by Vi Voxley
His skin was darker than hers, tanned by Terran standards, smooth and silky. She knew that from experience and could not stop the shiver of need to touch him again, feel the heat of his skin under her fingers. To be kissed by those lips and groped by those arms. Her eyes travelled downwards to the curve of his ass, made easier by Diego bending to remove his pants, giving her the full view of his nakedness.
If the Brions sleep naked, I’m dead. I’m so dead.
Her breath caught at sight of his cock, huge even half-hard. She couldn’t turn her eyes away even as Diego spun around at the sound she couldn’t have held back if she tried. When Isolde looked up, she saw him watching, completely without shame – but then again, what body issues could a guy like that have?
She suddenly realized she wasn’t very clothed either, dressed only in her panties and a long sleeveless shirt that didn’t even cover her bottom. His eyes were undressing her hungrily, that much she could tell without a doubt. With no armor to cover him, she could see him harden almost immediately. To have such an effect on that man… Isolde gulped.
She slid quickly under the covers on her side of the bed, watching as Diego joined her without a word. The light in the room dropped to near complete darkness. Her eyes took time to adjust, but in that time, all her other senses compensated.
Isolde became very aware of how close the general was, his form hard and strong like a solid wall next to her. She could hear his breathing quicken, felt his hand accidentally brush against her thigh when he adjusted his position and the shiver that shot through both of them at that.
This is maddening. Just turn to him. Touch him. Kiss him. Fuck him.
Isolde didn’t remember being that turned on in all her life, not even during the previous encounters with the general. The tinge of danger and the lure of the forbidden fruit made her grind her legs together for friction, her clit rubbing against her flesh, sending sparks of pleasure straight to her pussy, making her moan…
The general went so still that Isolde was, despite herself, terrified for a moment. His senses as keen as they were, what she was doing, what she was feeling had to be unbearable for him. To lie next to her and not be allowed to touch.
He got up, startling Isolde, but he merely went to the bathroom. The one without a door to separate it from the bedroom. There were no doors inside the quarters.
Her eyes went wide as he turned the water on, letting it fall, soaking him through in seconds.
Ah, cold showers. Another universal concept. This will work nic…
Isolde’s eyes went wide, and the running water only barely covered her astonished gasp as Diego took his cock in his hand and started stroking it hard, almost angrily. Isolde had a moment to think whether it hurt, but then she was pushing her fingers between her legs, wet already from the sight alone, but more from the sounds.
She could barely distinguish between the growls of frustration and the growls of pleasure – perhaps they weren’t two different things at all. She moaned out loud, letting the running water cover for her as she found her eyes glued to Diego’s body.
His hand worked faster, bringing him closer, water flowing over his perfect skin, making it gleam in the light that was pulsing quicker as he neared the edge. Even in the darkness of the room, she could see Diego’s hand stroking him, coming down to cup his balls, brushing past the head already leaking precum. If Isolde thought she’d been drooling before – now she had to grasp the sheets not to run to him and take it into her mouth. She could imagine what it would taste like, hot and heavy on her tongue, huge enough to barely fit –
“Fuck…” she heard him murmur. “Oh, fuck, Isolde…”
Hearing her name was too much for her. She threw the cover off, pushing her fingers in her pussy, trying to mimic the pace Diego was setting, her other hand working on her clit. As she watched, biting her lip, the only thought in her mind was, That should be him inside me.
That should be him, fucking me into this mattress, crying out my name, pounding me so hard I can’t feel my legs afterwards. Him on top of me, that huge fucking cock buried deep into me, it would feel so good… So good. So good. Diego.
“Diego!” she cried before she could stop herself, coming for him even if it wasn’t him fucking her, her legs trembling from the exertion, falling to rest against the now hot sheets.
This the general apparently heard, because his head snapped to Isolde’s direction and his eyes took in the entire scene spread out for him – Isolde laying there on the bed, her shirt pulled up to reveal the curve of her breasts, her hand still in her panties, her cheeks blushing, caught… Then he had to support himself on the wall with one hand, the other stroking his cock so fast Isolde could barely see. She started to pull the sheets back on when Diego snarled.
