by Elsa Jade
Her eyes prickled. “I didn’t let you,” she corrected gently. “That was all you.”
His arms tightened around her. “The Tritonesse and even Coriolis talk and talk about economic development and increasing immigration and taking a seat at the intergalactic council. No one has mentioned music.”
She tilted her head back to gaze up at him. “Sometimes people get so wrapped up in the big things that they forget the little things.”
He looked down at her, the pearl of his bare eyes revealed. “I am a big thing,” he pointed out. “And I will not forget.” The shell-like gleam of his eyes brightened like two diamonds, and his nostrils flared. “The music moved you,” he said, his voice dropped an octave.
Since her whole body was flush with repletion and he was standing right against her, she couldn’t very well lie about it. “It more than moved me. I think it was better than the chocolate.”
What was brighter than diamond? Now his eyes gleamed like miniature suns. “This time, sing with me.”
“Oh, I don’t have much of a voice—” She sucked in a quavering breath as his hands slipped around her waist beneath her shirt, his wide, webbed palms spanning the small of her back and then slipping down past her waistband to cup her backside.
She clung to his shoulders, her whole body once again liquid with need even though she’d already had one intense orgasm. And chocolate. Greedy, yes, but he’d be leaving soon so these zap-free orgasms were all she would have for however much longer she had. “You can make me scream,” she said breathlessly. “We’ll just turn the music up so no one hears but us.”
When he lifted her up, spun her around, and set her down on the grand piano, this time she didn’t give a literal flying fuck about the lacquer finish. Too focused on the rich taste of chocolate on his tongue when he kissed her so deep she thought she might never rise to the surface again… Until he stripped her bare and put that tongue elsewhere, as if she were his dessert cup, the only one he had left, and he was determined to get every last lick. Under her spine, the thickest strings of the piano throbbed, and her pulse took up the time, faster and faster, until she was on the verge of breaking… And then she didn’t break but soared.
The keening cry from her own throat sounded like nothing in her universe. She convulsed around him with all the power of a star going supernova. And he held her aloft through it as if no explosion would ever make him falter or let her go. When he entered her, his flesh was as hot and heavy as if he’d already melted down to his molten core and he used it to rekindle her need until they were both circling the same release.
When she cried out again, the harp in the corner sang out, and the rippling arpeggio gave voice to the impossible sensations. As the harp reached its highest strings, Sting convulsed with a ragged shout that seemed to free another burst of her own orgasmic release.
Out in the darkness, she swore the stars sang too, bursting in fireworks against the back of her eyelids and at the deepest, intimate core of her own being.
He collapsed onto her, heavy enough that she feared the grand piano would crash to the floor.
“Bravissimo,” she murmured as the last of her breath squeezed out of her. “What an encore.”
Lifting her from the piano, he cradled her against his chest with one strong arm while he used his pretty new shirt to wipe down the lacquer. She should’ve been as least mildly embarrassed at their lack of discretion, but the black shine only reflected back her satisfied smirk.
Anyway, he looked better without the shirt. He looked like himself.
Nestling against him, she let her eyes half close as he carried her to her bedroom. As he nudged the door open with his bare foot, she peeked up. “How did you know which one is mine?”
“What kind of alien abduction would it be if I had to ask?”
“True, true.”
She didn’t bother even pretending to some sort of self-control as she let him carry her to the bed. When he tugged back the embroidered comforter and laid her down on the cool sheets, she didn’t fool herself that she’d had enough.
She held up her hand to him. “Stay? Tonight, I mean. We can’t… Will you stay tonight?”
Without hesitation or a single word, he slipped into the bed beside her.
And though he made not another sound, still he took her once again to the stars.
Chapter 13
The cool scent of the coming dawn woke him, though there was as yet no hint of light in the sky of Earth. Unmoving, he watched Lana sleep.
The night before, she had introduced him to Earther showers (unnecessary but charming), toothbrushing (less charming and also unnecessary since his teeth refreshed throughout his life), and spooning (charming and, he feared, a necessity he hadn’t realized before, although whether as big spoon or little he wasn’t yet sure). And in that darkness that needed neither light nor sound nor even the ceaseless, restless wash of the waves, they held each other.
But now was a new day. Although Lana’s mother had said his mission could change, that was not truly a choice he could make. He’d failed to retrieve any of the missing Atlantyri descendants, and he would be returning to Tritona empty-handed.
No, worse, he’d be leaving something behind. She’d asked for nothing of him except this night and to leave her behind when he departed. And he’d always done as commanded, believing his teeth, his tech, and his training left him impervious to hurt. All that time, he’d charged into battle, uncaring of the risk or damage he might take. It had never seemed worse than what had already been done to him. He’d never retreated until the enemy was vanquished.
He’d never known that the real harm happened on the inside of his thickened protective skin. And now for the first time he could not hold the line, knowing the danger ahead. Knowing the danger to his own heart.
So he slipped out of the bed from Lana’s side, mustering all the silence he’d ever learned under threat of pain or death.
Somehow, leaving her was worse.
