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You grinned. Boba was here. He’d come back for you, just like he said he would. In reply to his question, you assured him, “Yes, I missed you.”
“That’s good to hear,” Boba said in his familiar, gritty voice. “I’m finally confident enough in my control over Jabba’s palace and criminal operations to bring you back with me if you’d like to come.”
“Why don’t you take a seat,” Din said, “and we can talk about your specific plans for keeping her safe?”
“As you wish.”
Din closed up the Razor Crest’s ramp, and everyone relaxed. Din, Boba, and you sat on crates around the hull, and the woman Boba had called Fennec leaned against the wall with one leg up and her blaster pointed down.
“Shand,” Din nodded to Fennec. “You don’t still blame me for trying to capture you, do you?”
Okay, so apparently, they all knew each other.
“Ancient history,” said Fennec.
“Good. Now,” Din turned to Boba, “convince me that she won’t be killed after two days in that hive of villainy.”
“She hasn’t even agreed to come yet.”
“I want to,” you interjected. “Boba, I do want to be with you as well as Mando if we can make this work.”
“It’s a relief to hear you say that, princess.” He sounded sincere. “Concerning your safety, your room adjourns mine and has been fitted with every security precaution available.”
“I oversaw that myself,” Fennec said.
Oh gosh, you already had a room. This was so exciting.
Boba continued. “The doors are voice- and fingerprint-activated. You need both to enter. Every servant working in the palace has been vetted extensively. I employ tasters. In addition, it will be made abundantly clear that crossing my woman means crossing me. And no one crosses me if they like their spine where it is.”
“What if she’s kidnapped to use against you?” Din asked.
“With your permission, princess, I’d like to embed a tracker under your skin so that I can always find you in case that happens. I brought it with me, in fact. It’s already synced to my armor.”
That made you a little apprehensive. “Are you going to keep tabs on me all the time? Even when I’m with Mando?”
“I’ll only use it in case of an emergency.”
“It’s a good idea, cyar’ika,” Din said, which convinced you.
“I’ll do it. Can we get it over with now?”
“Sure.” Boba took a needle-like contraption from Fennec that resembled an e-bacta shot. “Give me your arm.” Pinching the skin of your tricep, he injected a tiny chip about the length of your fingernail but thin as a wire.
“Ow,” you said.
Boba patted the area with a gloved hand. “Good girl.”
You went warm at the affection in his tone.
“Do you still have that call button I gave you? That’s another way you can signal me if you’re in any danger.”
You pulled it out of your pocket. “I have it with me all the time.”
“Excellent.” Boba rested his hands on his knees. “So how long can I keep you for? Do either of you have a schedule in mind?”
“How about we start with four weeks?” you suggested. Twenty days was plenty of time with Boba, and you were sure that you’d be ready to see Din again by the end.
“Sounds fine to me. Mando, you will always be welcome whenever you wish to visit. And say the word and I’ll employ you. I could use a man of your abilities.”
“I’m doing well so far working for the guild, but I’ll keep your offer in mind.”
You hugged Din goodbye. “I’ll call you all the time,” you promised. You hugged the baby next. “Take care of this little guy.”
“I will. Have a great time, truly.” He squeezed your hand.
“Well, princess?” Boba asked. “Do you have any other concerns?”
“Nope. I’m ready.”
“Then pack your things.”
Din pulled out two bags from behind a crate. “They’re already packed.”
---
“You’ll want for nothing while you’re here,” Boba told you as he ushered you into your new room. “Ask, and it’s yours.”
You rotated in the center of the gorgeous chamber, taking in the gossamer curtains, sand-colored walls, and soft cushions lining a bed, a window seat, and part of the floor. Was that a hot tub in the corner by the alcohol stand? “Well, kriff.”
“There is a seamstress dropping by soon to fit you for new clothes. I’m told she’s the best in the parsec.”
You put your hands on your hips. This was getting to be a bit much. “I have clothes, Boba.”
“Shall I send her back?”
“You’re just trying to spoil me so I’ll never want to leave.”
“Of course, I am.”
You tried to heave a dramatic sigh, but you couldn’t stop grinning. “Send me the seamstress.”
