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

by Ruby Dixon

  He milks his cock against my tongue, squeezing out the last vestiges of his release, and I lick it all up, desperate and needy. It doesn't matter that I'm sore inside or that we're avoiding fucking so I can heal up. I need to come so badly and I keep trying to work his cock with my greedy mouth, because I know he can get hard again quickly, and then he can make me come—

  I whimper when he pulls me off of him. "Please." I reach for his cock again. "I'm so close."

  "I know." He sounds tired, breathless, and so very sated. His big hand slides from my face and he strokes my cheek. Those big fingers stroke slowly through my wet folds, seeking my clit. "I'll give you what you need, Tessa."

  My name. I moan at the sound of it, and when he starts to pump into me again, my fingers go to my clit, trying to push myself over the edge. I don't care that my face is still covered with his release, or that I'm practically rubbing my tits against his chest, my nipples aching. I just need to come, and he's going to get me there.

  Zakoar begins to push deeper into me with his fingers, and his thumb finds my clit, as if he realizes what I'm up to. My hands spasm and fly to his chest, and I dig my nails into the plating there, my breath wheezing out of me as I desperately arch back against his hand. "Yes," I pant. "Please. Oh please. So close."

  "Is this what you imagined when you watched me?" Zakoar's voice is low and throaty, and so confident that it makes me shudder. "That I'd take care of you? Make this pretty cunt tighten around my cock with just how hard it's gonna come?"

  I moan, lost in the moment. I press my face against his scorchingly hot abs, my needy mouth on his skin as he finger-fucks the hell out of me.

  "You liked the thought of how strong I was?" Zakoar prompts. "How I could protect you from anything, all day long, and then take you home and stuff this pretty cunt with my cock until you scream? Is that what you want, Tessa?"

  "Yes. Yes," I pant, so close that I'm straining against his hand, practically shoving my hips backward with need. "Zakoar, please."

  "You want to hear that you're mine? That no one's ever going to touch you again because I'll rip their keffing hands off? Is that what you like? Will that make you feel safe?" Zakoar says this all with an utterly calm, deadly tone. As if he's completely confident in what he's saying. "Because it's true, Tessa. Now that you're mine, no one's even going to look at you or I'll tear their eyes from the sockets."

  With a little cry, I come, my pussy spasming around his fingers even as he continues to work me. It's not his words as much as the protective, matter-of-fact tone he issues these threats in. Like it's a given that he'd do anything to protect me, because I belong to him. I collapse over his chest, sucking in deep breaths as he slips his hand from my pussy and rubs my ass with his wet fingers instead. It's an oddly tender, gentle little caress, and I kind of love it. I open my eyes, sigh deeply, and look over at him. "Thank you."

  "You're going to stop thanking me," he reprimands. "That was my pleasure."

  I smile, and my chin is sticky with his release. His chest is now, too, thanks to the fact that I've been rubbing my face all over him. "Until you take me to Risda, right?"

  His eyes gleam. "I have to get tired of you first."

  "So never, right?" I joke, but I'm only half serious. Risda sounds like a dream come true, but…staying with him isn't exactly hellish either.

  Zakoar absently pushes a strand of hair back from my face. "It might take some time," he admits. "I'm in no hurry."

  Neither am I, strangely enough.

  12

  ZAKOAR

  My entire apartment reeks of mating.

  I sip a hot mug of tea in the kitchen, and I can't help but notice the scent. It's not just on my skin, but it hangs in the air, as if our frenzied efforts have given a permanent stamp to the walls, the floors, the very air we breathe. I don't mind it. In fact, I rather like it. Better than the recycled scent of the station air and the faint stink of the body odor of strangers. I'd much rather breathe in the scent of Tessa's wet cunt mixed with my own release.

