Beth's Stable

by Amanda Milo

  “Qolt, please,” she begs so prettily. “I need more!”

  Oh narra, I’ve got so much more for you than my tongue.

  I stand, unbuckling my pants and shoving them down my hips. I press my hand to her back, forcing her to dip her spine, causing her bellyswell to rub and drag against the Narwari blanket beneath her.

  She sucks in a breath, shifting impatiently under me.

  But I’m a little preoccupied with the view. This position angles her ass up perfectly.

  My wrist knocks against my mating ring, and I smirk, recalling the last time we were about to do this, and Beth’s wary aversion to my equipment.

  There’s nothing wary or averse to her begging body now. “Qolt, now!” she cries.

  “At your command, narra,” I growl to her, making her roll her hips.

  I clutch her hindcheek to steady her, and knock back my mating ring. I groan when I thrust inside her, spearing downward, and Beth shrieks as her insides grip and ripple around my shaft.

  My mating ring slaps to her ass, making her jump. It’s sticking too high up, so I shove my thumb beneath the seal and break it from her skin, readjusting it until it’s cupping her where it’s meant to.

  She gasps when the pressure starts to build. She tries to spread her knees wider, but the width of the saddle rack won’t allow her to.

  I fit my hands under her and haul her up slightly, spreading her thighs and gripping them, trying to keep hold of her but not bruise her.

  By Beth’s increasingly breathy sighs and shivers, I must be doing something right.

  I let her knees rest again on the rack and drop over her, my back arching hard to drive into her slickness, feeling Beth’s insides hug my club every time I slide out and drive into her. My thrusts rock her hard beneath me. I bury my nose into her mane, bringing one of my hands up to fist her silky locks.

  Beth gurgles and drives her rump up higher, changing the angle I’m entering her at—stroking something inside that causes her to sing and sob at the same time.

  She clamps down on me so hard I roar into her mane. My stones draw up as I empty into her squeezing heat, and the experience of Beth’s insides kissing around my club feels cog-damn near good enough to kill me.

  And if it does, I’ll deal. This was worth it. If however we do survive, I decide that we’re not leaving this place, not ever. We’ll rut here until we can’t walk.

  A shocked noise from behind us ruins my plans.

  Beth jerks under me and tries to dive off the bench.

  This is neither safe nor effective, since I’m at least something of a cover, whereas the floor has nothing at all for her to hide behind.

  Plus, my mating ring is still attached.

  It’s stretched far too tautly between us for the organ’s liking. “TRIPE! Hold still, female,” I say to Beth, and turn a killing teveking glare on whoever is behind us.

  It’s Breslin.

  Sanna’s with him, and she may not see with her eyes, but the way her cheeks have high spots of color? She’s bites her lip, and it’s clear she can smell and guess what they’ve interrupted. “So sorry,” she says politely, in a strained voice.

  Breslin looks down at her before meeting my glare again. “It’s our barn!” He gives me a pointedly exasperated look. “There are people milling about, what’s wrong with you?”

  What’s wrong with me? My mate’s the sexiest female alive, and he should be thanking me that I didn’t ride her in the grass under the open sky in front of everyone. Taking her to the barn and taking her in the barn—as far as I’m concerned—shows I have some rutting restraint.

  But I don’t say this aloud. A quick glance at Beth shows she’d like to disappear about now.

  “Let’s give them privacy,” Sanna whispers, tugging Breslin’s arm.

  Amused rather than irritated, he gives us his back. “Deviants.”

  I hand Beth my shirt, and would gladly take the opportunity to free my mating seal if she didn’t feel she had to cower from the pair who intruded on us. She’s huddled down so low, I don’t expect her to pipe up a retort to Breslin. “Says the man who broke his bed.”

  Breslin broke his bed?

  My head swivels to Sanna, my eyes feeling huge.

  Breslin’s face instantly transforms into something very proud, and as he turns his gaze to his female, he’s looking very pleased.

  Sanna slaps her hands over her heating cheeks.

  Breslin gathers her against his side, as affectionate with her as he is smug about what he’s done with her. “We’ll come back later.”

  “Obliged,” I return.

