I’m not the sort of girl to fall for any guy who makes her come. But I am the sort of girl to fall for a stern, caring, sexy as hell boss who obviously fucking wants me in some way. I've had a lot of sex with guys who didn’t really like me. He’s into me. I’m almost certain I’m not imagining it.
I’m putting my clothes back on, feeling the ache between my thighs. It’s a good ache. It’s the full feeling you get when you’ve been really well and truly fucked the way you need to be. It makes me feel warm, and connected and like maybe this hasn’t all been a waste of time. And maybe it wasn’t just about pleasure.
Terrible has his pants on in an instant. Like everything else in his existence, they conform to his will without regard for the laws of physics I used to know.
There is a moment when he looks at me, and his expression is a little softer than it usually is. It feels like a window has opened, but I know it will close, so I take the moment of courage and connection to ask the question.
“So. What are we now?”
“I know many things transform on this ship, Lucky, but we ourselves remain static beings. We have not changed.”
“No. I mean. I mean what are weeee…” I gesture from him to me and me to him back and forth so he gets the idea of what I am talking about. Relationship discussions are always so awkward. “You and I. What is our…”
“Oh!” He suddenly understands.
“Yeah. What are we?”
“I am your boss.”
“And you are my employee.”
He stops talking before I think he should.
“We’re not just boss and employee though, are we. We just had incredible sex, for one.”
“Our physical connection does not change the nature of our relationship.”
“It doesn’t? So you’re just a big shiny fuckboi, is that it?”
“Lucky, you will address me with respect,” he scowls, caring more about his stupid hierarchy than my feelings. I shouldn’t be surprised. All males are assholes. All males I have the misfortune to find attractive and sleep with are double assholes with a side of extra bacon.
“Will I? What part am I supposed to be respecting? The part where you took advantage of me and used me for sex while not giving a shit about me? Or the part where you think being an alien makes you any different from the dozen human dudes who did exactly the same thing.”
“You have slept with a dozen of your own species?”
“And you did not find a single mate to initiate the human pair bond with?”
“I did not.”
Now he’s making it sound like there’s something wrong with me. Wow. Another play right out of the book of douchebags. It must have been translated into every language in existence.
“I know your species likes to find meaning in every interaction. What happened between us was very pleasurable, and I hope it initiated a bond of closer obedience…”
“Oh, you think fucking me is going to make me behave myself?”
He could not be more fucking misguided there. It has been a historical pattern in my life that having sex with me and then trying to leave things on some weird platonic basis leads to some crazy b-word behavior on my part.
“I worked for a pizza place once. Slept with the manager a couple times. Then it burned down.”
“Your duties here are far more important than making pizza,” Terrible says, as if I give two fucks.
He’s not listening. He thinks I’m babbling. Just listing a series of unrelated events. I am not.
The other thing about assholes, is that they’re too arrogant to notice when they’re being threatened. He thinks fucking me is without consequences. Well, it’s not. I’m tired of being used for sex by males who think they own me, but don’t actually like me. I’m tired of being that girl.
“The king’s mate has requested your presence via something called telephone,” he tells me. I don’t know if that’s true, or if he’s just trying to get out of an awkward situation. It could be either, both, or neither. I watch him materialize a device which looks like someone described an old telephone to him, but didn’t explain what it looked like.
“I will give you some privacy,” he says. I know he’s not giving me privacy. He’s just getting the fuck out of dodge. He got what he wanted from me already.
“Yeah. Great. Awesome.”
“Why do I feel as though I am in the wrong?” I hear him mutter the question to himself as he leaves the room via the wall, because he’s way too fucking cool for doors, of which there suddenly are none.
“Because you are!” I shout after him, but it is too late. He’s gone, and I have a job to do.