Stella, My Star

5

You are putty in my adept hands. Just as you start to ease into a rhythmical soft grunting in response to the shoulder rub, the side door slides open and the waiter enters. I view the neck tattoo, and recognise the insignia immediately. He is one of the most technologically advanced androids engineered by anyone in the international space corps.

The large- statured figure stands at the door watching on, and I am unclear if he has protectively responded to your sound and raised heartbeat, or if he is timed to enter the room at the end of the meal. As an assassin, the first option excites me more than the housemaid version. Despite my affiliation with androids in the past, his loyalty starts to annoy me. Why am I feeling this way about a droid sharing our space?

"Captain Rafferty, does he have to be watching us from the corner like that?"

Without opening your eyes, "Are you suggesting we are going to partake in something WORTH watching, Wood ?" Not wanting to spoil the moment you are so obviously enjoying, you add, "Roger. The lieutenant and I are busy getting to know each other. Disappear for awhile." Roger bows his head, like an old-fashioned butler, turns and leaves again.

Impeded by the size of the chair blocking you from my rounded reach, I move to the side and slip my long-fingered hand into your military jacket, running it back and forth across your bare chest, and back to your shoulders. I lean in. There is so much about you that makes me feel connected to you already. The emotion is not natural to me, and I consider it dangerous. You open your eyelids at the change of pace and notice my eyes staring deeply into your face, analysing you, breathing in your scent.

I can't help myself, and you somehow know it. You forcefully grab my wrists, and pull me into your lap, our eyes still fixed. I gasp softly. Roger enters. We pay no attention as he transfers things from a tray to the table. He stands, waiting for your polite response.

"Jesus Roger, leave!" He exits. At the same moment, both of our gazes turn to the table.

Roger has just served us a large bowl of chocolate mousse, a side bowl of whipped cream and some expensive silver cutlery.

"Interested in some spooning, Lieutenant Stella Wood?" I turn back to you. You are indeed a captain on a mission. "Well done, Roger" you whisper, before we lean in for a fiery kiss, born of frustration and tension.

You grab my tightly leathered backside, and stand with me. Just as I finish wrapping my legs around your waist, you lay me on my back on the table. Then, coming up for air, "121. Room view", you mutter in your shortness of breath.

The screens on the wall go black for a few milliseconds, then up come the various angles of you and I on the glass table, about to have dessert....