by Viki Storm
“Oh, no,” he says. “You wouldn’t want to know how filthy those thoughts are. We’re going to get into trouble when we land, I guarantee it. You’re the most priceless treasure in this entire galaxy—and every male to lay eyes on you will know it.”
“Now I know you’re full of shit,” I say.
“It’s true,” he says. He’s closed the gap between us, and I can feel his body heat against my bare skin. “And not just because of the garments. The only imperfection is that damned collar. It’s a disgrace to chain a creature as remarkable as you.” He puts his hands on my arms and draws me just a few inches closer. The tips of my nipples graze the hard, muscular plane of his chest. I catch myself and clamp my lips shut before I moan out loud and embarrass myself even more. He uses both hands to sweep my long hair away, fisting it into a ponytail behind my head.
My breasts are completely bare before him, and my nipples stiffen into tight peaks. “You’re the most priceless treasure,” he repeats, “and you’re mine, my arlo jzumak, my bonded mate. It has been ordained by the Fates and the Universe itself. I’m not sure what I’ve done to deserve such luck, but I pledge to you that I will do everything in my power to keep you safe.”
“Bonded mates?” I say. I think of those penguins whose little bird brains are wired to mate with the same partner year after year.
“It is fabled among my people,” he says. When he speaks, I can feel the deep rumbling in his chest, and it sends shivers through the tips of my nipples. “That a rare pair-bond will be created by the Universe. As such, the bond cannot be destroyed—and neither can it be ignored.”
“And that’s us?” I ask. It might explain this weird, electric feeling I get around him. The comfort he gives me when I should be scared of him. The desire I feel when I should be disgusted. I mean, I guess if I can believe in ghosts and stuff like that, I can believe in soulmates or whatever he’s talking about.
I can believe in it for other people. But for me? Now? That the events of my life were orchestrated by some deity (or deities?) in order to place me with Anax? I’m not that narcissistic to think that whoever is running the Universe is paying that much attention to me of all people.
“It is,” he says. “I don’t know how it can be true, but it is. The first bonded Kenorian mates in a century, maybe longer.”
“But I’m not Kenorian,” I say, as if this refutes everything he’s just said.
“It matters not,” he says. He bends down and puts his lips to mine. It’s been so long since I’ve kissed someone, I’m not sure I remember how.
But he shows me. With the gentle urging of his lips, I part my own like tentative castle walls opening before an invader. And like a marching army, his tongue slides effortlessly into my mouth, leaving scorched earth in its wake.
For a minute I can believe everything he just said. That this moment has been ordained by someone who knows better than me. That I should relent and trust that all is right and as it should be.
I press my chest hard against his, eager to feel my nipples scrape against him, greedy for more. Like a glutton, not wanting to savor anything slowly, instead wanting it all immediately. He lets go of my hair and his hands drop to cup my breasts, his thumbs rubbing small circles around the peaks of my nipples. I moan into his mouth and plunge my own tongue deeper into his, tasting the raw power of the warrior and breathing in his spicy scent.
He breaks our kiss, and I whine a little in protest until I feel his mouth dip down and find the tip of my breast. He pulls my nipple into his mouth and I moan as it’s enveloped by his warm and swirling tongue. He’s hard and pressing himself against my leg; I can feel his excitement literally growing by the moment. He will be too much for me, I think, way too big.
That’s when the buzzer sounds from the cockpit. The autopilot requesting the real pilot in order to initiate the landing sequence.
“Motherless desolation,” he says. His swears are so proper, it’s funny. “Time to land. Maybe I really should keep you in the cargo hold.”
“No way,” I say. “Don’t you dare leave me alone on this planet.”
“I pledged to keep you safe, but I might have to murder anyone who looks at you—and they will look at you, mark my words.”
“Don’t murder anyone,” I say. “Then you’ll be the convict, although hopefully not sentenced to reproductive servitude.”
“Female, you joke at inappropriate times,” he says.
