When She Dances: A SciFi Alien Romance (A Risdaverse Tale)

by Ruby Dixon

  And immediately, it feels better.

  With a little sigh, I lean forward against the counter, relaxing as he gently massages my hips. "Thank you," I murmur, eyes closing.

  "Quit thanking me," he mutters. "It's my fault you're bruised."

  "You didn't know. I sure wasn't going to tell you to stop."

  "Because I'm your owner?"

  "Because it felt good," I admit. I'm still a little flabbergasted that he bothers to care how I feel in bed. Even now, he's tending to me instead of making me wait on his needs. I've been a slave for long enough that instead of appreciating this, it makes me a little wary. Like I'm expecting the other shoe to drop. I fully expect to wake up tomorrow in chains again, at the auction block. Good things never happen to me…and so far, Zakoar and his strange kindnesses are very good things.

  His fingers work over my buttocks in a massage, and it takes everything I have to remain still because his hands keep migrating toward the cleft of my ass. As he rubs, they skate against my cheeks, and I grow increasingly aware of his touch…and the rasp of his breathing.

  "Spread your legs," he tells me.

  Sex again, then. I wasn't wrong. I spread obediently, holding onto the counter.

  Instead of his cock, though, his fingers glide through my folds and slick my pussy with more of the healing lotion. He works it into my skin and then into the entrance of my core, and I whimper, because I'm not sure if it's supposed to feel this good.

  "I know," he whispers. "I bruised you here, didn't I? I'm too eager for you."

  I squirm against his fingers as they dip into me. "It's not so bad," I pant. "Really." It's really downright delicious right now. A little sore, sure, but nothing I can't handle. Plus, the more he touches me, the more I want him to keep touching me. I want his fingers to go deeper. I want him to push me against the counter and fuck me hard. I don't care if it means I can't walk tomorrow. If being a slave has taught me anything, it's that you grab onto whatever immediate pleasure you can find and don't think about the next day. So I might be doing a little encouraging of my own. I push my ass out, just a little. "I'm yours, remember?"

  "I know." His fingers skim over my clit, and I nearly jump, because oh god, I am incredibly sensitive. Turned on, yes, but sensitive. "I want to claim you again, but I've no wish to hurt you. You're too soft and tender."

  That makes me moan, especially the reverent way he says it. It makes me want to keep fooling around, even if it means giving other parts of my body a rest. "We can do other things, if you want."

  Behind me, Zakoar stills. "Other…things?"

  He sounds so astonished. It's kind of cute. "Don't you ever watch porn?"

  The big guy grunts. "I don't find it erotic. They are too…too…"

  "Clinical?"

  "Perfect." His voice takes on a harsh note. "I don't like watching two flawless beings pleasuring one another. It seems…fake."

  Oh. My heart aches for him. I get it. He doesn't want to watch porn because it reminds him of things he thinks he can't have. Well, since you're lacking imagination," I begin with a tease, even though my heart is hammering at being so daring. "Let me be the one to educate you. I can take you in my mouth and pleasure you, if you like. If you don't mind violating a sanitation law or two, that is."

  The groan he makes is utterly pained, and his hands work my ass harder, one rubbing my cheek even as his other hand strokes through my folds. "You'd…do that?" His voice is so raspy with need. "For me?"

  Gently, I turn in his arms, pushing away from his hands. While they feel good, I think he's right and I'm too sensitive. My clit's throbbing and I'm reminded of how enthusiastic his touches were last night until I pointed out that a slow touch felt better. He practically rubbed the damn thing off—not that I'm complaining. In my book, he's wonderful because he wanted to make me come. He wanted me to enjoy his touch.

  So yeah, I'd be more than happy to forget my own pleasure for a bit and blow him.

  The intense look is back in his gaze, and his cock is so hard it's practically stabbing at my belly. As I glance down, a bead of pre-cum leaks down the already-wet head, traveling in a slow, enticing trail down the crown. "You want to do it in here in the kitchen, or somewhere else?" I ask him, brushing a finger over the head of his cock and running my fingertip through the wetness. "You're so tall I'll probably do better with a stool—"

  I can't even finish the sentence before he grabs me and hauls me into his arms, hefting me like a sack of flour and slinging me over his shoulder. I yip in surprise, my hands fluttering over his back. There's so much metal on him that I'm afraid to touch him. Turned upside down like this, I see a mess of scars running along the length of his spine, and I think of his name. Zakoar of the Broken Back.

