I tell myself the breeding bargain is just a transaction to protect the outpost and my hard-won independence. But Keith sets every term in the verification alcove, and I agree to each one before I can talk myself out of it.
The faint pulse flaring along his throat betrays his isolation, and it matches the terror I feel at how much I crave his possessive ownership of my body and fertility. Every brush of his elongated fingers promises the safety of yielding, yet threatens to strip away the self reliance I built from nothing. The contradiction pulls at me harder than I want to admit.
How long before the contract demands more than I planned to give, and I find myself needing his claim to become permanent?
