Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 61982 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 310(@200wpm)___ 248(@250wpm)___ 207(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61982 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 310(@200wpm)___ 248(@250wpm)___ 207(@300wpm)
“That wasn’t fair,” I mumble when he unstraps me from the machine and turns me around to cradle me up against his body.
“I know,” he says, dropping a kiss on my head. “And I’m going to do it again.”
CHAPTER 6
Arkon
Things have quite literally never been better. My human is performing excellently in her role, our mutual affection is growing day by day, and the project is starting to come to a stage I don’t think any of us ever really thought we would get to.
I am in love with Evie. She is everything I have never dared to want in a mate. Her body feels as though it is made specifically for mine; the way she wraps her pussy around me and grips me so tight, the way she fights me then surrenders to the pleasure I can give her, the wicked way she insists on trying to steal things even though she knows she is being watched by more eyes than she can countenance.
“What are you thinking about?”
She asks the question over breakfast. I realize that I have been staring at her.
“How glad I am that I chose you to employ, and not the male candidate.”
“You would have hated Rustle,” she laughs. “He was such a constant, consummate asshole. He would have driven you mad, I think.”
“Why is that?”
“He was just a jerk, and he was bad at games. He’d want you to explain why the rings were significant and when he missed them he’d be like ohhh, it doesn’t matter that much actually because, blah blah.”
I like listening to her talk about her life before my employ, even if it is to complain about what sounds like the universe’s most pedestrian and beige arch nemesis.
“Anyway,” she says. “I like the work here too, but I’d really like to know what I’m really training for.”
“What do you mean, what you’re really training for?”
“Whatever you want me to do, it’s not really fly through rings,” she says. “Back on Earth, they trained birds to sit in missiles and peck at targets as a means of orientation in the days before decent tech. Is that what you’re doing with me? Integrating me into a weapon or something?”
She sips her human-safe protein drink and I think about how best to lie to her.
“The Kensington Group is a collective of rebel pirates and renegades and outlaws,” I start to say.
“You’re making them sound very cool, though,” she interrupts me.
“There is nothing cool about breaking intergalactic law,” I say sternly, watching as she tries not to break out laughing in response. I don’t know what it is about this human and her near complete inability to take anything seriously, but here we are.
“We have to defend our territories and our borders,” I say.
“I knew it! You want to use me as a weapon,” she says. “I’m not going to do anything fucked up, I hope you know that. I mean I’m not going to…”
“Not a weapon,” I say. “An advanced deterrence system.”
“Sounds like another set of words for weapon,” she replies. “I know. I’m human. We have endless words for weapons in all of our cultures.”
“That’s really not what it is,” I say. “Think of it more like a very large robot.”
“Oh, my god, I’m going to be piloting a flying mech suit!” She jumps up, beaming. “Why didn’t you tell me that in the first place? I would have worked for free!”
“I don’t need you to work for free,” I say. “But I do need you to take your work seriously.”
“And I do,” she says. “I take it so fucking seriously. I work way harder than anyone else, I bet. And I hardly ever steal anything anymore.”
“That’s got to stop completely,” I growl. “And you know it. The price for taking any of our tech is a lot worse than a spanking and some rough sex.”
“So, what, anal?”
I frown at her. She has this air about her that means nothing really ever touches her. I think it helps in the sense that it keeps her from getting overwhelmed in the way many humans would if they were ripped out of their world and taken into an alien realm, but it means she never quite takes me entirely seriously.
“There are real consequences,” I repeat. “You could find yourself incarcerated. Not in the sense of the cage I barely use with you, you absolute brat. But in real jail.”
“You should probably use that cage,” she says. “Chekhov’s cage. Gotta use it before the last act or people will get mad and say you didn’t know what you were doing.”
She’s being silly again, and I let her be silly because there is no harm in it. If she is happy, engaged in her work, and not asking too many questions about the actual purpose of it, then I am happy.