Taken By The Alien Next Door

by Tiffany Roberts

  Each cactus had a small flower growing atop it. Three were red, two were yellow, and one—the most vibrant of all—was pink.

  Zevris smiled. Nostalgia had sparked warmth in his chest, but it was nothing compared to the feeling instilled in him by that shade of pink, which immediately returned his mind to Tabitha. Perhaps he would do best to look at the cactuses not as signs of the home he’d left behind, but the home he might have found. The home he hoped to make.

  Beside the other blossoms, that pink flower was uniquely lovely. Just like the human females he’d encountered—each had been attractive in her own way, but Tabitha was lovely beyond compare. She stood out to Zevris like none of the others had. His two brief conversations with her had been refreshing and enticing, having gifted him tantalizing glimpses of her personality. That was something a few of his past dates had failed to achieve even during hours-long dinner dates.

  As he neared the rack, he reached forward and picked up the pink-flowered cactus by its tiny terra cotta pot. Was it not a human courtship custom to give flowers to the female one meant to woo? Perhaps this was a way to signal his intentions without seeming overbearing.

  Without making her run away again.

  Had he pushed her too far, or was there something else wrong? Perhaps he’d failed to find the balance between being forward and reserved. Perhaps she was attracted to him physically, but he’d failed to intrigue her enough during their conversations. Or had he simply failed to show the proper signs of interest?

  Being rejected by human females was nothing new to him, but he really wanted to get this right with Tabitha. He wanted her.

  When it was his turn to be checked out, he placed the cactus on the counter, purchasing it along with his other selections.

  The pot fit perfectly in one of the cupholders in the cab of his vehicle; he placed it there carefully before loading his wood into the vehicle’s open bed.

  Truck, not vehicle, he reminded himself as he secured the tailgate. Both terms were technically correct, but humans did not use the latter as often or as casually as the former. Car, truck, van; those were the words they preferred for their automobiles.

  He climbed into the truck’s cab and began his journey home.

  Though the drive was smooth, and the traffic was relatively light, Zevris drummed his fingers impatiently upon the steering wheel whenever he was behind a slower vehicle, and more than once had to bite back the urge to press the accelerator to the floor. There was a strange blend of tightness and hollowness in his belly that reminded him of the pre-drop anxiousness he’d so often experienced even after going through numerous drops onto hostile planets.

  His eyes repeatedly flicked toward the cactus sitting in the cupholder. Each time he looked at the plant, he wondered how Tabitha would react to it. Would she like it? Would she be grateful? Did she like him?

  Karak’duun, I’m acting like a human adolescent pumped full of hormones and self-doubt.

  At least that was what he’d been led to believe; his knowledge pertaining to that age group had been gained primarily through human entertainment. He’d not had any interactions with teenage humans apart from a few cashiers in various stores.

  “The cactus is fine,” he said, forcing his eyes back onto the road. “It is a hardy plant. It has weathered far worse than this drive.”

  He managed to complete his journey without unsafely passing other vehicles or exceeding the speed limit—or at least not exceeding it more than the cars that made up the bulk of the traffic. But when the entrance to his neighborhood came into view, he had to squeeze the steering wheel and clench his jaw to keep from accelerating. Getting to his dwelling a few seconds sooner wouldn’t help anything.

  And there were children who often played on these streets. Even if he was of a different species, from a different world, Zevris refused to endanger the lives of children, whether by reckless driving or any other actions.

  He backed into his driveway, turned off the truck, and again engaged in a battle of will versus impulse, just barely stopping himself from leaping out of the cab and sprinting to Tabitha’s door. Zevris could not recall a single moment in his life during which he’d been so excited and nervous at once.

  And all over a little plant that would stab him if he touched it.

  He frowned as he reached down to collect the cactus. The pot fit perhaps a little too well in the cupholder; its rim was below that of the cupholder, leaving only the cactus’s spiky body protruding.

  I suppose being a member of a highly advanced species is no guarantee of intelligence.

