“You have to go, right?” she asked, looking at him directly. No point in beating around the bush.
He looked at her mistrustfully and then gave a short, curt nod.
Great! Just great. Her suspicion confirmed, she sighed internally. Not only had she bought a slave who was angry and hostile, she was now his sole caretaker since she and Sidna had had their falling out. And she was going to have to help him since she didn’t dare to let him help himself.
Well, luckily the med-bot was set up for this kind of thing. It had a long, sliver tube that connected to various parts of the anatomy for waste disposal. As long as all he had to do was urinate, it shouldn’t be too bad.
“Okay,” she said, reaching for the clasp of his too-tight black leather trousers. “Now I don’t know a lot about male anatomy but—”
A low rumbling growl began at the bottom of his deep chest and turned into a full throated roar of pure rage.
The deep, bass noise shook and surprised her. It reminded her again of the sound made by the lions from Earth which she’d studied. Maybe he was part animal after all!
Trin jumped back and looked up to see him glaring at her with such intense hatred on his face it hit her like a blow.
Goddess, what’s wrong with him? She’d never seen such fury and all because she’d tried to help him. All because she was going to open his trousers and…Oh.
Suddenly she understood. She’d told him that she bought him as a slave and that she came from Zetta Prime. Possibly he thought her people used body slaves the same way the mistresses from Yonnie Six did. Another look at the way his broad chest was heaving and his big body was twitching confirmed her guess. He looked like her stallion, Swift, when he was nervous and ready to rear. When he got like that, he would shy and lash out at the least little thing and the big Havoc, Thrace, looked the same way.
Trin had no idea how to deal with a strange male but she did know how to gentle a nervous horse.
“Look,” she said softly in a low, even voice. “I’m not going to hurt or abuse you. I know what you must think but I didn’t buy you for any kind of sexual service, I swear.”
He had stopped struggling now and was simply looking at her. His muscular chest was still heaving but at least his eyes had lost some of the intense hatred that had filled their silver-blue depths when she reached for his trousers.
“I’m not that kind of female.” Trin risked a touch on his arm—gentle and non-sexual. He still couldn’t move but she could feel him thrumming like a plucked string—as tight as a wire with tension. It wasn’t just hatred and anger he felt—it was fear. A fear so deep it harrowed his very soul.
Though she was trying to remain detached and calm, his terror touched her heart. No wonder he was afraid—she would be too if she’d woken up in a strange place chained to the bed with someone reaching for the front of her trousers.
“It’s okay,” she reassured him again. “I have no interest in males at all but someone has to get you connected to the med-bot so you can relieve yourself. See?” She held up the long, snaky silver tube with its soft plasti-coupling on the end. “I just need to get this connected with your, uh, equipment and then you can go.”
His eyes blazed at her for a long moment and Trin thought she could feel him evaluating her motives. He was asking himself once again if he trusted her—just as he had when she offered him the drink. Then she’d been able to take a drink herself and prove it was all right. Unfortunately with this exercise, she wasn’t able to prove anything. So she simply waited quietly, meeting his silver-blue gaze and letting him size her up.
Finally, he nodded.
“All right, good,” Trin said briskly, reaching for his trousers again. “Let’s see if we can get this done as quickly as possible.”
* * * * *
Thrace gritted his teeth as he watched her slim, brown hands unfasten the magno tabs at the front of the too-tight black leather trousers the slavers had forced him to wear. Gods, this was humiliating! Not just the fact that he needed her help to relieve himself, but also the way he’d reacted to her touch in the first place.
His people, the Havoc, did not bond with females or have any kind of long-lasting relationships with them. In fact, the Havoc code was, We do not bond. But that didn’t mean he didn’t enjoy female attention from time to time. Usually he sought out some willing prosti whenever The Empress was docked for repairs or refueling and scratched his itch that way.
He was always careful to use protection and he always paid in advance—he was a good customer and he enjoyed unattached sex—enjoyed it a hell of a lot. And yet the minute this gorgeous girl with the unusual creamy brown skin like nothing he’d ever seen before reached for him, he went fucking crazy.
It was his past again, trying to creep in—Thrace knew it but he didn’t want to admit it. Instead, he tried to calm his nerves but it wasn’t easy. The feeling of lying here helpless while someone else handled his shaft was fucking terrifying. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go—he liked to be in control, liked to be on top of the situation both literally and figuratively.
Relax, he told himself roughly as she got his trousers unfastened at last and pealed the too-tight leather apart. She said herself this is nothing sexual. She has no interest in males. So just relax and try to endure it.
He closed his eyes as she reached for him but cutting off the light let the rush of dark memories overcome him again.
Let’s have a look at this shaft, the Master said, reaching for him. Nice, very nice…
Thrace snapped his eyes open again. Gods, what was wrong with him? He hadn’t thought of those bad, old memories in years. Had been sure he was over it, over and done with the things that fucker had done to him. But this situation was bringing everything back like a flood of dirty water seeping under the door of his conscious mind. It was as if everything he’d tried so hard to forget was just waiting there, waiting for the right trigger to move back into his brain and set up shop.
Desperately, he focused on the girl in front of him, on her lovely hands as she reached for him. They were long and slim with the unusual creamy brown skin color—completely unlike the hairy, liver-spotted hands of his old Master. Her fingers were long and tapered and delicate and her touch was gentle, not rough.
Not the Master, he told himself over and over. She’s just a girl—a female you don’t even know. She’s not the Master.
Her touch was reassuringly impersonal. Thrace was relieved when she didn’t linger overlong as she touched him. She simply pulled his shaft out of his trousers in a matter of fact way and inserted it into the soft end of the flexible metal tube.
He was completely limp, despite her beauty and the soft touch of her small hands. In other circumstances, if she’d been a willing prosti he was visiting, he would have been hard as a rock. But the feeling of complete helplessness, of being unable to control what was happening to him, robbed him of any desire he might have felt.
And even if he had been inclined to get hard, this girl looked nothing like a prosti. She had an innate class and regality that professional sex workers lacked. She was what his Sire would have called a “lady.” Not the kind of female for a quick fuck and run—his favored way of scratching the sexual itch.
When the operation was finished and he had relieved himself, she unhooked him from the metal tubing and tucked his shaft neatly back into his trousers. It went meekly back to position, curled like a sleeping snake against his belly.
“There.” She re-fastened his trousers rose from the side of the cot. “Now I need to go check on some things—this ship won’t run itself and I need to get the navigator to plot a new course. Will you be all right for now?”
Slowly, he nodded.
“Good. I’ll be back to check on you later and bring you something to eat. Try to rest.”
Then she was gone, leaving a faint, lingering scent of sweetness behind her.