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“Yes. I studied history and worked in a museum.”
His eyes moved between mine before he blinked, a thought coming to him. He pulled back further.
“What’s wrong?” I said.
“Historians… are very respected in my culture.”
“They are?”
“They possess the only accounts of the history of our species and where we came from. Legend has it we were not originally a pirating culture but one of art and music and advanced machinery.”
“What happened?”
He shrugged his enormous shoulders.
“There are conflicting accounts. When our aggressors destroyed our culture, they burnt much of our history along with it. They rewrote other parts to paint them in a glowing light. We’re not sure which parts are true and which are false. Our historians have been working to piece together the map of who we are since the Great Breaking. Much of what we once knew about ourselves was lost. With our wealth stripped from us, we did whatever we could to survive.”
“Piracy.”
I reached out and ran a hand over his flaming red skin and around the thick horns that curled from his head. They twisted twice—out once, then inward, and finally out again, like the twin horns of a powerful bull.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“It’s not your fault. We’re forbidden to lay with historians. They must remain pure and focus on their work. Nothing is more important than what they do.”
I thought of human monks from centuries earlier. They used to follow similar rules in the pursuit of writing and copying books to be distributed across the world.
“What’s the punishment for breaking that rule?” I said.
“Castration.”
I reached down and grabbed him by the balls. They were big and fit like plums in the palm of my hand. It only served to stiffen him further.
“A good thing I’m not a Vulcarian historian,” I said.
He grunted.
“A very good thing,” he said. “Or else half the Vulcarian population would be castrated and we’d die out from our inability to breed.”
Now was my turn to laugh. I threw my head back and laughed bawdily.
“If other Vulcarians are anything like you last night, I would die before I got around to even a fraction of that number,” I said.
He placed a large black-nailed hand on my cheek.
“I would never share you,” he said, peering into my eyes.
My insides turned weak and I was beholden by those incredible eyes, sucking me in like tractor beams.
He pressed his lips against mine and I stabbed my tongue between his lips and felt his tongue on mine.
He exhaled slowly as he drew me to him, his forbidden historian fruit. He pressed his great girth against me, encouraging me to feel every inch of him.
I wondered how I’d managed to take him inside me the night before.
An alarm wailed. I paid no attention to it. It could have been from my own body warning me not to take him so deeply as last night or else risk losing myself to him.
When Egara pulled back and peered over his shoulder at the door to his cell, he paused a moment, one hand gripping my breast firmly, the other already stroking my sex.