The fitting was a fairytale. An older lady with a bun woven through with gold took your measurements, holding up silk organzas in a rainbow of colors. “You have a good body,” she told you, sketching on a datapad. “Do you prefer pants or skirts?”
Pants normally, but you felt like trying something new. “Flowy skirts.”
“Marvelous. Loose, draping clothing will fit well with the climate here.” She eyed the room, then you appreciatively. “And the aesthetic I think you’re looking for. Something like a classy dancing girl. You’re Fett’s concubine?”
“Umm, I suppose?” The word didn’t offend you as much as amuse you.
“I don’t judge. To be frank, I’m sick of dressing stuffy highborn ladies with their horns up their asses. This will be fun. Take a look at these and tell me what you think.”
The dresses in her sketches were by no means demure, but they had style to them as well. Open backs, lots of gathers, and encrusted with jewels and embroidery, they were just the sorts of pieces one would expect for dressing a kept woman with an unlimited budget. “They look stunning!”
“No complaints at all? Damn. I need to take commissions here more often.” She made a note. “Do you have a hairstylist?”
“I don’t think so.”
“You should get one. Talk to your man.”
---
Your hair was beaded and braided in a twisty mass that fell apart into loose locks over your shoulders. If the stylist had needed to utilize a clip or two of fake hair, well, no one would know given how expertly they were worked in. You wore a blue gown whose flowing skirts connected to cuffs on your wrists. The fabric folded into artful patterns around your chest. Equal parts nervous and enthusiastic, you stepped into Boba’s throne room, which was empty except for him and Fennec.
At the sight of you, Boba set his elbow on the armrest of the throne and put his chin on his fist.
Fennec whistled.
“What do you think?” you asked, twirling. “I know it’s not what you’re used to seeing me in, but—”
“You look gorgeous, princess. Gorgeous.”
Your heart was so light that you were worried it would float away. You couldn’t believe everything that was happening to you.
Boba cut an imposing figure on the throne. It was oversized, but he filled the space. The armrests were wide enough to sit on, and glyphs decorated the back. He fit, somehow, up there on the fearsome throne, like bounty hunting had been a long prologue to his true calling.
When you’d had a good long look, you tapped your finger to your chin, giddy and ready to tease him. “You don’t have any slave girls framing you.”
“Is that a bad thing?”
“Absolutely not! I’m all about freeing the sex slaves. But the throne setup looks like it’s missing something.”
“You want to sit at my feet in a collar? ’Cause I can make that happen.”
“How about something like this?” You arranged yourself kneeling over his left thigh, facing his chest. Your finger wandered over the edges of his breastplate.
Fennec walked in front of Boba to take in the scene. “Hmm. Try to drape a little more. Maybe put your left leg completely over his hips. There we go, that really sells it.”
Boba scoffed. “Can I not project an aura of power and authority without the proximity of a beautiful woman?”
Fennec shook her head and tsked. “It’s so sad. What are you going to do when she leaves?”
“Fennec could take my place,” you joked.
“Ha! Over my dead body. Anyone want a drink?”
---
In the evenings and into the early morning, the throne room was filled with mercenaries, bounty hunters, smugglers, and every kind of ruffian that either worked for Boba or wanted to. They drank and gambled at tables around the perimeter, laughing, talking, and watching the current entertainment, be it dancing girls or Boba’s business transactions.
You had thought that your presence, perched in his lap day after day, would draw some kind of attention, but no one seemed to find it strange. You were glanced over and forgotten, so you could watch everything that went on almost invisibly. You loved listening to Boba as he interacted with people.
“35,000 credits,” he told one man trying to sell him crates of black-market blasters.
“You’re joking! For this many units? They’re worth 47,000 at least. I might be able to bring it down to 45.”
“40,000 and a promise to buy your next haul as well at the same price per unit.”
The man hesitated. Guaranteed business was worth the loss, it seemed, because he agreed to the bargain.
Next filed in three scruffy spacers looking tense and skittish: two men and one woman.
“Janson,” Boba growled. Then he let the spacers stew in silence. He did that a lot, you noticed, with beings besides yourself—just stopped talking until people quivered beneath his visor’s glare.
