The Alien's Virgin: An Alien SciFi Romance (Chief of Kurah)

by Morgan Rae

  I don’t know what to say. I can’t imagine what he’s feeling right now, so I don’t pretend to. I try sympathy instead. I reach out and rest my hand on his arm. “I’m sorry,” I say.

  “I will kill him.” The determination in his voice sends a chill up my spine. Garock doesn’t experience outbursts like the rest of us. Instead, he has quiet, caged anger that is terrifying enough. “He will pay for what he has done.”

  I can’t help myself, and a bitter laugh falls from my mouth. “Right,” I say sardonically. “Because violence is always the answer.”

  His eyes find mine. “It is the Kurah way.”

  My skin crawls. I hate that phrase. There is no phrase I hate more than that one. Abruptly, my sex drive is shot. If he had said, Let’s do our taxes together, I still might’ve spread my legs for him. But no, he had to come out with that Kurah way crap. And now my thighs are closed for business, because all I can see are the nightmares that keep me awake, the image of Garock dying on the sword, all because it’s the Kurah way. I remember our last fight in the tent and how he used their code of conduct against me.

  As quickly as they came down, my walls go back up. I am safe behind a wall of emotional disinterest. I hug my arms around my chest to hide my breasts and hop off the counter top. I can’t afford to get this close to Garock anymore. I am Ben’s mother and I need to keep a healthy, secure distance.

  "You don't get to do that," I hiss.

  His eyes squint. "Do what?"

  I wave my hand in a useless frustrated gesture. "You don't get to. claim us. You haven't been here. You don't get to just invite yourself into our lives again."

  I want his anger. Instead, he looks like I've slapped him. "Ben is my son," he says. "And you are mine. You always have been." He cups my face in his hand. "You've forgotten our time on Naruda. How I carried you when you grew tired. Sleeping together under the twin moons. You told me you loved me once."

  My stomach churns. I haven't forgotten. Not for a second. And his hands on me is doing terrible things for myself control. I rip away from him quickly and turn back to the mess of glass.

  “Ben could step on that,” I say. “I’ll get a dust pan.”

  I jump off the counter, avoiding the glass, and step over to the pantry. I try to ignore the fact that my panties are sopping wet and my clitoris is throbbing furiously, angry with me. I try not to think about the soft and sweet way his eyes linger on mine. Stay strong, I think. Stay strong, stay strong.

  I pull the small dust pan off the hook and hand it over to him. Garock figures it out quickly enough and crouches down to push the glass pieces into the pan. I watch and cover my chest again. “Ben will be home soon,” I say. “You should take a shower. Get the dirt out of your hair. I’ll find you clothes. Clothes people here wear.”

  Garock nods. “As you wish.” It is as though he can sense the sudden gulf between us and he watches me now as though he’s waiting for me to go off on him. I don’t. I’m better than that now. I turn on my heels and walk upstairs. He sets the pan down on the counter and follows me. I lead him to the upstairs bathroom and lean over the bathtub to turn the shower on. When I pull back, I notice Garock is staring at everything, trying to take it all in. For a second, I feel sorry for him again.

  “Feels strange, huh?” I ask. “Being out of your element.”

  He reaches to the toilet and pushes down the handle. When it flushes, he narrows his eyes, confused. “The Goddess has strange dwellings.”

  “I’ll give you a crash course,” I say. “For now, here’s my shower. Turn the knob when you want the water to stop. Towels.” I open a set of shelves above the toilet and pat the clean towels there. “These are clean, so you can dry off with these. I’ll go see if Maya has any big man clothes.”

  Speaking of clothes, his clothes fall from him carelessly, and he sets his axe heavily down on the sink. I forget that the Kurah are not exactly a shy race, yet my breath catches in my throat. He’s already hard for me, his manhood pointing skyward.

  I lift my hand to shield my eyes. “Okay, wow. What’d we say about giving me a warning?”

  “My apologies.” I can see his eyes, however, and he’s not sorry. Not even slightly.

  “Well. I, um…I should leave you to it.” I scramble to the door, put my hand on the handle, but stop. A thought crosses my brain. I close the door instead and turn to face him, leaning my back against it. I want him; I want him so badly my skin aches. I blame five years of abstinence on the sentence that comes out of my mouth next.

