Chapter 10

AVA

I nibble on slice after slice of cool, fresh fruit as I keep the blanket wrapped tightly around my torso. The general and I eat in a companionable silence. My fear of him seems to have been left behind when we made our exit from the worst dinner party ever.

The sight of my dress torn straight up the center as I rolled over in bed this morning had made my face flame with embarrassment. The memories of my behavior the night before flashed through my mind. I’d grabbed the blanket in desperation to cover my torn clothing.

I wasn’t sure what to expect when I walked out of the bedroom and greeted Koza this morning, but his teasing smile chased away my anxiety at how I was expected to behave around him now.

~Formalities aren’t expected with someone once you’ve straddled their face in an elevator, I guess.~

I suppose the blanket I wrapped around my torn dress wouldn’t exactly be necessary with that person either. But I don’t have it in me to casually eat oatmeal with my tits and bits hanging out, space slave or not.

My heart sinks at the thought. Despite feeling more comfortable around Koza, I’m not his equal.

Koza finishes the last bite of his oatmeal, wiping his mouth neatly before clearing his throat to draw my attention.

“We leave today,” he informs me calmly, pushing his plate away and resting his clasped hands on the table in its place. “We will travel to Darsherva, where my troops reside and train.”

“Is that where you’re from?” I ask, dropping the half-eaten slice of hot-pink melon in my hand. It tastes like cucumber mixed with lime juice, and in spite of everything, I find myself fascinated with the alien plants and vegetables I’ve encountered.

“It is not my native planet,” he replies. “But it has been my home for many turns now.”

He stands, his amber eyes shifting over my blanket-wrapped body from head to toe. The side of his mouth twitches in a smile before he takes our plates and turns away.

“You may wear anything you find in my closet,” he says as he places the dishes in a cubby behind a panel in the wall, which I assume is some sort of dishwasher-garbage-disposal combo.

“I have already requested a wardrobe for you to be delivered to Darsherva.” The plates disappear with a whooshing noise as the panel slides closed and he turns back to me.

“I apologize for not taking you to find something to wear before we depart, but options are limited in regard to sensible attire on this station, and I would like to take our leave as soon as possible, before the markets open.”

I can read between the lines, and cringe at the thought.

I know from Kiri that the auctions continue for several days, and I’d rather not witness them if I can avoid it.

“It’s not a problem, thank you, General.”

He opens his mouth to respond, but the door chimes, drawing his attention before he can speak. I take the opportunity to quickly retreat to the bedroom. After the dinner, I’m over being around more aliens right now. Fumbling with the control panel for the door, I clumsily find the button to close it as he moves to greet whoever arrived.

Once behind the closed door, I drop the blanket, strip off the torn dress, and cross the room to the attached bathroom. I cringe as I take in my appearance in the large mirror above the sink.

My hair is a frazzled mess, and my makeup is smeared across my face. His smiles make sense now. No wonder he compared me to a scary story.

My gaze drops to my chest where the nipple clamps still pinch my skin. I can’t believe I grew so used to them I had forgotten about them altogether.

I pick each one off with a disgusted sound, dropping them on the counter where they clatter with a metallic ping.

When I approach what seems to be the shower, I find it has no knobs or discernible controls of any kind. I can’t even begin to fathom how to turn it on.

~Fuck. I really need a shower.~

I huff in frustration, turning to study the controls to the sink instead. Taking a stab at it, I press one of many buttons on the wall behind the basin.

I give a silent cheer of success as warm water flows from the waterfall-like spout.

The appearance of soap seems pretty universal, thankfully, and I find it on the counter easily. I lather the small bar between my wet hands before scrubbing at my face. It takes three rounds of soap before the last of the heavy makeup is gone, and I pat my face dry with the cloth beside the sink.

Wetting the cloth under the flowing water, I rub it over my arms and chest, and finally between my thighs, blushing at the residue of my release still clinging to my skin.

It’s not a shower, but it helps.

My hair is a lost cause with no comb or brush in sight, so I simply twist it into a very messy bun, pulling the ends through the center to keep it in place and tucking in the loose hairs.

It will do for now.

I cross the bedroom to where the general’s clothes hang, the door to the wardrobe having been left open. The pants will swim on me, so I brush past them quickly. I pull out a black, sleeveless tunic with intricate gold embroidery, the kind he wore over his shirt to dinner the previous evening.

Holding it up to my body, I judge the potential. Promisingly, it falls past my knees. And though the chest was open on the general when he wore it, it will be large enough on me that I can wrap the sides over themselves to cover myself properly. Assuming I can belt it in place somehow.

I slip my arms through the sleeves, the thick fabric hanging open as I dig through the shelves.

I pull out a thin leather belt and wrap it around my waist, ignoring the buckling hardware which is meant for someone much larger than me. Instead, I tie it closed as tightly as I can, knotting the stiff leather clumsily.

I shimmy in place, making sure the tunic remains closed over my chest. Thankfully, the fabric is thick enough that the belt holds it in place.

The sleeveless tunic dips low on my sides, showing off a bit of side boob, but the limited exposure is a vast improvement over my previous outfit.

I still don’t have any shoes, but at least no one can see my pubic hair anymore. Things are looking up.

Sufficiently dressed, I open the door to the bedroom and cautiously peek my head into the main room, hoping whoever was at the door is long gone.

To my relief, I see General Koza sits alone at the table, his face drawn in concentration as he types on a slender tablet in front of him.

“Zynett has informed me we are ready for departure,” he tells me as I move slowly through the door, sensing my approach despite his attention remaining on his tablet.

I stand just inside the room, my hands clasped nervously in front of me as he finishes his typing and raises his head to appraise me.

His nostrils flare before he gives an almost imperceptible nod of satisfaction. He stands, and I notice the leather harness he wore upon our first meeting is buckled back into place over his chest as he dons a military-looking jacket.

“Let us make the appropriate farewells, shall we?” he asks, gesturing toward the main door with a sweeping arm.

“Don’t have to ask me twice,” I mumble softly to myself, hurrying toward the door. He moves in behind me, his fingertips resting on the small of my back as he reaches in front of me and opens the door to the hallway with his free hand.

Zynett waits in the hallway, dressed in an almost identical uniform, and I walk between them as we move into the elevator.

I bristle as the doors open into the cursed atrium. The scent of those soft cotton-candy trees lingers in the air where the High Commander and his entourage wait under their puffy branches.