by Amanda Milo
“Here,” he offers, and his hand comes over my mons again and I get another little taste of orgasm-magic.
“Good!” he chokes out, and I can feel what he means, because I’m coming, and he’s filling me up with hot pulses that are making my insides happy.
So are his dick’s funny fingers. They’re vibrating. It shouldn’t feel good, but it does. I’m squirming, impaled on the thicker base of him, feeling the longer fingers edging around my insides like they’re alive and curious and I’m kind of creeped out, but having less and less of an issue with it as wave after wave of shudders roll through me, hell yeah this is goooood!
My ears are ringing. I think I screamed that.
His chest lands over my back and I bow under him, lifting myself higher, changing our angle, and now it’s not just his dick’s fingers dancing on my gspot, his base is poking right on it.
Why isn’t he moving?
I slam my butt against his muscled abdomen.
“Preta!” he gasps.
I roll my hips, and slam back again. “Fuck me!” I beg-and-order him.
“Do what?”
He sounds a little panicked.
“Thrust!”
“I don’t—”
Whatever protest he was about to make dies when I grind myself backward.
An arm wraps under me, hugging between my breasts and landing near my throat, while he wraps his other around the front of my chest.
Ammos’ pelvis slams against my butt.
“Yes! Just like that!” I encourage.
He takes over, heaving his breaths into my ear, the sweat collecting on my back sticking to his chest, and because his skin sort of feels like rock, every time it drags over me, it kind of reminds me of being fucked up against a brick wall—good times—and the areas where he’s roughly textured feel wickedly delicious as they scrape up my skin.
I can really feel a build now. This next one is going to be fantastic.
Teeth clamp onto my neck.
It’s exactly the right amount of sweet, sweet sting and it shocks me into a climax, shaking my arms so hard I can’t hold us up anymore—even the backs of my thighs are twitching, all of me is twitching—my muscles are seizing so strongly that I’m reminded of the electrified prison batons, but this feels freaking amazing.
It crashes, that heavenly relief from the aftermath pouring through me, and I feel like a limp noodle as I sink myself down as far as I can go, suddenly feeling exhausted.
I’m still hooked to Ammos though.
And now it feels awkward.
He’s still panting in my ear, and I’ve become aware of liquid running down my legs. It feels like I’m in the shower, warm water cascading over me, and this makes me uncomfortable since I’m very clearly not there, and this is very clearly not water pouring out of my insides.
This must be his nectar.
And it’s feeding me.
This is so weird.
“I can see your body growing health back,” Ammos meekly shares.
“That’s good.” I’m not sure what else to say. “How do you feel?”
The word rushes out of him. “Amazing.” I feel him tense on top of me. “How are you feeling?”
“Oddly not hungry anymore. And where I’m from, we don’t get fed this way, so it’s taking some getting used to. But it’s nice. I felt like I was starving, I got great O’s, and no calories and ta-dah, here we are, best diet ever.” I chance a look over my shoulder, and despite our faces’ proximity, he manages to hold our eye contact, so I smile.
Tentatively, he smiles back. “I’m going to remove my rootstem from your hollow. Well, not that you’re hollow, it is a moist cavern—”
I reach up and pat his hand, which is still resting on my shoulder. “I vote against moist cavern.”
His face flushes and I lose his eyes again. “I am sorry, I don’t know…”
“It’s fine—can I suggest pussy? Or vagina? I’ll take love-glove at this point. Meat-wrapper. Hang on, I bet we can ask Ryan what words he knows. I have an idea his vocabulary has no bounds on colorful phrases.”
I smile but he doesn’t see it. I feel his thickness pull out, followed by hefty finger-strings which I succeed in pretending that I am not at all disturbed about, and I sit up and move into his space, and when my fingers ghost up his neck and play with the curve of his ear, he darn near jumps away from my hand.
I bite my lip. “I didn’t mean to spook you. Can I touch you?”
