Ajax (Olympia Alien Mail Order Brides Book 3)

by K. Cantrell

  “No more alone,” he says and tentatively reaches out to lift my fingers with his. They slide together slowly and it’s all so lovely that I can only watch as our fingers lace one at a time as he tests his strength with each new contact point.

  “No more alone. We’re going to figure this out,” I promise him, awed by how we’re so much alike. Both scared to reach out, both desperate to.

  I don’t have any idea what’s happening between us, but it’s a little late to call what we’re doing dating. Nevertheless, I think it’s the logical next step. Spend time together. Talk. Work on figuring out how to be together. Isn’t that what dating is all about?

  It’s a little weird to get ready for a date when the guy in question is both living in your house and your husband. I’m nervous and excited, yet I have no way to calm myself before my date arrives because he’s already here. We have to share a bathroom and everything, which means I pass Ajax outside the narrow doorway when I let him have his turn.

  He smiles as we switch places, which pretty much melts my spine every time. It goes a long way toward easing my nerves. Enough so that I can sit on the couch and wait for him, which doesn’t take long.

  Ajax is pretty low maintenance. Over the last couple of weeks, I have learned that Torvians in the military don’t have to shave because they don’t grow hair on their faces thanks to genetic modifications. He takes very short showers, which he considers the height of luxury and thus not to be abused. On the battlefield, they apparently go for days without bathing, so apparently he’s used to it, but I’ve insisted that we don’t have any shortage of water in Olympia, so he should take advantage of my oversized, handheld showerhead with the pulsing action.

  Odds are good he doesn’t take quite the same advantage of its jet-like properties that I do and I refuse to even contemplate explaining that to him. Though he’d likely understand the concept of self-gratification better than just about anyone.

  Can he even do that? Like, without hurting himself?

  Oh, man. That is not a visual I need right before a date with the man I’m picturing naked, water streaming down his exceptionally fit body as he pleasures himself.

  When he emerges from the bathroom, his dark hair is wet and swept back from his face, highlighting his pretty cheekbones. I flush instantly. He’s the most gorgeous being I have ever seen. And so big. Why did I start thinking about orgasms and showerheads and naked aliens? Now I’m hot and bothered.

  Of course Ajax picks up on it. “Brooklyn sick?”

  “What? No,” I counter furiously and leap off the couch because, well, I don’t know why but it seemed like a good idea to be standing. “I’m fine. I was just… I’m overheated. From the shower. I mean, not from the shower. From…something else.”

  His gaze darkens as he watches me, his expression slowly sliding into hungry. No longer does he do it on the sly when he thinks I’m not aware. I’m not sure this is better because I’m imagining that he knows what I’m visualizing. And likes it.

  I don’t know what to do about that. Someone a lot braver than me would cross the room and take him up on the intrigue flitting through his gaze.

  “Brooklyn beautiful,” he rumbles and does this slow sweep down the length of my body.

  Everything tightens inside. Anticipation hums across my skin. “Thank you. That means a lot considering you have two planets full of women to compare.”

  I guess, anyway. I assume Torvian women look as human as the men.

  But Ajax shakes his head, his mouth curving up in appreciation for what he’s perusing with that hungry look in his eye that says he wants to eat me alive. “No compare.”

  Geez. He certainly has the flirting part of Earth mating customs down. “I could say the same.”

  This piques his interest and his gaze flies to my face, eyebrows cocked in challenge. “Say.”

  What, he wants me to tell him I think he’s gorgeous? Well, duh. Of course he does. Who wouldn’t want to hear compliments from the person they’ve just started to express an interest in? Somehow, this hint of vulnerability emboldens me and unsticks my feet from the floor.

  I cross the room and lean up on tiptoes to treat us both to a quick kiss. I half expect him to grab me and press me closer, but he doesn’t. Why I thought he’d do anything other than exhibit his monumental self-control, I have no idea. But that encourages me too. We’re taking this one jerky step at a time and I’ve never been more excited to find out what’s going to happen next in my entire life.