“That’s not the first time someone’s told me that.” I try to fan out my hair again, covering myself as best as I can. I don’t know what in the holy hell just came over me. I blame it on this stupid outfit. Maybe this is why women wear lingerie. It tricks you into believing that you are some bodacious sex-kitten, and you go a little crazy.
Okay, a lot crazy. Crazy enough to make out with an alien warrior on his spaceship before selling black-market stolen fuel cartridges.
Anax lands the ship, and I’m stunned as I look out the window while we descend. At first glance, it looks like we could be landing in a futuristic, overcrowded New York or Chicago. Huge buildings, crisscrossed networks of streets, vehicles clogging every available inch of concrete. It’s twilight and the streets are dotted with colored lights.
I expect to land on something like an airstrip, but to my surprise we head straight for a building and land right on the roof.
“This is it,” he says. “Our contact lives in the penthouse. I sent him a comm, and he should be up to do the deal. I’ve already set the autopilot to go back to the Kenorian settlement. If something goes wrong, get back here and push these buttons—” He shows me a sequence of buttons that seems simple enough, but I know I’ll never remember.
“Okay,” I promise.
“It will take you back, and you can find Kothar or Yaubin to help you. He’ll make sure Hilf keeps his word about deactivating the collar.”
“Nothing will happen,” I try to assure him, but in truth, so much has already happened to me that I wouldn’t be surprised in the least if the whole Federation army came rushing to the building to get their fuel cartridges back. That is, if the black-market alien mafia boss doesn’t just vaporize us and take the fuel.
“I hope not,” he says. “But there’s always balancing forces in the Universe.”
“What are you talking about?” I ask. I’m eager to get this over with and get back to the settlement so Hilf can remove the collar. Oh, yeah, and get real clothes on again. I’ve had enough of the bodacious sex-kitten act. It’s pickling my brain, and if I prance around with my tits hanging out much longer, I’m going to let Anax take me to bed—and you don’t need to understand string theory to know that’s a bad idea.
“There’s a force in the Universe that’s conspired to bring the two of us together. An agent of union and harmony,” he says.
“Okay,” I say, not quite believing it but not daring to disagree.
“So there must exist an equal or greater force out there that’s conspiring to keep us apart. An agent of chaos and destruction.”
Now that, I can believe.
Chapter 10
Anax
The second we step off of my ship, I get a warning prickle at the back of my neck. The gift of fear, we called it during our training. Warriors don’t repress their fear—only a fool does that. A warrior is trained to listen to it, to correctly interpret it.
Problem is, I have so much to be scared of right now, it’s impossible to read the signs.
I look at Brooke, whose nipples have stiffened in the cool night air. A spark of jealousy ignites in the pit of my stomach. I have no business bringing her here, but I saw no other option. Even in modest slave garments, her bare breasts are on display for other males to see. I’m not able to think straight, not able to keep my wits about me. All I can think about is grabbing her and wrapping her up in a blanket and poking out the eyeballs of every male in the city as a precautionary measure. I didn’t anticipate the effect it would have on me. It’s like I’m starving and I
have a meal that I can’t eat, but others are looking at my plate, wanting to take a bite. It’s going to make me do something crazy.
“Arrange your hair to cover yourself,” I tell her. The roof is empty, but I know that soon the contact will be out here ready to make the cargo exchange.
“This could have been avoided if you let me wear real clothes, you know,” she says.
“That was not an option,” I remind her. “No females with red collars wear what you call ‘real clothes.’ This is the most modest form of slave attire. They most often go nude or wear leaders.”
“I’m afraid to ask, but I can’t help it,” she says. “What are ‘leaders?’”
A sly smile comes unbidden to my face. “It’s like this,” I say. No one’s around to see, so I reach out my hands and gently take each of her nipples between my fingers, pinching them and pulling her towards me. She steps forward and I give them a final little twist before letting her go. I’m rock hard underneath my battledress, and it’s further depleting my mental resources. Her heart is beating faster, and her sex is becoming swollen. The red panties she wears do little to mask the sweet scent between her legs, and I know her slick essence is beginning to coat that thin piece of cloth and will soon soak through.