He exhales and tries to look in my direction. “I do like it when you touch me. I know it doesn’t seem—I’m not good at showing it.”
Even after the sex, he’s so keyed up with nerves. I feel sorry for him. “Will you lie on your back for me?”
His eyes glance off of mine. “If you like.”
His muscles are stiff and he looks extremely uncomfortable and a little fearful as he settles down and waits for my move.
I shuffle to him on my knees, not self-conscious until I feel the air hit the parts of me that are wet. We soaked the bed.
His eyes flick down, and he looks…
Ammos looks proud. He manages to meet my eyes.
I find my lips tugging up in a half-smile.
His ears pick up and his body relaxes.
I ponder this for a moment before I place my fingers on his chest and gently trail my touch down his abdomen. His thighs tense.
I finally satisfy my curiosity and look between his legs.
I’m not sure what I was expecting.
He did refer to his… member... as a rootstem. It starts off very man-root like, but instead of having a head to his cock, there are… I’m not sure what to call them. ‘Tubers’ sounds mildly horrifying.
More than mildly.
They felt so much more delicious than they actually appear. It is a good thing I didn’t see them first. These aliens could have laid my options out: ‘Take this inside you or die’ and I know my first choice would have been death by starvation.
Ammos’ tubers are a reddish-black, each one having a glans-like end on the tuber-portion part.
They’re glistening, and the ends are dripping a very watery, honey-colored substance.
As I watch, they start to lengthen, sort of like they’re peeking out at me.
For some bizarre reason, it makes my lips tip up in reaction. I look to Ammos, and find he’s watching me, a gratifying sort of anticipatory-infatuation in his gaze, and I find myself asking, “Can I touch it—uh, them?”
His adam's apple bobs. “Yes.”
“It won't hurt?” I verify.
His eyes go round. “I don’t think so.”
An honest-to-God giggle escapes me before I can catch it.
In response, he grins. It’s tentative, and lopsided, and cute, and he holds my gaze the whole time.
I pat his stomach. “I only wonder because in human men, some of them get really sensitive after they come. Sometimes their penis can’t be touched at all afterward.”
Instead of putting him at ease, he’s back to looking alarmed. “I don’t think it will hurt.”
“Just tell me and I’ll stop,” I promise him, biting my lip until my eyes water and my breath leaves me in a little I-want-to-laugh-so-bad-right-now shudder.
I run the pad of my finger along the head of one of them, and watch his powerful leg muscles twitch in reaction.
His tubers disappear.
Ammos grunts, and I can’t tell if it’s good or bad or painful, so I ask him.
“I suppose it’s because the nectar is drained. The same as Chor.”
I blink at him. “Is that why Chor is sick?” I’m stunned. “‘Feeding me’ takes from you?”
He nods, unworried. “A tribe rotates and keeps their azibo from reaching such a critical level.” He lifts his arm, plucking something off of it. “Once you’ve recovered, and maybe after your Sproutling arrives, you won't require nectar in the extreme. Are you tired, nitesh?” He reaches to my face… and sticks a flower in my hair.
Nitesh. This isn’t the first time my translator has heard them call me this, but it’s the first time it’s supplied, ‘heartbeat of the earth.’
Trying to process everything he just said—and everything we just did—I reach up, and toy with the petals.
A flashlight shines in my face. It’s coming from his chest.
Before I can even cover my eyes, it dims to a gentle beam of green.
His ears fold low, before they slowly prick upward, and with visible effort, his eyes latch onto mine again. “Can I… hold you?”
Inexplicably, my face heats. This makes me shy? “That would be nice,” I manage, and when he opens his arms, I bury my head under his chin so that I don’t have to look into his eyes.
The concept that—without a way to get home, and no way to reverse what’s been done to me—this is what we have to do… it’s just as sobering as when Ryan and I were talking.
The aliens could make this situation so much worse. Instead, they’ve been… nice.
Without a way to get home, we’ll be raising a baby with aliens.
My lips quirk. Sproutling.
