by Iona Strom
Bound: Nomadican Mates Series 2
An alien reverse harem romance
Iona Strom
&
LS Anders
Copyright © 2019 Iona Strom & LS Anders
All rights reserved.
Please respect the work of this author. No part of this eBook/book publication may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotation embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.
Use your own judgment to determine if the content of this novel is appropriate for you.
This romance is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Acknowledgments
Editing: Sandy Ebel- Personal Touch Editing
www.facebook.com/PersonalTouchEditing
Proofread and edits: Nikki Groom
Indie Hub Editing
Proofreading, edits, and betas: Jenny, DeAnne, Michelle, Rachele
Photograph copyrights: www.fotolia.com
Dedication
For those who want to believe that there’s something wonderful beyond the stars.
A Nomadican History Lesson
When the Nomadican government becomes greedy and breaks a trade agreement with their neighboring planet, Biotios, war is unavoidable. The first strike against the Bioti, a smaller but no less aggressive species, happens before any Nomadican civilians are made aware any conflict existed. With strategically placed plasmatic bombs, the Nomadican government cripples Bioti cities across their world.
Unbeknownst to the Nomadicans, the Bioti have a far worse, even more, destructive weapon at their disposal. At the touch of a button, a bomb capable of burrowing to the center of Riosis is unleashed, destroying the Nomadican’s planet from the inside out. That which was solid is returned to the stardust from which it was formed.
Only a few hundred Nomadicans remain. Off-world at the time of the explosion, the survivors are thought to be only males. Now scattered across the Universe, the last of the Nomadican’s search for more survivors and a new planet to call home.
About this book
Will a taste of freedom bring Ivey one step closer to home, or has she accidentally bound herself to them all?
Ivey’s Abduction Continued
I’ve used my feminine wiles to gain an advantage over my new captors that’s earned me a taste of freedom, but now that I’m one step closer to finding a way home, I’ve become distracted from my goal.
Owned by three Nomadican males, I can’t say that gratification is all one-sided. Horned, fanged, and sinfully addictive, my males are a threesome I can’t resist. Drunk on their intoxicating musk, I must shore up my defenses, least I forget where home is.
Warning: Bound: Nomadican Mates Series 2 is the continuation of Ivey’s captivating abduction. In this next installment, Ivey is the first of many to tell her story of a dark abduction and erotic survival. Be mindful, this series will leave you hanging on the edge of an erogenous cliff.
Recommended for mature readers that love erotic, alpha aliens adorned with horns, fangs, and other —ahem— uniquely bizarre and satisfying appendages.
Books by Iona Strom
Captive: Nomadican Mates Series 1
Bound: Nomadican Mates Series 2
Taken: Nomadican Mates Series 3
Return: Nomadican Mates Series 4(coming soon)
Books by LS Anders
Vehn: Exotic Ink Series 1
Tegan: Exotic Ink Series 2
Jason: Exotic Ink Series 3
Vex: Mythical Ink Series 1
Sevin: Mythical Ink Series 2
Cael: Mythical Ink Series 3
A Fairy’s Tale: Mythical Ink Series 4
Six Pack: Men of Measure Series 1
Table of Contents
Copyright © 2019 Iona Strom & LS Anders
A Nomadican History Lesson
About this book
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Glossary of Nomadican Words
A Peek Inside
Sevin: Mythical Ink Series 2
Prologue
Chapter 1
Newsletter and Stalk the Authors
Chapter 1
I wake up alone, and the nightlight effect of the room’s structure remains.
Giving my limbs a stretch, I feel refreshed as if I’ve had a long sleep. A well-earned soreness is taking up residence between my thighs from being stretched so completely.
Stiff in all the right places, I turn to my side and pan my eyes around my new environment. I must have slept like the dead. I didn’t hear so much as a bump in the night, yet all the mess Natu and I left has been cleaned up.
Gone are Natu’s clothes, along with the used sheets of material left on the floor near the shower that’s now tucked away inside the wall, along with everything else. The black sparkly floor no longer bears the trail of ejaculate I left as I tried to reach the shower on my own.
The only thing that remains is the sex table that appears to be fixed to the floor by the curved pedestal it rests on.
I shudder and push away the memory of the wicked effects the pearly jelly and of the two males who showed me no mercy. The searing pain of relentless urgency to climax—no matter how many times I was brought to orgasm—was agony.
Having sex with Natu was different. His musk was an enticing spell under which I had no choice but to fall. Maybe I’m a fool for having breathed so deeply of his scent, but once his spicy fragrance enveloped me in a sensual cloud, my natural reflex was to inhale, to get as much of him inside of me as possible. Drunk on his masculine bouquet, all I wanted was more.