  “Make me come.”

  His eyebrows lift in surprise.

  “I need you to get me off,” I continue firmly even though I feel vulgar begging for it. I continue as though it’s a thesis, because that helps me feel less sex-starved. “If I go downstairs like this, I’m going to be distracted and unfocused and I pride myself on being present at all times for Ben. But seeing you like this and knowing you’re here it just…it just…um…”

  Garock steps in front of me and my back hits the wall. He places a palm beside my head to brace himself while his other hand slides underneath my pants and under my panties. His eyes catch mine as his hand boldly reaches between my legs to feel my sex. “Yes,” Garock says. “You are distracted.”

  I can feel the elastic of my panties tighten against my hips as his hand works me. Garock presses a finger between my slit and rubs up and down the slick folds, igniting my passion. The friction of his touch, even one finger alone, is enough to send me into a frenzy and I gasp as my legs buckle. Oh my god, I’ve missed his touch. He touches me as though he owns me, fearlessly, as though he’s memorized every inch of me already. He teases my entrance, but doesn’t push inside, leaving me wanting. Instead, his finger inches forward until he hits that bundle of raw nerves. He traces small circles around my bud and leaves me buzzing, trembling with sheer effort to stay still and let him have his way with me.

  I see a renewed focus enter his eyes as the tattoos on his chest light up and the white light crawls down his arm until it disappears under my panties. I know what’s coming, but I’m still not prepared for it. When his Kaul hits me, that burst of pure pleasure directly on the most sensitive part of me, I explode with blinding euphoria. He must sense that I’ve lost control of myself, because the second it hits, his free hand covers my mouth. I bite into the space between his thumb and forefinger and cry out loudly into his hand. My chest arches forward, my head falls back, and I writhe in pure, unceasing ecstasy.

  This makes my vibrator feel like something from the Stone Age. Pleasure emanating from his touch sizzles through me like a lightning bolt. It ripples over my skin and making my toes and fingers curl, before it doubles back on itself and meets again at me center, wrenching one throb after the other from my sex. The sensation is indescribable, as though I’m having two orgasms simultaneously, one in my core, and one vibrating through the rest of me. Every inch of my skin has become an erogenous zone and when he wetly kisses the crook of my neck, it feels as though his tongue is swirling directly over my clitoris. I bite deeper into his hand, my breaths coming quickly through my nostrils, and quake with the intensity of my orgasm. Just when I can’t take anymore pleasure, he shoots another pulse of electricity through me and I feel it with renewed force. I want to beg him to stop, but his hand is covering my mouth tightly, and my neglected sex is soaking up every pulse of my orgasm, making up for lost time.

  It feels like it lasts forever even though I know it probably only last thirty, maybe sixty seconds tops. I’m breathless, flushed, and my legs are shaking. I can barely keep myself upright. Luckily, Garock is there and he settles his hand at my waist to keep me up.

  His eyes burn like emeralds and my lips tingle with the want to be kissed.

  “Better?” he murmurs.

  I nod. I’m satisfied as a kitten in a sun puddle. “Yes.”

  “Satisfying you is easy for me,” he tells me. “Watching you slowly unravel is my favorite part.”


  Oh hell. My nether lips start to swell again and I know I’m going to get worked up if I don’t leave. But it’s more than that. It hits me that I crave more than physical intimacy from him. Getting off feels good and it takes some of the edge off, but there’s a deeper agony twisting around in my chest that has nothing to do with sex. I want to feel his heart beating against mine. I crave the security of his embrace and his devoted, loyal sweet nothings. I’m weak around this man and it makes nervous.

  “I have to…” I stutter as I fumble for the doorknob, “…dinner.”

  Before Garock can make me writhe like a fly in a spider’s web, I wiggle out of the bathroom and shut the door in his face. I’m panting, struggling to catch my breath, with my palm on the door for balance. My head is spinning. What is wrong with me?

  Three seconds. You have three seconds. Pull yourself together, Kennedy.

  My breath settles in my lungs and I finally feel myself still. I start making lists of everything I need to do in order to get through tonight. You can do this, I tell myself. One dinner. Just one. And then I’ll figure out what to do with him from there.

