Ar'Tok - Alana Khan Page 0,43

hit first?” the owner asks. “We might be able to determine a winner.”

“I think this is our cue,” Ar’Tok says as he straightens and rearranges his hard-on in his pants. He looks me over, tucks an errant strand of hair behind my ear, then pulls me into the center of the room.

“I believe we win. We agree to share the prize,” he says, then whips his head toward me. “If that’s okay with you?”

I laugh, grab his hand, and kiss it. “Sharing the win is perfect,” I tell him, my eyes alight with happiness.

“Did you plan this all along?” I whisper as we approach the exit to collect our prize.

“I didn’t give a drack about the win. I already won the moment I put my lips on you, civilian.”

Oh my, there’s something about the way that last word rolled off his tongue, so deep and powerful and sexy. I have a feeling I’ll never be able to hear that word again without feeling an urgent twinge down below.

“Ar’Tok and Star win?” Savannah’s voice is incredulous. She’s competitive; the win by two underachievers must infuriate her.

“Well played!” Shadow says as Dax slaps Ar’Tok’s back.

“Strategy is everything,” Shadow admits as he stares at Ar’Tok’s straining cock, then throws his head back in a hearty laugh.

Okay, Star, I tell myself, they all probably know what we were doing during the entire battle. And they likely all wish they’d thought of it. I hold my head proudly as the owner formally bestows us with a silver chalice—fake I’m sure.

“The day won’t be complete until you two drink blanquard from it,” the owner tells us.

Our eyes meet over the loving cup. That sounds like a lovely idea.

Back in the hover, Grace decides to lead everyone in a singalong. The paintball excursion must have emboldened her, because she’s standing near the driver, breaking the must-be-harnessed rule and teaching us ridiculous songs.

Although most of the females seem to know the words, I don’t feel bad, I’m learning them along with every male on the bus.

“John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt,” we sing, Ar’Tok and I swaying to the music and amused at the ridiculous lyrics. Some of the males, whose native tongues pronounce things differently from American English are struggling, but everyone is laughing and poking fun at the words.

“Old MacDonald” is enjoyed by all. Perhaps the males can’t picture cows and chicks and pigs, but they’re enjoying the heck out of making animal noises.

Five stanzas into “The Ants Go Marching” song and Zar, always known for his even temper, complains that it’s boring. Then he prods Anya, his mate, to teach us something more exciting.

Three stanzas into “99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall” Zar roars, “Terrible!” so loud everyone on the bus stops mid-word until we realize he’s having fun. “Okay, males, let’s teach these females what a true gladiators’ song sounds like.”

They start singing a song that roughly translates to ‘Charlotte the Harlot’.

“How about a quiet ride?” Savannah interrupts. It takes her about three repetitions, but the guys eventually get the message.

By the time we arrive at the Multi-Pleasure, the sun has set and the bus is quiet.

“I made a reservation for dinner in an hour and a half. Any of you who want to join us are invited,” Anya says.

“Let’s order room service,” Ar’Tok whispers as he gives me a meaningful look, one eyebrow arched. My body’s still desperate for release from his little pirate-and-frightened-maiden routine at the paintball venue. He’s got to be one step away from crazy from our unfulfilled explorations over the last few days.

“Aww,” I pout. “I thought we could eat with everyone, then maybe dance until midnight.”

His jaw tightens, and he silently swallows but doesn’t argue—he’s too much of a gentlemale to protest.

“I’m joking,” I tell him as I give his cheek a flying kiss. “I know exactly what we’ll be doing in an hour and a half, and I hope it has nothing to do with a dining room packed with people.”

We exit the hover all talking at once, jabbering about how much fun we all had. The girls all include me in their discussions about what we might do tomorrow. A week ago I never would have dreamed I would have friends, or that they would be as nice as all these women.

My hand rubs my chest as I watch Ar’Tok get swallowed up in a crush of laughing, joking gladiators as they congratulate him on winning the paintball match. I assume everyone on the bus knows we