Page 8 of Trak
“But as promised, I will leave you. To think.” He raised one brow and gave her a crooked grin. “And to do…whatever you need to do.” The last bit dripped with innuendo.
She raised a brow in return and glanced down at his crotch. “You, too,” she said sweetly, but it took some effort to tear her gaze from his impressive organ, straining the front of his pants. Trak just gave a playful shrug and dropped a quick kiss on her cheek as he crossed to the door.
“Cheers,” he said, and he slipped outside. The door shut behind him and Anna stared at it, momentarily stunned. Her heart rate was not back to normal. Her pussy was tingling and moist. She pressed a hand to her warm lips and let out a noise she’d never made in the entirety of her life: a dreamy sigh.
Well. Maybe she could do this after all.
Six
Trak sat in the Miti Luti, moving his cup oftagaaround the table andthinking. He resisted ever doing the last bit for longer than necessary. It typically resulted in a risky new idea his crew would hate, or unfortunate poetry. Presently, he was veering toward the latter.
Pizol, his first officer, slid into the seat across from him. His friend and comrade said something to him, but all Trak heard was nonsense. He made a confused face, then remembered and removed the chip from his head that made him speak and understand English. He greeted Pizol, flipping the chip between his fingers like a coin.
“I said, I’m surprised to see you here,” said Pizol, raising a muscled arm to summon a server. “Figured you’d be seducing her in your chambers.”
Trak had thought so, too. He glanced at the dancers on the dais: two many-tentacled beings engaged in a sinuous, sensual dance, bathed in a pulsing blue light. Over the course of his many, many visits to this bar, Trak had admired every manner of female, male, and multi-gendered dancer up on that dais. They currently held no interest for him. All he could think about was the red-haired beauty in his chambers.
“Where do they get the talent these days?” asked Pizol. “I’ve never seen that species before in my life.”
“They’reOukks,” Trak said blandly. “We met some when passing through theGrerisector five quadrants ago. Remember?”
“Oh,” said Pizol, pushing back his long black hair. “Vaguely.”
“I believe our chief engineer got a bit friendly with one of them. It was so good, apparently, he was ruined for any other sexual partner for cycles.”
Pizol raised his brows and looked back to the dancingOukks. “The tentacles?”
“Of course, the tentacles,” replied Trak, staring at his untouched drink. “There are somanyof them.”
“How is your human guest?” Pizol gave his prince an assessing look. “The fact that you are moping here does not bode well.”
“She is well,” he said. “She’s utterly lovely and her kiss tastes like nectar harvested under the Nikig moon. She’s—”
“Dear Sages, stop,” said Pizol gruffly. “You’ve been sitting here too long, clearly.”
Trak smiled faintly. His friend knew him well. “Clearly.”
“So what is the problem then, if you are getting poetic about her?”
He tipped his glass to his lips and took a sip. “She isn’t sure she wants to stay here.”
“Ah, that’s a pity.” Pizol nodded to the familiar server who delivered a cup oftagawithout waiting to be asked. “They’ll send another female, won’t they?”
“Yes,” replied Trak. “But I would like to keep this one. She’s…”
“I get the picture.” Pizol held up a hand, preempting more flowery descriptions of Anna. “Have you fucked her yet?”
Trak looked up, eyes hot. “Thatis private.”
“So, you haven’t.” Pizol shook his head and took a long swig oftaga. “Well, once you bone the female, it will be done. She’ll never want to leave.”
Trak gave him a withering look as two more members of his crew sauntered up and took seats at the table. He sighed, almost—but not quite—grateful for the company, and signaled to the server to bring a carafe oftagafor the table.
“Who is never going to leave?” asked Yanc, Trak’s chief engineer. Without him, Trak was certain his battle cruiser, which was currently docked in their massive hangar, would never make it off the landing pad. Yanc was slender for a Virilian and kept his brown hair shorn almost to the skin. He was studiously avoiding looking at theOukks.
“Trak’s female. If he ever gets around to boning her.”
The other male, Niir, was the eldest of the crew and by far the wisest. He held the position of chief communications officer and designated negotiator because of all of them, he had the most patience. Niir spoke over eighty languages and Trak credited his continued survival to the older Virilian’s expertise.
