by Corin Cain
Then again, when you’re on a ship filled with Toads and Bullfrogs, maybe it’s not the worst thing in the world to have an Aurelian sentinel standing guard over me.
Then, I check myself.
Stop making excuses for these men! They bought you at a slave-auction. They’re testosterone-fueled animals, just like all Aurelians!
I purposefully turn away from Marcel and address his battle-brother, instead – the one whose name I still don’t know.
“What’s your name?” I stare defiantly into the warrior’s haunted eyes. It feels weird thinking of him as Aurelian Number 3.
“That’s Quint,” Lucius answers for him.
Lucius.
Damnable Lucius!
Turning to him, all I see is a towering, full-lipped reminder of my personal failure.
Lucius lounges on the enormous couch, as if he owns the entire ship. He’s wearing a freshly-laundered, light grey t-shirt that still seems obscenely dark compared to his marble-white muscles. His dark grey shorts – clearly not the same ones he’d soaked with pre-cum the night before – are an even starker contrast against his alabaster skin.
I gulp as I see the outline of Lucius’s cock is still very fucking noticeable inside those shorts, and I snap my eyes up sharply before he notices me looking.
As nonchalant as Lucius looks, I also notice he’s got the hilt of his Orb-Blade hanging from his waist – as if he’s expecting sudden violence in this room.
I feel goosebumps ripple across my skin. I remember how it felt to be pressed up against him – so breathless and small, feeling Lucius’s hunger as he threatened to devour me.
He’d nearly descended fully into the mating frenzy – even though he had one advantage over me. At least Lucius’s clothes aren’t designed to constantly tease and stimulate his body.
As if activated by my thoughts, I suddenly feel the tiny little feathers of the pleasure dress squirming more teasingly against my skin. It’s as if the dress can sense that I was ogling the cocky bastard and decided to ramp up my desire.
Dammit! It was difficult enough without this dress. I’ve already nearly let my attraction to Lucius override every sense I had. Now, he’s looking over at me like a dog salivating over a juicy steak…
He’s a wild animal – they all are…
…but I’m the only one who’s been leashed here.
I swallow, forcing my thoughts away from the Aurelians. It’s hard to – especially when you’re surrounded by three looming, perfect specimens of alien masculinity. You don’t often see men with hewn jaws and strong, manly faces – and you most certainly don’t see them towering over seven-feet in height, with pure white skin as chiseled as marble.
As I struggle to ignore them, Marcel shrugs himself off the wall and strides to the kitchen – where he opens a cooler and pulls out a huge flank of bloody, uncooked meat.
“Breakfast?” He lifts the hunk of meat, and the absurdity of it cuts the tension in the room.
Truth be told, I’m currently hungry enough to eat whatever is thrown in front of me - practically without question. My stomach growls when I see the meat, and my only reservation is not wanting to think about what animal the juicy flank had originally come from.
I finally meet Marcel’s gaze again, and nod. He snorts in response, throwing the flank across a huge frying surface which instantly hisses and sizzles as the broiling steel sears the bloody flesh.
The scent of cooking meat fills the air, and my mouth waters. Truth be told, I’m actually surprised a warrior like Marcel cooks. I’d have expected the Aurelians to use the ship’s replicators – which do an acceptable job in recreating organic materials from base proteins. It’s especially effective for simple stuff like gruel – my staple diet throughout my journey aboard the Elnor.
Of course, replicators are very far from perfect. Aside from the tinny, artificial taste, sometimes the replicating process misses chunks entirely – and you’ll get a mouthful of liquid protein chains that leave a bitter taste in your mouth.
I haven’t had real meat in months – and my stomach growls at the mere memory of it. The smell of the meat fills the room as the broiling flesh hisses and sizzles against the pan.
No veggies, I notice. Typical of testosterone-fueled warriors. These guys need to start eating right!