“Do not… fuck, do not move,” he gasped out. His eyes were fever-bright, burning with a passion that both terrified and excited Isolde. She didn’t move. She didn’t look away either as a long grunt escaped Diego’s lips and he came, gasping for air.
Only when he’d turned back to the shower, taking a long minute to let it wash him clean, did Isolde cover herself up again. It had been so good and it wasn’t even over – seeing Diego stroke himself looking at her had gotten her wet again so quickly it made her legs shiver.
Yet it was over. Diego dried himself and even though Isolde couldn’t tear her eyes from his naked body, neither of them moved towards the other again, even with passion in their hearts. Once was enough. After the orgasm hit, the pain came all rushing back. The pain of the mere inches between them that they couldn’t cross.
That I can’t cross, Isolde thought miserably. And this is only the first night.
Somehow, she fell asleep and when she woke, the other side of the bed was empty.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Isolde
Instead of Diego, it was Deliya waiting for her in the arena room. Bravely ignoring the painful snap of disappointment, Isolde put on the happy face of a gesha just arisen from her mate’s bed. It was a lovely morning for about two seconds, before the Brion woman smiled widely – she had a charming, warm personality under that stiff warrior way of being that Isolde was growing more fond of every day, inversely being less jealous of her looks – and it was clear it could be nothing good.
“You are all everyone is talking about,” she said, as if it was great news. Alright, so maybe it was, attention was what they needed. Attention on something other than Rhea. Somehow, Isolde still had to fake the excited smile, dreading the downside.
“Where?” she dared to venture. “Terra would be interested, I’m sure. Briolina. The GU?”
“Well,” Deliya said. “Everywhere, really.”
Oh crap. Oh my poor heart, I will not outlive this ever, will I? I’m the crazy girl that ran off with an alien warlord. I could make a perfectly good living if I convinced the Brions to just dump me on Terra and worked the talk shows ‘til my tongue was sore.
Someone – a brief questioning had Deliya spill the names, Urenya and Aneya – had convinced Diego it would do Isolde good to have some contact with her home and the outside world, even if it was so far limited to accessing the backlash to the announcement of her binding. To Diego Grothan.
Gods, have mercy, Isolde thought, looking at the number of messages she’d received. Few were as brave as to send their holo-calls to the Triumphant’s identity codes directly – and who would have known them on Terra anyway – but they had come through Luna Secunda.
Some names were familiar. Some were horrible. Some she actually wanted to hear – those were a clear minority. The first and the third batch didn’t overlap in any way. To make things worse, Diego had instructed, for safety and tactical reasons, that she should have company while viewing the messages.
At least some gods were listening to Isolde’s rapid ascent to the religious life and he hadn’t tasked Faren or any of the looming warriors. If anyone was to accompany her, Isolde was as fine as she could be with Deliya and Urenya, chosen no
t only for their closeness to the commander, but for the rare talent of speaking quite a few galactic languages, including a small one like English. The healer joined them shortly after she’d ordered a large amount of the most alcohol-like beverage they had.
She looked surprised at Isolde’s coming-and-going smile.
“I am sorry,” she said, taking a seat next to her in the resting room, with the holoprojector mounted on the opposite wall. Deliya stood, as always, though she accepted a drink, not the alcohol-ish thing, though. “I thought you would like to hear from your friends and family.”
“It’s alright,” Isolde said, taking a big gulp from her drink. “I know you meant well. It’s just that the names I see here are neither in truth.”
“I am sorry,” Urenya said again, this time meaning her condolences. Isolde nodded.
“Better this way,” she joked. “My mother would lose her mind.”
They laughed. Isolde felt her lips tugged upwards for the first time in a long, miserable while. She relaxed a bit.
