“What is your name?”
“And you have to call it when you come.”
“Come?”
“Release.” She fixes me with those impossible eyes again. The desert irises of untold mountains. “Say my name. Catarine.”
Also an odd name. So many syllables, and they tumble across one another.
“Say it,” she demands.
And, as I’ve decided to yield to the compulsion jetting through my taut body in order to control it, I accept her rules. “Will you agree to be my partner, Catarine?”
Five
Catarine
The assassin—the blade—Sithe—looks like a nightmare cloaked in gray, and yet he asks so politely.
The same way that he informed the green-skinned Eruvisans of their fate. Calm, patient, and fully intending to cut them down without a second warning.
He let me live.
And here we are.
I obeyed his rules. Now he is obeying mine.
You have to know my name. How many people have I had sex with in my life? I barely remember the names of my shipmates. In the four years since I lost myself, I have never demanded anyone’s name.
But in those four years, I have never had sex with all my senses.
I will not forget this.
And if his story is right—if he’s a typical Arrisan who goes to a mass orgy once or twice in his life—then he will never forget this either.
I do not want to die.
And I’m pretty sure now that he has no intention of killing me.
But just in case.
Just in case…
Sex with him gave me back my clarity, at least for a little while. It’s not so much that I owe him. It’s that I want to know exactly what it was that did it.
How long will it last?
How much longer until I become sick and stupid again?
But I am making a choice right now with this blade. Sithe.
For the first time in four years, I am making a choice to have sex.
That, in its own way, is kind of amazing.
His hands still cup my buttocks. He stands too close. Coiled power unsheathed. His cock is full, taut, and straight as an arrow. How funny that his blades curve but his cock doesn’t. I’ve seen hundreds of cocks in the past years. They go every which way, and every which way has gotten me off.
Still…
I take a single breath. Another.
His scent is vanilla with a hint of male.
Entirely different from the homey foods—mee goreng fried noodles and comforting coconut rice—that I’ve just eaten.
His scent curls in my nostrils. Tingling fills my breasts, pinches my nipples. I know what he feels like inside me, and I’m about to know again.
I choose this.
“Don’t cut me.” I turn and bend over the table again, as if I can really make demands, and then spit in my hand. I have to push his away to rub the liquid on my parts.
His eyes glitter with interest. “Do lessers of Humana always put their mouths on their sex organs?”
A stark reminder of what I am to him.
Not that I once forgot. “No, but without foreplay, I need lubrication.”
“You can self-lubricate.” He seems to be making a note. “What is foreplay?”
“Like I did with you. Touching, licking, sucking. But it can be other things.”
For some reason, thinking about other things gets things moving for me. A localized slipperiness wets my fingers as much as I wet my skin. I’m not worried about it hurting—I’ve endured a lot of rough sex over the years or even demanded it—but it would be nice if my first sexual experience after coming out of the fog was actually, you know, nice.
As impossible as our circumstances are.
His warmth approaches. A breath of air. His hands slide down my thighs and then up again to part my cheeks. He was staring at me when he was supposed to be applying the medicine. Now he is staring again. Searching for something within me like he searched within the ship.
An interminable sensation of waiting forces my heartbeat faster and faster.
Before he even touches me, my breath hitches. “Go slow.”
His cock grazes my entrance. Probes. And pushes through.
Centimeter by centimeter, he enters me, slow as dark sweet soy sauce, taking me at my word. And on he comes, stretching my pussy wider as he tunnels deep until his thighs snug against mine and his abdomen curves over my buttocks. Seated against each other, we connect as deeply as two separate beings can.
And then he does something with his hips to grind himself even deeper.
Pleasure lights me up.
My womb shudders.
This is the A-spot, the G-spot. Every letter spot, even letters in alien languages I haven’t yet learned, is this spot.
He slides back, releasing the pressure, and then surges into me again. Slow, steady, with a little kink at the end that drives a shudder of release through my spine. Again, and again, as unbreakable as an avalanche, as unstoppable as the tide. I taste sex in my throat, I want to arch my back and cry. He is wrenching four years of forgettable encounters into one that will break me into pieces and pulverize the shards. I bite my lip to hide that I’m coming again and again.
He pauses—while I am shaking from so many minor but unmistakable orgasms—and a hand touches my hair. “You were louder last time.”
“D-did you want me to be loud?”
“Maybe.” He winds my hair into his fist. “I want to bite your shoulder.”
That could be amazing, but I don’t know where he’ll stop. We’re not at breaking-the-skin levels of trust yet. Even though his cock is buried in me. “Please don’t.”
He pulls me up by my hair. His breath ghosts over my bare skin. His other hand cups my neck, my swollen breasts, the curve of my waist. His scent makes me swoon. I can’t stay upright. He smells like intoxication. He lowers me back down to the table and releases my hair. My elbows shake and then fold, and I melt into a pool. He pushes my dress up over my back, baring me, and kneads my hips. “Unleash your voice.”
So I do.
He surges into me again, and that unstoppable orgasm escapes my mouth with a moan. A sigh. A sob. It is every pornographic soundtrack, but it’s real. And him? He’s touching me, gripping me, studying me. He could go for days. This doesn’t even excite him.
“You can…” I sob another climax. “…go faster…”
He does.
Faster and faster, his cock rams into me, shaking the table and shoving it across the cafeteria, creating a wave within my body where one orgasm doesn’t cease before the next one hits, and they synchronize faster and faster, lifting me higher and higher. I will never forget this. I have no words for this sensation. A great pleasure wells within me, leaving all previous sexual experiences behind, remaking me in the fire that is his cock thrusting into my center.
He groans as he comes.
So, even he can make a noise.
And the flash bang of the orgasm blinds me. Deafens me. I have never experienced anything like this. Climax washes through me like a great whirlpool sloshing my life’s juices with sparkles of well-being.
This is what I was created for.
The meaning of life…it is this.
I am a human, and I have a body for the sole purpose of feeling this depth of centeredness right now.