When She Dances

"You sure will if you want a blow job," I retort.

The expression on his face is utterly serious, and I guess this isn't a man to make a ton of jokes. Okay, fine. I'll believe him when he says I matter. "Tell me my name again, just because I like hearing it on your lips."

"Tessa," Zakoar murmurs. "It's soft and sweet and unusual, like you."

"You're winning me over again," I admit, crawling forward and moving toward his face instead of his cock. I lean in and press a light kiss to his mouth, and he looks utterly flummoxed. "No kissing, either?"

"I have heard humans do things with their mouths…" His gaze drops to my lips. "But…my mouth…is unpleasant."

"No, it's not." I lean and press another light kiss to it, my lips dancing over his. "I promise you, it's not." I nip lightly at the side of his mouth that's mobile. "I do wonder why you haven't chosen to make it a working body part instead of leaving it just metal, but it's not for me to question. I like you either way."

He gives me a skeptical look, as if he doesn't quite believe me. When I nip at his lip and tug on it with my teeth, though, he groans. As I kiss along the flesh of his jaw, he finally speaks. "Was…one of the first modifications I got. I was keffing angry at the world when I got it, and hurting, so…I left it. Wanted to be ugly." His hand goes to my head as I travel down his neck and bite at his skin, and he groans. "After a while, it became the way I was known. You want modifications? You see the male with the metal jaw. Never had a reason to change it."

Makes sense. I kiss my way back up his neck and then press a kiss to his mouth again. "It's your calling card, then." I kiss the cool metal, wondering if he can feel that, and then nibble my way back down his throat.

Zakoar shivers lightly underneath my mouth, and I wonder if anyone has ever touched him before. Has anyone ever pleasured him? In a station full of whores, cantinas and slaves, it seems odd to me…and yet not. There's something profoundly lonely and isolated about him, as if he keeps the universe at arm's length. Like he's been wounded in more than body.

It just makes me want to kiss him more.

I lick my way to his collarbone and skim my fingers over the plating on his chest, to where silvery veins dance underneath his skin. Here, he's several different colors, like a patchwork quilt, and I've heard of replacement limbs and plas-skin, and it makes me wonder just how much of him has been hurt and how much is advertising. He stiffens under me though, and I suspect it's not something he wants to talk about right now…or maybe ever. It's not my business, either. I'm just a slave.

A temporary slave, I remind myself. I'm going to be freed after he's done with me.

So I kiss my way down his chest, ignoring the scars and the shifting color of the blue suede-like skin underneath my lips. His tail, studded with metal, flicks against the couch, and I lift my head for a moment to ask. "More advertising?"

The corner of one side of his mouth curves up. "Seemed odd to have an unmarked tail when the rest of me was all keffed up."

I like that I can make him smile. I lick at his navel, and when he sucks in a breath, I decide I like making him respond, period. I like the way his big body clenches up at the brush of my lips, I like the noises he makes, and I like the agitated thump of his tail. "I like the way you look, you know," I tell him.

His hand—cool and metallic—brushes against my hair. "You don't have to lie to appease me."

"Oh, I'm not lying." I lick a circle around his navel, and his cock twitches in response. "Why do you think I watched you when I was in the window?"

"Boredom?"

Ha. I shake my head at him, then continue to kiss my way down his hips. I can feel his body tense under mine, and he's acutely aware of my movements despite the casual tone of his voice. "I watched you because you were fascinating."

He groans, the sound not entirely pleased. "Naturally. Fascinating." Sarcasm drips from his voice. "Freakish, you mean."

"Fascinating," I re-state, lifting my head to look him in the eye. Zakoar's watching me with an intense stare, as if he's just waiting for my head to descend on his cock. It will, but I have to finish what I'm saying first. "I thought you were fascinating because you were tough. You stood out in a crowd, and it wasn't just the metal. It was the way you held yourself. Like you'd seen a lot of intense situations and knew how to handle anything. That appealed to me." I slide farther down his body, my hands going to his hips and then his thigh. I loom over his cock, my hair falling over my shoulder, and I watch him. "I liked thinking about you as my protector. Like you were such a badass that you'd keep me safe from everyone and everything that tried to hurt me. When I watched you, I thought about that. I thought of you striding into the cantina and just stealing me away because you were so in lo—into me," I correct mid-sentence, before I can let the stupidity of my fantasy embarrass me.