by Webster, K
He leaves me in the entryway of his quarters to shed his uniform in an alcove that I assume is the bathroom. I’m grateful. Much as he terrifies me, it also didn’t escape my notice what he’d been doing when the doctor and I interrupted him. There was no denying the scent that still clung heavy in the air, or the slack, well-pleasured ease to his muscles.
Had I done that?
The concept is hard to forget as I watch him strip out of his uniform and toss it into a hole in the wall that I assume is a laundry chute. Beneath is a thin, skin-tight under-layer of some sort that forms to the well-defined ridges of his bulging muscles. I wrap my arms around my waist, but I can’t tear my eyes away.
“You may wear my clothes. Open the cubicle there,” he instructs, and nods to a wall of cabinets opposite the bed.
Ignoring the bed, and its implications, I peer into the cabinets. I grab clothes at random until I find a pair of pants with a sort-of elastic waist and a shirt that’s nearly a dress. I take as long as possible, hoping to find him already in bed. Surely after rubbing one out, he can’t possibly be ready for another round.
“Why did you steal me?” I croak out.
He lets out a heavy sigh. “We didn’t steal you. We found you. My men were doing a run and located some life in a passing vessel. They pulled them from the vessel and brought them back here.”
That makes no sense, though.
Why would I be sleeping in some pod creeping through outer space?
“Turn around,” he says, and his voice comes closer behind than I expect.
As much as I’d hoped I’d be given a night of reprieve, evidence suggests Commander Breccan is eager to apply himself to the task.
Throat dry, hands trembling, I pivot to face him and my fate. No amount of deep breathing or calming techniques will soothe my nerves, but there is one trick I’ve learned through my years of acting—both in front of the camera and off. Faking it. It’s what I do. The only thing I know how to do.
I wish I had a hit of flora. Their system—though out of date—is still very advanced and managed to clean my whole body of every trace of the drug. They need their perfect breeder, after all, so I don’t even have detoxing to distract me from the way he’s looking at me.
“Maybe we should get some sleep,” I suggest. “It’s been a long day.” I start to move in the direction of the bed, but he stops me with a grunt and I freeze before turning back to face him, dread pooling in my stomach.
He’s so close, his body blots out everything else. Wide shoulders, thickly muscled abdomen, narrow hips framing his sex. I use my own inspection to distract me from the feeling of his eyes tracing my body. I’m acutely aware of the fact that despite the clothes he’s provided me, there was no underwear. His flat nose flares and I wonder if his senses are so strong that he can smell my fear, because it certainly won’t be arousal at this point.
“We won’t be sleeping. Avrell informed me you will be fertile for the next week. We can’t afford to miss any chance to reproduce.”
“How romantic,” I mumble.
His gaze catches mine. “Romance has nothing to do with reproduction.” He says it almost like a question.
There’s a pause, where I can either panic or submit to this hand I’ve been dealt. I know I have no chance of fighting these men. They’re bigger, stronger, and more knowledgeable about the terrain. Frustration builds inside me like a geyser and no doubt shoots from my eyes to his. I hate him, in this moment, for putting me in this position. I hate him for taking my choices away, like so many others.
But I won’t let him win.
I won’t be a victim.
I’m not sure how I ended up in that cryotube in the first place, but it landed me on this planet and now I’m here. Until I have the answers I seek, I need to stay alive.
If I have to do this, I’ll do it my way. I won’t fight, but I will win in the end. I’ll let him fuck me, treat me like a breeding cow, until I get my chance to escape—and then I will escape, no matter what it costs.
Even if it costs what’s left of me.
My eyes flashing, mouth pressed into a stubborn slant, I spin away from him, tugging my arm from his grasp, and bend over the raised platform bed. I present myself ass up in the air and flip up the thin shirt.
Silence meets my action.
Good. I’ve shocked him. I turn so I can see his expression and lift a brow. “Well, let’s get on with it. I won’t be fertile forever, Commander.” Then, I press my face into the strange blankets and the scent of him fills my nose. Strangely spicy, with a leathery undercurrent.