  You’re Kennedy Davis. You can do anything.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN: GAROCK

  I have always been very good at self-control. Meditation is something I take very seriously. But around Kennedy, I feel as though a storm has awakened inside of me. I burn for her, my Goddess, who melts into every one of my touches and dissolves into a flurry of breathless moans and shudders.

  It is more than that. I crave her for more than the way my strong Goddess turns weak only at my touch. I crave her shy smile, I crave the way her tongue stumbles when she’s nervous, and I crave the far-away look in her eyes when her mind drifts far out of reach.

  I step into the manmade waterfall. It weighs down my hair and beats against my skin in many little streams. Already, I feel my Kaul growing stronger. I feel my power revitalizing. I am no longer broken. With my Goddess, I am complete again. I know I can conquer anything, even Faron and the strength of his Selith army.

  I run my fingers through my hair and rinse it out. The water at my feet turns rust-colored as the Naruda dirt falls from me. I find a bar of stark white wax that I assume is soap and rub it over my skin, thoroughly rinsing off my body. My marks are starker against my skin now, which seems somehow appropriate. Already, I feel more solid, even though I am completely out of my element.

  So far, I have run into no fierce beasts, but I still know nothing of the world Kennedy comes from. I keep my wits about me and try not to get to comfortable, but it is difficult when the warm water softens my muscles and relaxes me. Once clean, I try to mimic her movements and twist the knob on the wall. The waterfall immediately ceases and the knob comes off in my hand.

  Hm. Flimsy materials. I step out and find the towel my Goddess spoke of and beside it is a folded outfit. The towel is pink and I use it to dry off before I don the clothes laid out for me. The pants are made of a stiff, navy blue material and I manage to zip it up and sheath the button. The shirt is tight as well and I wonder if the men on this planet are as small as the women. When I pull it over my head, it stretches across my chest. A long mirror stretches across her wall and I catch sight of myself. I look different. I am what the Selith might call civilized, no longer a savage.

  I am going to meet my son. That thought stills me and makes me stare at my reflection even more critically. I want him to recognize me as his father, not as a savage. I pick up a small black band on the sink. I pick it up, carefully tie my thick hair back in a bun. I take another look in the mirror. Better. I have not been nervous in a long while, but now, my heart quickens in my chest.

  Civilized. But not Selith. The shirt is short at the arms and displays the markings that run along my arms. I wear my Kurah heritage with pride so my son knows that he too should be proud to come from such a strong race. He is a small warrior, whether he knows it or not.

  I feel confident again and I move to grab my axe. Swing’s blade glimmers as though she’s happy for the attention. I stop when I realize I have no longer am wearing the harness that straps Swing to my back. I could carry her downstairs with me, but I pause. I remember the pain in Kennedy’s face when I spoke in the kitchen about killing Faron.

  The war is still very much alive on Naruda. I know I need to return soon. Leyana will lead the Tribe to victory, but they will not be able to hold off the Selith for much longer. In the meantime, however, perhaps, for now, I could try my hand at peace. For my Goddess. For my son.

  Gently, I set Swing back down on the sink. “Do not worry,” I tell her. “I won’t go far.”

  The blade shimmers in protest. This is not the Kurah way, she seems to say, but then quiets. Tonight, I am not a warrior. Tonight, I am a father. I have never felt this stillness in my chest. Since I was a young boy, I was raised to be a Kurah warrior. I look at myself in the mirror. What is most strange is that my reflection does not feel so foreign.

  Perhaps peace is not so far away.

  I leave the bathroom with the broken knob in hand and go downstairs. I hear the crackle of the stove and smell the peppery scent of spices. Two voices echo downstairs, the high pitch of Kennedy’s voice and the clipped, muffled sound of my boy, and my nerves tighten in my chest again. I test the elasticity of my sleeve but the stitches cannot yield much further.

  My Goddess looks up from the stove as soon as I take my foot off the final step. Her eyes light up and she smiles at me. At once, my worries cease. “Dang,” she says. “You clean up well.”

  I hold up the knob. “I broke your waterfall.”