  Zevris fumbled to work the tip of a claw between the cupholder and the pot so he could coax it up. But his fingers were big, the gap was small, and the angle to which he had to bend to make the attempt was uncomfortable.

  “This is why you have not found a mate here, Logan,” he muttered. “Who wants any male foolish enough to get a cactus stuck in a cupholder?”

  After another minute of struggling—and a few frustrated grunts and growls—he finally wedged his claw between the pot and the cupholder. Using that claw like a prybar, he carefully raised the pot until he could press a finger to the other side. He lifted the plant free, keeping his hands angled away from those small, wicked spines.

  Now that he had the plant in hand, his frown deepened. Rather than a small sense of accomplishment, he had a moment of doubt; why was he gifting the female he desired a plant that could make her bleed?

  He cast that doubt aside. It was because of the cactus’s beauty—because of Tabitha’s beauty.

  Zevris exited the truck, holding the pot delicately in his fingers, and walked to Tabitha’s residence.

  As he approached the front door, a sound gradually took shape—music. It was a deep, thumping but muffled bass, and it was coming from inside Tabitha’s home. Even when he was standing on the front step, only the bassline and the words ‘What is Love?’ were clear.

  He pressed the doorbell. Its ring rose over the music, a high contrast to that low bass. Before the bell had even finished ringing, Dexter was barking. Someone cursed—a curt damn it—followed by the sound of something falling. A moment later, the music stopped.

  The barking grew in volume as Dexter neared the door, and his claws were soon scraping the other side.

  “Just a minute!” Tabitha called, and then lowered her voice. “Dexter, hush. What has gotten into you? You’ve never acted like this before.” She grunted, and claws clicked against the floor. “Come on. You’re going out back.”

  It was difficult not to imagine the scene behind the door. Did she have a hand on Dexter’s collar as she tried to guide the animal to back yard? Was she bent over, her pants sculpted to her delicious legs and backside? Was her hair hanging about her shoulders freely, begging for Zevris’s hands to run through it?

  He glanced at the cactus. Its bright pink petals—so close to the shade of her fingernails—bolstered his resolve.

  Zevris inhaled deeply. There was a faint scent on the air, a new scent, with vaguely floral notes. He knew some of the common ones, like lavender and roses, or the chrysanthemums in his front yard, but this was different from those. There was something to this scent…

  It produced gentle warmth in his nostrils. The sensation spread to his chest and blossomed low in his abdomen, tingling across his skin and through his limbs. He curled his free hand into a fist, holding it firm at his side to resist the wild urge to reach for the door handle.

  Tabitha’s lips were pink, too. Perhaps not as vibrant as her nails, but their pink was softer and infinitely more enticing. What other parts of her were that color? Her nipples, her—

  The door swung open, and there she was, his female, with her hair piled and knotted messily upon her head, stray wisps of it framing her beautiful face. She was wearing a pair of clear protective glasses, similar to those he wore in his workshop, large yellow rubber gloves, and a black apron with white ruffles and words printed across the front. I used to be addicted to soap, but I’m c
lean now. There was a big, dark spot on the apron, just below her breasts, as though she’d spilled something on herself.

  Her scent teased his nose for an instant before that mysterious floral fragrance assailed him in full force, overpowering all other smells.

  Zevris’s blood turned to magma, boiling in his veins, and his heart sped to pump that liquid fire faster and faster. Heat rushed to his groin and suffused his cock, which was instantly hard and throbbing within the confines of his jeans. His claws extended involuntarily; those on his free hand dug into his palm, somehow intensifying the heat within him. His tail, just as trapped in his pants as his shaft, coiled around his calf and squeezed.

  Despite those intense sensations, all his focus was upon Tabitha, who stared at him in wide-eyed surprise. His mouth watered as he took her in. He wanted to tear off everything she was wearing, wanted to reveal her soft, pale skin and large breasts, wanted to shove her to the floor so he could thrust between her legs and rut—

  He grunted, clenching his teeth. That strange scent dominated his every inhalation; there was no escaping it.

