Page 14 of The Pleasure Contract

One corner of his lips tilts upward. “You can call me whatever you desire.”

The words had sounded like silk, and somehow, I’m the one feeling fidgety now.

Just as I’m praying for someone to change the subject – literally, any subject – just so the attention is off of me and my rapidly reddening cheeks right now, my personal comms orb that had been floating nearby starts blaring Dancing Queen very loudly. It had almost seemed like it had read my mind and decided to provide a much-needed distraction.

Everyone jumps in their seats. Az’s hand even goes to the blaster gun he has strapped to his bulging thigh, but relents pretty quickly when he figures out where the noise is coming from.

“Oh!” I say, jumping up. “That’s the whole reason I came to see you, Vel. I need help with my comms!”

8

Lois

“What have I done?” I mutter to myself as my comms orb flies from one end of my rooms to the other, blasting out ‘YMCA’ by The Village People. This morning, the orb had explored a catalog of Mongolian throat singing; last night, it was all about French Rap. “Hey, DJ,” I call to her, finding it a fitting name right about now. The comms unit stops in mid-air and hovers closer to me. “Can we have something a bit… calmer right now… please?”

The orb glows brighter. The Village People stop singing, and DJ immediately drifts into the Celtic melodies of Enya.

“Thanks,” I chuckle as the ball sways hypnotically as if performing some kind of ballet.

As it turns out, that little ball of light and music that I thought was acting differently to all the other comms orbs I’ve seen was doing so for a reason. Vel had taken a look at DJ and told me that she behaves like she actually has a personality because she’s a repurposed unit. Az had been angry at first – annoyed that Kiahn, or Vel, or whoever had procured the orb for me had cheated me out of a brand new one. But I hadn’t been upset at all. I like the thought of recycling stuff. Hell, I’d kept phones until they became relics and cars until they were held together by electrical tape and prayers. But it turns out, DJ’s last owner had been an elderly Xaviann woman who had uploaded something called ‘companion software’ – coding that makes the piece of tech seem more like a friend and less like a computer. Almost everything got wiped from DJ when the previous owner passed away, but some of the companion coding stubbornly remained. Az offered to get me a new one; Vel offered to wipe DJ – completely this time. Right back to factory settings. But I took one look at my little Dancing Queen and felt like I couldn’t do it.

So here we are: one human without a clue on how she’s going to persuade some high-and-mighty alien senator to care about another species, and one flying orb of light who has currently moved on from Enya to some Tina Turner.

A knock on my bedroom door cuts through my amusement at watching DJ dance and spin through the air. I expect to see Zek, Jaya, or her new, very tall, very imposing shadow at this time in the early evening, but it’s none of those. It’s Az.

“W-what are you doing here?” We don’t leave for the Capital until tomorrow morning.

Az’s smile morphs into a look of confusion as he looks beyond me, into my room.

DJ twirls past, enthusiastically bopping to the energetic chorus of ‘Proud Mary’.

He blinks down at me for an explanation.

“What?” I say, folding my arms over my chest, feeling defensive over DJ. “She likes upbeat music.”

Az makes a soft snorting noise and steps forward, practically pushing me backward with his sheer presence. He mirrors my stance, his thick arms corded with muscle as they band over his chest like iron bars. He observes DJ’s movements for a moment or two longer. “She?” he finally asks, raising one brow at me.

“Yes, she,” I answer, turning to the dancing sphere. “DJ?” I clip. “How should I refer to you?”

DJ responds by changing tracks, specifically to Cyndi Lauper’s ‘Girls Just Wanna Have Fun’.

I turn to Az with a smug smile – a smug smile that his pink-flecked eyes find straight away, and fixate on for a moment too long to be casual. “Well,” he says, still staring at my lips. “I guess I should know better than to question you, little female.”

His voice is like hot melted butter, and it does something delicious to my insides. “Yes,” I near-whisper, my own gaze now locked on his mouth in return. “You should.”

My voice is hoarse and doesn’t sound like my own. I’m not sure how long we stand there, Az and I in my bedroom, staring at one another, my belly feeling like there’s a whole swarm of butterflies fluttering around in there – but at some point I become aware that DJ is beside us, slowly ascending as if she’s staring at us, staring at each other.

And she’s playing Marvin Gaye’s ‘Let’s Get It On’.

“Hey!” I take a swipe at her, but she dodges my advance. “DJ! Get back here!”

I’m about to engage in what has now become our daily routine of me chasing her around my rooms and DJ absolutely giving me the runaround.

But just as I leap, Az catches me with one of his big, strong arms banded around my middle.

“Let her play her Earth sounds,” he says, putting me back down, his hands steadying me, one on each shoulder. They’re warm and calloused.

I hadn’t really expected that from a prince.