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

by Ruby Dixon

  Every slave knows that when you find a decent situation, you cling to it for all that you're worth. And I'm content with Zakoar. Happy, even. Of course, it's not my choice to make. But I wonder if I can convince him that we might be better off together for a while? I flip onto my side and trace a finger on the sofa as the vid-channel blares with some show I'm not watching. I think about Zakoar, and how he's got a brave face and surly disposition, but there are things that clearly…bother him. Like how he wants to fuck me from behind at all times. I suspect it's because he doesn't want me looking at him. He pushes my head aside each time I blow him, and I think about the time I kissed his mouth. He looked so stunned, like it had never occurred to him that he was worthy of kissing.

  It just makes me want to kiss him more.

  Maybe tonight, I decide, liking the idea. Tonight, I'll kiss him again, and ask him if we can make love while looking at each other.

  I'm just about at my wits' end when the door chimes, indicating that someone's entering. Excited, I bound up from the couch and greet Zakoar with a smile. "You're back! Finally!"

  He blinks in surprise at me. "You're naked."

  I put my hands on my hips, mock-preening. "At what point during our fuckathon did I go shopping for clothes?"

  Zakoar's hard mouth twitches, as if he's going to smile but stops himself. "Excellent point."

  "I missed you," I tell him, and fling myself into his arms. It's ridiculous, but it's the truth. I did miss him, however silly that sounds. I throw my arms around his neck when he catches me, and pepper his face with kisses.

  He doesn't respond, other than to hold me against him.

  I pull back, curious at his mood. "You okay?"

  Studying me, he finally speaks. "The door was unlocked. All day."

  "Okay. Is that…safe? Should I have locked it?" I'm puzzled as to why he brings it up.

  "You could have left. Ran away. Taken some of my clothing and credits and just left. I wouldn't have chased after you."

  Frowning, I tilt my head, studying him. "So you're…testing me? Why would I leave? You said you were taking me to Risda when we're done, right?"

  He grunts.

  "So why would I leave?" I lean in and nip at his lower lip, because the side closest to me is wonderfully full and just begs to be nibbled on. "Unless you wanted me to go?"

  Zakoar practically growls, as if the thought displeases him. "No."

  "Then I'm not sure what you're getting at." I nip at his lip again, and stop when he doesn't respond. "Am I…bothering you?"

  Our eyes meet and he gives me a long, thoughtful stare. "Why do you put your mouth on mine?"

  "Because I like kissing?"

  "My mouth is not pleasant."

  "I don't know who told you that, but they lied to you." And I kiss him again. "Because I like your mouth. I bet I'd like your tongue, too." And I tease mine against his parted lips.

  He jolts into action, groaning against my mouth. Hauling me against him, he hikes me up into his arms and carries me across the living area, heading for the bedroom.

  I lick at his mouth again, feeling bolder. "I missed you today. It was boring without you here." I flick my tongue against his lip. "Did you miss me?"

  "I had much to do." He hesitates, and then adds, "I shouldn't have missed you."

  "But you did," I add gleefully, kissing him again. He doesn't seem to know how to respond to my hungry kisses—I know he feels awkward with my mouth on his, but I want him to realize that I don't care if half of his mouth is metal. I still want to kiss him, still want to taste him, still want to show him how much he turns me on.

  Zakoar lays me gently on the bed, his mouth hovering over mine. "You…want my tongue?"

  "Yes," I moan. "Absolutely."

  He carefully kisses me back, and the strange dichotomy of his smooth metal lower lip against my mouth feels fascinating and slightly cool. His kisses are hesitant at first, as if he's not sure if he's going to disgust me, and then grow in intensity and confidence. When his tongue slips against mine, I whimper.

  It's got ridges too.

  Every day, it feels like I'm unpacking a little more of the puzzle that's Zakoar. There are pieces of him that are every inch the badass alien I expected. There are also flashes of vulnerability I didn't expect that make him that much more endearing to me. Like the way he hesitates when I kiss his mouth, as if he expects me to hate it. I suspect it's the same reason that he doesn't want me to look at him when I take him in my mouth, or why we always have sex facing away from one another. He's trying to protect himself with another layer of armor.