  Zevris closed his fist a little tighter. His claws produced growing points of pain on his palm, offering him a tiny distraction. He rasped, “Tabitha.”

  She smiled wide. “Hi! I…wasn’t expecting you.”

  Had he violated some cultural norm? Was there some rule about needing an invitation to go to someone’s home? Zevris couldn’t recall, couldn’t form a clear thought through the haze in his mind. The pain on his hand had only deterred his flaring desire for a few seconds; that inner heat was still intensifying, threatening to consume him.

  Tabitha’s smile faded slightly. “Are you okay?”

  Don’t just stare, Zevris. Speak, damn you.

  “I…didn’t mean to…” He struggled to find the word. It was somewhere in his head, currently buried beneath a thousand half-imagined images of Tabitha in various states of undress, many of which had her positioned tantalizingly as he rutted her. His cock pulsed with a deep ache.

  Intrude. That was the word, but it refused to come out as he fought to stop himself from stepping into her home and grabbing hold of her—and from spilling his seed where he stood.

  Tabitha arched a brow. “Look, if it’s about the money, I do not want it back. Just saying that right now. So if that’s why you’re here”—she lifted her arm and pointed at him—“you just can turn around and—” Her eyes fell on her hand and rounded.

  She laughed nervously as she glanced up at him and yanked off her gloves, tossing them behind her without looking. She plucked her safety glasses off her face, folded the arms in, and tucked them into the pocket of her apron before idly wiping at the large wet spot.

  The mystery smell strengthened, but now it was mingling with Tabitha’s scent, creating something irresistibly arousing. Zevris’s muscles tensed, and his shaft twitched as though trying to force its way toward her.

  “Sorry,” she said. “You caught me in the middle of something, and I kind of had a spill. I know what this must look like, but I was definitely not making drugs.” Her lips quirked in an uncertain smile.

  He had the vague sense that he should have apologized for causing her distress, that he should have offered some sympathy, but his body seemed to want nothing more than to bury his cock in her heat.

  Abort mission. Now. Get the fuck out of there.

  Before you do something you regret.

  “Are you spoken for?” he blurted.

  Her brows creased. “What?”

  “Are you spoken for? Do you have a male?”

  “A male? Do you mean…a boyfriend?”

  Was he truly being that unclear? “Yes. A boyfriend. Husband. Mate.”

  “Oh!” her cheeks flushed. “No, no I…I don’t have anyone.” She caught her bottom lip with her teeth, narrowed her eyes, and leaned closer to him. “Are you okay, Logan? Your eyes look—”

  Zevris lifted the cactus, inserting it into the space between himself and Tabitha as though it could act as some deterrent to the wild desires roiling within him. He wanted to lick that mysterious, maddening scent from her skin, wanted to fill the air with her soft cries as he pounded into her, wanted to fill her with his seed and forge that mating bond right now, right in her foyer, marking her as his forever.

  Instead of doing any of that, he said, “This is for you.”

  Her gaze fell on the cactus, and her brows rose. “For me?” She reached for it, her fingers brushing against his as she took the little plant from his grasp, sending thrilling sparks across Zevris’s skin that made him shudder. “You didn’t have to do that. Thank—”

  “Goodnight,” he said hurriedly, turning away and forcing himself to walk before she could utter a response. He’d climbed cliff faces hundreds of feet tall that were easier to traverse than the sixty feet between her front door and his, but he did not allow himself to slow, did not allow himself to look back. He did not allow himself to succumb to those fiery urges.

  Even a moment’s hesitation would have had him turning and racing toward her, ripping off his clothing as he moved without a care of what the neighbors would see. Her clothes would have met their end the instant he reached her.

  Somehow, he managed to get his housekey into the lock on the first try after deactivating the door’s forcefield, though his hands were stiff and trembling. He opened the door, darted through, and slammed it shut all within a fraction of a second, pressing his back against it as he fumblingly locked the deadbolt.