  I look to Beth, thinking that if I’d broken a bed with her, I’d be smug as hells too. “Care to break a bed with me, narra?”

  When the pair are out of view, Beth stands, finally stepping close enough to alleviate the infernal tension on my stretched mating ring. She shoves her sweat-slicked hair away from her face. “You know you’re brother made me the same offer?” She shakes her head. “I can already tell this is going to become some weird, alien-Olympic sex game.” Then she sends me a scorching smile. “How do you feel about going for the gold?”

  I draw my finger over her sunshine-kissed shoulder before capturing her gaze. “Beth, my narra, I’m your pirate for this quest. As it happens, I love gold.”

  CHAPTER 50—BETH

  BETH

  Breslin’s farm is like a frontier time capsule. Each day follows a fairly simple routine; I feel like we’ve traveled back in time, except for when we retire to our spaceship. Weeks go by surprisingly fast, helped by our constant activity. The guys and I hang around Breslin’s farm for the most part, although we do quite a bit of trekking around the area because my Na’riths are in serious demand. Surprisingly, my pirates prefer to do more trading than selling here. It seems Iechdymaw craftsmanship isn’t seen often outside of the Vfaryian planet, and because of this, there’s a nice market for the handmade goods that we’ll be upselling in the future.

  The women like it here—they like it alot… most of them. Gracie has no interest or intention of mingling, and I can’t blame her. Apparently, Gracie was under the constant threat of being drowned if she didn’t cooperate in the brothel. It had to be terrifying, and a real solid base layer to the mental and emotional scarring that happened to her along with the other bad action. She isn’t okay enough to enjoy much of anything at the moment, so she’s keeping to herself and hasn’t set foot out of the room she shares with Pasutha. Pasutha confided that she uses only primitive bathing methods—a washcloth, barely damp—and that he feared she’d be constantly dehydrated because she avoids liquids. Considering how they kept control of her, finding out that she’s developed a water phobia isn’t surprising. Just heartbreaking.

  Ekan delivered watergel packets to their door when he learned this.

  A lot of the former brothel slaves have happily paired up with the Iechdymaw male of their choice, but even the ones who haven’t settled with anyone still want to stay—and that means our work here is done.

  We’ll be leaving tonight, but before we go, Breslin’s farm is hosting a giant potluck and party. All the farmers bring something, food and fresh produce mostly—but some men arrive bearing rarer things, like canned jams, wooden carvings, metalwork—farewell gifts from good people who’ve fast become friends.

  Instead of simply accepting them, my guys offer trades or buy items outright, when the maker allows. The guys trade for all sorts of beautiful treasures besides these gifts too. Oquilion presents me with a handcrafted copper-wrapped headband with drop-jewels dangling from it that remind me of chocolate diamonds. Prow gifts me with a smoothly sanded, hand-wittled spoon that’s unspeakably eye-catching in it’s simpleness. Qolt traded his favorite knife for a ruby necklace in the shape of a rearing Narwari that weighs almost as much as I do. I told him he shouldn’t have, but heck yes I’m wearing it. (But carefully: I’m vacillating between being terrified it will fall off and get lost forever, and running my fingers over it l
ike I’m Sméagol and it’s my Precious.)

  It’s a rustic but charming atmosphere with endless delights to sample, and lots of aliens to hang out with. There are even carriage and wagon rides—both of which I go on, even if the rough rocking doesn’t feel the greatest on my body, because how often does a girl get a chance to ride in an alien horse-drawn carriage? Exactly.

  The women are treated like princesses—myself and Sanna included—so it’s a darn good party, but my back has been killing me since I woke up, and no amount of walking or sitting has helped. In that respect, I’m not having a ton of fun.

  Still, everyone is so grateful to my Na’riths, and they want to show their appreciation. For that reason alone, I’d suck it up. But these people want to send my pirates and me off in the Vfayrian version of a grand fashion—and for this, heck yeah! You bet I (wo)man up.

  If you think that we’re too humble to soak up this outpouring of adoration and praise—you don’t know Ekan. At one point, he lays his hands on the shoulders of two Iechydmaw who are cheering his name, and he shouts, “I love this planet! You people of Vfayr belong to us now!”

