When She Dances

Before I can finish the recording, Tikosa barges in, a frown on his face.

I put aside the data pad I'm recording on and glare at him. "There an emergency?"

"Are you all right?" He looks concerned. "You wouldn't believe the rumors I've heard on the station over the last few days. Is something going on? Are we in danger?"

I flick through the inventory files on my data pad. "We're not in danger. Why would you think that?"

"I thought…I thought the story with the slave girl was a cover thing. That you weren't here for the last few days because something was wrong." He rakes a hand through his thick black hair, avoiding his horns, and I stifle the flick of envy that surges through me. Not the kid's fault that I'm bald and scarred and hornless. "I've been sweating buckets every time one of the syndicate so much as sniffed around the shop, but they just said they wanted their payments and went on with their business. I don't know what to think."

"It's not for you to think about." I make note of a particular array of pieces—the perfect replacement parts for a particular client who has a leg he needs switched out from military-issued garbage. "And why does it matter if I bought a slave girl? It's no one's business but mine."

"But…but…you hate slavery!" He looks aghast. "You truly bought one?"

"The one that dances in the window," I admit after a long moment. "Back at the cantina. Abuar sold her off."

The worried look on Tikosa's face immediately changes. "Aaaaaah."

Now I'm even more irritated. "Don't 'aaaah' me. What's 'aaaah' about?"

"It's the human," he says, as if that explains everything. "I was wondering. You always watch her and she watches you."

"Does she?" I never realized others saw it. I always thought her gaze on me was just my imagination—or worse, part of a ploy to get me to go into the cantina. Now I feel even worse. I imagine Tessa—lovely, giving, soft Tessa—sending me pleading looks to come and take her away from the cantina and me stubbornly ignoring them.

I feel like such a keffing idiot. She deserves a hundred orgasms when I return home. Already I hate that I'm in the shop. I want to be with her, waking her up with a touch on her cunt, or pressing my mouth against her skin. I want to sink into her lovely body and never leave her.

Tikosa crosses his arms over his chest and regards me. "I guess it makes slavery all right if it's the female you want?"

I scowl up at him. "Don't put words in my mouth. I'm going to free her."

"You are?" He looks surprised and impressed. "I apologize. I had no idea your actions were so noble. I thought…" He flushes. "Well, we both know what I thought."

I glare at my almost-assistant, wanting to kick him out of my office—and the shop—more with every passing moment. He knows me better than I suspected, because he's absolutely right. My actions weren't noble at all. I bought Tessa for my bed. I'm keeping her until I tire of her, and dangling the promise of freedom in exchange for her enthusiasm. As each day passes, though, I find the idea of releasing her less and less appealing.

I want to keep her, and I'm a keffing monster for even entertaining the thought.

So I just nod, pretending like my attention is focused on my work. "I'm taking her to Risda soon. She'll be safe and happy there."

"You have a noble heart," Tikosa says warmly. "I'm so sorry I doubted you."

Noble heart. I snort. "Yeah, well, she deserves better than a mess like me, any way you look at it."13TESSAZakoar's luxurious apartment is utterly boring without him in it. Oh sure, the furniture is lovely, and I can watch every channel on the vid that I could possibly want (and I few I absolutely don't want). I can eat snacks all day long—and I do—but I find myself bored and at odds. I lie on the couch and doze, waiting.

Waiting.

Waiting.

Seriously, how long is the man going to work for? I glance at the digital sunset showing on the wall, and it indicates that the hour is growing late. I've been here by myself more or less all day and here I thought it'd be sheer luxury to be alone in an apartment by myself, free to do whatever I like. Instead, what I'd really like is for Zakoar to return. I just want to talk to him, honestly. Sex is fun—especially when you get to come—but I actually really enjoy conversations with him. He's got a dry sense of humor that feeds well into my teasing nature, and between marathon sex sessions, we talked about all kinds of things. Mostly station gossip, favorite foods, and silly nonsense that means nothing but…it felt like having a friend. It was nice.