I want to cry, I know I should, but the tears won’t come. My face remains clear and dry until I feel his hand on my hip, and my cheeks heat. Once upon a time, before I’d gone to Hollywood to be an actress, I’d considered having a family. My own had been so thoroughly messed up, I’d wondered what it would be like. I certainly never thought it would be like this.
His hand fists at my hip, biting into the soft flesh. Is it just my imagination or does it tremble? Surely the big, strong, self-assured commander isn’t nervous?
“What are you waiting for?” I demand, my voice muffled from the blanket. “Just get it over with.”
Gently, he slides the pants down my thighs and they drop to the floor. My ass is naked to him. Shivers run down my spine at being so vulnerable. His palm cradles my hip and his touch is almost reverent in nature.
“It will be easier if you’re prepared,” he says, his voice husky. Almost pained sounding. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
I nearly snort. He’s packing some heat in that department, but I didn’t think it would matter to him whether or not it would hurt me. He certainly has no problem fucking me for his benefit.
“Just get it over with,” I repeat harshly.
The heat of him scorches the back of my legs as he steps closer to me. From that weird sunroom of theirs? The shock of it causes me to shiver and I press my face more fully into the blanket to block out my surroundings. This is just another scene with a faceless actor. I just need to play my part until it’s over.
The commander is silent behind me as he pushes the shirt farther up my back. He lifts my hips, then presses a hand to the middle of my shoulder blades, arching my bottom half up to receive him. One of his feet pushes my own out, spreading them enough that he can step between. My breath catches as I feel him moving between my legs, stroking himself.
One hand still between my shoulders, the other gripping his dick, he starts pressing into me. I make a sound in my throat at the size. I’m in no way ready to take him. Nothing about this situation is remotely sexy and even with a normal man, I need to be high as hell to relax enough for any sort of sex. Maybe it will turn him off so much he’ll forget about this breeding deal and they’ll leave me to my own devices.
He makes a harsh sound and pulls back.
For a second, I’m relieved. Hope spurts quick and hot inside of me. I start to raise up, but the hand at my back stops me.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
Then I feel it.
The head of him brushes against my sex, sending shocks of pleasure and surprise throughout my system. It steals a gasp from my chest and I’m at a loss for words. It feels good, of all things. He reaches a hand around to palm the heavy weight of my breast through the material of the shirt.
“You don’t have to do that.” My cheeks burn in shame from the breathiness of my tone. How many years have I been subjected to the sexual abuse and harassment that come with my industry? You’d think I would have lost the ability to feel shame at all, but it comes back a million-fold as he works his dick back and forth against my clit.
“Quiet, Aria.” Is it just me or does his voice sound harsh? Is it with desire? Irritation?
Desire would work in my favor. Maybe that’s why he suggested sex with me instead of simply having them overpower me and return me to cryosleep. Maybe…maybe he really does want me.
It gets harder and harder to think th
e longer he spends thrusting against me. I reach blindly and find a thin foam sheet that must serve as a pillow and shove my face in it to blot everything out. But it’s a fruitless effort because he keeps me in this moment with him. The hand on my back turns soft, reverent. It moves to my hair and rakes through it slowly, and I imagine him staring at it in wonder. My body is nothing like what he’s used to and it shows, because he spends the whole time exploring. The rough pads of his fingers scrape along my skin, investigating my shape, all the dips and crevices.
When he’s certain I’m ready, those hands travel back down to my hips and I freeze. I want him to want me, because desire makes you do stupid things, but at the same time it’s hard for me to let go. Give him what he wants, Aria. You’ve done it before.
His fingers reach my swollen and throbbing clit and then dip farther down and find my entrance. I’m not quite as aroused as he’d like—definitely not enough to take him—so he adds his fingers, the sharpness of his claw scraping along my insides. Tremors ripple through me. I’m so vulnerable. If he truly wanted to, he could gut me simply with his hand.