Once my lust was quenched, and his scent receded to a more manageable level, I was left with an alarming buoyancy. Disoriented, I had stumbled into a moment of weakness. Wanting desperately to anchor myself to something… anything that would keep me from floating away from myself, I had clung to the tendrils of Natu’s intimate scent that hung light and tempting in the air like a safety net.
Teaching someone a few foreign words should not breed trust, but here I am ready to friend him. Natu’s amiable disposition could very well be an elaborate trap. Then again, he already owns me so what more could he possibly want.
At this point, after the state in which Xuel and Natu found me is not a repeat of anything like the tag team of males who took advantage of me.
If my instincts are right about Natu, and my vagina isn’t wreaking havoc with my common sense, his show of patience and compassion is a good indicator of what kind of person lies beneath that muscled exterior. He should be an easy ally to win over.
Xuel?
Now, that’s a male who will take time to figure out. The quiet ones are always hard to crack.
Given what I know so far of Natu, these alien males harbor similar characteristics to the men on Earth, so I stand a good chance of using my feminine wiles to bend at least him to my will.
My tactics haven’t always worked in my favor, but my mind is the only weapon I’ve got. Armed with the knowledge that the aliens find me attractive; I’ll use my voluptuous curves to gain some kind of advantage. Getting
home is my ultimate goal. I will do whatever it takes to get back, even though my home is currently a room above my parents’ garage.
Yeah, I know, that sounds pathetic for a twenty-five-year-old woman, but in my own defense, after my career in modeling took its final nosedive into an empty pool of failure, I tucked my tail and moved back to my hometown of Decorah, Iowa.
As of a week ago, California had officially chewed me up and spit me out. My downhill slide went from slow and steady to greased like a pig on a plastic sheet before the ink was even dry on my debut centerfold. Not as tastefully executed as Playboy, but not as raunchy as some, was still the worst thing I could have ever done even if the money did keep a roof over my head for another month.
Although I had been offered another job, which I immediately turned down—Porn was never an industry I was ever willing to get involved in. Adult magazine aside, modeling bra and panty sets for full-figured women in department store catalogs are not even remotely the same as being fucked on camera.
Ironic, after I decided to give up my dream of becoming a model and go back to school to get “a real job,”—my mother’s words, not mine—I find myself a sex toy to a group of alien males. All I need is a camera set up in the corner of this room and voila, alien porn.
Avoiding those filthy filmmakers once I crossed the California state line seven years ago was like dodging piles of steaming shit in the doggy park. Leading with a full-D cup, I fit the bill with a popular hourglass figure and small waist. Top all that natural curvaliciousness off with blonde hair and pale blue eyes—toss in my pouty pucker—and every porn studio in the state made me an offer.
They said I would be a star. They said I would be famous. No thanks. Their road to fame is paved with a face full of semen—the money shot, as it were. However, allowing these males to use of my body is strictly about survival and has nothing to do with fame or money.
Easing myself into a sitting position, I swing my legs over the side of the bed. Touching the panel I watched Natu use to dim the lights, I’m delighted it also works for me. The higher up I slide my finger, the brighter the room becomes.
Hopping down, I flatten out my palm and find the wall is as warm as the floor beneath my feet. Placing my other palm farther down the wall, the temperature remains constant like some kind of radiant heat—not too cold, not too hot.
Scanning the room and ceiling, there is no visible ventilation system. When I mean I see no vents, I mean there is no nothing... anywhere—except for the barely-there indentations in the walls for the various features that pop free with a swipe of the hand.
The room is seamless with no definitive corners. Where the ceiling meets the walls, and the walls meet the floor, it’s all smooth, flowing together as if I’m being held inside a flat-bottomed balloon. My entire alabaster enclosure is backlit except for the floor, which is a backdrop of ebony with tiny flecks of sparkles that wink and flash at me as I cross the room to the hidden door.
If I can manipulate the lights, maybe I can operate the door.
Flattening my palm over the outlined panel, the wall remains intact. Lifting my hand, I try again with no luck.
Systematically making my way around the room, I lay my hand over the different outlined panels that I can find popping out the table where I had my first alien meal and bench seats. Farther down, I reveal the shower, the odd toilet, and sink.
Passing my bed—actually a cushioned platform that protrudes lengthwise out from the wall—I don’t find any more of the nearly invisible rectangular outlines until I near the sex table.
With my hand up and at the ready, I pause. Do I really want to know what’s hidden inside the wall so close to the table?
Shoring up my waning courage, I activate the panel and expose what reminds me of a large medicine cabinet you’d find in any modern bathroom. Fully stocked, there are bottles and jars of every shape and size, taking up every bit of shelf space. Some are a solid color while others display their contents in clear containers—all with labels showing a flourish of peculiar writings.
Choosing a cobalt blue jar from one shelf, I try twisting off the lid with no luck. Puzzling over the container, I turn it upside down before trying to twist the lid off again, only this time in the opposite direction because my rational mind says that righty-tighty, lefty-loosey may not apply to aliens. The thing isn’t budging, so I give up and replace the jar. Swiping my fingers over the top, the lid pops open. So surprised, I just stand there with my hand hanging in mid-air.