--
She selected professor Nagasuke first, just for the humor of having thought about her tutor the most of all the people in the course of her insane space adventure, thinking she’d have to send her a letter for real. The screen flared alive with the image of an old woman, her greying hair in a neat ponytail falling almost to her hips. Isolde liked her. She aged gracefully.
“Isolde – dear,” she began, looking worried. “I do not usually follow gossip, but the officials are confirming it on the TTV, so I must entertain the notion it is true. If this message reaches you… I… I don’t know what to say. I of all people should know you are a smart woman and would not act rashly,” – You have not seen the abs on these guys, Isolde’s self-deprecating mind provided – “but if it is true, I feel I must need to warn you about Brion men. Their physiology is larger than ours and I would not want you hurt–“
Isolde shut her off, red coloring her cheeks. Both her companions grinned.
“I’ve had him on the med bay tables many times,” Urenya teased. “I know the truth of this.”
“So do I,” said Deliya.
Oh, you are the Ex! Son of a bitch… Only Isolde found herself not caring any more by this point. She liked Deliya, so she snickered with them, fighting down the urge to mention her own knowledge wasn’t anything but theoretical. She knew he was huge. She’d yet to feel it.
--
The representative of Terra’s Unified Parliament served her both the carrot and the stick – or to the Brions, to be exact. The fairly large-boned man congratulated her on her “wedding”, which annoyed the heck out of the ethnographer side of Isolde – Learn the terms, you idiot! – and hoped she would bring a new wind to the relations between the species. Then he added that if the whole thing was a Brion ploy, Terra would not hesitate to take political action.
“Is that one of your leaders?” Urenya asked with obvious contempt. “A child could take him.”
Deliya laughed until she coughed up her drink when she heard the threat. Isolde was, honestly, embarrassed.
--
Her high school best friend – for the lack of any other options – expressed herself almost entirely in acronyms. The first full sentence consisting entirely of full words was “I can’t believe you bagged a Brion hunk, Izzy!”
You are the only one who called me Izzy and it’s still not cool, thought Isolde, pouring herself another drink, making Urenya grin in sympathy.
Deliya’s commentary could only be translated to English as “She knows what’s up.”
--
Isolde’s favorite message came from the Palians, very interested in her well-being. She moved forward to the edge of her seat when agent Perkins’ familiar face popped up from under their symbol.
“That would explain the staring,” he said, clearly amused, continuing from their previous conversation as if nothing had happened. “My, my, girl, you have some suitor.”
Then he became serious, although his face remained kind. “My ambassador thought you would prefer to hear this from a familiar, dare I say friendly face. The Brions do not lie about these things. We believe you are what Diego Grothan says you are. However. There are voices in the GU raised louder than ever about them. I am a Palian. We want peace. I hope you silence some of these voices soon, by making a statement on neutral ground. But if not, we will protect you.”
He smiled again then. “Until we meet again, Isolde Fenner. Good luck with your gerion.”
Urenya and Deliya said nothing, all of it expected. Isolde felt slightly better, knowing someone was looking after her still, even if she was about to lie to them.
--
On and on they went, some personal and some from species she didn’t even know about yet. Urenya and Deliya noted everything down, observing the reactions of the galactic public, to report to the generals afterwards. Isolde was mainly interested in how much of a lunatic she looked like. She was also aware that they were looking at her. It wasn’t difficult to guess that report went straight to Eleya.
The final message came from Terra again, one of her neighbors. She’d left him last, thinking it would be nice to end with a friendly face. Oliver was one of the only people she could say she really liked on Terra, one of the few she missed.
His words made her blood run cold.
“Hey, Isolde,” he began, all cheerful, then dropped to a conspiratory whisper, “what’s up with that Diego, huh? I know you like them big, but isn’t he, like, a killer or something? We always said the Brions were a bunch of bloodthirsty brutes about to get kicked out of the civilized part of the galaxy.
