Now that he was clean with no black paint on him, she couldn’t help but admire his physique. He was so big and muscular everywhere and he had a kind of unconscious, animal grace when he moved. He sort of flowed across the room, moving so smoothly he reminded her of a huge cat. The thick black tattoo-like markings that ran down his arms and back and across his chest made him look exotic and dangerous.
Well, he certainly was dangerous—she knew that for a fact, considering how many other prisoners he had killed. But now that she had “Claimed” him, she didn’t feel threatened by the big Nightwalker at all. Though he did seem to feel that her Claiming had some unusual and unexpected connotations, she thought, remembering the way he had demanded she wash him “everywhere.”
The memory of jerking him off made her cheeks get hot again. Why had she done it? She should have refused. But she’d felt almost hypnotized by those pale green eyes and the way he had said, “I am yours,” as he came.
Her illicit thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door.
Imani went to answer it, but J’are was suddenly there ahead of her, growling low in his throat as he stared at the door.
“It’s all right,“ Imani put a hand on his arm soothingly. “It’s just room service. Just food,” she corrected herself, seeing that he didn’t understand.
But even the mention of food couldn’t make J’are back down. He stood there naked, blocking the door, so that Imani was forced to reach around him to open it.
Outside was a male servant dressed in the golden livery of the Luxx. He was pushing a golden cart which hovered three feet off the ground and had a number of golden domes resting on it. His eyes widened when he saw the huge Kindred standing there, blocking the way.
“D-delivering what you ordered, My Lady?” he stammered, seeing Imani peering around J’are’s broad shoulder.
“Oh yes, thank you. You can bring it right in,” Imani told him. She put a hand on J’are’s arm. “Come on now—let him bring it in. That’s our dinner, okay?”
J’are’s nose wrinkled and he inhaled deeply, as though assessing if the male servant posed any threat. At last he stepped back and allowed the man to push the hovering cart into the room.
“I’ll just set your Last Meal up here on the dining table, if I may, My Lady?” the servant asked, still keeping a nervous eye on J’are.
“Dining table?” Imani asked but the servant was already opening a door off of the living area, which she had assumed was another bathroom. Inside was a lavishly decorated dark wood dining table with eight gold brocade chairs and a crystal chandelier hovering—-apparently without any ropes or cords—high above the surface of the table.
The servant went to work quickly, unloading the gold-domed plates along with some eating utensils and napkins. He even left a covered basket, which he told Imani was a selection of tropical fruits—“On the house, of course, because you ordered so many fine dishes. The kitchen wanted to send its respects and gratitude.” He was about to leave when he looked at J’are one more time and snapped his fingers.
“Oh, I almost forgot, My Lady! Here are the clothes you ordered. If they don’t fit, you can call for a different size.”
From under the cloth covering the floating cart, he drew out several silk-wrapped packages and stacked them in one of the chairs.
“Thank you so much.” Imani smiled at him. “Um, I’m not sure how tipping works here—I’ve never been to this planet before. Do I add a gratuity to my cred chip for you?”
“No gratuity needed, My Lady,” the servant said quickly. “Just happy to be of service.” And he left as fast as he could, still eyeing J’are on his way out.
“I think you made him nervous,” Imani said to the big Kindred, who was still glaring at the shut door. “And I can’t say that I blame him. Well—let’s see if any of these clothes work for you.”
She opened some of the silk-wrapped packages and found a pair of dark blue silky sleep trousers, a pair of leather trousers with the crotch cut out, another pair which mercifully had the crotch intact, and several pairs of skimpy Speedo-looking underpants in various colors. There were no shirts—apparently bodyslaves didn’t get to wear them. There was, however, a pair of calf-height, black boots which looked like they might fit the big Kindred.
“Here—put these on,” she told J’are, handing him the dark blue sleep trousers, which had fancy golden curlicue designs printed all over them. He pulled them on without comment and was finally covered. Which made it much easier to look at him without remembering what she had just done while she was bathing him, Imani thought, feeling her cheeks get hot. Honestly, what had gotten into her?
Well, whatever it was, it wasn’t going to happen again, she promised herself firmly. And she wasn’t going to think about it anymore. Right now it was time to eat and she was really hungry.
“Come on,” she said to J’are as he finished adjusting the trousers. They hung low on his narrow hips and emphasized the broadness of his bare chest. “Let’s eat.”
Fourteen
Imani wasn’t sure what to expect when she took the golden dome off the first plate but it certainly wasn’t a squirming mass of live, dark blue and purple worms.
“Ugh!” she exclaimed and banged the lid back down hastily. “How awful! Is that normal Yonnite food?” she asked, looking up at J’are.
He shrugged, his broad shoulders rolling, which seemed to make the thick black markings on his arms and chest ripple.
“Is skriglers.”
“Skriglers?” Imani shuddered. “Well, I don’t want any of those, that’s for sure!”
Hoping the other food wouldn’t still be alive, she pulled the dome off a second plate. A rush of savory-smelling steam emerged, blocking her sight