“Your claws,” I whimper, fear making my voice shake.
“I can retract them,” he assures me softly.
Thank God for that.
He makes good on his word and the sharpness is suddenly gone, taking some of the terror along with them.
“Too rough, slow down,” I tell him, emboldened now that I’m not afraid he’ll hurt me.
“This will help,” he says as he strokes me from within.
“Not if you’re trying to turn me on. You’re being too rough. Go slower, a little softer.” I take a deep breath, but it’s like trying to inhale soup. I have to do this. “Like this.”
I reach down my own hand and cup his strange, bony fingers and show him how to stroke me to life. On the outside. Pulling his fingers out of my body, I guide his hand to the spot that will help me feel good. His claws have indeed disappeared and it’s just his firm fingers touching me now.
I can’t watch him, can’t watch what I’m doing, but he’s a quick learner and soon brushes my hand away to take over. And God, now that he knows what I need, he strums me like it’s his only goal in life. Like I’m a mist of flora and he wants to consume every bit of me.
There’s only so much resisting I can do when I’ve been surrounded by so much stress. The siren call of pleasure is irresistible. The commander hums in his throat, pleased. His fingers push inside of me briefly, much easier this time, and he quickly pulls them back out.
Now that he’s satisfied by my readiness, he aligns with my entrance and pushes his cock inside of me. I raise up on my forearms to turn back and look at him, but he isn’t even watching me. His head is thrown back, cheeks flushed—if you can imagine that, considering his complexion. He doesn’t sweat, but that same odd flush is spreading over his chest.
The foreplay was pleasurable enough to get me ready to take the bulbous head of his dick, but I know it’s the thick length that will be the real challenge. Despite his overall brash attitude, Commander Breccan has incredible patience. He slowly thrusts back and forth, inch by inch, until he’s seated inside me.
I don’t know what to feel—and for the first time in my life, I don’t know how to act. I settle on numb. Numb means whatever happens to me won’t affect me. Especially not the fact that I’ve never been so filled in my life.
He reaches up to palm my breasts again, his claws back out and gently scraping against my flesh. I gasp at how sensitive I’ve become. At my sound, Breccan slides his palms to my hips and pumps into me harder, his prized control snapping. He thrusts wildly, and even if I were the best actress on the planet, I wouldn’t have been able to act like that thick cock spearing into me doesn’t affect me. He reaches a place in me I’ve never felt before, and it tears animal sounds from my chest with each thrust.
He obviously has no problem enjoying it. But I won’t. I breathe through it as long as I can, focusing on everything but the way he moves in and out of me. He takes longer than I thought he would to come, but when he does, I breathe a sigh of relief.
Until the heat of his semen spurts inside me, and I lose the ability to move at all.
5
Breccan
My toxica has entered her bloodstream. I know the moment it happens because my stiff alien relaxes and falls against the bed. A whimper in her throat is the only indication of her distress.
I must work fast to remedy this.
Not even stopping to towel off my cock, I sit on the bed and pull her limp body into my arms. Our species, when breeding, have toxins that are released with our semen that immobilize the female and create a barrier within her to keep the male’s seed from spilling out. Those first few moments are critical if implantation is to occur.
“Breathe, little alien,” I murmur, running a clawed finger along her hairline, pulling stray strands from her eyes. Her brown eyes are wide and keep darting all around. She’s panicking. I should call Avrell to bring something to calm her but I can’t risk introducing anything foreign into her body while she’s taking my seed.
I will have to calm her the old way. The way of my people. I’ve heard plenty of stories of females growing terrified their first time. And if I’m being frank with myself, I believe I’d be quite unhappy if the first time I bred with someone, I couldn’t move a muscle.
She’s nearly completely paralyzed.
And will be for quite some time.
It would behoove her to take a nap.
Her wild eyes that remind me so much of Draven’s indicate otherwise. A nap is far from what’s on her agenda.
“It’s the toxica,” I try to explain.