The abode was nearly as quiet as he drifted through the fading scent of chocolate and vanilla. He paused in the library, and his softest ping brought the seahorses spiraling up from the back of the tank, the blue-green sparkle that was the dominant hue of water on this world scintillating gently over their dimpled skin. They danced a wordless figure on the other side of the glass, just beyond his reach.
Delicate and beautiful and just beyond his reach.
Like Lana.
With another ping, he sent them on their way. But one lingered, a living jewel hovering in the flickering water, though he had nothing for it.
“You are too tiny, cousin,” he murmured, “and poorly suited for life in my waters. Best you stay here, in the safe and quiet were nothing can touch you.”
After another moment, the seahorse drifted back to its companions, its long tail curling tight around a feathery frond of greenery. His throat was as tight as if that coiled tail was around his neck, choking off his breath and what was left of his voice.
Gathering the unbroken silence around him, he slipped out of the sleeping house and into the last moments of night.
The still pool in the center of the paved landing place in front of the house reflected the dark sky. He stepped in without a ripple. He was wearing the Earther-style clothing that Thomas had printed for him, although it was more constricting then his battle skin; should he be seen by anyone he wished for a certain anonymity. And for once, he was glad of the extra layer in the water. It was no colder than before, but somehow his skin seemed raw, vulnerable, missing the warmth of Lana against him. Surely the effect would fade, his skin would thicken and toughen again.
Wouldn’t it?
He stepped toward the middle of the pool, where the fish-tailed statue in the center of the fountain held a vessel upended from which should fall a stream of water. No water flowed from the vessel now, but his Titanyri senses felt the rush of waterways connected here. Another step would take him down the hidden passageway to where the aquifer a
waited him.
Taking him away from this abode.
Away from Lana.
He took another step, and the water rose to the apex of his thighs, so recently nestled against Lana. He sucked in a breath at the sudden chill, and caught the drifting fragrance—that rich spice that he had never tasted before and never would again.
Holding onto that breath, he sank beneath the water.
Without the need to warm the way for her or make sure she was breathing, he swam the distance to the Diatom and did not surface until he was in the ship’s hold. It took a moment for the AI to chirp a welcome and ignite the lights and temperature controls. None of which he needed, although he appreciated that something cared to make a welcoming space for him.
He strode through the ship, checking the repaired systems as the AI rattled off its own internal reports. It finished with, “All systems within operating parameters. Departure possible upon request. Still required: an approved exit trajectory. Contact closed-world security for updated codes.”
Sting grunted. “Use the exit trajectory for the Big Sky Intergalactic Dating Agency, Sunset Falls, Montana, United States of America, Earth.”
The AI clicked quietly a moment. “Authorization for those protocols was withdrawn.”
“Emergency override,” Sting snapped. “Use the discontinued protocols for launch.”
“Override for a closed world requires authorization from—”
Sting growled again and shoved his datpad against the input. The Tritonesse and Coriolis might be trying to establish new legitimacy with the intergalactic council, but Tritona had not survived this long by waiting obediently for authorization. After he tapped out a nav countermand hack, the AI chirped back. “Trajectory approved. Protocols loaded. Awaiting launch command.”
He should give that command right now. The ship would need to shed the weight of the water after it lifted off, and he required a moment to run through all the systems again before exiting the atmosphere. But when he opened his mouth to say the word—just one word—no sound came out. As if he had no air to push past his vocal cords, or no vocal cords of all, and not even the strength in his sonic pings to give the order to leave.
It had been a long few days since he arrived on this planet, and he’d had little rest. Although he’d gone longer during the war, these were not those times. Perhaps he could take a little longer, to prepare the ship for its journey home—and himself.
Without responding to the ship’s query, he returned to the half-submerged hold. Lowering himself into the cool water, he wrapped one arm around the hatch strut and pillowed his head on the plasteel decking, only thinly softened by a layer of accumulated Earther silt and algae. He gave it a lick. It was not as good as silken chocolate pudding cups.
With a sigh of all his bubbles, he extended his gills. At least the water tasted fine, even if it was better sucked off Lana’s skin in the shower or kissed off her lips.
He dreamed of her.
Hours later, waking without her, the musty tang of mud on his tongue left him hungry. He couldn’t very well leave for Tritona without replacing the food supplies or he might eat the ship. Even the AI couldn’t question that decision.
But as he made his way back through the aquifer channels, he found himself turning aside from the route to the Wavercrest abode. Instead, he emerged from a storm drainage system on the edge of town. The tough, flexible fabric of his printed clothing shed the water quickly as he strode the streets. He’d forgotten the footwear though; just as well it was late and the Earthers had sought their own abodes. The myriad smells might’ve lured him in if anything had hinted at chocolate.
Or Lana.
But he made it to Evens’ Odds & Ends Shop without being hooked. Though the lights were off, he sensed movement within, so he rapped at the glass—not as gently as he’d signaled the seahorses.
Evens appeared on the other side, brow furrowed. He unlocked the door from within and shoved it open, peering up and down the street, before waving Sting inside. “You look like a stuntman from The Creature from the Black Lagoon, only halfway through your time in the makeup chair.”