“Your lordship,” said the leader of the trio, Janson, when she couldn’t stand the silence any longer. “The missing cargo isn’t our fault, honest. The ID logs on the spice camtonos just fried, which made keeping track of them as we unloaded harder. Suddenly our scanners were useless because the ID information was so frazzled. Unloading took too long, and the authorities arrived, and then we had to run or be arrested.”
“So you lost an entire shipment.”
Janson wrung her hands.
“What do you think?” Boba asked you in a low voice, the movement of his lips hidden by the helmet.
He was asking your opinion? You shifted sideways under the pretense of finding a more comfortable position on his lap, but you were really moving to hide your face in his shoulder. “Could have been an accident,” you murmured, “if the camtonos were stored too near something with a high magnetism. Or someone could have deliberately scrambled the IDs by running a magnet over them. Someone who deals with electronics would know how to do that.”
Voice raised to a normal volume, Boba asked, “Which member of your crew handles onboard repairs?”
A young man with floppy brown hair stepped forward. “That would be me, sir.”
“Why would you sabotage your own smuggling run?”
“I, I don’t…” He took a step back, fear twisting his features, and then he tried to dart out the door.
Stupid. Two thugs near the entrance hauled him back in front of Boba and held his arms so he couldn’t try another foolhardy escape. His crewmates stared with horror and confusion.
“Please,” the young man said. “I just wanted to slow down the unloading process enough to hide a single camtono away. I was in debt to a fellow I play cards with—”
“And now you’re in much, much greater debt to me. I will give you a generous chance to redeem yourself. You’ll make a run to the Sharsik Nebula to harvest its valuable space dust. It’s a high risk, high reward mission. If the Sharsik whales don’t swallow your ship, and you manage to return with a cartload of dust, I’ll consider your debt paid.”
His eyes widened. “Only one in ten ships come back from there.”
“Then visit a temple before you leave.”
---
A week after your arrival, you were sitting across Boba’s lap (it was your new favorite place in the galaxy) as he spoke to one of his smugglers. The room rang with its typical noise, accentuated today by a live band. Dice rolled. From the smell, you could tell that someone was smoking spice.
“And what were your earnings from the mission?” Boba asked the smuggler. His hand on your leg started moving up under your dress.
You weren’t worried; he liked to absentmindedly trace patterns on your skin while he talked. But this time, his hand didn’t waver from its course, continuing to trail up your inner thigh. You shifted to make sure your skirt completely covered your legs and to get at an angle where you could whisper under his helmet. “Boba, what are you doing?”
He ignored you, instead replying to the smuggler. His fingers touched your underwear then eased it aside.
It would cause too much of a scene if you stood up and walked away. But they could tell, couldn’t they? Couldn’t everyone who might be looking in your direction tell what was happening?
Boba slid two fingers inside you.
You wouldn’t gasp. You wouldn’t make a sound. You wouldn’t draw more attention to yourself by reacting—you wouldn’t give Boba that satisfaction. But as his fingers curled and dragged inside you, you had to admit how hot it was, the indecency of doing this in public.
Boba just kept up his conversation like nothing was amiss. “And you’ll receive a bonus proportional to your profits, as discussed.”
“Right.” The smuggler’s voice sounded unfocused. “As we discussed. The profit margin was…”
“Eyes on me.”
“Yes, sir.”
You wanted to laugh. You imagined the poor man desperately staring at Boba’s steely face, not letting his eyes flicker downward lest he invoke his boss’ wrath. This was just cruel.
It was cruel to you, too. On a particularly deep thrust of his fingers, a little whimper escaped past your lips. It took all your self-control not to moan and rock into his hand. Evil, sadistic man, getting you off in front of a room of people while he sat there cool as anything.
“Boba,” you breathed.
“Yes, princess?” he whispered back.
But there wasn’t anything to say, really. He knew exactly how wet you were. He knew better than you did how many people were watching because you had closed your eyes and rested your forehead against his shoulder to hide your blushing.
You tuned out everything but his fingers and their repetitive drag against your inner walls. You focused on remaining as still as possible despite the ache building and building. It was a battle to keep your breathing quiet. And then, when you were certain your life had ended and this was all some horrific torture designed by the gods, you came. Your thighs shook, and you clutched Boba’s arm, cursing him in your head and trying not to imagine just what all these criminals were thinking of you.
