Page 20 of Border Control
His jaw works as if he wants to say something, opening and closing, his scales still darkening over his body as if I set off a chain reaction. I seem to have sparked something off internally, too, as he struggles to speak.
“Don’t… apologize,” he manages at last, gaze dropping from mine to the tiles on the floor.
I replay what he’s told me about serving females, coupled with how I saw him in the machinery shed.
I try again, “You do know you have your freedom, right? You’re not enslaved here or whatever.”
He stares at me. Evidently, that doesn’t quite compute.
“Listen, I… I want to talk to you about… what I saw this evening.”
“Was it wrong? Did I break your laws?” His scales drain to pastel pink. “Should I be punished?”
“No, no, of course not.” I need to do something, I can’t just stand here confronting him about something so intensely personal. I turn to the espresso machine, my hand stable as I fill up the tank with organic whole beans, adding a little hiss of white noise. “No, it's not against our laws, so relax. But… it’s clear you need help of some kind. To help you feel okay.”
I bite my lip. Why can’t I string a sensible sentence together? I’m trying to help the guy!
But there's no denying, having him respond to me like that is pinging something off inside me. For someone who loves knowing the exact term for everything, I find it hard to name my exact emotions, but whatever I think I'm feeling is new. Attraction, yes, there’s no denying that, and something darker. Nameless, and formless.
I have to sort this out.
Spinning around to face him, I blurt, “I'd like to meet you tomorrow sometime. To talk.”
He blinks. “Of course, female.”
“What about lunchtime?” Ellen will be busy, Arabella will take it easy for a few days, and I’ll have had time to meet Nicole for her advice. By then, I'll have worked out how I feel, and a plan of action to help Dom. It’s perfect.
“As you wish,” he says.
Ah, wait. “That’s not an order, that’s something you can say no to.”
His head cocks. “But I do not want to say no,” he says, voice a dark rumble.
Oh, boy. “1pm sharp, okay?”
“I’ll be there.” Dom promises, bowing his head and pressing a fist to his chest. “If that is all, I will return to the others outside.”
“Sure thing. Good night, and sleep well,” I tell him, before forcing myself to turn around to the counter as if I've got something critical that needs doing.
The door clicks shut. My eyes squeeze closed. That feeling stirs in me: uncomfortable, insistent. Did I like seeing him on his knees? My chest tightens. No… and if I’m honest, yes.
I like control. Ineedcontrol. Without it, and coffee, I fall apart. But him? He seemed to need it too, to find clarity throughsurrender. And that… wow. What if I replaced his need for pain for something else?
How would he react if I touched him gently?
I grip the counter, knuckles whitening. If I explore this, it has to be with care. With Dom, consent has to be absolutely clear. These guys have been through something bad, I can feel it, and Nicole would be the perfect person to talk to. She knows trauma, even if it’s horse-shaped. Aliens are different, sure, but she can give me signs to watch for.
As long as I'm discreet. I don’t want my private life to interfere with anything else, but I have to help him. They’re good people. Aliens. Whatever, I’m tired. They’re helping Ellen and now Arabella. Maybe they all need help in return.
Dom most of all.
A twinge arcs through me as I text her, a mix between doing something naughty but also something important. When I’m done, I shove the phone aside and finish setting up the coffee pot for the morning. A ritual to settle me down, even though I know I won't get much sleep with all this in my head.
Especially the big purple guy with a slow but genuine smile.
SIX
DOM
