Free Stud by Cheryl Brooks

Reba was beautiful while Lucy was not. On the other hand, it might have been because Reba was worse than no help at all. If Tarq was stupid, then Reba was downright imbecilic—particularly when it came to anything that didn’t affect her directly.
    But today, none of that bothered Lucy. It was as though she’d been given a sword and shield that made her impervious to their peevish anger, unwarranted pride, and blatant hedonism. She was free to laugh inwardly rather than wince, and it felt marvelous.
    Glancing out the window, she noted that the sky was a clearer, more vibrant blue, the olive trees sparkled and danced in the morning sun, and the breeze stirring the crisp curtains felt particularly pleasant. In short, it was a perfect day to be alive. All the things that had been weighing her down simply didn’t matter anymore. She had yielded to the misery of the night before—the realization that her relationship with Tarq could only be temporary—and she now knew she could deal with it, along with any other obstacles in her path. The notion that the joy he had given her could carry over into the rest of her life had never occurred to her, but in addition to the promise of children, he had given her a precious gift—one she would cherish forever—whether she had a lock of his hair to carry with her or not.
    Pouring a glass of the tea she’d brewed the night before, Lucy took a long drink, noting that even it seemed more refreshing than usual, and began buttering the toast and plating up the omelets with renewed efficiency. She enjoyed cooking—far more than waiting tables—and knew herself to be every bit as capable of running a restaurant kitchen as her father, perhaps even more so because she knew she could do it without screaming at the help. If her plans for independence had actually included the wherewithal to start her own establishment, she would have done it in a heartbeat; she might even provide her father with a bit of competition. Luring Jublansk away from him would probably put him out of business; her delectable bread was largely responsible for the loyalty of his clientele and was the one thing Lucy knew she would miss—though eating less of it would undoubtedly improve her figure.
    With this heartening thought in mind, she sat down to breakfast, shielded from her family by an impenetrable aura of serenity. Was this what being the recipient of Tarq’s lovemaking did to a woman? Did he impart the same to every lady he consorted with? If so, then he had left more than children in his wake; he had left behind legions of highly contented women now empowered by the knowledge that they had been part of a truly remarkable event. An elite club, perhaps. One whose members shared more than the satisfaction of helping an endangered species to recover, but knew something that others didn’t—that making love with Tarq could, and would, change their lives for the better.
    She wondered if it was possible to find others and discuss it with them. After all, if there was a Zetithian Birth Registry, then there might be a mothers’ group too—and if there wasn’t, she might start one herself. As it was, she would have loved to share her experiences with others—and she was fairly certain it would have to be with women who had the pleasure of the company of a Zetithian rather than that of mere humans. Though she was certain there were exceptions, women like her mother, for example, would have no similar frame of reference; it would be like comparing vrelnots to purring kittens.
    On the other hand, Natasha might be a good confidant. Her husband was a Mordrial, and their ability to read minds and control the elements probably made them remarkable lovers. Nat had certainly seemed to be happy in her marriage, though sexual matters had never been mentioned—perhaps because Lucy, being a virgin, had no comparable experiences.
    Not having heard from her friend for several months hadn’t concerned her overly; Nat was