Domination Games

  Domination Games © 2018 Francesca Baez

  www.francescabaez.com

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. Except for use in review, the reproduction or use of this work in any part is forbidden without the express written permission of the author.

  The Author of this Book has been granted permission by Anna Zaires and Dima Zales to use the copyrighted characters and the world of The Krinar Chronicles created by Anna Zaires and Dima Zales in this Book; all copyright protection to the characters and the worlds of Anna Zaires and Dima Zales are retained by Anna Zaires and Dima Zales.

  I hate this damn cold.

  After living in Manhattan for so long, I should be used to it, but it still gets to me. Especially after a long, exhausting day at work, the harsh chill only adds insult to injury.

  Kinda wanna die, I text my best friend Noelle as I dodge an icy patch on the sidewalk. Is it summer yet?

  Let’s call in sick and go to Miami tomorrow, Noelle texts back immediately, along with a sunglasses emoji.

  I’m grinning as I push the door to the liquor store open with my shoulder, the bell announcing my arrival cheerily.

  “What’s up, Ari,” the cashier says from behind the counter, with a friendly nod.

  “Hey Dante,” I smile back. On any other day I’d stop to chat, but today I need a drink, and I need it now.

  I head for the wine aisle first, unbuttoning my coat as I walk. The shelves are still decorated with drooping tinsel and faded advertisements for holiday sales—Dante really needs to clean this place up. When I pause at the red, the man at the other end of the aisle catches my eye. He’s tall, with dark coloring and sharp features, but it’s the way he turns to me that I immediately recognize as otherworldly—a predatory, animalistic movement that is just slightly too smooth to be human. Is he a Krinar? They’ve been living among us since I was a teenager, and I’m not as intimidated by their presence as the older generations are. Still, it’s unusual to be this close to one, especially in such a mundanely human setting, and I can’t tell if the goosebumps on my skin are from fear or exhilaration. Our gaze meets for a moment, his incandescent eyes holding mine for a beat too long. Then the blonde he’s with says something, and he turns back to her.

  Shaking off the rich feeling of his gaze on my skin, I decide I want something stronger than merlot tonight, and head toward the whiskey. A few minutes later, the man turns the corner, pausing by the bourbon. He doesn’t look at me, but I can feel the electricity filling the few feet between us, and I wonder if he can too. Distracted, I reach for a bottle of Jack, but the glass immediately slips out of my nervous grasp. Before I can even register the disastrous trajectory of the bottle toward the floor, the man has closed the distance between us. He catches the bottle just in time, frozen mid-crouch on the floor beside me. We stay like that for a moment, me looking down at him, him looking up at me. Up close, I can see that his eyes are a vibrant shade of amber, nearly yellow. There’s no doubt about it now, this man is a Krinar. As he rises to his full height, I feel a rush of adrenaline. I’m tall, but he still towers over me.

  “I believe this is yours,” he says, handing the Jack back to me. His voice is low and raspy, vibrating through me as I accept the bottle.

  “Thanks,” I say, almost mumbling. Our fingers don’t brush during the exchange, and it’s not until his hands gracefully fall back at his sides that I realize I wanted them to. “You’re a lifesaver.”

  “I only saved your whiskey,” he says with a grin that I hope is flirtatious, cocking his head to the side.

  “And booze is my life,” I respond, hugging the bottle nervously. I laugh to make sure he knows I’m joking and not actually an alcoholic, and he laughs along. My god, I can feel that laughter all through my body, deep and rich and melodious. I know I’m supposed to be afraid, any reasonable human should be afraid, but all I feel is a thrill of excitement, buzzing through me, down to my very core.

  “Verit?” The blonde appears at the end of the aisle, holding a bottle of cab.

  The K—Verit—gives me one last nod before turning and walking back to her. I watch him leave unabashedly, drinking in the flawless way his body moves. Once they’re gone, I pay for my whiskey and walk home, certain that I’ll never see my Krinar ever again.

  “Holy fuck, Noelle, you’ll never believe what just happened to me.”