  He's tall and strong now, so I guess it's no longer broken. There's a story there, though, and I want to hear it.

  Right now, however, I'm pretty sure Zakoar has a different focus. He takes a few steps and pauses, as if suddenly stymied. "Where?" he asks, biting the word out in a single, tense syllable.

  "Couch?" I offer.

  Immediately, he hauls me toward the pit in the living room. I half-expect to be flung down amongst the pillows, but to my surprise, he sets me gently on my feet, as if I'm the most precious of creatures, and brushes a finger over my cheek.

  For that small touch, he's getting a deliciously enthusiastic blow job.

  11

  TESSA

  I put a hand to his chest and give it the smallest shove. "On your back for me."

  Zakoar immediately goes backward, thumping down onto the nearest rounded sofa. His legs hang over the edge and his cock juts up obscenely, but the look in his eyes is sheer fascination and makes me excited to start.

  "Has anyone ever done this for you?" I ask him.

  He shakes his head, watching me like a hawk.

  "Are you comfortable with me—"

  "If I wasn't, I wouldn't be here on the couch, would I?" he growls, sounding surly and impatient.

  "Tsk," I chide him, wanting to kiss that angry-looking metal jaw of his. "Don't worry. I'll make this good for you." I crawl onto the couch beside him, my hair falling over my shoulder. "But if I do anything you don't like—"

  "Female—"

  I stop short, just before reaching for his cock, and arch an eyebrow at him.

  The look he gives me is downright mulish. "Tessa."

  "You remember!" I'm delighted. "Why do you not use it? Do you have a problem with my name?"

  He scowls at me for a moment, and then speaks. "Names are for those that matter. It is…a habit of mine to avoid using names. A lot of my customers don't want to give them. They are on the run, or they are wanted by the law. I do not ask for names, and they do not give them."

  I'm a little stung. Names are for those that matter? I glare at him, fighting the urge to reach over and smack that enormous, jutting cock just to piss him off. "Is that why you don't use my name? Because I don't matter?"

  "That is not what I meant." For a moment, he looks chagrined. "I am unused to using them. But…I remember yours now. And I will remember it from now on, I vow."

  "You sure will if you want a blow job," I retort.

  The expression on his face is utterly serious, and I guess this isn't a man to make a ton of jokes. Okay, fine. I'll believe him when he says I matter. "Tell me my name again, just because I like hearing it on your lips."

  "Tessa," Zakoar murmurs. "It's soft and sweet and unusual, like you."

  "You're winning me over again," I admit, crawling forward and moving toward his face instead of his cock. I lean in and press a light kiss to his mouth, and he looks utterly flummoxed. "No kissing, either?"

  "I have heard humans do things with their mouths…" His gaze drops to my lips. "But…my mouth…is unpleasant."

  "No, it's not." I lean and press another light kiss to it, my lips dancing over his. "I promise you, it's not." I nip lightly at the side of his mouth that's mobile. "I do wonder why you haven't chosen
to make it a working body part instead of leaving it just metal, but it's not for me to question. I like you either way."

  He gives me a skeptical look, as if he doesn't quite believe me. When I nip at his lip and tug on it with my teeth, though, he groans. As I kiss along the flesh of his jaw, he finally speaks. "Was…one of the first modifications I got. I was keffing angry at the world when I got it, and hurting, so…I left it. Wanted to be ugly." His hand goes to my head as I travel down his neck and bite at his skin, and he groans. "After a while, it became the way I was known. You want modifications? You see the male with the metal jaw. Never had a reason to change it."

  Makes sense. I kiss my way back up his neck and then press a kiss to his mouth again. "It's your calling card, then." I kiss the cool metal, wondering if he can feel that, and then nibble my way back down his throat.

  Zakoar shivers lightly underneath my mouth, and I wonder if anyone has ever touched him before. Has anyone ever pleasured him? In a station full of whores, cantinas and slaves, it seems odd to me…and yet not. There's something profoundly lonely and isolated about him, as if he keeps the universe at arm's length. Like he's been wounded in more than body.

