Chapter 11

CHAPTER ELEVEN

VYA

"Hello?"

The room was quiet, and the bed didn't move next to me. I gingerly stretched my hand outward, just to be sure. An empty, cool expanse of open bed greeted my fingertips.

Perfect. I was alone.

I reached for the storage bins that had held the cover I'd found last time I'd been here but found them empty.

Hoping to find something elsewhere in the room, I cautiously eased from the bed. As I moved, I waited for the aches to bloom. However, nothing hurt anymore. I ran my hand over my ribs and hips, the areas that had been the worst, and didn't even feel a twinge of discomfort.

My new captor truly had been helping me. But why?

Rather than contemplate the possible reasons, I stood and explored the room. It wasn't big. The bed took up the most space. Shallow bins lined the walls in the alcove surrounding the padded platform. Other than that, I only felt flat walls.

Something slid out of one wall when I approached. It was padded, like a chair. When I sat on it, I heard another whir of noise and discovered a small table protruding from the wall in front of me.

Uninterested in either, I stood and continued along the wall until I heard a familiar rasp of noise. The door.

"Hello?" I called again, not venturing past the threshold. The last thing I wanted to do was wander, blind to the dangers around me. My keeper had left me here, so this is where I planned to stay.

But I really needed to pee.

"Hello!" My voice echoed around me, and I heard a faint response.

Unwilling to yell again and risk annoying him, I returned to the bed and sat. Then I wiggled. Then I stood and moved around. If he didn't get here soon?—

The door rasped, and I tried not to fidget.

"I really need to go to the bathroom." I gave a little pee-pee bounce, hoping he'd understand.

A hand covered my breast, gently caressing it. I jerked away before I could stop myself.

He said something, and his hand shifted from my chest to my arm. He petted it.

I gestured in the direction of the door and tried to convey my need to leave. When he kept petting my arm, I cupped my crotch and bounced on my toes again. If he didn't catch on soon, I was going to act like a puppy and wet the floor.

He moved his hand to my back and picked me up. However, my focus shifted from the need to pee to the hand that circled around to splay over my stomach. The other one stroked my hip as he supported my legs. I frowned, trying to remember if that was how he'd carried me previously.

Before I could dwell on it, he started moving. I counted steps, determined to figure out how to get around on my own. He paused after six, and I heard the rasp of a door opening. He took a few more steps. The door closed behind us. And he set me down again with a pat on my shoulder.

I listened to a rustle of movement behind me but he gave me no guidance.

Desperate, I reached my arms out. I needed a toilet. I needed?—

A familiar wetness hit my back in rapid succession and destroyed the frail hold I had.

My bladder let loose, and I let out a groan of combined shame and relief.

The assault-by-cleanser paused, and I cringed and tried to stop. But there was no stopping once started. I desperately hoped I wasn't breaking some kind of rule that would result in a beating or a shock.

As soon as I finished, his hand touched my back. I jolted at the contact, waiting for some kind of harsh reprimand, but breathed a sigh of relief when he started rubbing my skin in familiar scrubbing-like circles.

He worked down, over my ass and legs. I internally cheered that peeing all over his floor had won me a free pass from an ass-crack scrubbing and started to turn when he reached my ankles.

His hand clamped down on my shoulder, stopping me, and another splat hit me on the ass. A moment later, his fingers scooped it up and slid between my cheeks. My heart jolted and started beating faster, but for whatever reason, what he was doing didn't send me into an all-out panic.

The feeling of his fingers brushing me there felt fifty shades of wrong, but I didn't jerk away like the previous time. I held still and let him wash me the way he wanted because he hadn't punished me for wetting the floor, and because, when he'd washed me last, he hadn't done anything more than wash. Was it invasive? Yes. But damaging? No. And I could deal with that.

He kept his touch politely brief, doing only what was necessary to coat my skin then withdrew.

This time, he let me turn.

He said something to me, ran his fingers along my collarbone, then hit me with the slippery cleanser from neck to toes again. I swiped a healthy amount from my hip to quickly wash between my legs, hoping to avoid a repeat of the day before. However, doing that left my chest wide open.

His hand settled over my right breast, coating it thoroughly with the same slow, circular motions he'd used everywhere else. My heart thundered under his touch, but he didn't seem to notice. When he finished with the right one, he moved to the left, being just as meticulous. To be fair, he paid the same amount of attention to all my other parts, too. But those parts didn't pebble after the third rub.

Swallowing hard, I fisted my hands at my sides to hide the trembling and forced myself to hold still.

It'll be fine . That thought echoed in my mind again and again as he slowly worked his way down.

