Page 4 of A Savage Bargain

Making notes on my suitability to be a sex slave? Normally, I’d be all,hell no, but hot aliens who knew how to use their fingers… Wait, what the fuck was I thinking? Good sex was one thing. Being a sex slave was a totally separate not-acceptable-at-all thing.

While one hand caressed my ass, a finger on his other hand rhythmically moved in and out of my vagina, the increasing pressure on my sweet spot derailing my frantic thoughts.

I moaned as my desired crested, my legs quivering from keeping me upright while I neared climax.

He withdrew his hand from my ass and his finger from my pussy. I whimpered from their absence.

“You may stand and turn around.”

I followed the instructions, breathing hard from my unreleased orgasm. My legs clamped together to control my throbbing.

His eyes raked me up and down, and if I wasn’t mistaken, there was something dismissive there. His next words confirmed it. “You’re like a tanary we’d throw back.”

“I don’t know what a tanary is, but that sure sounds like an insult,” I retorted, the sexual energy dissipating in the face of his words.

His eyes glowed. “It is a small fish.” He seemed to think for a moment. “Like a minnow.”

Definitely a fucking insult. I wasn’t a minnow.

Chapter Two

“But you meetthe Collector’s guidelines for female humans, especially in response to sexual stimulation,” the alien explained. “I will keep you, for now.”

“Gee, that’s awesome,” I responded, simultaneously glad I wasn’t being disposed of, irritated that I was about to be trafficked, and mortified that pussy juices were dripping down my leg.

“You sound vexed.”

“You think?”

“I do not understand. You meet the Collector’s guidelines.”

“Sex trafficking is bad, you do realize.”

“You may get dressed,” the alien said, instead of answering my sarcastically asked question.

I kneeled to grab my discarded articles of clothing. The first item that resumed its position was my underwear. It was amazing how much more secure I felt with panties on, even if it was a complete fucking illusion.

“How did you come to be on this ship?”

Oh right, he thinks we’re on a ship. I could keep up the charade. “It was an accident,” I mumbled through the tank top I was pulling back over my head. “My boyfriend—ex-boyfriend—lost a bunch of money. He thought I stole it. Except I didn’t,” I added, as if the alien’s opinion of me mattered. “I was running from him when I hid in there.” I crooked my thumb over my shoulder to indicate the interior of the shipping container.

“That was a poor choice.”

“No fucking shit, man.” I drew my jeans up over my hips, fastening them. “What’s your name?” I wanted to call him something besides alien, if only in my mind.

“Krake Qask.”

I paused with one shoe half on. “I’m sorry, what?”

He enunciated the words. “Krake Qask.”

Okay, another tick in the we-were-really-on-a-spaceship column. “Are you a merman?” I blurted out, waving my hands at the neck slashes that resembled fish gills.

His bright green eyes darkened, and not in a good way. “What is a merman?”

“You know, part-man, part-fish.”

He glared at me. “That is crude but accurate enough.”

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