“Now you go and marry one of them? And Diego Grothan of all of them. They say he drinks the blood of his enemies every morning, for fuck’s sake. What did he do, drug you or something? If that monster went all crazy on you, I swear I’ll light a fire under the Parliament’s collective fucking ass until they do something more than threaten with diplomatic steps. Try to get back to me, Isolde.”
The screen went dark and Isolde finally noticed that the temperature had dropped some degrees in the room. It wasn’t the Brion women; they were looking at her with concerned smiles. It was her, fuming, her cup clenched in her fist so hard it shook and spilled the drink on the floor and on her lap. Her teeth were clenched together so hard it made her head ache. Urenya reached out to gently tug the cup away from her.
“That was a friend of yours?” she asked, handing Isolde a cloth to clean most of the spilled drink from her dress.
“No,” Isolde said, still shaking. “I can’t believe… he ever was.”
Liar. You can’t believe you ever agreed. Two weeks ago you thought he drank blood for breakfast too. And who the heck even knows! He had breakfast without you!
That was true. Too messed up to even pretend to be able to hold a conversation any more, Isolde was thankful when both the others excused themselves to go and report.
“Could you…” she called after them. “Could you not mention Oliver? He doesn’t have any influence over the Terran rulers, you must know that.”
“It is our duty to report everything,” Urenya said. When Isolde slunk back into the couch, she repeated, “Everything.”
Isolde nodded, looking at the stain on her dress.
She was alone for a long time, so long she began to think Diego had found another place to bed down. As the commander’s chosen mate, she was completely free to roam the Triumphant, which on any other day she would have gladly done just to keep the cabin fever away, but something kept her in place. In her mind, an image of him and Deliya appeared, making her throat close up in a jealous rage, but she forced it away. Bindings were the ultimate cheating-repellent. A gerion would look at no other and Deliya wouldn’t…
It wouldn’t be cheating in the first place! You are not bound! He’s not yours. You have no right to keep him. What’s up with the I-don’t-want-him-so-no-one-can-have-him thing? And it’s not even like you don’t really, very much want him…
/>
When Diego finally arrived, he looked tired for the first time. For a moment, Isolde feared someone had challenged him in a meeting and he’d emerged only after a narrow win, but there seemed to be no blood on him. No blood on the spear either. His armor was unmarred.
Isolde didn’t know what to say, nor if she should say anything. She knew she was the cause of all this, not to mention the cure. She opted to wait and see what the general would say.
He looked tired enough to fall, but that damn sexy pride kept him standing straight. Eyes which threatened to drown her forever bore into her soul.
He’s picked up some tricks from Faren, Isolde’s panicked mind got to think before a lazy, tired smile crept on Diego’s lips.
“Blood of my enemies?” he asked.
Isolde snorted. “I’m sorry,” she hastened to reply. “People talk. They hear a thing and tell it their own way and before you know it, you’re drinking blood.”
He seemed too tired to be mad any more. The smile stayed. “Clearly. And obviously they haven’t tasted Fredgen blood. It’s disgusting. I skewered one once and some of his blood spilled on my face. I was young and stupid then and opened my mouth. I spent a week in the med bay coughing my guts out.”
Isolde found herself unable to fight down a responding smile. It felt so good, so utterly natural, to smile when in Diego’s presence. She dreaded the end of it. It didn’t come.
“So I heard about… Oliver?” he said.
Isolde’s face dropped. “Yes.”
“Urenya says you shook so hard as to spill your drink.”
“Yes.” She was still in the dress she had ruined with the spilled drink. Showing Diego her own battle scars? Honestly, Isolde didn’t know. It was difficult to know anything these days, with her mind and heart at brutal war with her body in the middle just longing for him.
“That was…” Diego began, searching for words. Even before he was finished, Isolde realized suddenly that he wasn’t really tired, or even relaxed. He was – “That was very kind of you,” the general said. “Not to believe at least that lie about me. Not that all the rumors about me are false. Some are quite true, as our enemies will soon learn. I will skip drinking their blood, though.”