  It just makes me want to kiss him more.

  I lick my way to his collarbone and skim my fingers over the plating on his chest, to where silvery veins dance underneath his skin. Here, he's several different colors, like a patchwork quilt, and I've heard of replacement limbs and plas-skin, and it makes me wonder just how much of him has been hurt and how much is advertising. He stiffens under me though, and I suspect it's not something he wants to talk about right now…or maybe ever. It's not my business, either. I'm just a slave.

  A temporary slave, I remind myself. I'm going to be freed after he's done with me.

  So I kiss my way down his chest, ignoring the scars and the shifting color of the blue suede-like skin underneath my lips. His tail, studded with metal, flicks against the couch, and I lift my head for a moment to ask. "More advertising?"

  The corner of one side of his mouth curves up. "Seemed odd to have an unmarked tail when the rest of me was all keffed up."

  I like that I can make him smile. I lick at his navel, and when he sucks in a breath, I decide I like making him respond, period. I like the way his big body clenches up at the brush of my lips, I like the noises he makes, and I like the agitated thump of his tail. "I like the way you look, you know," I tell him.

  His hand—cool and metallic—brushes against my hair. "You don't have to lie to appease me."

  "Oh, I'm not lying." I lick a circle around his navel, and his cock twitches in response. "Why do you think I watched you when I was in the window?"

  "Boredom?"

  Ha. I shake my head at him, then continue to kiss my way down his hips. I can feel his body tense under mine, and he's acutely aware of my movements despite the casual tone of his voice. "I watched you because you were fascinating."

  He groans, the sound not entirely pleased. "Naturally. Fascinating." Sarcasm drips from his voice. "Freakish, you mean."

  "Fascinating," I re-state, lifting my head to look him in the eye. Zakoar's watching me with an intense stare, as if he's just waiting for my head to descend on his cock. It will, but I have to finish what I'm saying first. "I thought you were fascinating because you were tough. You stood out in a crowd, and it wasn't just the metal. It was the way you held yourself. Like you'd seen a lot of intense situations and knew how to handle anything. That appealed to me." I slide farther down his body, my hands going to his hips and then his thigh. I loom over his cock, my hair falling over my shoulder, and I watch him. "I liked thinking about you as my protector. Like you were such a badass that you'd keep me safe from everyone and everything that tried to hurt me. When I watched you, I thought about that. I thought of you striding into the cantina and just stealing me away because you were so in lo—into me," I correct mid-sentence, before I can let the stupidity of my fantasy embarrass me.

  Zakoar doesn't love me. He's in lust with me, but there are no plans for love. He's going to use me and then bring me somewhere safe, and that's all I can really ask for. Romantic nonsense has no place in the universe I've been dragged into. I learned that a long time ago.

  Sex is the only tool I have left to me, so I'm going to use it.

  "I thought about claiming you," he admits, voice halting as if he doesn't want to confess this to me. When I look up at him, he cups my cheek, his fingers playing over my skin. "Thought about breaking that keffing window and just dragging you out of there."

  "Why didn't you?" I ache at the thought of all those years of dancing, of hating my life, of sleeping on a small, hard bed and eating nothing but protein bars. I could have been with him instead.

  He gestures at his body. "Because no female wants this."

  "I want this."

  "You're a slave. That's different. I bought you and made this part of our bargain." His mouth goes flat, his gaze shuttered.

  Not this again. I take his hand and guide it to my thighs. "Put your fingers inside me. Feel how wet I am. Then tell me I don't want you."

  "You're doing this because I bought you." Zakoar's hand presses against my folds, a finger gliding through my slickness.

  "True. And if you hadn't, I'd be lying under someone else, but I wouldn't be touching them because I wanted to touch them. I wouldn't be volunteering to take him into my mouth and make him come. I wouldn't be volunteering anything." I lean over his cock, letting my breath play over the head. "And I sure wouldn't be wet at the thought of making him come."

