The Commander's Slave Read Online Free Page A

commander took the tray back to
the chamber. He walked to the platform and undid the wrist clasps,
offering his … his slave a hand to rise.
A hand she ignored. Very well, two could play that game.
    With a hand at a silky-smooth back, he
led her to where he had left the tray and gestured for her to
sit.
    She sat.
    * * * *
    It was strange standing again,
walking. After the physical tumult she had been through in the past
few hours, she had expected some blinding change. She had taken the
seed of a man into herself yet the universe moved on at its own
pace, oblivious to the carnal sensations that had been so fiercely
aroused.
    When Tangus silently indicated a spot
of floor next to a large covered tray, she nodded and lowered
herself to the springy surface. It hadn’t escaped her notice that
she was still unclothed while he had at least put on a minimal
garment--a pair of trousers made of a soft material that molded to
the curves of his buttocks so well that it was clear that was all
he was wearing. She averted her gaze, pretending not to
notice.
    After seating himself opposite, Tangus
lifted the tray’s lid ... and an eyebrow. Cook had outdone himself
in presentation and if he hadn’t known the battle-scarred man
during several missions, he would have accused the veteran of
sentiment.
    Carved slices of a red vegetable,
still plump with pulp, nestled against expertly carved slices of
Zincan fowl, the meat pale yellow from gentle poaching. Both
ingredients rested on a nest of wild black-field rice and were
surrounded by baby greens, glistening in a hot buttery dressing.
The aroma of the food kicked Tangus’ appetite into overdrive. He
handed a plate to the woman opposite.
    “ Please, have something to
eat.”
    She couldn’t believe how inviting everything looked, a
dramatic change from the unappetizing slop that had been forced
down her throat for the past several days. But could she take food
from the person who had possessed her so completely? Could she not?
    After a moment’s hesitation, she took
the serving implement and dished out a sizable portion of
everything, hoping the food tasted as good as it looked.
    She was not disappointed. The juice
from the vegetable wedges spurted into her mouth, releasing a
sensation of sweet-tangy heat, cooled by the tender fowl meat.
Emboldened, she began eating more rapidly. It felt like years since
she had last eaten like this, satiating her senses while also
filling her belly.
    “ Is this how you normally
eat?” she asked between forkfuls, casting him a wary
glance.
    “ So she speaks,” he commented. And well, too. He recognized
the forms of Cirlian Formal, the Fusion’s lingua franca ,
although there was a hint of an accent. Smoky, exotic. She hadn’t
been brought up in the Fusion then, but could speak its language
fluently. Curious.
    “ No, not usually when we’re
so far from,” he hesitated, “home.” It was hard to think of the gas
giant’s moon as their home now, but that was something he would
need to hammer into his head. He had lost his home planet, and the
sooner he came to grips with that fact the better.
    “ We try to transport most
of our supplies back to our base camp, but I think Cook arranged
this elaborate concoction because of ... you.”
    “ Me?”
    “ Daurent, my adjutant, is
an excellent officer, but he can also be a compulsive gossip.”
Despite his earlier hunger, Tangus only picked at his food. “I’m
sure he had some say in our repast.”
    “ I’ll have to thank him
when I see him next.”
    Tangus was sure it wasn’t meant to be
a provocative statement but was still surprised by a shaft of
white-hot anger coursing through him. Surely that wasn’t jealousy?
To keep his mind off that dangerous track, he changed the
subject.
    “ So what is your name? It’s far too late to play
coy.”
    She put her fork down and looked him
full in the face. “I don’t know.”
    Tangus shifted. “I hardly think
….”
    “ I don’t know!”