  Thinking about Tessa makes me walk back to the bedroom. She's still asleep, sprawled in the blankets, her mouth open as she snores. I suspect I've exhausted my sweet little human, and I'm smugly pleased at the thought. In the last three days, we haven't been out of the bedroom for longer than a few minutes. Every conversation devolves into me claiming her again. We pause to eat something, and then I end up with my cock in her mouth, or my fingers in her cunt. We've mated in the kitchen, on the couches, in the shower, and almost every other flat surface possible. Tessa's backside is no longer bruised, at least. I know not to dig my fingers into her tender flesh, instead locking an arm around her hips as I pound into her from behind. And the cream helps, too. I insist on applying it to her cunt and her backside every day, just in case, and she gets wet the moment I start touching her…and then we mate again.

  For a male that's prided himself on the fact that I've never needed a female in my life, I'm incredibly addicted to her. I keep telling myself that I'm just getting her out of my system, that anyone would be as obsessed with touching her as I am. That her laughter would please anyone. That her sighs and the noises she makes would entice any male. And then I think about another male touching her and lose my mind with barely controlled rage. I want to find Abuar and make him pay for what he put her through…and yet if it wasn't for Abuar, she wouldn't be in my bed right now.

  From the doorway, I drink my tea and watch her sleeping. I'm not going to wake her up. I'm not. I can go without her for a few hours. After all, once I get her out of my system, I'm taking her to Risda III so she can be free. Risda's the self-righteous justification I used so I could buy her and not feel guilty for purchasing a sex slave…and yet…I don't like the thought of giving her up.

  I will, because it's what I promised her. I'm just having more difficulty with the idea than I thought I would.

  It's only been three days, though. Surely this intense craving will fade with time.

  I hope.

  I can't betray my word to her. I promised I'd take her to Risda, and I will. It just…might not be right away. A few months from now, perhaps. By then, surely I'll have grown tired of mating with her. I tip my cup, draining the last of my tea, and glance over at the vid-com station I've been ignoring for the last few days. A small, flashing light indicates I have waiting messages, and I suspect they're from Tikosa. It's not like me to not be at work every day. Even when I'm waiting for a parts shipment, I still prowl restlessly through the shop, bored and uneasy. Or I park in front of the shop and watch the female dance in the window. After I bought Tessa—between rounds of mating—I sent Tikosa a message and told him I was occupied with a project and that I might not be in for a few days. He won't call the authorities on me as a missing person—we both know the authorities aren't welcome near my business—but I'm sure he has questions.

  Fighting the urge to go and wake Tessa up with my fingers in her cunt, I turn toward the vid-com and scroll through the messages. There's a few advertisements from the station businesses and I delete those without opening them. There's one from Tikosa—from this morning—and I click on it.

  "Hey boss," Tikosa says. "Your shipment you were waiting on came in. Just wanted to let you know. See you soon." He nods at the camera and it winks out.

  That's why I like Tikosa. Doesn't ask questions. Hard worker. I should definitely take him as my apprentice.

  Of course, this means I have to go in to work. My clients have been waiting for my shipment as it is, and it's how I make my credits. There's a great deal of satisfaction in my job, too. I take what garbage others have been given as their prosthetic limbs and I improve them. I give them alternatives that work better than what the Homeworld government has assigned to them.

  It's a little illegal, what I do, but that's why the front of my shop is a repair shop. My clients know not to run their mouths about my services, because I do good work, and they'll need me again in the future. I'm not worried.

  I gl
ance back at the bedroom. Unable to resist, I head in and crawl under the blankets, putting my arms around Tessa. She's all softness, this female, every bit of her giving and plush. When she doesn't wake up to my touch, I press my lips to her shoulder and kiss her skin, like she kissed mine.

  "Mmmm," she half-yawns. "Is it time to wake up already?"

  "Stay in bed and sleep," I tell her, unable to stop kissing her soft skin. "I must go to work. I'll be back later, though. Stay in the apartment where it's safe. Help yourself to my food and drink dispensers."

  "Mmmmkay." She snuggles down against the bedding, and even the prod of my cock against her backside doesn't make her stir. She's back to sleep immediately.

  Tessa must indeed be tired. Pleased, I give her one last kiss on the shoulder, wondering if she hates the touch of my half-metal mouth against her, and then reluctantly climb out of bed.