I have to pass Lucius to walk into the kitchen area. I make certain not to spare the full-lipped, gorgeous bastard a glance as I walk forward. Instead, I look for plates to set the table with. The Aurelians might be beastly-warriors, but there’s no reason for us to dine as such.
There’s a huge table in the kitchen section, but it’s bare. For a moment, I half expect the Aurelians to just haul the broiling meat from the pan and tear chunks from it with their big, white teeth.
Then, from the corner of my eye, I catch the little smile spreading across Lucius’s full, sensuous lips. My cheeks flush red as I can sense exactly what he’s thinking.
I swear to the Gods, if he makes one crack about me eating from his palm – like I did last night – I’m going to slap him.
I pull one of the huge chairs away from the huge, wooden table. This furniture is built to Aurelian dimensions, and I feel like a child again as I clamber up onto the chair. My feet don’t even touch the ground as I sit there, dangling back and forth, and I can barely see over the slab-like edge of the table.
“Here!”
Lucius barks wryly at me – and before I get a chance to respond, a thick pillow comes flying across the room towards my face.
I snatch the cushion out of the air at the last second – nearly knocked clean off my chair by the force of his playful throw. Yet, a single sniff of annoyance is the only emotion I let the jerk witness – gulping down my instinct to make some biting remark about watching what he’s doing.
I don’t want that irredeemably handsome warrior to know how much he gets to me – and, besides, I’ve got bigger concerns than teaching a brutal alien his table manners.
I push the cushion beneath me and it finally props me up enough to peek over the top of the table. I still feel like a child sitting at my parent’s dinner table – but you wouldn’t tell from my tone of voice. I need answers, and I need answers now.
“What the hell are you three doing on a Toad ship?”
The body language of those three, towering warriors instantly changes. They stiffen, turning to me with appraising glares.
Lucius licks his full lips, and although he’s lounging back across the couch – trying to appear relaxed – his rigidity betrays him.
“We ask ourselves the same question every day,” he finally answers, his voice hoarse.
Bloody wonderful. An evasive non-answer.
The only solace I have sitting here is that at least the Aurelians don’t all seem on the brink of losing control any more – about to rip my dress off and throw me across the floor. Last night, it was as if just a single sigh or gasp could have tipped them over the edge.
But even now, without the imminent threat of a lust-fueled frenzy, there’s still a heady tension in the air around these three. They might not be ravishing me with their eyes, as they had done the night before, but I know they’re imagining taking me right now – and the only thing holding them back is their claim that they ‘need’ to resist taking me. To keep on the right side of that final frontier of their mind’s eye – the line that still allows them to believe they aren’t Rogue.
At least they’re holding back.
That’s what I want, right?
That’s what my brain tells me, but this pleasure dress is relentless in trying to convince my body otherwise. The fabric squirms and tingles against my nipples, playing with every inch of my flesh it touches. Like a radio signal in my brain, I find myself flooded with thoughts of all three Aurelians forcing me down – taking me one at a time, or all together. The images appear in my mind and the moment they do, I witness Quint breathing in deeply – his nostrils flaring.
“Stop smelling me!” I bl
urt out, unable to contain my annoyance.
As if in a trance, Quint suddenly blinks, shaking his head. It’s as if he’d tasted my scent without even thinking about it.
Now, however, the hollow-eyed Aurelian runs his gaze up and down my body – finally meeting my eyes. The empty grayness of his stare is disconcerting. All Aurelians may resemble huge, white statues – but Quint even more so.
There’s something so unfathomable about the eyes of these Aurelians. Their gaze is so endless and blank – especially when you realize that they’ve been alive for centuries. To human eyes, they might not look much older than I am – but I know they’ve done and witnessed things beyond my comprehension, lived countless lives longer than my own, and their thoughts must be nothing like mine.
I’ve got to keep reminding myself that they’re not human.
In truth, Aurelians are closer to the Gods of Old-Earth than living, breathing creatures. They resemble the statues of Zeus, and Poseidon, and other deities I’ve seen pictures of, but don’t know their names.
