for me into itty-bitty pieces. (I didn’t complain. How could I? After he’d explained why he fed it to me.) He stroked my hair, and my fingers, his hot breath huffing against the side of my head the whole time I chewed.

When he’d dropped me off at our rooms to return to his duties, he’d paused in the doorway, staring at me for a beat longer than usual. His posture was as rigid as ever, though he didn’t cross the distance between us.

“Bye bye,” he said in my language. I perked up, chuckling as he raised one, large pink hand and waved.

“Bye bye,” I waved back, feeling fizzy and bright as Roark’s spots turned a brilliant, lovely shade of white—and then fuchsia immediately after—and he shut the door behind him with a quiet click.

Nighttime came, we shared dinner like usual, traded a few more words back and forth. I fell asleep against Roark’s chest, certain that his odd behavior the night before had been a fluke.

I was wrong.

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