  He hoped the combination of that barrier and the distance between him and Tabitha would be enough.

  Heat sizzled beneath his skin in waves, coalescing in his loins. His entire body buzzed with an itch he wasn’t sure he could scratch—and there was little space in his mind for anything but the need to fulfill his desires. To find release.

  Zevris was only vaguely aware that he’d deactivated his holoshroud as he unfastened his belt and opened his jeans. In his desperation, he nearly tore off the button and broke the zipper, and he was only able to force the jeans slightly down his hips before he wrapped his hand around his cock and pulled it free.

  It ached and throbbed so hard it hurt, and it was so sensitive that even the feel of the air against its skin was almost more than he could bear. His balls were tight and heavy, his breaths already short.

  Hissing a curse, he slid his hand down his shaft.

  He slapped his free hand against the door, raking his nails across the painted surface. The feel of his hand on his cock was a blend of pleasure and agony unlike anything he’d experienced. Baring his fangs, he tipped his head back, closed his eyes, and pumped his fist. It was Tabitha he saw behind his eyelids as he worked—her eyes, that vibrant green; her lips, so soft and full and pink; her lush breasts and flaring hips; her tantalizing thighs and backside.

  Within moments, his ragged breaths were coming out in snarls. He offered himself no mercy, moving his hand up and down his shaft at a relentless pace, imagining it was her hand there instead—or her plump lips wrapped around him as she sucked him deep.

  He tightened his grip with another snarl. The pressure in him built rapidly until his hips were bucking and he couldn’t think, couldn’t separate himself from the sensations, from his desire.

  His muscles seized, and his balls tightened impossibly further.

  “Tabitha,” he growled as that pressure finally burst. Seed erupted from his cock in a powerful jet, running hot over his fist and easing the slide of his hand.

  Shuddering, he milked himself for whatever was left, spilling more and more seed onto the floor. When he finally stopped and opened his hand, his fingers were stiff and sticky. He forced his eyes open and glanced down at the mess he’d made.

  It looked like a gallon of his seed had splattered across the laminate flooring, its pale color in stark contrast to the carbon gray planks beneath. For as much as he’d spilled, for as much pleasure as he’d felt, he remained…unfulfilled.

  Release was not what
he craved…Tabitha was.

  “Svesh,” he rasped between labored breaths. His skin was still taut, his blood still aflame, his mind still hazed with insatiable lust.

  Zevris had taken himself in hand many times over the course of his life. For most male falorans, it was the only means available to relieve any sort of sexual tension without taking another male as a lover, the only way to ease the instinctual cravings. Orgasms did not necessarily involve ejaculation—because ejaculation was the means of forming a mating bond with a female. He’d spilled a little from time to time, as was only natural, but never like this.

  “Tabitha,” he repeated, letting his head fall back against the door again.

  Some foggy part of his mind suggested that the mystery scent she’d spilled on herself was responsible for this, but he ignored it. Now was not the time to speculate. Just the sound of her name on his lips—just the thought of her—had his hand moving back to his still-hard shaft.

  He wrapped his fingers around his cock and squeezed, growling again.

  This was going to be a long night.

  Six

  Zevris lowered himself slowly, bending his arms and refusing to let his elbows buckle against the immense force of the grav generator he’d placed on his back. He halted when his chest was within an inch of the concrete floor.

  Though his muscles burned and teetered on the verge of being overcome by tremors, he held the position, staring down at the smooth but imperfect concrete and the wet spots upon it that had been left by his sweat. As though in mockery of the burden placed upon the rest of his body by the grav generator, his tail swished from side to side freely, its tufted tip occasionally brushing over his calves.

  Usually, exercise offered a brief respite from the stresses of Zevris’s everyday life—which had, for many years, involved the very real chance of death at the hands of enemies who were actively hunting him. The physical exertion required a significant portion of his willpower to overcome, required him to focus on every fiber of his body to keep them working in unison, to push past whatever limits by which he’d thought himself restrained.