Only a few of the words made sense. “Titanyri are found in deeper waters than lagoons.”
Evens clicked his tongue, not a strong enough pang to hold off any deep-sea monster. Or even a seahorse, for that matter. “I meant you shouldn’t be lurking around Sunset Falls without Lana to cover for you.”
Sting shifted from one bare foot to the other. He’d wanted Lana to cover him. “I’ve come for the test.”
Evens scowled as he yanked down curtains across the windows, peering out before he jerked the last one into place. “What tests?” He whirled to face Sting.
“The test that proves my compatibility with Lana.”
Evens scowled deepened. “That’s not…” He rubbed his forehead. “The dating questionnaires don’t give you a specific person, more like a type or a range of personalities that might be compatible with yours.”
“In a war, you don’t target a type,” Sting informed him. “You aim for one eye, one head, one heart.”
Evens tucked his chin. “Um, this isn’t a war? You’re not trying to shoot her.”
Frustration tightened Sting’s skin, flaring the thickened joints of his armored skin, the same way as when he was under attack. “Not shoot her.” His lack of words had never bothered him before, except now, when he couldn’t explain. “But Lana is my only mission. My…need.”
Even studied him. “Yeah, I imagine the number of possible matches to your compatibility type is going to be pretty small.”
“Lana is pretty and small,” Sting informed him. “And she is all I want.”
After a moment, Evens’ expression softened in a way that Sting found far more alarming than his exasperation. “And what if she wants more choice?”
Sting stiffened. “I am more.”
“Well, you’re too much, that’s for sure,” Evens muttered. “Okay, look, you beta test my dating quizzes for the Big Sky IDA, and maybe that’ll give you a better sense of why you can’t force a connection.”
Force had always served him well in the past. But it was true he’d never had a mission like this. Waging war was one thing; winning Lana was something else.
He gave the Earther male a short nod. “Start the test,” he commanded. “How long do I hold my breath?”
“What? No. That’s not how—”
“I must warn you that whipping, blunt force, and projectile weapons may cause me to react without conscious control. For your own safety, you should administer any such tests from a secure distance. There should be at least one wall of sufficient thickness between us.”
Evens shook his head. “I’m telling you, it’s not that kind of test—”
“I have been increasing my tolerance to electrical stimulus, so if you want to study those tolerances, I think you’ll find I’d make an excellent mate for Lana—”
“Sting!” Evens propped his hands on his hips. “Stop talking. Listen to me. A dating quiz is supposed to make you think about who you are, and what that means about the kind of person you might enjoy being with, whom you might love. And who might love you back.”
Sting shifted from one foot to the other, his bare heels slipping infinitesimally against the few drops of water trickling from his pretend Earther clothes. “I don’t need to tests to know what I am. Titanyri, a monster raised from the deeps to fight an endless war.”
“And yet the war did end, didn’t it?” Evens asked softly. “So maybe you don’t actually know your own depths now.”
Sting bit his lip as Lana so often did, and the small pressure/pain soothed him, reminding him that he was here, in this moment, not some other. Also, it reminded him of her, which calmed him even more. He nodded at the other male. “I understand. I am in unknown waters. Whatever the tests or training, I’m ready to begin.”
Evens’ jaw cranked from side to side for a moment, as if he had more words to say. But he didn’t
, and instead gestured toward the back room. “Come to my office. We’ll get started with the IDA intake questionnaire.”
In the cramped back room, overflowing with objects that held no meaning for Sting and a few clearly purloined from the IDA outpost, Sting took the seat where Evens gestured him.
“Note to self,” Evens muttered as he pulled a piece of Earther tech in front of him. “Get chairs for different body types.”
Sting perched on the edge of the too-small seat. “First question,” he prodded impatiently.
Evens poised his hands over the device input board scattered with Earther letters. “Name.”
“Sting.”
“Full name?”
“Sting.”
Even stared at him. “You’re going to make this difficult, aren’t you?”
Sting stared back.
“Username.” Evens held up one finger when Sting opened his mouth. “This could be something a little more unique, something fun, a little flirty maybe, something to give the other person a sense of your personality.”
Sting stared at him. “Sting.”
Evens sighed.
The implied annoyance pricked even though armored skin. “Lana already knows my name,” he argued. “There is no need for me to tease her.”
“But Lana might not be the only one…” At Sting’s sub-vocal growl, Evens subsided. “Fine. What is your height?”
“Taller than Lana.”
Evens’ jaw clenched. “What is your weight?”
“About two Lanas.”
With a grunt almost as hard as one of Sting’s own, Evens clicked through several pages of the questionnaire with unnecessary force. “Let’s just skip ahead to some of the more personal questions… Ah, okay, here. What is your favorite food?”
“Plankton, pie, and the blood of my enemies.”
“That’s not… No! You’re not at war. You’re trying to entice an alien bride.”
Sting scowled. “Anyone who has enemies would be enticed.”
Evens rubbed his brow with the tips of his fingers. “True. But Tritona and you are trying to move past that, aren’t you?”