One thing is certain, though – just like Aurelians, the Gods of the Old-Earth were lustful, violent, and achingly human in their Godliness. Pure, white skin doesn’t mean their hearts are pure.
Lucius stands – like a basking lion, pulling himself up ready for the hunt.
“You can’t blame Quint for tasting you,” he murmurs, crossing the room. “You taste so good.”
It’s typical of Lucius, to answer for his battle-brother. Arrogant as always, the towering Aurelian pulls out the chair at the head of the table and sits down – planting his elbows on the table. It’s not just the oversized furniture that makes me feel small now. His presence is overwhelming.
And when he gets close to me? I feel vulnerable in a way I wasn’t ready for.
I try to remain defiant.
“I bet I didn’t smell so good when I was knee-deep in that Toad filth,” I snort, trying to derail his flirting and cut the tension. “Does that smell ever wash off?”
“Even when you were covered in it, you smelt like nectar,” Lucius retorts – that huge tongue of his leaving a glistening sheen over his perfect lips. Suddenly, all I can think of is how right it felt when he was kissing me…
I blink.
What does that mean?
My mouth is suddenly dry, and this time I don’t think I can blame the desert-like heat of the Aurelian’s quarters. I know exactly what it bloody well means. Aurelians have noses like hunting dogs – and the alien species love the scent of women they believe might be their Fated Mate.
If Lucius could drink in the scent of me when I was covered in Toad grunge, it must be because he thinks I might be Bonded to him.
I shudder…
…could it possibly be true?
I don’t get a chance to ponder that – as the slap and sizzle of a huge chunk of meat breaks me from my thoughts. I glance over and see Marcel flipping the huge flank of meat across the cooking surface.
Like a dad at a barbeque, Marcel asks: “How do you like it?”
At this moment, the huge flank of meat barely looks sunburned – and I remember reading about how Aurelians like their meat practically still walking.
In any event, I’m glad to think of anything other than Lucius right now – even if it is a lump of still-dripping meat. Marcel slaps it back onto the cooking surface, and my stomach growls at the delicious smells that continue to emerge.
It’s loud – but I’m too hungry to feel embarrassed right now, even when Lucius raises one of his thick eyebrows. He’s probably thinking of some teasing quip – which I just hope he keeps confined behind his lips.
The meat is still red and dripping, but my appetite can’t be contained any longer.
“I’d take it any way it comes right now.”
Marcel grins, and scoops the meat up with the fork, before depositing it with a thud onto the cutting board. Blood pools, flowing into the carved channels as Marcel slices the flank into long, bloody strips.
I bite my lip as I watch each carving appear redder and more raw; until the flesh is practically blue.
“Okay,” I gulp, “when I said I’d take it any way it came, I didn’t mean meat sashimi!”
Lucius snorts.
Marcel says nothing – but he does return about two pounds of the bloody meat back to the sizzling cooking surface. As what I presume is my serving continues to broil, the towering Aurelian plates three steaming mountains of practically raw flesh and brings them to the table.
It’s a weird dynamic, to see the leader of the triad attend to his two battle-brothers – almost like a parent doting on two equally large, muscular kids. However, there’s something almost robotic to his movements. Marcel has seemed different ever since he emerged from the bedroom. He seems deep in thought – serious, rather than challenging.
Quint stands silently, and crosses over to the kitchen. There, he grabs knives and forks, before bringing the plates to the dining room table.
“I’m surprised you know how to use a fork and knife,” I grumble, as Lucius receives his silverware. He says nothing – but his eyes flash infuriatingly.
I settle back into my chair.
This is just bloody fucking wonderful. We’re having the weirdest family dinner in the world!
Lucius takes his plate, and winks at me. “I’m more skilled at devouring things with my hands and mouth,” he purrs – leaving no doubt as to exactly what he likes to devour, “but I’ll try to be civil in your presence.”
