The heat had gone from it. She felt no discomfort. “I don’t know what color it is.”
“Show me,” he commanded. “Turn, take down your pants, and show me.”
She stood, forcing her feet to take the weight of her body and her wobbly knees to lock straight. She fumbled with the button of her pants.
“You’ll never wear pants again for work. A skirt is necessary, always. No panties, ever, unless I permit it. You’ll wear a bodice, no bra. I will fasten it each morning, to ensure it is tight. Now, get those panties down.”
The way he spoke was full on. No hesitation. He might not be a soldier, but he had the tone of a man accustomed to authority and unquestioning obedience. She shimmied the pants down her thighs and then they dropped to her ankles. With trembling fingers, she picked at her panties. Nudity wasn’t a problem for her usually, not after the time she’d spent with Jamen, but today, it was hard to bare herself knowing that she was far from home and without his support, quite alone.
She hitched the waistband over her hips and down past her rounded bottom.
“Lower,” he said.
They slipped further and joined her pants.
“Now bend.” He seemed closer. She dared look over her shoulder to check if he’d moved.
She folded stiffly and pressed her hands onto her knees.
“A little glow,” he mused.
She flinched. He’d touched her. With the palms of his hands, he rubbed her ass cheeks and cupped them. With a firm grasp, he pushed her buttocks apart and opened her up to his inspection. His thumbs grazed along her furrow, pausing to circle her little entrance before resuming a journey down between her folds. She groaned and pushed against him.
He slid his hands underneath her belly, up to her breasts and cupped both of them briefly before slipping his hands back around to unclasp her bra. Slowly and methodically, he undressed her. When she stood upright, he lifted her top over her head and dropped it onto the floor next to the rest of her things. She was naked and exposed.
“I know what you need,” he said, trailing his forefinger down her neck and the groove of her cleavage. She bristled with tiny goosebumps and allowed her eyelids to droop. His subtle touch, th
e tenderest sensation of skin on skin, was exquisite and tantalizing. Jamen was master of both the rough and the gentle. She craved the coupling.
“Yes,” she sighed, waiting for him to scoop her into his arms and do crazy things to her body.
“Clothes.” He stepped back and removed his hand.
“What?” Make up your mind! she nearly snapped, but didn’t, because he was grinning from ear to ear.
“Come on over here, by this wall. I’ll call up the clothing catalogue and you can try a few things on.” He gestured to the far wall, which was white and undecorated by the shields and weapons of war that adorned the other walls.
The wall formed a backdrop and after a few adjustments to her position, Jamen was happy with her pose.
“Keep still,” he instructed. “First. Underwear. A bodice, which you can wear to support your breasts, but they must be without full cups. Vendu women prefer this style.”
Overlaying her skin was a film of light that took the form of a silky bodice. She couldn’t feel it, but glancing down at her form, it looked real, as if it was attached to her skin. Even the way it wrapped around her as she rotated, following the contours of her waist and ribcage, was magical.
“Cool,” she murmured.
She picked three designs in white and cream. Jamen let her make the final decision once he picked a selection he preferred. Sitting on a chair opposite the wall, a remote control device in one hand and a glass of some brightly colored liquid in the other, he gave his instructions to the invisible computer and quaffed a few mouthfuls each time the clothing refigured itself. Given the bulge in his pants, he was enjoying the fashion parade, watching the projection cover her, then reveal her bareness again, over and over.
She tried on dresses, some little more than a scrap of fabric that draped around her midriff, and others were more formal and covered her from neck to ankle. He suggested what would suit her for work, which seemed to be scanty and light, and a few skirts and tops to wear for leisure time.
When it came to pants, she had to plead to have something to cover her legs.
“What if I get cold?” she pointed out.
“I’ll turn up the heating,” he rebutted.
“If we go out somewhere cold?” she persisted and wrapped her arms around herself, as if to make a point.
“Halos isn’t a cold planet.”