  Zakoar groans again, his fingers finding my entrance and spearing me inside. Jesus, even his fingers are big, and I wriggle against his hand, still sore and aching but wanting nothing more than to grind down against those big, intruding fingers. Focus, Tessa, I remind myself. Focus on what's in front of you.

  And what's in front of me is an enormous, enticing blue cock.

  I lick the head, lapping up the beads of pre-cum glazing the tip. I love the hiss of his breath, and the way I can feel every muscle in his body clench in response to just that small touch. "Are these for advertising, too?" I ask, circling the tip of my tongue around one bulbous piercing. There's one above his glans, and one underneath, and for a man that's awkward in bed, I find the fact that he has these utterly fascinating.

  Plus…I'm pretty sure they rubbed my G-spot repeatedly when he fucked me, so that's another reason I'm obsessed.

  He inhales sharply, his gaze locked on me as I tongue one piercing and then the other. "It's…customary…amongst my people. Like capping horns."

  "Mmm. Someone should write a thank you to whoever came up with them. They feel great inside a girl." I tickle the underside of his cockhead with my tongue tip. "Or is there another reason?"

  Zakoar shakes his head, riveted to the movements of my tongue. "Pleasing a mate. That's why."

  For some reason, hearing that makes me a little sad. He got these piercings even though he's clearly never expected a woman to look in his direction. And a mate…not that I'll ever be someone's mate. That's not in the cards for me. Feeling wistful, I shake off the sadness that threatens to rise up and grip the base of his cock. "Whoever she's going to be, she's a lucky girl."

  His fingers move inside me, thrusting gently. "Is she?"

  "Oh yeah." I squirm against his hand, then lean down and give his cock an utterly indecent lick. "This thing is a wrecking ball. You destroyed me with it." When he tenses, uncertain at my wording, I clarify. "Four times last night. Or was it more?"

  He pauses for a moment, thinking. "Five?"

  Yeah, it might have been five. Hard to say. All I know is that it was an utterly intense experience and one I'd quite happily have again. I lick the prominent silver vein on his cock. "Is this metal, too?"

  "Wiring," he pants. "Just…wiring through the veins." He sucks in a deep breath when I drag my tongue along the underside of his cock. "Network…"

  Oh wow. "That's amazing."

  His fingers w
ork my pussy harder, my body making sloppy, loud sounds with how wet I am. I whimper, distracted, and focus all my attention on his cock. This is supposed to be about pleasing him, not me. I tongue him with eagerness, learning each ridge of his cock and figuring out how to please him. Caressing his spur doesn't elicit much of a reaction unless I graze the underside, but his taut sac is as sensitive as expected. I tease it with one hand, working his base with the other as my mouth moves over the prominent crown of his cock. I can't take much of him into my mouth because of his sheer size and the piercings, so I just focus on making everything I do feel good. I squeeze and pump his shaft with my hand as I work the wet tip of him with my tongue, sucking on him with my lips, and basically being the biggest tease I can possibly be.

  As I focus on his cock, he adds another finger to my pussy, driving deep into me with what feels like far too much girth. I make a little whining noise even as I suck on his cock, squirming against his hand. I squeeze and pump his length, working him harder, faster. I'm being a little rough with him, but I know he likes it when his other hand moves to my hair and tightly fists. Not pushing, just holding me in place. I moan low in my throat, then try to take him deep, sucking hard.

  "Need—" he begins, grunting when my eager mouth sucks on his tip again. "Need…to come…"

  "Then come," I whisper, dragging his cock over my wet lips.

  Zakoar's hungry gaze flicks to my mouth and he shuttles his cock against my tongue in two rapid movements, and I can taste the flavor of him growing stronger. "On…your…hands and knees…"

  "Mmm?" I give him another blatantly lascivious, wet lick. "You don't want to come on my lips? Or my tits? Or my tongue—"

  A low, desperate growl is the only warning I get before a big hand covers the front of my face, everything except my mouth. Before I can ask, a hot spurt of come bursts across my tongue. His big hand clenches tight on my head, fingers digging into my hair, holding me in place as he fucks my mouth with the tip, filling my mouth with his release. It drips all over my lips and down my chin, making an absolute mess, but I don't care in the slightest. His hand goes still inside my pussy and I grind up against it, desperate for my own release.