Page 7 of Escape Velocity

The flame bird flies from its nest in the taradon tree.

And the sky receives the glory of its plumage.

All the world is hushed as it wings across the sky.

She poured herself into the song, then stopped abruptly and flushed. “I am sorry. I do not know what came over me.”

“It’s fine. I liked it. Maybe you were thinking about your own escape”

“Yes.”

Each thing she revealed cut into him. This magnificent creature had been punished, repressed, made to feel like she was no better than a worm.

She tipped her head to the side, staring at him. “What are you thinking?”

A lot of things, but he settled on, “That I want to make your first meal—good.”

“Why?”

“Because eating should be a pleasure, and I know you haven’t had much of that”

He stood, and she stayed where she was, hesitating. Seeing the uncertainty on her face, he asked, “What?”

She shuffled one sandal against the deck. “Can I take off my slave clothes?”

“Yes.”

She stood, dragged off the cloak, and tossed it away. Beneath it she was wearing mud-colored pants and a ragged top that barely contained her breasts.

As she reached for the hem of the shirt, he caught her intention and shouted, “Wait.”

But it was already too late. Unconcerned that he was standing a few feet away, she pulled the top over her head and tossed it to the deck, revealing a pair of magnificent breasts. They were large and rounded, crowned by rose-colored nipples, breasts from a vid-inspired wet dream.

He should stop looking at her, but he couldn’t make himself drag his gaze away.

“Kahlad,” he muttered when a jolt of arousal shot through him.

As he watched, her hands went to the waistband of her calf-length pants. The action snapped him out of his trance.

“Don’t.”

She tipped her head to the side, looking at him inquisitively. “Why not?”

“You can’t just take your clothes off in front of me.”

“Why not?” she pressed.

He clenched his fists in frustration. “It’s not . . . proper. And, I can’t help reacting to you.”

“But I am . . .” She stopped and started again. “I am . . . less than an orex who pulls a cart of vegetables bound for market.”

“Not in the real world.”

“Naxion is the real world.”

“Not anymore. Whatever you used to be, you’re going to have to start thinking about yourself differently.”

“Okay,” she said in a low voice, sounding unsure.

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