  Of course, that only makes me want to touch him more.

  I need him to see that I don't care about the metal on his face or covering his body. I don't care that he's scarred up and frightening looking to most people. All aliens are “strange” to a human, but there's a kindness to Zakoar that makes me adore him. From the moment he gave me his tunic so I wouldn't have to walk around naked any longer, he's shown me that he's got a kind heart despite the forbidding exterior, and just because he looks different than the average mesakkah, it doesn't mean that I find him repellent. It's the opposite, actually.

  So I kiss him frantically, my tongue teasing against his, and as I do, I reach up and caress the metal part of his skull, the side where his eye is framed by nothing but silver. It feels cool, too, just like his lip, and for some reason, I find myself moaning.

  Zakoar jerks back, startled at the touch.

  "Should I stop?" I ask, panting. His gaze moves to my wet mouth and I deliberately lick my lips. "Do you not like it when I touch you?" I prompt. "Because I like touching you."

  "I like it," he tells me slowly. "I just don't want…" And he stops, leaving it unsaid.

  "My tongue in your nose?" I ask, keeping my expression as innocent as possible. "Or perhaps a finger in your asshole? Because I can do both, if it gets you off."

  He scowls down at me. "Are you ever serious?"

  "I'm always somewhat serious. Human men have a gland in the ass that feels good when it's tickled, or so I'm told, and if you have the same, I'd happily go knuckle-deep—"

  Zakoar kisses me to shut me up (at least, I'm pretty sure that's why he kisses me) and when his tongue drags against mine, my entire body responds. My nipples tighten deliciously and I whimper. "You are an impossible female," he tells me between kisses.

  "You need impossible," I pant. "You'd barrel right over someone sweeter than me."

  In the next moment, he's kissing me so deep and hard that I swear he's licking all the way to my core. And dear lord, it feels incredible. It's like he's claiming—and fucking—my mouth with his tongue, which is everything I ever wanted in a kiss from him. When he lifts his mouth from mine, we're both panting. "You think you're not sweet?" he asks.

  "Just sweet enough," I amend playfully.

  "Shall I show you how sweet?" There's a hungry look in his gaze that promises so, so much, and I shiver with anticipation. When I nod, the look on his face turns possessive as he leans back and studies my naked body under him. He's still dressed, wearing that intimidating-looking tunic that somehow manages to show off all his scars and metal through a variety of crisscrossed straps and patches of fabric. "Do you still want my tongue, Tessa?"

  Oh man, I hope that means what I think it means. I wriggle in anticipation on the bed. "Yes, please?"

  His eyes narrow, as if he's not entirely sure he believes me.

  "On my pussy?" I ask hopefully. "Because I would love that. You licking me would be so fucking sexy." And I boldly reach up and caress the metal side of his head again.

  Zakoar groans, burying his face against my stomach, and at some point, I'm going to remind him that I have breasts that are sensitive and like to be played with, too, but I don't want to distract him from any pussy-eating I might be getting. He licks a line down my belly and pauses when he reaches my thighs. "Are you certain—"

  I plant a hand atop his head and give him an encouraging push. "What, yo
u think you're too ugly to lick my pussy? Don't you know how fucking sexy I find you? Taste me and find out."

  "You're very bold," he says between kisses, then hovers his mouth between my spread thighs.

  "Just with you. I feel safe with you."

  He makes a sound of pleasure, and then buries his face between my thighs. I suck in a breath as he immediately goes for my clit. whimpering when he gives it a few eager licks that feel like entirely too much and somehow not enough. "Look how wet you are," he rasps, then drags his tongue over my folds. "You're soaking. Were you thinking about me today?"

  "All day," I admit. "I meant it when I said I missed you. I didn't like being here by myself. I wanted to be with you." I let my fingers dance over his skull, lightly caressing the metal before moving to the shaved part of his head. There's the barest hint of stubble that grazes my skin, and I rub it as he dips his head and licks me again. Oh god, those tongue ridges are something else.

  "Where should I lick you?" he asks between strokes of his tongue. "What feels good?"

