Total pages in book: 33
Estimated words: 31116 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 156(@200wpm)___ 124(@250wpm)___ 104(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 31116 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 156(@200wpm)___ 124(@250wpm)___ 104(@300wpm)
I am terrible at chasing. So I do menial tasks in the office. I go on patrol. And I let the others handle the females that come in for assistance.
The human in front of me—Colonist Flannigan—reminds me that my heart is far too eager. She watches me with soft eyes, her gaze moving over my chest and then focusing on my hands.
“How would you categorize your distress?” I gently prompt. I need to follow the criteria and just get her out the door. Handle things quickly so I can’t get myself in trouble. Get her out the door so I don’t lose my heart.
“I need to get laid,” she blurts out.
“Laid where?” I ask, entering this in the data pad. Colonist is fatigued and requires sleep. Needs to lay down.
She looks startled at my question. “Uh, I didn’t give it a lot of thought? I mean, if you want to help me, I’m totally game for here.” She gestures. “The back of your office. On your desk. Wherever.”
“Of course I will help you,” I say. “It is my duty as a custodian.”
She blinks at me. And blinks a bit more. “Um…you’re sure about that?” The human raises a hand in the air and gives a little laugh. “Not that I mind, of course. I just thought it would take a little more convincing than that.”
“If you want to sleep, of course I can help you.” Though I’m not certain as to why she needs my assistance, but she’s so lovely and relieved that I am helping her that I feel obligated to assist in any way I can.
“Sleep together,” she corrects.
That makes me pause. “You need a companion to help you slumber?”
The pretty human—Colonist Flannigan—wrinkles her brows and gives me an odd look. “I’m not talking about sleeping-sleeping. I’m talking about fucking.”
My tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth. I stare at the female, at her lovely dark eyes and dark hair, and the intense look upon her face. She’s anxious and frustrated and here because…she needs male companionship?
From me? A low caste mesakkah with a dead-end military outpost job?
I manage to clear my throat. “Apologies, but I think I missed something, colonist.”
She winces. “No, I’m sorry. It’s my fault. I’m just all over the place. Hormones, you know.” A moment later, she leans forward, her face buried in her hands as if she’s hiding it from me. “Ugh, this is so embarrassing.”
“There is nothing to be embarrassed of. You need assistance, and I am trying to help. That is my duty to the colonists here.” It takes all of my willpower to keep my tail from flicking in frantic agitation. I just know that if this female leaves—if I can’t be the hero she needs—I’ll never forgive myself. I pause and then add a bit more, desperate. “Please let me help.”
The female straightens, flipping her hair back and squaring her shoulders. She nods and gives me a half-smile. “You’re right. You’re right. Okay. Let’s start this over, shall we?” She sticks her hand out to me. “I’m Naomi Flannigan. I farm plot 4201, out to the east.”
I memorize her words as if they are priceless, and clasp her hand in mine. “I am Custodian Ainar.” My face gets hot even as I deliberately leave off my shameful family name. I do not want her to think less of me. I continue to grip her hand, and as I do, I feel her tiny extra finger—the strange fifth one all humans have—brush against my palm. It is not as strange as I thought it would be.
This is the first time I am touching a human’s hand, I realize. Most come from difficult backgrounds and do not want attention from us at all, or are respectful of hygiene laws. They tend to nod in greeting or simply announce themselves.
I decide I like touching, but only when it comes to Naomi Flannigan. My face gets even hotter, and I imagine what Khex and Sinath will say when they check the feeds in the morning. Oh, how they will laugh at me. I do not care, though. The only thing I care about is that Naomi Flannigan keeps smiling at me.
She smiles sweetly at me and then extricates her hand from my grasp. “Nice to meet you, Ainar.”
“I am full of pleasure right now,” I confess, my heart beating wildly. I now realize what the others say when they claim that a mesakkah knows his mate instantly and wants to protect her at all costs the moment he sees her. I feel like that right now when I gaze upon Colonist Flannigan—Naomi. I would do anything she asks. This feeling is far more intense than any infatuation I have felt in the past. Is it because I have touched her hand? Or is there something more to our interaction? Something inexpressible?