Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 91631 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91631 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
No, more than attached. I'm obsessed with Crulden.
Even now, my fingers itch to touch him. I want to slap the ooli slave's hands away and demand that she not touch my man. I want to grab Crulden by the belt, drag him into bed, and suck his cock until he's writhing under me. I want to hold him down and sit on his face and let him lick me until I can't stand it.
For the last two weeks, we've been all over each other the moment we get a second alone. Hands, tongues, mouths, ears, whatever we can lick, touch, or taste, we do. The moment we're alone, we head for the blanket on the bed, pull it over our bodies, and then pleasure each other until we pass out.
It's always pleasuring, too. Never fucking. I'm pretty sure Crulden would fuck the hell out of me if I asked, but…I never ask, and he lets me lead. If he wonders why we never do more, he doesn't say. He takes what I give him and I make him feel good, and he makes me feel good. I know I'm being selfish in not going all the way with him, and I know absolutely why I'm doing it.
Because if we go all the way, he's going to be my person. I'm going to fall in too deep. I'm going to realize that I'm in love with him, and love never turns out well for slaves. What we have is temporary. If he doesn't get killed in this fight, he'll get killed in the next one. Or the one after. Or Lord Sir will decide his human plaything should go back to his house back on Homeworld, and then we'll be separated forever.
And I can't let myself hurt like that. Being a survivor is a fragile thing. It means protecting yourself, even when all you want to do is grab someone and love them so hard they can't see straight.
Crulden is easy to love, too. Not that I'll allow myself to love him. If I could, though, I'd love his protectiveness, his interest in the world around him. I'd love that he listens to everything I say as if it's vitally important, and how we talk for hours in bed when we're supposed to be sleeping. I'd love how pleasure for him is always something he's a little hesitant to grasp, as if he's not sure he deserves something so good. I love that when I go down on him, I can practically see the stars in his eyes.
But I'm not allowed to love, so all we do is take a little pleasure here and there.
I consider this as the ooli slave finishes up, and Crulden's trainers arrive to take him to the pit for the day's training. "I'll go run to the kitchens to grab something to drink," I tell him, running my fingers over his arm before we head in opposite directions. He heads off, surrounded by a dozen guards, toward the arenas. I head for the compound kitchens, taking the long way and touching my collar to feel if it reacts to the boundaries when I move closer to the walls. Crulden could snap my collar, but I can't do the same for him. Even if we found a way into the jungle, I don't know how far it is to the next city…or if there's even a city out here. There's no air traffic of any kind, and no gate to the outside jungle. We're very much an island of civilization out here in the wild.
There has to be something, though. I'm not about to give up.
I head into the kitchens, and wrinkle my nose at the smells. Freshly slaughtered meat is everywhere, and it seems like every single slave in the compound is helping prepare food. I head for the cook I normally go to with Crulden's dietary needs, mindful of the overseer, who talks to one of the guards nearby.
"What's going on?" I whisper as the ooli woman hurriedly chops fragrant yellow melon. "Is this all for the glads?" I've noticed that Crulden's food portion has increased recently…and so have the stimulants they've been adding to them.
The woman shakes her head, casting a worried look toward the overseer. "Some for the glads, but company's coming, too. Lord Sir's going to have guests."
Guests? What kind of guests? In all the time that I've been here, Lord Sir has never, ever had guests come and stay. This isn't a good sign. I glance over at the overseer, who seems very chatty with the guard. Is that what they're talking about? I sidle forward, pretending to pick up foodstuffs for a tray. All the while, I move closer to hear what they're saying.
The guard mumbles something, his voice low, and I bite back a surge of frustration.