  "All of it. All of it feels amazing." I arch slightly on the bed, sinking into the sensation of his mouth on my skin, of his tongue sliding over my sensitive folds. "God, your mouth…"

  He dips his tongue into my slick core, murmuring something about how good I taste. He rubs his face against my skin, and I love the sight of him between my thighs, utterly blissed out as if going down on me is the greatest pleasure he's ever had. Behind him, his tail thrashes back and forth, a sign that he's just as hungry for me as I am for him.

  I put both of my hands on his big skull, holding onto him as he works his tongue over my pussy. Zakoar nuzzles at my clit, and then he pushes back the hood and sucks on it—and I nearly come out of my skin. Hot pleasure rushes through me and I squirm hard, which only makes him pin me into place so he can do that again.

  "Zakoar," I cry out as he sucks on my clit over and over again. Pleasure builds up inside me, like a volcano about to explode, and I shift on the bed. I'm not sure if I'm trying to slide out from under the intensity of his mouth or push harder against it. Doesn't matter—he holds me in place firmly, his mouth latched onto me as if eating me out gives him life. "I'm going to come," I whimper, and that only makes him more enthusiastic, his movements bolder and hungrier. With a little keen, I push against his face, grinding against his mouth as my climax overtakes me, and every muscle in my body strains and clenches as I come. Zakoar just keeps licking and sucking at my clit, watching me as he drags out my orgasm with flick after flick of his tongue, until I'm so sensitized I can't stand it. I push his face away, panting, and roll onto my side, utterly spent.

  One big hand rubs my ass, and the bed dips as Zakoar shifts his weight. "On your hands and knees for me, pretty one. I need you."

  I moan, still throbbing with my release, but I want to please him. I love that he's just as hungry for me as I am for him. But this time, I don't want to come facing the wall. I want to see him when he comes inside me. I want to hold him against me and watch him lose control. So I roll onto my back again and take his hand, sliding it onto my breast. I hook one leg encouragingly around his thigh. "Can we mate face to face?"

  He watches me, expression inscrutable. The blue parts of his face are flushed, his mouth still slick with my release, and god, I want to kiss him so badly. "You don't want that," he tells me.

  "Yes, I do," I insist. I spread my thighs and try to wriggle under him even as he's determined to roll me onto my belly. "Zakoar, please. Why do you think I wouldn't want to look at you when you come?"

  The big alien scowls at me so deeply that for a wrenching moment, I worry I've destroyed all of our camaraderie. That I've pushed him too hard, too far, and now he's angry at me. But he stops wrestling to turn me over and gets quiet. After a long, tense moment, he simply says, "I don't have a good face."

  "What's wrong with your face?"

  He glares at me.

  "I'm serious." I cup his face in my hands, shaking my head. "Do you think I object to how you look? That I have a problem with metal jaws or bald heads and no horns?"

  "Horns are a mark of pride," he says stiffly.

  "Well then it must really suck to be human, because none of us have horns."

  For a moment, Zakoar looks completely dumbstruck.

  "Also, spoiler—we don't have tails," I mock-whisper, stroking his cheeks. "I'm sure that makes us freakish looking, but people seem to like how we look." I give him a tender smile. "I like how you look. I like your metal jaw and your no-horn-having self. I think you're incredibly sexy. I always have. Why do you think I stared at you so much?"

  His gaze searches mine. "Because you wanted to escape?"

  "Because I dreamed of escaping with a man that would take me away, sure, but since I was dreaming, I went for the sexiest guy I could think of, and it was you." I hook my legs tight around his hips, locking my ankles. My calves brush against hardware and metal, and for a moment I panic that I'm hurting him, but Zakoar is anything but fragile. I can't fuck up anything simply by touching him, and I shouldn't be alarmed by touching his metal parts.

  So I wrap my arms around him from underneath and trail my fingers along his metal-studded spine, with the tubes and the brackets and a terrifying amount of modifications. I dig my nails into the skin between the studs and give him a heated stare. "Now, are you going to fuck me or am I going to have to take matters into my own hands?"

  "Pushy female," he mutters, but his hips settle in against mine. His cock presses against my folds and I suck in a breath as he shifts his weight and then he's pressing into me, one glorious inch at a time.