When his hands finished with my hips, he paused, and a fresh splat hit me between the legs. My face heated.

"You really don't need to do that. I can do it myself."

I reached to prove it, but he caught my wrist and pressed my palm to my stomach. He said something low and slow again, patted my hand, then slipped his hand between my legs.

He smoothed his palm over my inner thighs first, tapping them and coaxing me to give him more room to work. I didn't want to move. I wanted to clamp my thighs together like a vise. But he was patiently persistent, going so far as to grab a foot, lift it, and set it down a few inches over.

It felt like my heart was going to hammer its way out of my chest when his other hand cupped between my legs, coating me with even more cleanser-lotion, and slowly rubbed circles into the area. I focused on breathing rather than how his fingers slipped into my folds to ensure even my inner labia got their share.

When his touch drifted down my legs, I shook with relief.

The second time had been no worse than the first. Yes, he'd touched me far more personally than anyone else ever had. But he hadn't hurt me. And more importantly, he hadn't gotten angry, despite my lack of immediate cooperation.

When he finished, he tugged me into his arms, pressing me against his very naked self, and stroked his hand over my head and down my back. Soothing, petting caresses, not circular washing ones.

He spoke.

Again, I got the impression of praise, and a shuddering exhale escaped me.

Maybe this alien wasn't so bad. Sure, bath time wasn't the greatest, but it wasn't horrible either. Just a little nerve-wracking.

As soon as the steam filled the room, he led me to the side again and tugged me into his lap. This time, I didn't hesitate to relax against him and was rewarded with more of those praising pets over my head and down my back before he languidly rubbed my arm, returning to the circular motions.

My stomach growled before the lights finished drying us. He growled back, which made me laugh. When I realized what I'd done, I stopped and felt sick with myself. There was nothing funny about my situation.

I was in space, blind, and completely dependent on the creature caring for me. And I didn't know why he was doing any of it. Was I a pet, or was he one of the aliens who would want something more?

He stood, set me down, then stepped away. This time when I heard the rustle, I knew it was his clothes.

Dressed, he returned to me and set his hand on my back. Before he could pick me up, I plucked at his shirt.

"Don't suppose I can have this?"

He said something, and his shirt disappeared. I knew that because he pressed my hand against his bare chest.

Hiding my frustration, I sighed and let him carry me.

Oddly, the skin-to-skin contact felt too comforting to stay annoyed. I turned my head and breathed him in. What was it about his smell that reminded me of home?

He said something, and I felt his fingers moving against my thigh again. Was he trying to pet me while carrying me? My fingers lightly stroked over his chest in return before I registered what I was doing.

Instead of setting me on a chair to feed me, he put me somewhere less exciting. Feeling the familiar hard length of what I considered the examination table under my bottom, I shifted nervously.

"I really hope I don't need another shot. Those hurt."

He spoke to me, his tone a low, soothing rumble, and placed his hand on my chest to signal that he wanted me to lie back and keep still. The tinny voice talked to him for a few moments, and then I felt a tug on my bandages.

As soon as they were gone, I opened my eyes and took in the metal ceiling above me. I could see !

My gaze greedily drank in my surroundings. The arm of a machine extended from the exam table. A line of blue light swept over me from head to feet; then the tinny voice returned.

I didn't really pay attention to it. My focus was on my skin. It shimmered like I was lightly dusted with fine opalescent glitter. It was beautiful. I lifted my arms, turning them in the light. I thought of the body wash-slash-moisturizer and grinned.

My keeper spoke, and I turned my head toward him for the first time. The sight of the huge alien stunned me. The muscled expanse of his caramel skin offset the pure blue of his eyes. As in the whole thing. Sky blue. His eyes no irises or pupils that I could see. Just two blue balls inside his head.

I made a choked sound, and the ears on each side of his head twitched forward. They weren't curved shells like mine but looked sort of like dog ears. Not furry, though, and they didn't protrude as far. They also moved independently of each other in the close-cropped, bright, silvery white hair that adorned his head and brows above his eyes.

My captor didn't look old, despite the white hair.

My gaze swept over his high-cheek bones, looking for wrinkles, before returning to his hard, chiseled chest. He definitely wasn't old. He had the physique of a beach bodybuilder times ten. So many muscles.

He smiled and held out his arms, turning slightly this way and that, for my inspection.

His consideration and understanding were my undoing. I burst into tears.

Dropping his arms, he said something and reached out to pat my arm. I cried harder and leaned toward him. He quickly scooped me off the table and held me close to his chest. I felt him moving but didn't pay attention to where he was taking me.

All I cared about was that I felt safe and less alone next to him.