My cheeks burn as I glare at him. He might be centuries old, but Lucius clearly acts like a teenager sometimes. The worst part is the effect it has on me. The mental image he flooded my head with – of his head buried between my thighs, and this thick tongue eagerly feasting on my wetness – is enough to leave me breathless, squeezing my thighs together beneath the edge of the oversized table.
I shake my head, trying to clear my head and square away the incredulity of this situation.
What the fuck is going on with my life?
One second, my transport ship is getting attacked.
The next, I’m being captured and sold at an auction.
Now, I find myself sitting at a dining room table with three huge, Aurelian Warriors staring down at me – and I’ve got no clear idea of their intentions. The only thing I do know is that they’re staring at me as if I’m more appetizing than their dinner.
Finally, Quint turns his slate-grey eyes towards his plate and digs in.
It’s a feral sight – watching him take a big gouge of flesh with his teeth. Blood drips from his lips, dribbling down his chin. The bright scarlet contrasts violently against his marble-white skin.
Lucius grunts and joins his battle-brother – taking his own big forkful of meat. It’s like watching a pride of lions devour an antelope. The way these looming warriors ravage the feast of meat reminds me that their veneer of civility and sophistication is just that; a mask they wear to conceal the ferocious beast within.
Marcel finishes cooking my meat, and brings the last two plates to the table. One has at least five or six pounds of raw, bloody strips piled onto it – and I assume that’s his helping.
The other plate is still heaped with at least two pounds of rare, barely seared meat. Marcel sets the dish down heavily in front of me, and for a second I feel as if I should be offended at his curtness, and the ridiculous offering he’s presented me with.
“I can’t eat all of this!”
But the moment the words leave my lips, I feel ashamed of them.
Look at me! Protesting how I’ve been given too much food! How ungrateful of me. I should be screaming at them to get me the hell of this Toad mothership – now! Instead, I’m complaining about the catering.
Marcel takes his seat across from me. I feel ridiculous sitting opposite him – my head barely poking over the oversized table, with my legs dangling from the chair made for occupants the size of Aurelian warriors.
As he surveys his food, Marcel murmurs:<
br />
“You’re recovering. You should eat to remain healthy.”
I roll my eyes – but nevertheless take a forkful of meat. I don’t mind Marcel’s more serious demeanor now. In fact, I wonder if he was acting so arrogantly before to infuriate the Toads.
I lift the fork to my mouth – and when my tongue touches the red, steaming meat, I know exactly why the Aurelians are digging into it with wild abandon. Whatever creature the meat came from is delicious. It’s probably going to go extinct from mass hunting – because even I’m thinking I could finish the full two pounds of flesh now that I know how good it tastes.
I take another bite, chewing happily. It’s only when I swallow that I realize all three of the towering aliens are now staring at me while I chew.
Their own jaws grind tirelessly, searing the meat with their powerful teeth. As they chew, the eyes of the Aurelians never leave mine. It’s intense. In fact, I’m starting to get pretty fucking tired of always being the center of attention around here!
That doesn’t last long, though. There’s suddenly a click from the door behind me.
“Something smells good!”
It’s Tessa, calling out with enthusiasm as she emerges from the bedroom. Her voice wavers when she speaks – and I can instantly tell that her feigned enthusiasm goes only skin-deep. She’s still clearly shaken up after nearly being destined for a Bullfrog’s aquarium.
I don’t even know how she pretends to be so chipper, considering our situation. Then again, we’ve been through so much shit together – and in such a short space of time – that right now feels like we’re in the eye of the hurricane. You know there’s a storm going on all around you, but when you’re caught in the center of it, there’s the sudden illusion of peace – and you find yourself with a moment to breath, and thankful not to be getting thrown around by the heavy winds for a few blissful seconds.
Marcel barely acknowledges Tessa’s entrance. He swallows a huge bite of meat and then grunts, nodding at my plate.