Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 128413 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 514(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128413 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 514(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
He hesitated. “I’ll have to touch your things.”
“Glass is on the sink. Keep your shoes on. Tap is motion activated.” Then she took another bite of the most delicious item she’d ever tasted. “And I like your imprint. It’s like an enormous comforting purr that wraps around me.” The words spilled out in a haze of sugar and cinnamon.
Chapter 18
Abstract: An argument in favor of why Psychometry should be moved in the Psy power charts to sit next to Foresight and the subcategory of Backsight. F-Psy see the future, while those with backsight see the past. Ps-Psy also see the past—the only difference is that their visions of the past are anchored to an object.
—Psychometry and Its Placement on Psy Power Charts by Faith NightStar and Tanique Gray, paper submitted to the Académie de la classification des Psi run under the aegis of the Ruling Coalition, June 2083
REMI FORCED HIMSELF to look away from the woman who was so lusciously enjoying food that he’d brought her—and who’d just murmured that he was like a “comforting purr.”
Not the kind of thing he’d ever thought he’d want to hear from a beautiful woman, but yeah, it was a good feeling to know that she felt safe with him. Safe enough to tell him that, and to allow him into her haven.
Woman was food drugged so he should probably take the entire thing with a grain of salt, but damn if he didn’t want to actually purr. She took another bite, moaned. His cock threatened to react. You’d have thought he was a wolf or a bear with the feral depth of his response. Courtship via food wasn’t a cat thing.
Not that he was courting her.
First, Auden didn’t need to be thinking about him putting the moves on her when she was in the final trimester of her pregnancy. Second, he still didn’t know her motives or anything of who she was beyond being a pregnant psychometric.
Third—and most important—was her mental state and ability to consent.
His incipient arousal dying under the grim reminder of her personality shift and associated memory loss, he made sure to wipe off his boots on the mat outside the front door. It was obvious from the pristine shine of her wooden floor that she didn’t wear outdoor shoes inside, and he felt bad doing so even though she’d given him the go-ahead.
Despite her statement that she liked his imprint, he took extreme care not to touch any other surface as he made his way to the sink. It wasn’t hard to find—the place was all one bedroom, except for a closed-off area at the back that he assumed led to the toilet and shower.
Auden’s home was almost militantly basic. She had a simple futon—what the hell—with white sheets and a white comforter. A single wonky chair and a narrow dresser sat beside the futon. The kitchen table was small and round, and had no chair.
There were no rugs on the floor, no cushions for her to shove behind her back when it began to ache.
As for entertainment, he saw a small mobile comm and a single organizer.
That was it. Nothing in here spoke of the woman whom he’d taught to shoot, or who was currently making little noises of pleasure that he could hear even through the cabin walls. Too bad she was in no state to play—even his cat understood that. As it understood that he couldn’t allow her to keep avoiding the sobering subject.
Once back outside, he sat in his chair and waited until she’d taken a good long drink of the water before offering to hold the glass so she could finish her intense consumption of the cinnamon roll. He wished he’d brought more things for her now, wished he could sit her down and feed her delicious tidbit after delicious tidbit.
Only…this wasn’t a simple playful date between a man and a woman.
Gut tight, he let her enjoy herself, finding a profound and primal joy in having given her that. Only after she’d finished the roll, licked her fingers, and emptied the glass of water did he talk. Or more accurately—growled. “Why the fuck are you on a futon?” Not even a proper one with a low base. A literal mattress on the floor. “Isn’t it hard to get up and down?”
She nodded, her full lips turned down at the corners “Takes hours. Or that’s what it feels like. But furniture has imprints and the bed, so close to my sleeping brain…the noise is unbearable.”
Remi wanted to ask if she always slept on a futon, but that wasn’t important. “We have a small mech facility—you know that. But we can do larger pieces. What if we printed a frame for you?”
“People still would have to handle it.”
“I’ll do it. Only me.”
Auden stared at him, her motionlessness speaking of a creature wary and on edge. “Why?”