Elle pressed her lips together, stopping her request. I won’t track his position. He doesn’t care about me. I shouldn’t care about him. Elle gazed through the bridge’s main viewscreen, watching swirls of blue dance over Chamele 1’s predominantly white surface. The ice-covered planet’s cold beauty reminded her of its equally cold Warlord. She raised the right cuff of her oversized cold-temperature suit to her nose and breathed deeply, inhaling Berke’s distinctive scent. Her pussy moistened, her body aching for him. I’m not weak. Elle pushed her ass out of the worn chair, needing to take action, to move, to change into her own clothes and regain her identity. I’m a bounty hunter, blast it. She strode through the bridge, the other chairs and consoles empty, waiting as she had waited…for him to find her, to retrieve her, to bring her home. If he cared, he would have found me. She maneuvered the narrow corridors, the energy-reducing lights flickering to full brightness before her, the silence accentuating her loneliness.
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