  My hands are still spread across both sides of his jaw as I look at him straight on. “You’re the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. More breathtaking than the stars, moon and sun put together.”

  A noise rumbles in his throat and that’s when his hands come up to grip the back of my neck. I’m not prepared. His fingers bite into my flesh and then he’s kissing me. I try not to yelp in surprise, but I’m afraid I do. Immediately, he pulls back, his torso heaving and agony twisting through his features.

  “Sorry,” he mutters and massages his temple with one hand as if he can’t figure out what just happened.

  “You don’t have to apologize,” I tell him hastily. “I like kissing you. I like it when you touch me.”

  I don’t like that occasionally it’s a little more painful than I would hope, but how do I tell him that? It’s not his fault.

  “Too hard,” he says and shakes his head, his ridiculously long eyelashes sweeping down to shutter his gaze from me. “No deserve.”

  I growl a little in frustration myself. “Because you got a little carried away? That’s not a bad thing. It’s kind of nice to know that I can affect you that way.”

  But kind of deadly. I’m stupid for playing with this fire, especially given my history. At some point, he might set off a trigger that is 100% Malcolm’s fault but no less of a nightmare to deal with. I’ve been handling my post-traumatic stress by staying away from men, not by inviting them into my house and kissing them like I did with Ajax.

  I can see a thread of disbelief weaving through his expression that tells me his thoughts are along the same lines. This is not going to work. It’s too hard. We shouldn’t be trying to ease our loneliness and craving for more, at least not with each other.

  But I don’t want to find someone else. I want to forge ahead with Ajax. He’s sweet and kind and I’m married to him.

  I wish the manual Charmain gave me had something in it that would help here, but it’s nothing but a lot of dry facts about Torvian biology and who to call if your alien gets picked up by any government agency. In other words, useless for my specific situation.

  There has to be a way to manage our physical interaction that will work for us both. At least enough that we can take another step along this path of whatever is happening between us.

  A bold, dangerous plan forms in my head instantly. Before I can change my mind, I choose to be brave instead of giving in to the fear and doubt that Malcolm gifted me with.

  “What if you were tied up?”

  Seven

  A million things fly through Ajax’s expressive eyes. None of them are revulsion. He doesn’t hate the idea and might even be a little intrigued by it.

  He shouldn’t. He’d be bound. Unable to fight back if I tried to do something he didn’t like. But then I catch myself mid-transposition and realize that’s all about me. I’m the one who would balk at being tied up. In reality, there is literally no chance a civilian could get her hands on material would actually render him a prisoner. More like he’d have to treat the bindings as a reminder to keep his hands away from me.

  “Yes,” he rumbles, the fascination in his gaze deepening. “Show.”

  What, like right now? We’re supposed to be going on a date. But I’m not opposed to skipping straight to the good stuff. Why beat around the bush when we both know this is the part we’d be working toward anyway.

  “I, um, have some scarves. Let’s try that,” I suggest, my voice dropping into a realm more suited for
a temptress. That is not me. I basically asked my husband to let me tie him up so I could kiss him without fear of being crushed. There’s no Fifty Shades vibe here in the slightest.

  Except he follows me into the bedroom where I go to scare up the aforementioned scarves and suddenly, the whole concept gains some erotic teeth I was not prepared for. I’ve never had a man in this bedroom and I’m so very aware that I still don’t have one in here.

  I have Ajax. My sweet, sometimes funny, always honorable alien. Who has needs that must be similar to a human man, which I am more than willing to try to fulfill—assuming we can get there.

  Ajax glances around the bedroom curiously, taking in my purple comforter and framed picture of the Eiffel Tower above the headboard without comment. It’s a girly room and exactly what I wanted. I picked out everything with no apology since my last bedroom had been decorated without my say. And that’s more than enough time and energy spent devoted to the past.

  My present sits down on the bed, watching me with unabashed interest. Oh right. This is the part where I get the scarves I’ve mentioned but have yet to produce. Procrastinating much?