Another hoarse whine rasps from her throat.
“Don’t worry,” I assure her. “It won’t kill you. It’s simply rendered you useless so you can accept my seed.”
She squeezes her eyes shut and tears leak from the corners. In this moment, my chest feels hollow. As though an unseen force has reached inside me and scooped my insides out.
Leaning forward, I press my forehead to hers. It was something I remembered seeing my father do to my mother when I was young. An unspoken vow. A small display of affection. If my mother was fretting over a meal she was cooking, my father would stride over to her, collect her in his arms, and press his forehead to hers. Immediately, she would calm.
This close, I can smell Aria. She smells unlike anything I can place. A scent that does not exist in our facility. A scent that is unique just to her despite the cleansings Avrell has given to her on multiple occasions.
I inhale her and then breathe out my words. “I will take care of you. This is what our people do. We breed and the males look after their females. “I will protect you as we work together to create our offspring. And once you have one in your womb, I will keep you fed and healthy. You will want for nothing. My little alien, you won’t have to lift a finger. I will care for you as dutifully as I do my entire faction here. More so because you are mine.”
Lifting slightly, I look into her eyes that have now reopened. They are red, tiny veins crackling away from the irises, from her tears. Her flesh is wet and the overwhelming urge to clean the tears away steals over me.
Calix would lose his mind over what I want to do.
The craving is intense—like that of my need for the UV rays.
It tugs at my nerve endings. Sings songs that beg for me to follow through.
I give in, because my self-control is nearly nonexistent, and I dart out my forked tongue. My tongue runs along the wet trail of her tears, drawing out another fearful sound from her.
She tastes divine.
Unlike anything I’ve ever tasted.
The urge to lick her again wins over and I find myself tilting her nog this way and that as I clean away her tears. Eventually, I pull away and let out a heavy sigh.
“I like the way you taste,” I admit, confusion pulling my brows together. I certainly don’t remember my father licking my mothe
r. I’ll have to bring this up to Avrell.
She blinks at me but she’s no longer crying. Her eyes slowly skim across my features as she studies me. I wonder if she sees me as a strong, worthy mate. One fierce and formidable enough to protect her young. I flatten my ears and let loose a violent, guttural growl to impress her. It should appear fearsome to all.
Another whimpering sound escapes and her eyes are once more darting back and forth. I’ve upset her again. I try the forehead press again. I lick her even though her tears are dry. I murmur explanations lowly to her. I stroke her hair.
“Y-You.” Her word is thick and sludgy in her throat.
I run a claw along her bottom lip and tug it down. “It will come back slowly. The ability to speak and move. That’s it,” I coo, my claw clinking across her rounded teeth.
She moves her nog slightly to the side, away from me, her eyes looking elsewhere. I don’t like that. Clutching her jaw, I bring her to face me again. I shake my nog at her and her nostrils flare. The brown speckles on her cheek are soon joined with red splotches. That, coupled with the furious glint in her eyes, makes me wonder if she’s about to attack. I pick up her hand and inspect her useless claws. Her teeth and claws are worthless. Unless she spits out acid, I don’t see what her little alien body can do to attack mine.
“If we have a son, I shall name him Sokko after my father,” I tell her proudly. “Lania after my mother if it is a girl.” I beam at her.
She slowly pulls her weak hand from my grip and reaches it up to my face. I crave her touch and close my eyes. So often, my mother would caress my father’s cheeks and—
“Rekk!” I roar when pain rips along my scalp.
Her fingers are tangled in my mane and she keeps yanking on it. I grip her delicate wrist that’s nothing but bones wrapped in her pink skin and untangle her grip from my hair.
“No,” I bite out, my ears flattening against my nog. “Don’t make me restrain you.”
She spits at me and I recoil, pushing her away from me as I retreat to one side of the bed. I swipe away her secret venom, hoping I don’t lose my sight. It takes a second to realize it’s harmless fluid. Like her tears. I dart my tongue out and lap at the sweetness.