  I whimper, because he's started entering me incredibly slow every time we have sex. I think he knows that it makes me absolutely back-clawing crazy when he goes so damn slow. I can feel every ridge as he feeds it into me, and it just adds to my pleasure. I'm already slick from my orgasm, and he pushes into me easily. By the time he's completely seated in my body, I realize there's another benefit to us making love like this.

  His spur isn't in my ass this time—it drags right up against my clit and parks there as if it belongs there.

  Zakoar holds himself over me, remaining utterly still, and I squirm underneath him. "Your…spur…" I pant. "Dear god." I dig into his skin, doing my best to rub up against it like a shameless wanton. "You feel so good like this."

  "Better than the other way?" He studies me, his face analytical, as if he's trying to determine the best way to have sex. Zakoar pulls back, then slowly pushes into me again, and all my nerve endings light up with pleasure.

  There's no “better.” There's just different, and while both ways are good, I love the rub of his spur against my clit. More than that, I love being able to watch him move over me. "I'll take you any way I can," I confess, reaching up to touch his cheek. "But I like this. I like looking at you."

  He watches me as he begins to move, his body surging over mine. At first I feel as if I'm under intense scrutiny, he's regarding me so intently, but I soon forget that with just how good being with him feels. The way his cock fills me completely, the way his spur glides against my clit, intensifying the pleasure, the way we fit together. I tighten my legs around him as the pleasure spikes, and our mating takes on a more frantic note. My breasts bounce as he drives into me, and our bodies slap together with the force of our mating. Every time I open my eyes—because they seem to close automatically—Zakoar is watching me, that focused look on his face. It only makes me squirm harder, and by the time my climax starts to crest again, I'm mindless with need, little hungry noises escaping my throat with Zakoar's every thrust.

  "Please," I whisper to him, so close to the edge. "Oh, please, Zakoar. You feel so good."

  Zakoar leans down and presses a hand to the side of my face, caressing it. "I can watch you like this. See how much you like my touch."

  I bite my lip, whimpering as he drives into me harder.

  "Look at how pretty you are," he growls. "Look at how you shake as you take my cock."
His hand slides lower, capturing one of my breasts and squeezing it.

  I cry out, my entire body clenching up as I come apart. It's the hardest orgasm ever, and it only fuels Zakoar's need. He thrusts into me harder, pounding so deep that we're sliding across the bed, and his spur keeps hammering at my clit, forcing another orgasm through my body, and I come all over again. This time, when I fly apart, he's there with me, and he collapses on top of me, his weight pinning me down. I just wrap my arms around his neck and hold him tight, loving the feel of him enveloping me.

  When I can catch my breath, I press small kisses to his neck and shoulder. "I loved that." I almost say “love you,” but that's just silliness, a grateful woman infatuated with a master that treats her kindly. Even I know that my brain is still all kinds of wrong after being enslaved for so long. I'm not in love. Not this quick. Not this fast.

  But I am happy. And I'll enjoy that happiness for as long as I possibly can.

  14

  TESSA

  “That was…utterly delicious," I tell him with a sigh. "Did you…like it?" I let my fingers creep up to his face and stroke the lines of his jaw. The metal feels different than skin, and it's not as mobile. When he smiles, only part of his face stretches, but I don't mind it. In a way, it makes me appreciate his smiles more, because I know he doesn't like to smile. He's utterly aware of what he looks like, so making him smile feels like a secret gift just for me.

  "I did. I liked watching you."

  "Same here." I smile at him, still stroking his jaw, and a little part of me melts when he leans into my touch. "Can I ask you something?"

  His expression becomes instantly guarded. "You can ask."

  The way he emphasizes it tells me he's not entirely sure he's going to answer. "Why metal? I know your people can make skin that's like real skin." I trail my other hand down his back, touching scars where the two shades of his skin meet up. "Why not do that on your face? Are you…is it a message of some kind? I'm not trying to offend, I'm just curious. I wouldn't care if you were a hundred percent metal." I wiggle underneath him, trying to ease some of the heaviness out of my words as he tenses over me. "That might make certain parts of you rather interesting."