Page 25 of Clonely You

Yet…she hasn’t asked.

Instead, we get together nightly. We kiss for a long time. She pleasures my body. We collapse, sated (at least, I am sated) on her bed and talk for hours. Sometimes we touch each other more, sometimes I make her food, but those evenings are the highlight of each day. I live for the hours I can spend with her. I want nothing more than to be at her side, constantly.

But she asks for nothing from me except my body. Even that, she does not require much of. She never pleasures herself using me. She kisses me and pets me, but when it comes to orgasms, they are all mine.

“She is a complex woman,” I admit to Erzah.

Erzah glances over at me, then flips the food again. “Oh?”

“She needs me for nothing but ‘fooling around’, as she calls it. Yet I want her to need me for more than that. My heart is hers, but she never asks me for anything. And it is difficult for me, because I want to give her everything.”

“Do you know what she wants?”

“I do.”

He stirs the food one last time and dumps it into a bowl. “Then get it for her. Perhaps she is afraid to ask.”

My eyes widen as I realize the truth of this. Before, Michaela refused to ask about the bounty hunter when we met everyone, because she didn’t want the others to tease me about her using me for information. She was protecting me. Is she protecting me even now? Is this why she doesn’t ask? Because she cares for me and wants to shield me even now?

I want to melt with happiness. She is such an amazing woman. I could do this for her without her even asking. I think of how happy it would make Michaela and imagine all the touches and joyous kisses she would give me.

“You are a genius, Erzah.”

“I am?” He leans over the food he just plated, eyeing it. “You think that mess is truly that appetizing?”

“I meant about Michaela.”

“Oh.”

We both eye the stir-fry and the noodles. They broke as Erzah fried them, and now bits of crunchy noodle are mixed in with the veg. All of it looks like a disaster.

“You want to try that?” Erzah asks.

“Perhaps…we have Ruthie try it,” I venture. “Or Dopekh. He will eat anything.”

As for me, I have a few comms to make before dinner tonight. I’m going to leave a message for Zebah and see what sort of price she’s asking for people finding these days.

CHAPTER

NINE

MICHAELA

When I headinto Port on Monday to make my usual delivery, I’m met with an ugly surprise.

There’s an unfamiliar bottle in the refrigerated case, and it looks like it’s filled with milk. The label on it isn’t my little UFO, but a swirling TF. I pick it up and sniff the lid, but I can’t smell anything through the container. Annoyed, I march with it up to the counter while Skritch counts the cases of butter I’ve brought.

“What the fuck is this?” I ask, gesturing at the milk.

The avian shopkeeper eyes it, then me. He squawks. “Dairy product. Milk. You want it?”

“No, I don’t want it!” It takes everything I have to keep my cool. “I thought you were buying fromme.”

“I buy butter from you and skim milk. You never have regular milk to sell. She does.” He reaches over and takes the jar of milk from me. “She just started bringing her stock to me. It’s a good thing, too, because we run out of your product so quickly it will be nice to have an alternate.”

I don’t know what to do. I want to pitch a fit, scream at the top of my lungs, and smash every bottle in the room. But I can’tdo that. If I act like an asshole, nothing will stop Skritch from approaching these other dairy jerks and getting them to fill my orders. I have to be nice to the retailer. That’s rule number one of business.

But I’m supposed to be the one with the dairy market cornered. It was my idea first. People are always complaining they can’t get enough of my butter…what if she decides to sell that, too? What if she takes all my customers? What if others start making dairy products as well and there’s no money left in it for me?

---