  I’m just so nervous. I mean, what if this doesn’t work? What if it does? How far can we take it and how far do I want it to go?

  I find three scarves in my closet, one black, one royal blue and a plaid wool that I hope won’t be too scratchy. Theoretically, I just need one, but it’s possible I’ll need extra reinforcement.

  The bent fork springs into my head. Who am I kidding? He could shred all three scarves into little pieces probably by blowing on them big bad wolf style. I toss the wool scarf and emerge from the closet with the black and blue scarves, one in each hand.

  “I was thinking maybe we could try tying your wrists to the headboard?” I murmur.

  Without a word, Ajax lays back on the bed, his hair dark and crisp against the pale purple pillowcases, and raises his arms, crossed at the wrist. “Brooklyn tie.”

  My throat goes dry as his heavy-lidded gaze toys with mine. It’s full of promise and deliverance simultaneously. He’s not even bound yet and I’m already getting a little achy and squirmy at the visual. It’s no use pretending I’m not thoroughly caught up in this game, desperate to test this idea, desperate for it to be the magic solution I pray it is.

  I crawl onto the mattress and kneel by his profoundly muscled torso. My bare knee grazes his shirt and even that is almost more contact than my overheated skin can handle, especially when he’s still watching me like that. Like he wants to devour me whole. I’m suddenly very interested in exactly how strong his tongue is and the ache between my legs blooms into a full on panty soaker.

  My fingers shake as I thread the scarf around the nearest bedpost and then double wrap his wrists. In for a penny… The loop closes into a knot and it’s done. I have a bound alien in my bed who seems happy to pretend he’s at my complete mercy.

  “Kiss,” he commands hoarsely and I have to amend that because it appears I’m at his mercy since all I can think about is obeying.

  Fisting my hands, I put one on each side of his head to brace myself and lean down, feathering my lips across his. Eagerly, he tilts his chin up to catch me more firmly with his mouth. The kiss explodes, shattering my composure as I respond.

  I can’t think when he’s kissing me. My brain dissolves and I’m nothing but sensation. Light. Heat. Spikes of pleasure. His tongue seeking mine, melding and stroking—but not too hard. I can sense him holding back. Throbbing beats under my skin, in my throat, in my chest.

  I want to touch, but I can’t because of my position. Easy to fix. Rolling into his body, I align us, which shock of all shocks, works much better when we’re lying down than it does standing up. My legs are all tangled up with his, which might end up being a problem that I’ll have to deal with at some point because if his arms can crush me, odds are good his thighs might pose a similar threat.

  But then I feel the evidence of his arousal against my stomach and I’m not worried about his legs anymore. Holy crap he feels big. Hard. Strong. I’m nearly delirious with need but not so much that I can’t take a half-second to fret about how that’s going to work.

  Okay, breathe. I tell myself it’s going to work fine, even though part of me is wondering how strong his hips are. It’s possible he could pile drive me into next week, but there’s only one way to find out.

  It’s time to enjoy this experiment to its fullest.

  I lose myself in his kiss again, levering my arm under his head to support it as I wrap him up in my embrace. He comes willingly, snuggling up against me as best he can with his wrists raised up over his head. It seems like it might be uncomfortable but he has yet to complain.

  One of his knees nudges between mine and suddenly I’m riding his thigh. It is every bit as hard and firm as the rest of him. Pinpricks of heat spiral outward from my throbbing center and it’s magnificent. I need more.

  “Ajax,” I murmur against his mouth to get his attention. “Are we okay? Is this good?”

  He nods as his lips curve up against mine. “Good. Brooklyn good. More kiss. More touch.”

  I have to smile myself as I thread my fingers through his hair, which has long since dried. I like it wet, which makes me think of all sorts of interesting scenarios involving water. His head tilts back into my hand as if he’s seeking more contact. I give it to him and from this position, it’s easy to see that he likes it. “Where would you like me to touch you?”