  The Iechydmaw laugh just like he intended—and I’m pretty sure we’re the only ones who know Ekan isn’t joking.

  Do any of my pirates naysay the idea though? No. No, they do not—because they’re a bunch of crazy pirates. I mean, who would be ballsy enough to lay claim to an entire planet?

  Na’riths, that’s who.

  Even in my extremely uncomfortable state, I can’t help but snicker and grin at Ekan as he all but bounces through the crowd of people.

  While Breslin hadn’t praised Ekan with words for making his countrymen—and himself—the happiest men in the galaxy, he did move to stand shoulder to shoulder with Ekan, and nudged him. When Ekan had glanced up to his friend, Breslin gave him a reluctant, gruff, sort of grunt-and-bob of his head, like, Okay, seriously good job, friend—and Ekan’s been beaming and strutting around like my favorite ego-rooster ever since.

  Speaking of Breslin; now that I’ve spent time with him, I can see beyond his horribly intimidating appearance. He’s wonderful—not scary at all, and he thinks the world of Sanna. (And her guide dog, too.)

  Sanna is head over heels for her alien, proving that I’m the only one who was a bit nervous about the towering Iechydmaw. In fact, judging by all the women's reactions to the men here, this whole planet is full of a very attractive-looking people.

  I might get a complex about me being too picky when it comes to Iechydmaw looks, but then again, I have five handsome hunks. Perhaps I just can’t see anyone but my own mates.

  And I’m fine with that. I lean heavily into Prow, letting him take my weight, but this makes him concerned enough to stop the story he was spinning to Oquilion, and glance down at me. “Narra?” His hand finds the small of my back. “Still feeling like you’ve been clipped by an Orion-class Assault Carriercraft?”

  His voice is so gentle. I sniff pitifully, and he makes a plangent sound of dismay.

  This alone makes me feel a bit better. Prow gives good empathy.

  “Our poor treasure.” Oquilion moves to take my chin in his hand, peering into my eyes like he might be able to diagnose me by his stare alone. He also gives good empathy. I gaze up at him, feeling all the warm fuzzies for him until he asks, “Is it time for the pool?”

  I wrinkle my nose. They’ve been asking me this all day. Aliens who’ve been spawned are obsessed with putting the pregnant woman in a pool. “I’ll pass, but thanks. It’s mostly my back that’s bothering me.” I heave a weary little sigh, but my spirits lift just having Prow and Oquilion’s attention. Even if said attention does nothing to cut off the discomfort my body is undergoing. “Did anyone bring Gracie a plate of food?”

  “Pasutha did,” Prow answers, his brows pinched with worry as he takes me in.

  While Gracie made it clear she wouldn’t be socializing, Pasutha ventured out once at Prow’s cajoling. Unfortunately, he feels like too much of an oddity here, and though he assured us that no one had been rude or snubbed him, he said he’d be most comfortable staying out of the activity. I’m glad he at least grabbed some of the Iechdymaw fare though. I’d almost stay here for food alone.

  I try to stretch, and get hit with a new back cramp. I’ve been fighting twinges all day—especially after that last wagon ride. All this sunshine and fresh air were too good not to take full advantage of though. It felt amazing to be out of the belly of the ship, where we’ve been floating through the cosmos—but my body says I better call it a day. “I’m sorry guys. I better hit the hay. Don’t feel you have to stop—”

  Oquilion smooches my forehead with enough lip-force to rock my head back. “Nonsense. QOLT!” he bellows, making me blink rapidly, and when he glances down and notices this, he curses. “Sorry, narra.” He covers my ears and bellows for Qolt again, instructing him that he should round up Tiernan and Ekan.

  I don’t expect Ekan’s going to be leaving his admirers any time soon, so I’m shocked—and more than a little inwardly warmed—when Ekan breaks away from everyone without haste, and strides right up to me. “How you doing, narra? Ready to call it all a night?”

  I drape my arms around his waist as much as my stomach lets me, and nod.

  “Then we go. FAREWELL, OUR GOOD PEOPLE!” Ekan calls to the cheering Iechydmaw crowd surrounding us.

  (Here’s to hoping they’re this thrilled to find they’ve been claimed by five spacepirates, when they realize that was for real, whatever that entails.)