I’ve pulled her close to me, and I put my arms around her for a kiss. I yearn to fully claim her, to make her my mate and mark her with my seed so all other males will know that she is mine. The entire force of creation is driving me, urging me to thrust into her until we are both exhausted and satisfied.
She responds favorably, eagerly intertwining her tongue around my own, nibbling at my lips, moaning into my mouth. My hands seem to move on their own, seeking out her breasts again, this time caressing them and softly rubbing my palms against the tight peaks of her nipples. She moans as I drag one of my claws against her tender skin, so I do it again.
She steps back suddenly, breaking our embrace. “Is someone coming?” she asks. I don’t hear anything. I look around, but we are still very much alone on the rooftop.
“No,” I say, “but they will be soon enough.” I run my fingers through her hair and place it over her shoulders, covering her breasts. “So you see, your garments are quite modest, seeing as how the leash is located in the back. I could have fashioned a set of leaders for your nipples.”
“I feel the complete opposite of modest right now,” she says. I can still smell her arousal, her pheromones having an intoxicating effect on me.
“I could change your garments,” I say, that sly smile coming back as I tease her. “Most males lead their owned females around like that, by the nipples. They use clamps attached to thin metal chains—or if the slave is more recalcitrant, they pierce the nipples with metal hoops and thread the chains through them. If we went to one of the seedy taverns on this planet, you’d see at least two or three females being led in that fashion.”
“Christ,” she says. “But these are slaves? Like, personal slaves? It’s not like on Phuru where they’re convicts and any male can, um, use them?”
“Yes, personal slaves.” I say. “Phuru has a uniquely degenerate penal code. Most other planets are more traditional.”
“Purchasing female sex slaves and leading them around by their pierced nipples is more traditional? Are you defending these sick bastards?” she snaps. The accusation is offensive.
“Absolutely not,” I snap back. “They lack moral fortitude and common decency. Such practices were illegal on Kenor—though we didn’t need a formal law banning them because no Kenorian male would ever think to do such a thing.”
“You sure sound like you’re defending them,” she says. “Or at least excusing them.”
“I’m merely trying to explain to you how things are done. It is what it is. My personal feelings of revulsion do nothing to change what is commonplace on countless planets in the Universe.” She lets out a little snort of indignation but ceases her argument.
It’s faint, but I hear the whisper of the tele-lift ascending. Brooke must hear it, too, because she fidgets a little, frets over her hair and tries to cover herself as best as she can. “Don’t worry,” I tell her. “I’m not going to let anyone lay a finger on you.”
“I know,” she says earnestly, and it hits me all at once how much this tiny, helpless human depends on me. I am her only hope for survival now that she’s been thrust into a world that she is wholly unprepared to survive in. And it’s all my fault. I brought her here. I’m trying to make it right, but it doesn’t change the fact that I abducted her and brought her to Phuru.
“That’s why I brought you here for the exchange,” I remind her. “I didn’t want to leave you on the settlement. Even on the ship isn’t safe enough.” I nod behind us to the ship. “Not when it’s carrying stolen cargo. I’ll keep you by my side until we can get the collar off and find a safe place for you.”
“Safe place?” she asks. “Like back to Earth?”
That hurts me more than any blow I ever took on the battlefield.
She just wants to go back to Earth.
The pull of her home planet is stronger than the pull of her bonded mate.
Am I wrong about it? No Kenorian has had a bonded mate in generations. Maybe I’m just consumed by lust, misinterpreting bodily desire for something more.
I’m wishing it was something more, trying to will into existence a connection that isn’t there. Because I’ve been alone for so long, without a homeland, a mercenary beholden to a planet that’s not my own. Is the bond a figment of my imagination? If it was real, she’d feel it, too, and the idea of returning to Earth would cease to hold sway over her.
