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)
"Hey boss," Tikosa says. "Your shipment you were waiting on came in. Just wanted to let you know. See you soon." He nods at the camera and it winks out.
That's why I like Tikosa. Doesn't ask questions. Hard worker. I should definitely take him as my apprentice.
Of course, this means I have to go in to work. My clients have been waiting for my shipment as it is, and it's how I make my credits. There's a great deal of satisfaction in my job, too. I take what garbage others have been given as their prosthetic limbs and I improve them. I give them alternatives that work better than what the Homeworld government has assigned to them.
It's a little illegal, what I do, but that's why the front of my shop is a repair shop. My clients know not to run their mouths about my services, because I do good work, and they'll need me again in the future. I'm not worried.
I glance back at the bedroom. Unable to resist, I head in and crawl under the blankets, putting my arms around Tessa. She's all softness, this female, every bit of her giving and plush. When she doesn't wake up to my touch, I press my lips to her shoulder and kiss her skin, like she kissed mine.
"Mmmm," she half-yawns. "Is it time to wake up already?"
"Stay in bed and sleep," I tell her, unable to stop kissing her soft skin. "I must go to work. I'll be back later, though. Stay in the apartment where it's safe. Help yourself to my food and drink dispensers."
"Mmmmkay." She snuggles down against the bedding, and even the prod of my cock against her backside doesn't make her stir. She's back to sleep immediately.
Tessa must indeed be tired. Pleased, I give her one last kiss on the shoulder, wondering if she hates the touch of my half-metal mouth against her, and then reluctantly climb out of bed.
I shower and dress in my usual tunic, designed for intimidation more than anything else. I check the stub of my horn, but it doesn't need filing down again yet. I buff the metal dome of my head with a towel, and then leave my apartment. I consider for a moment, wondering if I should set an alert system that will notify me if Tessa tries to leave. In the end, I don't. Ours is a mutual agreement. If she leaves, then she leaves…and all the moans and sighs of this last weekend were lies.
If she doesn't want to be in my bed, I don't want her pretending enjoyment. She can just leave.
The thought of what we shared being a lie sits sourly with me, and I'm in a bad mood as I ride elevator after elevator through the massive station. It gets worse as I find the trading floor—the floor for all the booths and “low end” businesses that aren't regulated by the corrupt government running the station. It's crowded, and from the distant whine, it sounds as if a passenger cruiser is passing through and dumping its travelers on board for a stop while it refuels. That only sours my mood further, because it means it'll be hot and muggy in the station as the filters work overtime to recycle the air. As I pass by the cantina, I see it's been re-opened, a defeated-looking female naked and gyrating in the window.
That was once Tessa. How did I miss the look of defeat in her eyes for so long? The desperation? The longing? She'd prayed I'd come to get her, and I was so wrapped up in my own ugliness that it never occurred to me. I let her down. The thought leaves a bad taste in my mouth, and I stomp over to my private workroom, growling a greeting at Tikosa and the two customers peering at the case of refurbished data pads at the front of the store.
Stacked neatly in my back office are crates and crates of untraceable war trunks, the shipping container beloved by pirates, each one waiting for my handprint and matching information before they can be opened. I go through each case, taking inventory of the pieces sent to me. They've come from three separate locations, and each crate is a specific type of part. I can piece them together to make the illegal prosthetics I need for my business, because shipping an entire arm or leg is far more easily caught than just cases of parts. It requires a lot of work on my end, but I grease the right palms to ensure everyone looks the other way.
Of course this shipment would come in now. I've been waiting on it for months, and the moment I buy a pretty little bed slave, they come in. The universe is laughing at me. With a disgruntled sigh, I finish my inventory, send a note to my supplier that they came in intact, and begin piecing a few parts together. Old Gidron here on the station has been waiting for new eyes since his stopped working months ago. He'll be pleased to note that his replacements came in, and I send him a message, asking him when he'd like to come by.