Page 29 of The Pleasure Contract

And there, right at the very bottom, DJ stops and highlights a particular passage by making the text larger than the rest, the individual words glowing as if backlit.

Sire of sixty-two offspring from Glex Artificial Womb Laboratories.

“Sixty-Two?! Whoa…”

I vaguely remember Vel telling us about the Artificial Womb technologies they have here. When the male Xavianns started becoming immune to the females’ bonding bites, to spare the women the risk of being bitten, they developed the technology to grow a child artificially using DNA from the mother and father. But the practice fell out of favor when they realized that the artificial womb babies only ever developed a bonding venom, and none of them had an ‘active bloodline venom’.

Instinctively, my eyes go to my hand – the one I accidentally burnt. The one Az healed completely. You can’t see any evidence of the burn anymore, but I can almost still feel the cool, soothing effect of his venom like a magical balm.

Then, for some reason, my stupid brain starts thinking of how weirdly hot he is with his fangs extended. It’s happened a few times – outside of him using his magical-healing-wonder-venom. And, from what I can tell, it happens when he gets horny. Which… makes sense. These guys are programmed to bond-bite when in the middle of doing the do, so it only stands to reason they get fang-boners.

It happens when he touches me.

He’s not meant to touch me – not in the way he sometimes does. But it’s like he can’t help himself.

It’s their whole culture and etiquette about keeping women safe and making sure the guys don’t get carried away. Helping me onto the back of his drak was probably ok. Sitting that close behind me in the saddle could probably be waved off as keeping me safe during the flight… maybe… If you squint at the situation from far away, and close one eye… maybe close both eyes.

Technically, he’s not allowed to touch me unless we have a contract. That’s what the whole Permis-

My mind slips and loses focus for a second or two before I sit bolt upright in my bed, my eyes going straight to that strange cubicle thing in the corner of my room.

“That’s what the Permissions are for,” I say out loud in a stupid, breathy voice like I’ve just had a eureka moment that would create world peace.

* * *

Ok, so it’s not going to create world peace.

It might create Lois-peace, though.

Because I can’t sleep.

And that’s all this is.

Just a means to an end.

We all do it.

In the middle of a sleepless night, my hand reaches for that bedside drawer like clockwork.

Give me a few minutes of buzzing, my brain replaying that perfect scenario, one orgasm, and I’m out like a light.

That is all this is.

Really.

And besides, Az gave me his Permission to do this.

Practically begged me to use it, even.

It’s not weird.

Not at all.

“This is so weird,” I say to myself as I stand inside a stark white room, neuro patches stuck to my temples.

In front of me is a perfect replica of Az.

And I mean perfect.