But I got him wrong.
So, so wrong.
He is just like them.
He sees just one thing when he looks at me.
A prize.
And for sun’s sake… I want to laugh. So bad. Because I was naive. I am sitting in Harem fucking Station. The one place in the galaxy where no one will ever see me as anything other than a sexy little gift. A piece of property.
I mean, what did I expect? He’s one of the sun-damned owners of this stupid spinning whorehouse.
I look over at the table where the stack of paper still lies. Right where he so casually dropped them earlier this morning.
He owns me.
He really believes that he owns me.
I am not seducing him, I realize.
He is seducing me.
Because he has a plan as well. Just like I was going to use him to get what I want, he will use me to get what he wants.
He wants me to like him. Thank him for giving me basic things like food, and a shower. And my sister.
I can get her back for you.
I can get her back myself, you arrogant asshole. Just let me go! Just let me leave!
There is so much anger inside me right now I want to scream. I can feel my eyes filling up with tears, that’s how pissed off I am.
But I drink more champagne and I eat another spoonful of the stupid pudding. Because it feels good to have my power back.
It feels amazing to be me again.
I take a deep breath and say, “Well. You’re right about one thing.”
“Yeah?” He smiles.
“I am spectacular. And if you think that little display back in the exam room was all I can do…” I stop to eat another spoonful of pudding, making sure I turn the spoon over in my mouth so I can suck off every last bit of whipped tushberry, and then withdraw the spoon, lick my lips, and say, “Well, you’re sadly mistaken.”
Because newsflash, you two-pricked jerk: Cygnian princess were genetically engineered to bring males of all species to erotic ecstasy.
So if he wants to play which-species-has-the-most-powerful-sex-organs, well… that’s the very first game I ever learned to play, my newfound frenemy.
I’m practically the galactic champion.
“So… you’re cool with it then?” he asks.
“Sure,” I say. “I’ve never been with an Akeelian before today. And if you say I’ve only seen half the show, then perhaps I should stick around until the encore?”
He smiles. Pretty big. Like all his best-laid plans are falling into place.
Then he lifts his arms up in a stretch, fakes a yawn, and says, “Well, I’m ready for bed. How about you?”
OK. I can’t take his arrogance one more second.
So I push my chair away from the table—his eyes locked with mine like he’s a predator and I’m his prey.
He’s got that backwards, but whatever.
And then I walk around to his side of the table until I’m directly behind him and he’s craning his neck so he can keep eye contact with me, and slip my hands down the front of his chest.
“Serpint,” I coo in his ear as I reach down and pop the button on his pants.
“Princess,” he whispers, leaning back in his chair to give me better access.
“Why waste time walking to the bedroom when we have a perfectly good table right here?”
He stands up, making me take a few steps backwards, then rips the tablecloth off the table in one fell swoop.
Dishes and glasses go careening to the floor. Champagne and pudding hit the wall. And then he’s turned me around, picked me up, and plopped my ass down in front of him.
I gasp because… holy shit. This guy takes things literally.
He places his hands on my knees, spreads my legs wide open, eases his body in between them, and presses his hard cock against my tits as his fingertips grab my hair.
I look up at him and find his eyes glowing. Which makes me squint in confusion.
“What?”
“Your eyes are glowing.”
“So are yours.” He smirks.
“Yeah, but… are your eyes supposed to glow?”
He grins wide enough to show me his teeth. “Having second thoughts already, Lyra? Is the big, powerful, two-cocked Akeelian too much for you?”
“Fuck off,” I say, placing both hands on his chest to push him backwards.
He doesn’t move. Not even a centimeter. And holy suns, his chest is like a rock. Like a fucking mountain of muscle. I just stare at it for a few seconds. Feel the hardness with my fingertips.
“I get it.” He laughs. “I’m intimidating.”
I guffaw at that. “Hardly.”
“No, really. I understand, Lyra.” He whispers my name as he takes my hands off his chest and pushes them back down to the hard bulge of his pants. “I’m a lot to handle. I get it if you’re afraid—”
Another guffaw.
“—but I can be gentle if you can,” he says.
And then he grabs the collar of my t-shirt and rips it open.