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I’ve never been a violent person. I grew up surrounded by violence and rather than embracing it, like my father would have wanted, I detested it. Still, watching this beautiful, broken female makes me want to hurt anyone who has ever touched her. Badly hurt them in a way that involves lots of screaming, blood, body parts…fuck! My father would be so proud of me right now. I’m nauseous at the realization.
I’m literally shaking my head as if shaking alone could rid me of these poisonous thoughts of mutilation and revenge, but they stick to me like tar. Adding to the black marks that already taint my soul.
The shower has unusually low pressure today but I barely pay it any mind, closing my eyes as small streams of water cover my face. All I see is the female’s smile. I want to make her smile. To erase that haunted look from her beautiful purple eyes and make her truly feel safe. Because I’m a doctor and my goal in life is to help people. That’s the reason, I tell myself. Not because I can’t stop thinking about the mysterious female. Not because I thinkthat underneath all of that dirt and grime, she’s beautiful. Not because I want to keep making her smile every single day for the rest of my life.
Sighing, I rest my head against the cool tiles just as the showerhead sputters again. What is it with the water today? It’s been like this all day—losing pressure, sometimes stopping completely.
The showerhead sputters a few times before it goes back to spraying my body with warm streams of water and my thoughts return to the stowaway. I’m in so much trouble. I know that and yet, I’m powerless to sever this strange hold she has over my heart and soul. And, embarrassingly enough, on my cock.
I glare at the stupid appendage, willing it to go down. I even go as far as switching the water to cold, staying under the spray until my teeth chatter. Even when my body feels like it’s about to turn into an icicle, my cock stays standing up, fully erect.
It’s all kinds of inappropriate and quite frankly, disturbing. Countless males and females must have taken advantage of the stowaway in the past. I wouldn’t be surprised if she never wanted to be touched by anyone ever again. And I’m supposed to be her fucking doctor. A professional. Not a creep who jerks off to the memory of her smile. Yet, it seems that’s what I’m about to do.
Squeezing the shaft aggressively, I pump my fist up and down, my anger and self-loathing causing my motions to be erratic and more forceful than normal. I’m trying to think of something else, anything other than those large purple eyes and that breathtaking smile, but my determined brain keeps circling back to her.
It doesn’t take long before everything tightens. My balls draw up as I shoot my shameful load down the drain, my dignity carried along with it by the once again sputtering shower. The physical relief I feel is overshadowed by disgust.
I am a despicable human being.
I’ve had women before but I’ve never felt this drawn to one like I am now. Sure, they were usually attracted by my family’s wealth, rather than me. If it ever was about me, it was my status as heir to my father’s kingdom that drew them to me, not me as a person.
I smirk as I think back to the throngs of women who thought that bedding of the fucking Bratva prince would make them the next queen. They were all wrong. Not only had I never planned to take my father’s place as the head of the mafia but even if I had, I was already spoken for. My queen selected for me from an allied family when I was but a child.
My future wife was twelve years younger than me. The one time I saw her, she was cradling a barbie doll to her chest. By now, she’s probably turned into a beautiful teenager, but still. No, thank you.
I know most people would consider being kidnapped from Earth the worst thing that could ever happen to them but for me, it was more of a blessing because it took me away from a life I hated.
Of course, I only consider it a blessing because I never actually became a slave. I only had to endure a few days in a cage and several embarrassing medical examinations. Thankfully, the Nova squad rescued me before anything worse could happen. Had I ended up like my precious stowaway, I’d probably miss my shitty life back on Earth.
I feel like I’ve violated her trust somehow just by jerking off to memories of her like some sick fuck. Attempting to ease my conscience, I program the cooking machine to prepare an assorted tasting menu with a small portion of every popular dish from all over the galaxy. If I knew what species my stowaway was, I’d bring her some specialty from her home planet, but I wasn’t able to figure it out since I don’t have much to go on.
I’ve only seen her face, and that was smeared with grime, even under the scarf she wore over her mouth. Her eyes, the large purple orbs without any sclera, aren’t enough to identify what she is or where she comes from since many species across the galaxy have similar eyes.
I haven’t seen her hair or skin. The only thing I can say for sure is that she has white, healthy teeth similar to mine. They look sharp, but aren’t pointed like Zarkan’s. Her tongue seems similar to mine, too. Not that I was “actively” watching her tongue as she ate. That would be creepy.
She’s not in the storage room when I return, but I didn’t expect her to be. She looked exhausted, so my guess is she crawled into a dark corner deep in the ship’s underbelly and fell asleep.
I don’t mind. I’m a patient man. If my stowaway said she will come back, she will come back.
I realize I’ve been calling her “my stowaway” in my mind for a while and if that’s not creepy, then I don’t know what is.Chto za khuynya?(What the fuck?) What the hell is wrong with me?!
Shaking away my possessive thoughts, I settle down on the floor a safe distance away from the hatch then pull out my datapad. For the next few hours, I find myself lost in Quintran biology. The database entry is extensively dedicated to treating wing injuries so I read through it diligently, trying to memorize as much as I can. Omni seems like the kind of guy who likes to show off and I bet his wings are in a lot of danger when he’s out on a mission. I want to be prepared in case he ever gets hurt.
I feel her presence even though she doesn’t make a sound. Raising my eyes from the datapad, I welcome my stowaway with a smile. She’s not wearing the scarf over her mouth today but her skin is covered in a fresh layer of grime, as if she’s hellbent on not showing even an inch of bare skin. Which is probably wise, considering what a despicable creep I am.
“Hello,” I greet her. “It’s good to see you again.” Having depleted my Omnispeak vocabulary, I switch on the interpreting program on my datapad and continue in Russian. “Did you sleep well? You look much better today.” Just as I say it, I want to smack myself for how stupid it sounds. Not only is it an inappropriate thing to say, but it also suggests that she looked bad before. That’s a terrible thing to say to any woman. Even I know that.
She nods in response, giving me a bashful smile. Then she slides a piece of paper in my direction. I recognize it. It’s the note I left for her on the inside of the hatch. She watches me cautiously as I pick it up. I’m so distracted by her gaze that at first, I don’t notice the symbols on the back side of the note.
They’re in Omnispeak, fingerpainted with the same black sludge that’s covering the stowaway’s skin. Just two symbols, a single word I struggle to interpret.
“I’m sorry, just give me a second,” I apologize, hastily opening up the symbol database to identify the syllables. “Okay, Z,” I mutter to myself. “Z…ree? Z’Ree?” My tongue twists around the unfamiliar word. “It says Z’Ree.” The word means nothing to me, except… “Is that you? Your name is Z’Ree?”
She nods and the pure happiness in her eyes at something so simple as hearing her name makes me want to murder every bastard who ever hurt her. I control my facial expressions, careful not to let any of the rage boiling inside of me show and scare my little stowaway. “Z’Ree,” I repeat, smiling brightly. “Thank you for sharing your name with me.”
Z’Ree lowers her head as if embarrassed, but she’s still smiling. I want to put a finger under her chin to make her look at me again, but I refrain, knowing it wouldn’t go over well.
“I hope you’re hungry,” I say instead, pointing at the covered tray. “I brought all kinds of food, so just eat what you like and leave the rest.”