  I shower and dress in my usual tunic, designed for intimidation more than anything else. I check the stub of my horn, but it doesn't need filing down again yet. I buff the metal dome of my head with a towel, and then leave my apartment. I consider for a moment, wondering if I should set an alert system that will notify me if Tessa tries to leave. In the end, I don't. Ours is a mutual agreement. If she leaves, then she leaves…and all the moans and sighs of this last weekend were lies.

  If she doesn't want to be in my bed, I don't want her pretending enjoyment. She can just leave.

  The thought of what we shared being a lie sits sourly with me, and I'm in a bad mood as I ride elevator after elevator through the massive station. It gets worse as I find the trading floor—the floor for all the booths and “low end” businesses that aren't regulated by the corrupt government running the station. It's crowded, and from the distant whine, it sounds as if a passenger cruiser is passing through and dumping its travelers on board for a stop while it refuels. That only sours my mood further, because it means it'll be hot and muggy in the station as the filters work overtime to recycle the air. As I pass by the cantina, I see it's been re-opened, a defeated-looking female naked and gyrating in the window.

  That was once Tessa. How did I miss the look of defeat in her eyes for so long? The desperation? The longing? She'd prayed I'd come to get her, and I was so wrapped up in my own ugliness that it never occurred to me. I let her down. The thought leaves a bad taste in my mouth, and I stomp over to my private workroom, growling a greeting at Tikosa and the two customers peering at the case of refurbished data pads at the front of the store.

  Stacked neatly in my back office are crates and crates of untraceable war trunks, the shipping container beloved by pirates, each one waiting for my handprint and matching information before they can be opened. I go through each case, taking inventory of the pieces sent to me. They've come from three separate locations, and each crate is a specific type of part. I can piece them together to make the illegal prosthetics I need for my business, because shipping an entire arm or leg is far more easily caught than just cases of parts. It requires a lot of work on my end, but I grease the right palms to ensure everyone looks the other way.

  Of course this shipment would come in now. I've been waiting on it for months, and the moment I buy a pretty little bed slave, they come in. The universe is laughing at me. With a disgruntled sigh, I finish my inventory, send a note to my supplier that they came in intact, and begin piecing a few parts together. Old Gidron here on the station has been waiting for new eyes since his stopped working months ago. He'll be pleased to note that his replacements came in, and I send him a message, asking him when he'd like to come by.

  Before I can finish the recording, Tikosa barges in, a frown on his face.

  I put aside the data pad I'm recording on and glare at him. "There an emergency?"

  "Are you all right?" He looks concerned. "You wouldn't believe the rumors I've heard on the station over the last few days. Is something going on? Are we in danger?"

  I flick through the inventory files on my data pad. "We're not in danger. Why would you think that?"

  "I thought…I thought the story with the slave girl was a cover thing. That you weren't here for the last few days because something was wrong." He rakes a hand through his thick black hair, avoiding his horns, and I stifle the flick of envy that surges through me. Not the kid's fault that I'm bald and scarred and hornless. "I've been sweating buckets every time one of the syndicate so much as sniffed around the shop, but they just said they wanted their payments and went on with their business. I don't know what to think."

  "It's not for you to think about." I make note of a particular array of pieces—the perfect replacement parts for a particular client who has a leg he needs switched out from military-issued garbage. "And why does it matter if I bought a slave girl? It's no one's business but mine."

  "But…but…you hate slavery!" He looks aghast. "You truly bought one?"

  "The one that dances in the window," I admit after a long moment. "Back at the cantina. Abuar sold her off."

  The worried look on Tikosa's face immediately changes. "Aaaaaah."

  Now I'm even more irritated. "Don't 'aaaah' me. What's 'aaaah' about?"

  "It's the human," he says, as if that explains everything. "I was wondering. You always watch her and she watches you."

  "Does she?" I never realized others saw it. I always thought her gaze on me was just my imagination—or worse, part of a ploy to get me to go into the cantina. Now I feel even worse. I imagine Tessa—lovely, giving, soft Tessa—sending me pleading looks to come and take her away from the cantina and me stubbornly ignoring them.