Picking up the jar, I peer inside at the swirling contents. The refection of the deep blue hides the true color of the smooth cream.
On a shaky inhale, I touch the pad of my forefinger to the surface. With the consistency of Vaseline, it’s taken on the warmth of the radiant heat of its surroundings. Sniffing, there’s no discernible scent. As the sex table is at my back, I can only imagine at its use.
Reluctant to wipe the stuff off on my clean sheet of material I wear like a toga, I scrape my finger off on the lip of the jar. Closing the lid, I set it back on the shelf and choose another. Working my way through every container, I discover oils, jellies, and ointments but nothing that clues me into what the mysterious labels might say.
The last jar I examine is wide, round, and squat with a lid similar to the first. I don’t bother trying to twist it off. After looking at forty different bottles and jars, I’ve erased all knowledge of Earthly objects and relied on my imagination to lead the way.
Swiping my fingers over the top, the lid pops open as I suspected. Looking inside, I find familiar contents. It’s the same stuff used to heal my ravaged flesh. Jakato is what Natu had called it. Clutched in my hand, I close the cabinet and plan to squirrel the jar away for safekeeping. I might need it to heal myself again.
The hidden door dissolves without a sound. I jump as Natu and Xuel enter with the same small figures that laid out the feast of food from earlier.
Xuel gives me a cursory glance.
Natu smiles and gives me a nod, which I return. Hiding the jar I’ve confiscated in the folds of the sheet that’s wrapped around me, the twinge of guilt that knifes my breastbone is not what I expected. It’s as if I’m betraying a connection with Natu I thought was a figment of my imagination.
I remind myself with firm resolution that Natu is one of my captors, hardening my softening heart. There’s no real bond between us. It’s a simple case of misplaced familiarity where none exists, the human need to belong mudding up the waters of my new reality.
Narrowing my eyes on the small figures, I try to get a better look at what’s hiding beneath their full-length coverings. One places a tiny hand, flesh the color of my own, over the panel that slides out the table. The other sets down a covered tray in the center before moving to stand behind Natu, who is gesturing for me to come over and eat.
The figures are as small as children, and with that human-like skin, I rush over with a need to protect the innocent. Dropping to my knees in front of the children—
A scream is ripped from me as I scamper backward until the wall halts my progress.
Skin color is where the similarity begins and ends between human children and whatever the fuck that is. Unblinking, bulbous eyes, the bright pink color of rats, remain locked on me. Slashing mouths that split their round faces display rows of jagged teeth as they sneer in my direction.
Natu crouches in front of me, blocking my view, his razor-sharp canines flashing as he speaks in his alien tongue.
What is it with aliens and scary teeth!
I recoil back, feeling like I’ve dropped into the same rabbit hole as Alice did in Wonderland, except mine is truly a nightmare I’ll never wake from.
Natu continues to speak to me in a tone meant to calm and reassure. All I can do is study his face and note the differences between him and the men of Earth. Releasing a breath, he looks over his shoulder at Xuel.
“We need a translator.”
“I do not know of any that will translate the langua
ge of the Mannocks.”
“None?”
Xuel shrugs. “To my knowledge, there is not.”
“I wonder why?” Natu looks back to me in contemplation.
“Our language is not easily translatable to others, much less one of a lesser species.”
Natu holds his large palm out to me, but I decline to take it.
“It would be beneficial if we could communicate with her. Let her know she is safe with us.”
“Is she, Natu?” Xuel quirks a heavy brow. “After what transpired when she first arrived, I would not consider her safe. Do not forget the fate of the coitus slaves who have occupied this space before her.”
“She will not suffer the same fate as the others now that those two have been banned from so much as touching a single hair on her head,” Natu answers with heat.
“Which brings me back to the reason why I am here.” Xuel comes toward me with long, purposeful strides.
I cringe back against the wall as Natu moves aside for Xuel to scoop me up from the floor and place me on the bed. Unceremoniously, Xuel rips the material from my body and grips my knees, pushing my thighs wide apart.
Gasping, I fight to be released as he examines the intimate flesh between my legs, my face flushing hot from his intense perusal.
Releasing one knee, I start to close my legs, but his hand lands on my mons, paralyzing me. His cat-like eyes flip up to meet mine, a wash of his musk filling my nose. With the brush of his thumb over my slit, my body flushes with something other than embarrassment.
His eyes are no longer odd, but erotic as the ebony of his pupils round out, eating up the bright green, and I know without looking at his crotch that he wants me. Call me a slut, I don’t really care. There’s no one here to judge me, so I give myself over to the unexplained lust I suddenly feel. Why this particular male holds such a fascination.