Boba wiped his fingers on your leg under the dress.
“I will get you back for this,” you told him.
“I look forward to it.”
---
You were perched on Boba’s armrest, legs dangling, waiting. It was just the three of you in the room right now: you and Boba and Boba’s faithful bodyguard, Fennec.
You had sent out a comm request to Din a few minutes ago, and now his image popped up in a life-sized hologram in front of Boba’s throne. Din was seated in his pilot’s chair, looking just as you’d left him.
“Mando!” You had to remember not to use his real name. “How are you?”
“Doing well. On my way to Nevarro to drop off another batch of quarries. How have you been?” Then his helmet tilted and he took in the whole scene. “Is Boba using you as eye-candy to decorate his throne?”
“Yes! But at my suggestion. I’m having such a great time, Mando.”
Boba watched with light curiosity, but he stayed out of your conversation as you told Din about the nightly parties, and how fascinating you found the workings of Boba’s syndicate to be, and your room with a view over the Dune Sea.
Finally, Din shook his head and chuckled. “I just, I can’t believe you did it, you crazy son of a mudscuffer. You actually became the queen of a Tatooinian crime syndicate. Somehow.”
“Not exactly,” you said. You weren’t in charge.
“It looks pretty close from where I’m sitting.”
You smiled fondly at his image. “I miss you.”
“I miss you too. Fett, keep taking good care of her.”
“You can count on it,” Boba said.
“Enjoy your view of all the sand, cyar’ika.”
“Hey,” you said in mock indignation, matching his tone. “It’s a sea, and it happens to be an intergalactic landmark.”
“I’m sure it’s very interesting sand. Well, I have to go now, but I love you.”
“I love you too.”
Boba shut off the holoprojector. “I’ll have to put one of these in your room so you can speak with him alone. I didn’t think of it.”
You kissed his helmet. “Thank you.”
---
It was payback time for when Boba had finger-fucked you in front of his court. Wearing just a flimsy robe, you knocked on the door joining your room to Boba’s. “I’m getting in the hot tub if you want to join me,” you said loud enough that you hoped he could hear.
The door slid open a few moments later, and there stood Boba in all his armor.
You turned and walked nonchalantly over to the tub, dropping your robe as you went so he got a full view of your naked backside. The hot tub had two levels: a deep middle and a ridge around the circumference wide enough to sit on. You stepped into the warm water and sighed, stepping down one more level until the water came up to your breasts. Facing Boba, you set your shoulders back and tried to look appealing.
Boba set a finger to his helmet and did a 360-degree scan of the room. Apparently satisfied, he took off his helmet. Then the rest of his armor.
You realized as he pulled off his shirt that you had never seen his bare chest before. The scarring continued across his whole body, though it was worse in some places than others. Boba was healthy and thickset, and most of his bulk was muscle.
You almost regretted your plan—wasting this opportunity—but he deserved this.
Boba set his blaster down beside the tub before climbing in. Of course he couldn’t get naked without the protection of a nearby weapon. You loved that about him. Boba eased closer to you, standing in the water.
Before he could touch you and melt your resolve, you took control and pushed him backward. “Sit,” you commanded.
He sat on the tub’s ridge, watching you.
You knelt on top of him, most of your bodies underwater, and kissed his mouth.
He responded hungrily. He wrapped an arm around your waist and slid his other into your hair. “I’ve been waiting months to be inside you,” he said when you pulled away to kiss his neck. “Oh, princess.”
You took his dick in your hand and stroked it. You twisted your grip, pressed along the underside with your thumb, made it as good as possible. You couldn’t put him in your pussy, or you really wouldn’t want to stop.
You kissed him on the mouth again, letting him delve his tongue inside—moaning, leaning into him, allowing him to think that you were surrendering control.
And then all of a sudden, you released his dick and pulled back.
Boba let out a confused grunt. “Princess?”
You stepped out of the hot tub and pulled the robe on.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
You smirked, relishing the sight of Boba’s flushed, baffled face. “This is me getting you back.”
Boba looked at the ceiling. “Oh, you...” He let out a choked laugh, then closed his eyes and slid under the water.