  I feel like such a keffing idiot. She deserves a hundred orgasms when I return home. Already I hate that I'm in the shop. I want to be with her, waking her up with a touch on her cunt, or pressing my mouth against her skin. I want to sink into her lovely body and never leave her.

  Tikosa crosses his arms over his chest and regards me. "I guess it makes slavery all right if it's the female you want?"

  I scowl up at him. "Don't put words in my mouth. I'm going to free her."

  "You are?" He looks surprised and impressed. "I apologize. I had no idea your actions were so noble. I thought…" He flushes. "Well, we both know what I thought."

  I glare at my almost-assistant, wanting to kick him out of my office—and the shop—more with every passing moment. He knows me better than I suspected, because he's absolutely right. My actions weren't noble at all. I bought Tessa for my bed. I'm keeping her until I tire of her, and dangling the promise of freedom in exchange for her enthusiasm. As each day passes, though, I find the idea of releasing her less and less appealing.

  I want to keep her, and I'm a keffing monster for even entertaining the thought.

  So I just nod, pretending like my attention is focused on my work. "I'm taking her to Risda soon. She'll be safe and happy there."

  "You have a noble heart," Tikosa says warmly. "I'm so sorry I doubted you."

  Noble heart. I snort. "Yeah, well, she deserves better than a mess like me, any way you look at it."

  13

  TESSA

  Zakoar's luxurious apartment is utterly boring without him in it. Oh sure, the furniture is lovely, and I can watch every channel on the vid that I could possibly want (and I few I absolutely don't want). I can eat snacks all day long—and I do—but I find myself bored and at odds. I lie on the couch and doze, waiting.

  Waiting.

  Waiting.

  Seriously, how long is the man going to work for? I glance at the digital sunset showing on the wall, and it indicates that the hour is growing late. I've been here by myself more or less all day and here I thought it'd be sheer luxury to be alone in an apartment by myself, free to do whatever I like. Instead, what I'd really like is for Zakoar to return. I just want to talk to him, honestly. Sex is fun—especially when you get to come—but I actually really enjoy conversations with him. He's got a dry sense of humor that feeds well into my teasing nature, and between marathon sex sessions, we talked about all kinds of thin
gs. Mostly station gossip, favorite foods, and silly nonsense that means nothing but…it felt like having a friend. It was nice.

  I want more conversations. More touching, more holding each other close and snuggling. I want to breathe in his scent.

  Okay, so maybe I like the sex as much as the conversations. That's not a crime. If anything, it's a bonus. But I've been trapped in this whole slavery-infested universe for so long that I've forgotten how to have a normal relationship with a guy. Maybe it says something about me that I miss Zakoar desperately when he's gone. I'm sure it says something about me that I think about him fondly, or that I can't wait for him to get home so we can giggle about how I accidentally fried one of the food dispensers in the kitchen by putting it on the wrong settings. He thinks it's funny that I can't read a lick of the written common language used in the station. I've pointed out to him that reading is not high on a list of admirable qualities wanted in a slave, and…well, that conversation ended up with us in bed together again.

  Really, everything ends up with us in bed together. Maybe I should be angrier that I've been bought to entertain him in his bed, but…I like him. I like that even though he's been broken outside (and I suspect within), there's still a kind heart. That he treats me like a capable, thinking person. That I'm not just a fuck-toy he wants to sleep at the end of the bed and only speak when commanded.

  I know it could be so much worse. SO much worse. That's probably part of why I'm so obsessed with Zakoar. I'm just so grateful that he's not terrible that I'm leaning all the way over into infatuation with him.

  With a sigh, I roll onto my back on the couch and stare up at the ceiling, where the windows show a view of deep space and distant nebulas. As I gaze up at it, I see a ship fly into sight, heading toward one of the many docks here on the station. I wonder when I'm leaving to go to Risda? I'm not looking forward to that, strangely enough. I thought I would, but it's starting over again, and I'm a little leery of having the rug pulled out from under my feet once more.