I don’t know how to classify the feeling in my chest when Ammos chuckles softly and says, “It’s alright,” as he gently strokes my shoulder and back. “This will get easier.”
CHAPTER 22
RYAN
I ripped the halves of a leaf off of its long stem, and I’m using it to tease the freaky little animal that’s rolling around next to me.
“You are playing with your food?” Mace asks.
“Affirmative. Caedon was bored in his cage.”
Mace’s face gets uglier when he drops that ridiculously squared jaw. “You named a vejo-kaolin?”
I shrug. “My food deserves a kickass name.”
Clearly, my food couldn’t care less about any of the names I’ve tossed out so far, but I kinda like how it’s fucking with Mace a little so I feel like we’ve got a winner here. “What do you have against my guy?”
“Not a thing. It’s simply that keeping Vejo-kaolin’s can be a challenge.”
“Why’s that?”
“They’re irritable.”
“Hm. That so.” I’m liking this Caedon better and better already.
Mace shoots me a look. “Luck is with you; we have experience in dealing with them. You could even say some of us develop an understanding from time to time. Even a fondness.”
Now it’s my turn to shoot him a look. “Not too fucking fond, just so we’re clear.”
He smirks. And that is so damn unsettling on an alien.
Something slaps against my chest. I look down to find a scrap of leather with little strings. “A cock curtain? I feel so included.”
“Oooh, nice loincloth,” Preta teases as she steps in the room. Her tone’s light, easy—but these eyes. Wary. She’s got to fuck three aliens if she doesn’t want to starve to death, but she’s wasting energy she doesn’t have on how I’m going to react and how I’ll treat her.
I open my arms to her. “Come here, Sol.”
Surprise. That’s the emotion that flashes across her face, and it guts me. Does it bother me to share her? I’m not happy about it, but I’m not going to sit here and punish her for it either, and I need her to know that. I told her, but obviously, I have to show her.
I think I just did.
She’s very, very careful not to jostle my thigh when she joins me. And she’s almost in my arms when she squeals, “Aww, you took her out!”
“It’s a he,” I correct.
“How do you know?” she asks.
We both look to Maceous, who’s still standing near the doorway, his arms crossed. He sighs and ambles over, and flips Caedon on his back. “It is a male,” he confirms.
“Caedon,” I inform her, and unlike the alien, my woman nods because she recognizes cool shit when she hears it. I kiss her.
Clearly not expecting it, she hesitates for a second and I swear to fuck, it feels like I got shot again, and this time right in the chest. I catch her throat, and gently thumb over her pulse. “It’s okay, Preta. It’s alright, okay?”
She searches my eyes before her lids get alarmingly puffy and she says, “Okay.”
“Don’t cry,” I order her before I move in to kiss her again.
I pull back because I feel like we’ve got a fucking audience. “You looking for pointers?” I ask the big alien.
His grin reaches his eyes. “Yes.”
“Fuck off.”
With a disgustingly, impressively deep, rumbling laugh, he does, shutting the door behind him.
When I look back at Preta though, it’s to see some of that fear has returned now that we’re alone. I stroke the nape of her neck. “Hey. I mean it.”
Taking a deep breath, she leans her weight into me, and covers my mouth with hers.
My hand makes its way to her bare stomach, and when she eases back so we can breathe, I drag my stubble across her cheek and nibble on her ear before asking, “How are you feeling? How’s Devon doing today?”
She grabs my hand and takes her ear from my mouth so she can stare at me. “Devon? Devon? You can’t make an executive decision to name our baby!”
I lift a shoulder. “Just did.”
“Well,” she says, and her eyes have lost that bite of anxiety, and are turning to a pretty shade just this side of irritated. I like it. “At least your name option works for both genders.”
I softly glide my hand over her belly. This is… this is fucking awesome. I’ve never really gotten to do this with her before. To celebrate that we’re even having a baby. There’s always been the fear of getting caught.
The fear of losing it.
