Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 52529 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 263(@200wpm)___ 210(@250wpm)___ 175(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52529 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 263(@200wpm)___ 210(@250wpm)___ 175(@300wpm)
Eventually, we turn down one of the narrow shafts and there's a door at the end. A freight elevator. He grunts and gestures that I should get on, so I do. I clutch the tunic to my body, not daring to look up at him as the elevator surges, my feet practically lifting off the ground with the speed of it. A different floor, then. I've never been to a different floor on 3N. I've only been to the market sprawl, the big, open area where the cantina is located that's lined with shops, makeshift and otherwise.
The elevator comes to a stop and the door flashes green around the edges. My new owner opens it with a touch and gestures that I should walk through. I hesitate, because the hall before my eyes is not somewhere I've been allowed to go before. It's like night and day from the market sprawl. Here, the condensation doesn't drip from the ceiling. It's not dark and shadowy. It's clean and well-lit even at this hour. The hall is open and airy, with a large window overhead showing the stars. In the center of the long hall is a tall tree framed by benches, and all along the hall are doors.
Personal quarters. Expensive personal quarters.
I'm pretty sure I'm not supposed to be here. I'm pretty sure he's not, either. I didn't think anyone lived like this on the station.
Or rather, I didn't think I'd ever see anyone who lived like this on the station. All the people I've run into are thieves, drunks, and slavers. Uncertain, I look back at the man that now owns me and I wet my lips. "Um…"
His expression grows cold. "What, you think because I'm covered in metal I don't get a decent place to live?"
My question dies in my throat. Am I judging him based on his appearance? I think for a moment, then shake my head. "I just…thought you lived in your shop. Like we lived in the cantina."
The expression on his face doesn't change, and I worry I've fucked things up already. After a moment, he grunts. "You haven't had a chance to leave that cantina much, have you?"
"Twice," I admit. "Once to run errands for Abuar, once for…a customer visit." I hope he doesn't ask me what kind of customer visit. Surely he can guess.
The man nods. "How long were you working at the cantina?"
"Almost four years." There were a few months right after I was captured that weren't anything I'd like to think about ever again. "Abuar was good to us."
He snorts. "No, he wasn't. But I guess a known evil is better than an unknown one. Follow me."
I don't know what to think, and that worries me. I follow meekly behind him, though, making sure to keep my eyes on his tail and feet. He's wearing boots, but his tail looks to be studded completely up the length of it with metal. I wonder if it's a pain fetish with him, or if the modifications were necessary? If he's into pain, he's got the wrong girl. I'm a total wuss. I swallow hard at the thought. It's not something you can bring up five minutes after being bought by a guy. Plus, slaves aren't allowed to have limits in the bedroom. Our limit is…well, whatever our master decides.
The helpless feeling threatens to overwhelm me, and the knot in my throat grows huge. Please, please don't let this man be mean to me. Please let him have a kind heart under all this metal and the glowering exterior. Please be a big soft marshmallow of a man.
I clear my throat and speak up. "How…how can I please you? Do you have rules?" Best to get this all out in the open so I know what to expect.
"You can stay quiet for now," he growls, his voice a low, ragged sound. "Let me think."
I clam up, swallowing hard. So much for marshmallow. I move my expectations to “cruel but fair.” Cruel but fair would be livable. I'll just have to watch him to predict what he wants. Maybe he wants me to anticipate his needs before he has them. Okay then. We go inside, and the moment we're in private, I go for the belt. Impress him with my mouth and maybe he won't send me back to the slaver in the morning. I can do this. I'm utterly terrified of saying or doing the wrong thing, but I can figure him out. I can make this work.
Determined, I pin a smile on my face. He hasn't asked for my name, but no problem. When he lets me talk again, I can offer it. Until then, if he wants silence, he'll get silence. I'm going to make him happy he bought me, even if it kills me.