‘Sometimes my memory just needs a little nudge,’ he’d said. And winked.

‘Oh fine,’ she’d said, and one night later, she could still feel her stomach churning, knowing what was coming. But at the time, she’d only dug into her pocket. ‘What do you want, a twenty?’

‘How ‘bout you show me your goodies and I’ll tell you if I saw them?’

She hadn’t believed him at first. What the hell kind of motel manager actually says something like that to a complete stranger checking in? And then she’d looked wildly over her shoulder, as if to reassure herself that yes, Tagen was right outside and extremely visible in the passenger side of her car. ‘I’m not alone, Jack!’ she’d said, but her outraged tones were already splintering. She was back in that awful space, her heart hammering, panic drilling into her.

‘Suit yourself. You’ll never know now, will you?’

And she’d considered it. Standing with her hand still in her pocket for the bribe money he didn’t want, she’d actually considered flipping up her t-shirt so he’d give her a straight answer. And it had been awful, the worst kind of humiliation and shame to realize that she had a price, that he could see it like it was printed on her forehead, and that a total stranger could make her feel this dirty, and then grin about it.

It was Tagen who had ended it, not that he’d ever known it. Tagen’s voice in her mind’s memory, from that day in the kitchen when he’d thrown another drooling wolf out of her house. ‘Some things are always wrong,’ he’d said. And later, that on his planet, no man would ever get away with something like this. No woman ever had to stand there like Daria, feeling eyes like grubby fingers all over her, and seriously consider debasing herself in order to have a simple question answered.

So she’d threatened to slap him and he’d smirked and shrugged and she’d snatched up her room key and stormed out, and at that time, she’d felt that high rush of vindication like a security blanket over her humiliation. It wasn’t until the next morning when she’d found out that if she had gotten an honest answer out of the slimy bastard, E’Var could have been caught. If she had it to do all over again, she knew she’d strip down naked on the spot, and that was the worst part of all, knowing that she had a price all right, and she was even willing to put herself on clearance.

She wanted to throw up, even now.

He probably wouldn’t have told her the truth anyway. He’d have just said something witty like, ‘Nice rack,’ and gone back to his game of computer solitaire.

Daria rubbed hard at her eyes and rolled back onto her stomach, staring helplessly at the digital clock. She’d watched one o’clock come and go. She’d watched two pony up, and then gallop off. And now three had tiptoed up to plate and put a few men on the bases. She had to get up in a few hours. She picked up her pillow, brought it down over her face, and smothered a screaming groan.

Tagen’s slumbering breaths broke off. His hand moved to her hip and lightly rubbed, and Daria tried to relax. He was as tired as she was and he, at least, had a shot at sleeping. She rolled onto her back, remembered too late her determination to stay still, and sighed.

Tagen’s hand, dislodged by her movement, returned, this time to rest on her belly. “Are you all right?”

The last time he’d woken up and used those words, she’d ravished him against his will. “I’m a horrible person,” she muttered, remembering.

Tagen pushed himself up on one arm at once.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” she sighed. “I’m sorry. Go back to sleep.”

He did not move. She couldn’t see much beyond a pale blur above her, but she could feel him staring at her. She smiled hugely for his benefit; he’d mentioned once in passing that Jotan could see quite well at night. And it must be true, because he answered her inane grimace with a low, unconvinced, “Hm.”

“Go back to sleep,” she said again, and tossed onto her side. “I’ll be quiet, promise.”

The bed creaked as he lay back down, but his not-quite-snoring breaths did not resume. His hand found her hip again. She could feel all three of his fingers lightly splayed, covering her nicely. His claws, filed efficiently short but still sharp, were tiny dots of sensation that could never be mistaken for anything but claws. And she…she couldn’t imagine never feeling them again.

And that was one more road that was never going to lead to a night’s sleep. She sighed, started to wriggle, and forced herself to lie still.

“Is there something in particular on your mind?” he asked.

“Just nerves. Sorry.”

“Mm. I know an ancient Jotan cure for nervous energy.”

“Really?” She rolled over hopefully. “What?”

He leaned in to nip at her jaw and his hand slipped down over her hip to cup her through her panties. He stroked once, deliciously slow, growling suggestively against her ear.

Her smile forged itself by reluctant degrees. “Ancient Jotan cure, huh?”

“Trust me, it works.” His caressing hand gently eased her back against him before renewing his measured, circular touches.

Daria arched her neck for his nuzzling and careful bites, but she soon shook her head. “Oh, come on, stop,” she said reluctantly. “I know you’re too tired for this.”

“Mm-hm.” His lips played at her shoulders, and then brushed down to close around her sensitive nipple. His fingers continued their deliberate movements, whispering on the silk that separated them.

She made a token effort to stop him, but somehow, the hand she meant to have push him away ended up twining in his hair. She lay, drowsing in his tender attentions, but when he slipped at last beneath her thin panty to touch her intimately, she rolled away from him onto her side. “You’re tired,” she said.

She heard a soft rustle of fabric on flesh, and then his body was pressed against her back. His hand was again low on her belly, pulling her back to feel the proof of his nakedness, his desire.

“You see,” she said unsteadily, as his fingers gently began to draw her panties away, “this is exactly why I’m such a horrible person.” She felt the pulling of the thin silk all the way down her legs to her ankles, where Tagen teased them off one foot at a time. “If you think I’m going to roll over and encourage you, you’re wrong,” she warned him.

“Then stay thus,” he said, his hand still enclosing the heel of one foot. He caressed what he held, his fingers traveling leisurely back to her thigh as his strong legs insinuated themselves between hers. His other hand pulled her hair away from her neck, baring her to a kiss before the heat of his manhood slipped up from behind to press at her. “This body will always admit me,” he whispered, and proved it.

She clutched at the sheets, groaning with pleasure as he stroked deeply up inside her. The sensation was so unique; she didn’t know how to move with him and he would not allow her to move now that she’d declared she wouldn’t. His chest brushed rapturously along her back with each unhurried, sidelong thrust. His hands smoothed across her bared flesh, he kissed every part of her his hungry mouth could reach, and he let her do nothing but feel.

Whimpers first, and then soft cries scratched out of her. She began to writhe in place, her hands fluttering back to pull at him in helpless need.

“Ah,” he murmured. “Now you would encourage me. So.” He turned her onto her stomach and covered her with his heat, sinking his shaft so deeply, so completely, that she had to bury a scream in the mattress. His legs between hers began slowly to open, pushing hers apart. He swept back onto his knees, pulling her with him, and resumed his languorous movements.

She groped behind her, gasping and horribly aware of how thin the walls must be. Her fingers caught at his cheek, his hair, then his arm, his hip, anything she could reach, but there was nothing for her to truly hold on to. The only sound she was capable of making, the only word she could coherently form, was his name and it came in strained puffs from her lips.