Page 30 of Border Control

“I swear.” Nothing she wants to do to me will be too much. I know this already through interactions I've had with her, and especially this conversation: she’s focused entirely on me, and she cares for my wellbeing.

No one, let alone a female, has ever considered me as an individual apart from my crewmates. When she told me she didn’t want a mate bond, I could have howled in sheer relief. Even now, my mind shakes with the implications, so much so I can barely hold the link to Arik and Nevare steady, joy pulsing out of me like sunlight through a breach.

I would be a fool not to place my life into the safety of her hands, especially when she's offering this intimacy without attachment.

She licks her lips. “My third non-negotiable is work comes first, then I do.”

“That is also my situation,” I admit. “I am one of the Bases who supports Nevare. I cannot allow my feelings to affect him. Pain centers me, focuses me. Without pain, I cannot find equilibrium when I’m mentally unbalanced.”

“So you always have to be in control of yourself, I see. How does our play interact with that duty? Our real-life responsibilities have to come first, remember.”

“I… I won’t fail Nevare. I can consider it as training, learning to shield the others from these…” A wave of heat burns across my chest and shoulders,but it's not unpleasant. Far from it. “These emotions,” I choke out.

“Training, eh? I like that angle.”

I lick my dry lips. “May I… ask questions?”

“Always.”

“Why don't you want to do penetration?”

“That's personal,” she says coolly. I've annoyed her already.

“I'm sorry. I don't know where the limits are, this is new for me.” And that could be a problem. “Parthiastocks need hard limits, we feel out of control if we don't have them.”

“That's okay, we're talking hard limits now,” Law-rah says quietly. “I don't like answering personal questions, but I’m aware you don't exactly have context for when a question strays into being too personal for humans. I'll keep that in mind and have patience with you.”

“I won’t ask any more personal questions,” I promise.

“I’ll tell you when they get too personal,” she responds in return.

This is intoxicating: a woman, promisingmethings. Gray lines ghost across my vision as I inhale, catching the heady swirl of her scent—floral with a sharp, spicy edge that stings and soothes at once. This isn’t a command barked from above, it’s a negotiation. A weaving of structure between us, line by line, order by order, shaped together. It’s not the cold terror of chaos or the numbing cage of submission without choice. It’sours.I’m building it with her. I’ve always felt safest when the chain of command is clear. I can do this—play, obey, explore—with Law-rah guiding me.

I can surrender without fear. I can feel safe under her command.

Her eyes glint with something that makes my cock pulse in response. “Sometimes the best way to explore is to do,” she says. Her cheeks redden, contrasting with her flaxen hair the same pale gold of the sands on Gorinda. Humans change color too, a much more subtle set of shades than Olorian scales, and I must learn what every indicator means.

At first I think she is hesitant, but quickly her face clears and, with a confident set to her jaw, she says, “Give me your hands.”

I thrust them up to her, and her blue eyes widen ever so slightly. She swallows, her delicate hand hovering over my fist.

“Open your palms. Turn them up to me.”

I do so and, although I could hold my arms up for a score of Earth hours, my muscles tremble. Her fingers dip, questing, but not close enough to touch me.

Her eyes meet mine over our still hands. “What do you want right now?”

A thousand desires roar up inside me, clamoring to leave my throat all at once. I shove them back, then relent. Her second non-negotiable was clear communication, even accepting my refusals. She wants my honesty.

And yet, impossible to voice it all.

“Touch me,” I manage, my throat so tight my voice grinds out the words.

A smile spreads across her face; radiant, satisfied, delighted.

Then her fingertips alight on my palms. The slightest touch, triggering an unstoppable chain reaction. My scales send a thousand signals, my body responds, yielding, and I can’t help the gasp that escapes my lips.

Her smile widens, a perfect reward. I want to be the cause of that look on her face again, and again, and again.