  There are hugs from all the people we’ve gotten to know, with the last ones from Breslin and Sanna being my most treasured. (Although it’s adorable as all get out when Ekan kneels down and gives a goodbye shake to the paw of Sanna’s German shepherd, Kota.)

  Tiernan leads our procession back to the ship, with me on his arm, and Qolt bringing up the rear, and I’m so tired that I’m wobbly as I make my way up the ship gangway—or is that ‘plank’? “What do you call this, the thing we’re walking on?” I ask them idly.

  Moving up beside us, Ekan leans down to my ear and purrs confidently, “My ship.”

  Tiernan puffs a sound that’s almost a snort.

  From the back, Qolt mutters, “You wish,” but even moving ahead of him, we hear him fine.

  “A ramp,” Prow answers me.

  Tiernan’s hand smooths over my hip, “A gangplank.”

  “The stumble board,” Oquilion chimes in from behind me at the same time.

  “Teveking idtreks,” Qolt sighs at us. “And you wonder why I avoid the lot of you.” When I turn enough to glance back at him, he quickly adds a tossed “‘Cept you, Beth.”

  My smile is bright for him. Then I feel my forehead wrinkle, and I turn to Oquilion. “Why the stumble board?”

  Prow snorts. “In a Na’rith’s younger days, when you’re at port, you don’t stay cooped up on your ship—you go carousing. The return though? This ramp’s a machaii to navigate in the dark.”

  I’m still frowning. “Can’t you guys see fine in the dark?”

  Prow grins. “You can’t see tripe if you’re drunk.”

  I toss a sympathetic look back at Oquilion. “So the night you got your, ah, self painted, you had some trouble getting back home?”

  Masculine laughter breaks out around me, rumbling from four throats and sounding divine.

  Oquilion groans. “Name your price, Treasure—what will it cost to ensure we do not speak of the cockpainter experience again?”

  “Ooooh,” I tease. “There are so many demands I should bargain for. We should probably work out your installments.”

  “If your demands involve a bed, and your body above, below, or beside mine, you only have to list them and watch how fast I comply,” Oquilion promises me.

  Ekan grins down at me. “So proud of you, Beth! You’ve created an extortion scheme opportunity on a Na’rith.”

  “Thanks, I think,” I say modestly, and I’m smiling huge as we enter the ship.

 
; ***

  I’m not smiling by the time I drag myself from a late night shower and try to crawl onto the bed.

  I’d let myself be absconded with by Ekan, because the guys and I have managed a sort of unspoken periodicity when it comes to who I share a bed with. For the most part, I rotate to a new pirate every night, mostly of my choosing too—unless I’m stolen. I’m starting to get desensitized to that. It’s basically—no, it IS a fact of life here.

  I might never admit it out loud, but when they’re competing, the guys’ antics can be really funny sometimes. I’m afraid to say they amuse me because I probably shouldn’t encourage them, but...

  I like feeling special enough to fight over.

  Tonight though, they know I’m not feeling well, and they can be surprisingly considerate when I communicate that I need tender loving care rather than shenanigans and pirate hijinx.

  I take a moment to give thanks that I’m not struggling through this pregnancy alone. It’d be lonely and a little terrifying at times for one thing, and for another, it’s just a relief not to face every single thing without support. Tonight, I could really use the support. I can’t even make it onto the bed without help up, and my back is punishing me terribly for the fun I tried to have today. Angrily, I scrub at the tears starting to track out of the corners of my eyes. Pregnancy mood swings are the worst.

  “What is this?” Ekan’s frozen in the act of pulling back the covers. When he sees my face, he tugs me over to him.

  “Nothing.”

  He thumbs away the wetness under my eyes, and pretends to peer at it. “This doesn’t look like nothing, hmmm.”

  “I’m hurting. I’m overemotional. It happens with pregnant women.”

  “What! Nobody warned me of this when I bought you!” The goofball acts outraged. “I won’t have this, Beth, I refuse,” he says, his lips traveling softly from my forehead to the top of my hair. “If you’re going to insist on being overemotional, then I’m going to trade you for the new blaster pistol Prow offered me. He can have a weepy female to wet his pillows in all the wrong ways.”