  I call Noelle as soon as I get home, still unwrapping my scarf with one hand as I hold her face on the screen in the other. I can see that she’s eating sushi in bed, her usual weeknight routine. Despite her job writing food reviews for some of the most notorious restaurants in the city, she insists that the cheap spicy mushroom rolls from the bodega on her block are the best in town.

  “Did that douche from the coffee shop hit on you again?” Noelle asks through a mouthful of rice and mushroom. She waves her chopsticks in the air for effect as she continues, “Because that stopped being newsworthy like three weeks ago.”

  I prop my phone up on the counter as I open the Jack and pour myself a whiskey, neat.

  “He did, but that’s not what I meant,” I say, taking a sip and making my way to the living room, where I flop down onto the sofa in a rather unladylike fashion. “Guess.”

  “I’m not going to guess,” Noelle says. We’ve been friends for long enough that she doesn’t bother hiding her annoyance. “You know I hate that shit. Just tell me.”

  “Okay, okay,” I say, throwing my hands up in defeat. “I just saw a K at the liquor store.”

  Noelle jerks upright, sushi tilting dangerously, as I slink further into my slouch.

  “At Dante’s?” she asks, chopsticks frozen beside her face.

  “Yeah,” I say. “He was just getting wine with some chick. It was weird.”

  “That’s so… domestic,” Noelle says, setting her dinner on the nightstand and falling back onto her bed.

  “And the weirdest part was,” I punctuate the pause with another sip of whiskey, relishing how much Noelle hates the spectacle of it all. “I think we had a moment.”

  “A moment? What does that even mean?”

  I pause again, this time unintentionally. I don’t know how to explain the way time seemed to freeze when he looked at me, the way my skin burned in his presence, the way his lush laugh made my insides turn upside-down.

  “You know,” I offer lamely after a second, “A moment.”

  “Uh-huh,” she says, unconvinced, returning to her sushi. “So, are you officially into Ks now? Like, a xeno?”

  Last year, we went to an x-club for a friend’s birthday and I hooked up with a K. I was the only one who did, the rest of my friends backed out at the last minute. It wasn’t a big deal to me, but Noelle can’t let it go.

  “No,” I say shortly. “Just a weird, random thing. I doubt I’ll ever see him again.”

  “That’s probably for the best,” she says in her holier-than-thou voice.

  She starts talking about something dumb her boyfriend said, and I tune out, replaying the incident in my head. I know that realistically, odds are I won’t ever see Verit again. Still, the desire gnaws in my belly like a hunger, keeping me up late into the night.

  I try to put him out of my mind, I really do. I bury myself in my work all week, volunteering for every extra shift, showing up early and staying late. That weekend, I go out with Noelle and the girls, even take someone home. But as we make out on my couch, all I can think of is the intoxicating creature I’ve dangerously begun to think of as “my K,” and I wind up sending the poor guy hom
e.

  “We should go to the x-club again,” I tell Noelle one day as we walk to work, lattes clutched in frozen hands. I try to sound nonchalant, but she sees right through me.

  “You just want to find your alien,” she says, with a gentle elbow to my side to soften the edge in her words.

  “Nooooooo,” I lie halfheartedly, stretching the word out and dragging my feet like a kid. “I mean, yeah, sure, that wouldn’t be the worst thing ever, but either way it would just be fun.”

  “Ari, come on, you know better than that,” she says. “It’s not worth it.”

  While the Ks aren’t exactly welcomed with open arms by humanity yet, for the most part we’ve gotten used to co-existing with them by now. Still, everyone knows the dangers of becoming seriously entangled with a K, no matter how enticing those intimate liaisons may be. Noelle is especially cautious, not only because a coworker of hers at the Herald ran off with a K a few years ago, but because she genuinely doesn’t get the appeal. She’s into shy, dorky dudes, cozy date nights, and making love. And hey, I don’t judge her for that, to each their own. But just the thought of a deliciously dominant K shoving me against a wall and railing me, and I can feel my panties dampening.

  “You’re right,” I say. “It’s not worth it.”

  It’s probably for the best if I go to the x-club alone, anyway. If I find my K, I’d feel like a bitch for ditching Noelle for him—and I definitely would. And if I don’t find him, it’s better if no one else is present to witness my humiliation.