  “Oh,” she blinks and seems to come back down to earth. “Don’t worry about it. Have a seat. I’m almost done here.”

  My son is sitting at the table, and he stares at me with his mother’s emerald eyes from under a mop of dark hair. His eyes are uncertain. I crack a small smile, my boy has warrior in his blood, ever alert. I slowly take a seat at the table across from him to show that I mean him no harm. My eyes do not leave his, I think I may never stop looking at him. I want to memorize him. He has so much of his mother in him, but the strong build of a Kurah.

  He speaks first. “You don’t have your axe.”

  I shake my head. “No. I do not.”

  “No weapons at the table,” Kennedy says as she sets two plates in front of us.

  When she goes back to the kitchen, my son watches her go and then leans in and whispers, “Is it real?”

  I nod slowly. “Yes. I call her Swing. She is my bond-weapon.”

  His eyes sparkle with curiosity. “Do you hurt people with it?”

  “I protect people,” I correct him.

  “So you’re like a knight?”

  “I am a warrior. The strongest. As are you—”

  “Okay, enough warrior talk.” My Goddess sets her plate and sits at the head of the table between my son and I.

  My son looks at his mother. “Am I a warrior?” he asks.

  “No,” she says.

  “Yes,” I say simultaneously.

  Our eyes connect across the dinner table. The corner of her mouth tightens and I heed the warning and hold my tongue.

  “Eat your dinner, you two,” she says. “Before it gets cold.”

  I turn my attention to the plate in front of me. I recognize the salad, but I do not recognize the cut of meat in front of me. I lift it between my hands and begin to chew. The meat falls off the bone and melts in my mouth. “This is delicious,” I praise. I rip it apart voraciously and, when I glance up, I see my son watching me. He is holding two metal utensils on his hand and he breaks the meat up into tiny pieces with it. He lifts the two utensils up and mimics cutting the food.

  I adjust to match his posture. I dab my mouth with the black napkin and pick up my own set of utensils, mirroring my boy. The corner of his mouth turns upward, like his mother. I’ve pleased him. My chest swells with warmth and pride.

  “Ben,” I say. I like the
way his name sounds on my tongue, short, clipped and strong. “Tell me about yourself.”

  Ben pushes his food around his plate and his eyes flicker between his dinner and his mother. “Um, I don’t know.”

  “Tell him about your science project,” Kennedy coaxes. She radiates around her son. Motherhood looks good on her and I have to turn my eyes away before I get hungry again.

  Ben’s feet kick back and forth against his chair. He puts his eyes everywhere but on me. “I, um, I made a model solar system for the science fair last year. It’s okay. I guess.”

  “Look at me,” I tell him and his eyes snap to me. “I want to know about this project. Tell me more.”

  With his gaze on me, I see in his eyes that he can tell I am genuine and slowly I watch his confidence grow. He loses his stutter and says clearly, “It’s all made to scale. I took foam balls and secured them on clothes hangers to make a mobile. Mom helped.”

  I glance at my Goddess. She is beaming, and rightfully proud. “He’s obsessed with stars,” she grins. “Go figure.”

  “Do you have it?” I ask.

  He nods eagerly. “Upstairs. In my room.”

  “I would like to see this model.”

  “Finish your dinner first,” Kennedy chides. “And then show and tell.”

  My son and I start to eat faster. He is eager to show me his project and I am eager to see it.

  He shoves his empty plate away from him on the table. I do the same to mine a mere few seconds after he does. “Can I be excused now?” he asks as his eyes turn to his mother. I match his expression and she laughs and waves her hand.

  “Yes. Go. Before you two choke on your food.”

  Ben darts away from the table and I stand to follow him. I linger briefly and rest my hand on Kennedy’s shoulder. As she sits at the head of the table, I recognize that I am in her house and I should abide by her rules. I am used to being the Chief, the alpha of the clan, but here, I make an effort to show her that I respect her customs. She gives me a small smile and I can see a tinge of sadness in her eyes. No, perhaps not sadness—ache. Happy heartache. She is glad to see me interacting with our son. “Go,” she says. “You’ve got some lost time to make up for. Just make sure he brushes his teeth before he goes to bed.”