I watch her expression turn all sappy. I’m afraid mine’s gone that way too, so I fuck with her a bit more. My tone is as obnoxiously superior as I can make it. “It doesn’t need to work for both genders. Devon’s a boy.”
She gets right up in my face when she scoffs. “Oh really! How do you know it’s a boy?”
We both look to the doorway where Mace just left.
“I just do.”
She huffs. “You’re full of it. What if Drogan-Sol is a girl?”
I grab her by the hair and pull her in where I can taste her neck. Sweetest fucking spot on the planet…
I pause.
Apparently, any fucking planet.
I drop my nose into the hollow where her shoulder meets her pretty throat, inhaling hard before I lick her skin and test the feel of her with my teeth.
“Ryan? What if she’s a girl?”
I nip her harder before laving it away. “That’d be fine, I’d love her like crazy, but it’s a boy, so I’ll love Devon like crazy.”
She’s caught between incredulity and laughter. “You don’t know—”
I catch her face so I can look her in the eye. “I do know I love this baby.”
Mollified, she finally nods, and thank fuck, because I can go back to her neck where she lets me lick, and bite, and suck to the awesome sounds of her whimpers.
I’ve never gotten to do this with her either; the holding and the taking my time. It’s nice. Fucking overdue.
“Do I smell?”
I pull up. “Huh?”
Her face is red. “I washed, but…”
Oh. Motherfucking not a topic I want to wade into. “No. You smell… it’s pretty. Like flowers. And sort of earthy, like that really good humus crap they sell, with all the stuff loaded into it to feed your seedlings.”
We both go still, staring into each others eyes. I clear my throat and try not to grimace. “Yeah, okay. I don’t want to think too deep on that, okay?”
She swipes her hand through the air. “Deal.”
I throw my arm around her and tug her hard into my side. “You alright?”
She shakes her head. I tense.
“Yeah,” she clarifies. “It’s just all so nuts. I can’t wrap my head around everything.”
“You and me both, babe.”
My tongue lightly dragging a path along her shoulder, I see her eyes close, her neck arches to the side, I grip her hair tight in my fist—and she smiles. Beautiful fucking smile.
I can’t be this close and not keep touching her, so I go about showing the other side of her neck attention…
And it becomes really fucking apparent that it’s already seen some.
There’s a giant-ass bite at the base of her throat. That’s my spot. This is my girl. These are not my teeth impressions.
Not gonna lie; I slobber all over her bruised flesh like it’ll wash it away faster, and then I go up high on her throat, and take the top spot, the sensitive place where she loves to be held.
It’s mine.
She is MINE.
“Feel better?”
I think she’s laughing at me. I don’t care. “Affirmative.”
“Just as long as everybody’s clear on who I belong to, right? You sort of growled, ‘MINE,’ kind of right in my ear.”
Now I feel like a dick. I kiss her ear. “Sorry.”
She wraps her arm around me, forgiveness plain enough in her action. She’s so sweet. So is this little tribal bikini thing she’s wearing. It’s got some sort of criss-cross thing going on in front, displaying the tops of her pretty tits, while her bottom half is basically begging to be ripped off with my teeth. And with her midriff on display like this it’s distracting as hell and all I want to do is touch it. Touch her. So I do. “Fuck, I want you so bad,” I tell her.
“We should stop,” she says, almost panting now, and I freeze until I hear the second half of her advice, “—before you get too worked up. I don’t want to hurt you.”
“I’ll be fine, baby, don’t worry. I have to have you.”
She looks worried anyway, her eyes dark and pretty.
Just going to have to prove it.
“This bed is huge,” I tell her as I carefully edge away from where a headboard would normally go, and inch my way until I’m positioned how I want to be, where I want to be, and I don’t fuck up my leg doing it.
“What are you doing?” Preta asks, laughter plain in her voice.
I cock an eyebrow as I slowly recline until my head is touching the bed. “Climb on my face and find out.”
CHAPTER 23
PRETA
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