  The x-club is hot and sweaty, even before I start dancing. The music throbs through me, and the low, flashing lights make my pulse speed. I scan the room for my K, trying to look casual. A few men turn to look at me, their bright eyes tracing the shape of my body in this tight sapphire-blue dress, but none of them are Verit. I quash my disappointment and grab a drink, joining the knot of bodies on the dance floor.

  I’m half a drink in when I see him. I feel his presence first, a tickle on the back of my neck making me turn around. And there he is, standing in the shadowed entrance, a single, pulsating purple light illuminating his face along to the beat of the music. I contemplate playing it cool, but then he’s already walking towards me, eyes locked on mine, and my feet move to meet him halfway without prompting.

  “It’s you,” I say, dumbly. He’s so close to me, I could touch him. The lights flicker over us, and I don’t feel like I’m in my body anymore. I feel like I’m a world away from here, just me and my K. “Verit.”

  “It’s me,” he says, and then he’s pressed against me. The music moves my body for me. This place is an aphrodisiac, the swarm of bodies making my adrenaline spike. His hands are on me, and I want him, I want him bad. I grind my ass against him, and I hear him suck in his breath.

  “You’re looking for trouble,” he murmurs, breath hot in my ear. His fingers spread wide over my hips, pulling me impossibly close.

  “I am,” I say, fighting to keep my voice even. I’m burning up, the heat of his body pressing against me overwhelming. Still, I push harder. “And if I don’t find any, I’ll have to make some.”

  His lips are on my neck, his tongue tracing the curve of my throat. I moan his name, but the sound is swallowed by the chaotic thrum of the club. Everyone here is touching, a blur of fast hands and hot skin. I turn, meeting Verit’s mouth, my hands in his hair, running down his back, grabbing at the hem of his shirt. I’ve never felt greedier, but Verit pulls away.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask, when he takes his hands off me and steps back. I’m embarrassed by the immediate rejection, face hot under the lights.

  “Nothing,” he says, reaching out and brushing an unruly strand of hair out of my face. “Just… not like this.”

  With a hand on the small of my back, he steers me through the crowd and out of the club. Outside, the air is bitingly cold, and the sudden silence is deafening. Too late, I realize I left my coat inside, and I tell Verit that.

  “Don’t worry about it,” he says, pulling me close to his side. His intention is likely to share his body heat, but the proximity to the beautiful K immediately causes my own body to overheat in excitement. “I’ll buy you another.”

  He takes us to a restaurant a couple blocks away, an expensive French place I recognize from one of Noelle’s blogs. It’s late, and the restaurant looks very closed, but Verit knocks on the door anyway. A man appears behind the tinted glass doors, and grins when he sees my companion.

  “Mr. Verit,” he says in a booming voice as he lets us in. I’ve never heard of anyone calling a Krinar “Mr.” before. It sounds odd, and I grin at it.

  “Marc,” Verit replies in the same jovial tone, slapping the man’s hand into a distinctly human way. “Mind if we come in for a few drinks?”

  “Of course,” Marc says, leading us into the restaurant. “We’re just cleaning up, don’t mind us.”

  I follow Verit to the deserted bar, smiling at the girl wiping down tables. I perch on a bar stool, feeling slightly out of place in the elegant restaurant, despite the absence of patrons. I’m dressed for a club, not for high class. I tug at my short skirt nervously as Verit gracefully moves behind the bar, pouring two glasses of Macallan. When I left my apartment just hours ago, I felt in control, I felt badass. I thought I could play a K and walk away unscathed. Now, as he clinks his tumbler against mine with a calculated smile, I feel dangerously close to losing myself completely.

  “Come here often?” I ask teasingly, forcing a facade of confidence. Just because I know I’ve lost the upper hand—if I even had it to start with—doesn’t mean he has to know. He chuckles at that, but doesn’t respond. Instead he just stares me down, leaning over the bar until he’s close enough to touch. A chill runs down my spine, and I keep talking to mask my nerves. “But seriously, what are we doing here? Why did we leave the x-club? I thought we were having fun.”