“Perhaps,” I say. “It can be difficult to get back there. The orbits must be aligned. And my ship can only make the jump periodically.”
“Oh,” she says so dejectedly that it tears me up inside. I want to make her happy, want to return her to the life she knows on Earth.
But I can’t do it… yet. I need more time. Only a fool would take his bonded mate halfway across the galaxy and leave her there. I need to be sure she’s not my arlo jzumak before I can take her back to Earth.
“I hope you have my shipment,” a voice says. I look up, and there’s an Endiku standing near the tele-lift with two goons behind him. “Because I just left a warm bed with a hot female, and it’s quite cold out here.” I don’t keep up on the local fashions, but it’s obvious that he’s wearing expensive clothes, the ostentatious sort of garments that only young lads and criminals seem to find appealing.
“I do,” I say. “And I hope you have my shipment in return. You’re Shooki?”
“The one and only,” he says. “I have your items. I’m not an amateur, and neither are you, so let’s do the drop and get on with our lives. I only own the female for a few more hours, and I’d like to see if her ass is as tight as her cunt. When I’m done with her, it won’t be, that’s for sure.” He laughs lewdly, looking at Brooke. I hold in my rage. I can contain it for a few minutes, so hopefully that’s all we’ll need to do the exchange.
“The only thing a pencil-dicked creep like you could stretch out is the elastic waistband on your skid-marked tighty-whiteys,” Brooke says. She’s got a lot of nerve for someone with a collar around their neck packed with enough explosives to blast a hole in a concrete wall.
“This one’s feisty,” he says. “I like it. Training these wild little brats is my specialty. Want to leave her with me for a few days?”
“No,” I say through gritted teeth. I know he’s just being pompous, but I can’t help the rage I feel at the suggestion.
“Suit yourself, but take my advice and be firm with her. Females—especially ones from Earth—can’t respect a weak male. That’s why she’s mouthing off. I’d suggest putting a ring through her clit and attaching the leash to it. Then if she obeys, she can have the leash attached to those beautiful rosy-pink nipples instead. I understand your reluctance to darken such sweet little beads with bruises, but think of it as a long-term investment. Make
her earn that permissive shoulder harness you have her in. That’s why she doesn’t respect you.”
Brooke opens her mouth and takes in a deep breath of air in preparation for what I know is going to be a lengthy retort. I do actually yank on the end of her leash, pulling her back a few steps. I grab her hair—gently as I can while still maintaining the charade—and pull her ear to my lips. “Do not speak to him,” I whisper to Brooke.
“Thank you for the advice,” I respond to Shooki. “I will take it under consideration.”
“You shouldn’t even let her out of the ship,” he continues. I think he’s stumbled onto one of his favorite points of conversation. “I suppose a meeting like this, you’re cautious of an ambush or hijack, and you don’t want a treasure like that getting stolen along with your ship, so I can understand your letting her outside. But like I said, we’re all professionals; no one is going to hijack your ship… or your fresh little piece of pussy.”
“The cargo?” I ask. I need to get out of here before I strangle this buffoon.
“Of course,” he says. “Mine for yours, an even exchange. Hilf’s got his irons in a lot of fires these days.” There is a treacherous gleam in his eye that I do not trust; it has nothing to do with his vulgar suggestions of proper slave management. It’s like he knows something I do not.
“I stay out of Phurusian politics,” I say.
“Of course,” he says. “The warrior race maintains neutrality. How unnatural for you to repress your desire for a good fight.”
“I might not be able to repress it much longer,” I say. “Unless we get this exchange underway.”
“Sure thing,” he says, waving his hand expansively. “I get carried away. Let’s see the cartridges.”
I unlatch the cargo port and lower the door. I wind Brooke’s leash around my hand a few times, tightening the rein on her. I don’t want her in arm’s reach of any of these creeps. They look like males who will take physical liberties with a slave—and Brooke’s definitely the sort who would land a retaliatory kick to the gonads for such a transgression.