  “All,” he commands, his voice as rumbly as always but the thread of sheer anticipation and hoarse pleasure thrills me in kind. “Need Brooklyn.”

  That gets me more than just about anything else he’s ever said. If anyone has ever needed me before, they’ve kept it to themselves. I’m sure I’ve been turned on before as well but it feels bigger and stronger with Ajax. I’m finally with someone I can trust with my rawest, deepest places.

  “I think…I need you too,” I whisper, and I’m not just talking about in the elemental sense. Ajax allows me to feel something other than frightened: alive. As if I’ve just woken up for the first time, and he’s the color in my world.

  I sit up and unbind his hands, watching him carefully as I do.

  “Just for a minute,” I warn him and the moment he’s free, I pull him half off the bed and strip him of his dark blue T-shirt that he’d donned in anticipation of our date.

  My mouth goes dry and the scarf slips from my fingers. His torso is a horrible, beautiful mess of scars. It looks like he might have been wounded in battle and his gaze follows mine. With a fingertip he traces the pattern of corded flesh from near his heart down across his abdomen.

  “Hurt.” This is followed by something in his native language and then he points to it again. “Brooklyn ugly?”

  “What? No! Of course I don’t think you’re ugly.” To prove it, I follow his fingers to trace the scar. It does nothing to diminish his beauty. “You’re perfect.”

  As I flatten my palm against his chest, he makes a noise of pleasure in his throat, which encourages me to keep exploring. He’s so warm under my fingertips, like hot stone and I can’t wait to feel it with more sensitive places on my body.

  But before we get too far, I find the will to lift my hand from his chest and pick up the scarf, fluttering it in his direction. I wish it could be different. I’d like to let him explore me in the same fashion, but maybe this first time it’s not a good idea to leave him unbound.

  He lies back and lets me tie him again, but it’s not like before. He’s restless and half-naked, and I’m so very aware of both. As I loop the final knot, he nips at my side, then nibbles along my ribs which, as it turns out, is an erogenous zone I was not aware of.

  I suck in a breath as he lights me up inside with nothing more than a kiss to my chest. His approach to all of this is so unconventional. I’m an instant fan of it.

  “I’m supposed to be touching you,” I remind him and my voice shatters as he works his way higher, mouthing my breast thro
ugh my V-neck shirt and bra. Oh, yes, his tongue is indeed strong if he can get me so hot through layers of clothes.

  “Touch,” he agrees and pulls away the fabric with his teeth, grazing the sensitive flesh beneath with his nose.

  Apparently he doesn’t need his hands after all. My alien is certainly inventive when the occasion calls for it and I’m nothing if not curious what else his bound hands are going to force him to come up with.

  But that can wait a minute. He’s still at my mercy and there’s more of him I have yet to see. Moving out of reach of his magic mouth, I find the button on his jeans and pop it. He watches me, his gaze hooded and dark. Once I have his jeans all undone, I pull. He lifts his hips obediently and with one good tug, they slide off along with whatever he wears underneath.

  My God. Yeah, no. This is not going to work. His powerful thighs showcase a hard jutting length of flesh between them that will not fit into one single part of my body, no way. But my brain seems to be the only thing that clues in on this because my core goes tight and slick with need, begging for it.

  Apparently I am going all the way.

  Thankfully, I never stopped taking my birth control pills and Charmaine gave me all sorts of medical records that show Ajax is clean. Which is good, because I did not think to stock up on condoms. Not that it would matter. He’d laugh if he saw regular human sized condoms.

  Now that I have him naked, I’m not so sure where to start touching him. But fortunately, he was super clear about the instructions—touch everything. But there’s so much of him, so many interesting places that I hardly know where to start. He resolves that dilemma for me by nudging a knee into my hand, demanding my attention there. Since I can find nothing wrong with that as my next move, I smooth my spread palm up his thigh. The contours of his muscles feel like rock under my fingers. I keep going, running my hands up his body, stretching over him in order to reach up to his shoulders.