  Still, the enigmatic K remains silent, holding my gaze. I cave and look down at my drink, but he reaches out and lifts my chin with a finger, forcing me to meet his eyes again.

  “You’re not a shot of cheap tequila. You’re not a quick fuck in a crowded club. You’re expensive whiskey, meant to be sipped slowly,” here he swirls his drink, ice clinking softly, and I find it hard to catch my breath. It’s already the sexiest fucking thing I’ve ever heard, and then he adds, “I’m going to take my time with you, Ari.”

  I feel like my panties might combust on the spot, but then Marc materializes with a plate of crostini. I recognize the variety from one of Noelle’s articles, and know it’s an expensive platter.

  “On the house, of course,” he says with a smile, unaware that he just ruined a perfect moment.

  “Thanks, man,” Verit says, and Marc disappears back into the kitchen.

  “How do you know him, anyway?” I ask, taking a crunchy bite. “They don’t let just anybody into fancy restaurants in the middle of the night and feed them snacks.”

  “They let me in,” Verit says pointedly. “But I’m not here to talk about that. Tell me about you.”

  I roll my eyes dramatically. “Ugh, I hate when people say that. It’s so vague! Ask me something specific. Like, how long have you been in New York? Or in your case, on Earth?”

  “Fair point,” Verit says with a sideways smile. “And, I’ve been on Earth since a couple months after our first arrival, but I’ve only recently begun spending time in New York. How about you?”

  “Well, I arrived on Earth twenty-six years ago,” I say cheekily, and I am rewarded with a chuckle. I can feel myself regaining my confidence. “I went to college here in the city and have lived here ever since.”

  Verit pops a crostini into his mouth. “Okay, next specific question. What do you do for a living, Ariana?”

  “I’m a trainer at a gym downtown. Kickboxing, women’s self defense, that kind of stuff.” I reach across the bar and pour myself another drink fro
m the most expensive looking bottle. Hey, why not make the most of a rare opportunity? “Oh, and I go by Ari. How did you know my name? I don’t think I’ve mentioned it.”

  “If I want to know something, I know it,” he says, pushing his glass towards me. I pour him a drink with tremulous fingers. “But we can pretend. Where did you go to college?”

  We play twenty questions, until twenty questions turns to fifty questions, and fifty questions turns into a conversation. Finally, long after we’ve overstayed our welcome, we exit Marc’s and wander the streets. It’s pretty late, especially for a weeknight, but the city still hums. Eventually, our seemingly aimless walk leads to my apartment.

  “Want to come up for a drink?” I ask. I lean into the cliche nature of the question, tilting my head coquettishly and raising an eyebrow.

  Verit glances up at the building, then back at me. He reaches out and takes my hand gently. “I think we’ve both had enough to drink tonight.”

  “Really? Because I have some really expensive whiskey upstairs,” I say, pulling him close. I stand on my tiptoes and kiss him deeply, letting my teeth catch his lip as I pull away. “The kind that’s meant to be sipped slowly.”

  Verit smiles, the streetlights catching the glint of sharp teeth. “You make a compelling argument, Ari.”

  I grin back, and lead him up the stairs.

  I’ve had sex with a K before, but this is different. Verit was right: he makes my x-club hookup seem like a cheap shot of tequila. This? This is everything.

  He starts kissing me as soon as we enter my apartment. I’m sandwiched between him and the door, moaning into his mouth, grabbing deliriously at his delectable body. The way this creature kisses is like nothing I’ve ever experienced. I’ve heard rumors that a K can make you orgasm with nothing but a kiss, and in this moment I believe it. Verit lifts me, and I wrap my legs around his waist. His hands grip my thighs so tightly I know I’ll have bruises in the morning. He carries me to the kitchen counter, where we loudly knock over something I can’t bring myself to care about. He’s pushing up my skirt, and I’m fumbling with his zipper, and we’re both tearing off my panties. Verit pulls me to the edge of the counter, and then he’s on his knees. If his tongue was an artist in my mouth, it’s fucking Van Gogh between my legs. In minutes I’m screaming, a toe-curling, white-knuckle orgasm ripping through me without warning.