She stretched, reaching up over her head and arching. She was sore—deliciously sore. Each twinge was a reminder of what they’d done to her, what she’d done to them. She was surprised she could move, truth be told. Two enormous cocks at once…she should be split in half, not enjoying only a twinge of post-coital tenderness. Maybe it had something to do with their magical cum.
Or maybe they were just magical. It was, hands down, the best sexual experience of her life. Also the most scandalous. Her cheeks heated at the soreness in her backside, at the memory of Fen stroking there. A shiver of arousal chased her embarrassment away.
“Awake, my Charm?” Horny mumbled. His thick fingers were splayed across her tummy; she was on her back, with him on one side and Fen on her other. Hilom was hidden behind one of them.
“Mmh,” she murmured. She leaned to him and placed a kiss on his naked chest. “Good morning.”
“We’ve not slept that long, only an hour or two.” He stroked a hand down her hair. “We need to go and announce our bond, my Charm. We’re short on time.”
She nodded, but didn’t move. “Thank you.”
Her tone must have clued him in that she was thankful of more than just his reminder of their duties. “For what, Lanie?”
“For wanting me.” She kissed his chest again, unable to look up. “For choosing me.”
“You chose us,” he murmured, stroking her hair again. “And I will strive to be worthy, my Charm, for all my days.”
Fen leaned over and kissed her shoulder. “We all will.”
“I’ll prove the worthiest,” Hilom muttered from over Horny’s shoulder. He sat up and peered over his leader. “Especially in bed.” He winked, and Lanie cracked up. Horny threw an elbow back at his irreverent male, but Hilom dodged it and rolled to his feet. “I’m hungry—let’s go make all the others jealous, and then feed our Charm.”
They all made it out of bed, though Lanie did it with more than a few winces; she was more sore than she’d realized, her body vehemently protesting her desire to stand up. The brakka noticed and helped her along, gently cleansing her with water from a hidden basin; they were so sweet and attentive that nerves didn’t hit her until they were all dressed and ready to roll the stone that acted as a door.
Had everyone heard? Would they laugh again?
Horny put his hand on her shoulder and smiled down at her, looking so proud. And it was then that she realized it didn’t matter if her friends—if strangers—laughed. Even if they did, even if her memories escaped their locked door, she had a brakka. A family.
She returned Horny’s smile, and was so lost in his gaze that when Fen rolled the door away, she didn’t even hear the cheers from those gathered below.
~ The End ~
About Kimberlyn Day
Kimberlyn Day is the pen name of a gal who loves to write about sexy aliens. Expect insta-love set in space, out-of-this-world alpha males (and females!), and Happily-Ever-Afters where space ships sail off into a galaxy far, far away.
When she’s not writing, life is a lot more…down to earth. A hubby, a kiddo, a dog, a cat, and a day job. A regular ‘Average Joan’. She reads way too many books, drinks way too much chai tea, and spends all her free time dreaming up new stories.
To the amusement of Kimberlyn Day, no one who knows her in real life would ever suspect she could write about coitus, fellatio, or BDSM. She enjoys the freedom of anonymity and intends to keep writing deliciously naughty romance and sexy scifi.
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Sneak Peek:
Deegan’s Rescue
Survivors of Paradise Book 2
Chapter 1
The tunnels were dark and twisty, the jagged edges diamond-sharp. Dee kept her pace slow and steady, her little lightstone—though she still preferred calling it a starstone, no matter how much Paul mocked the name—guiding her with its gentle, glowing presence.
The bluish light was tinged with a hint of yellow, giving the diamond walls a bruised, melancholy appearance. Dee didn’t pay the décor any mind, though; she’d never been overly impressed by pretty things or pretty words—she was a woman of action.
With her finger on the trigger of her weapon, she felt as safe as possible while combing through the caves of an alien moon, looking for Paradins who’d been hiding from said aliens. She was a good shot—a lucky shot, even. But that didn’t mean her skin wasn’t crawling.
The dagger strapped to her forearm didn’t ease her anxiety, either.
Nothing ever would.
A soft whisper of voices had Dee pausing, listening. The crew knew she was coming and should be packed up and waiting, but there was no point in swaggering through unknown tunnels and into possible danger; she was many things, but stupid wasn’t one of ’em.
So she waited, focused on the sounds from up ahead. The faint murmurs were whispers, but that didn’t keep the noise from traveling. Thankfully, the whispers were in English Common, the only mandatory language for Paradins to learn as children, though some of the survivors could—and often did—speak in ancient Earthen languages passed down from their ancestors. Dee lifted her finger from the trigger and resumed her trek through the darkness.
“Melissa?” she called softly. The whispers stopped.
“Deegan,” the other woman answered. It was their code; if Melissa had called out for anyone else—it didn’t matter what other name the woman chose—Dee would have known to shoot first, ask later.
As it was, she rounded the last bend and found the hapless crew just as they should be. Melissa, who was hurt, sat propped against the cave wall. Her companions, Zeke and Iris, were strapped up with all their belongings. Dainty Iris looked like she was about to fall over.
“I brought another first aid kit—do you need anything from it now, before I lead you back?” Dee asked.
Melissa shook her head, her dirty platinum hair somehow managing to shine as it swung around her pretty face. “No, I think it’s broken.” She gestured at her ankle, which was crudely splinted between two water canteens and tied with the shoelaces of her missing boot. Her sock hid any bruising from view, but it was obviously swollen.
“Candi will fix you up—we’re headed back to the ship today.” Dee bit her lip and looked between Melissa and her crewmates, thinking of how to help. She couldn’t—wouldn’t—risk putting her weapon down, not when Pirates were closing in on the moon. “Zeke, you’ll have to carry her. My finger stays on the trigger.”
“But our supplies—” he started to argue, already looking down at the bags crisscrossed around him.
“I’ll carry her,” a voice said softly from behind Dee. She froze.
Melissa gasped and fell sideways, yelping when it jostled her leg. Zeke gasped too, but then he jumped in front of Iris and Melissa, face set with determination. He was a good man—an honorable man. One Dee would much rather be attracted to than the alien behind her.
“Why did you follow me?” she asked, not bothering to turn around. The fact that he’d been behind her—probably the whole time—terrified her, made her question herself and her abilities, and she didn’t want him to see that on her face.
“To keep you safe.” He said it like a given, as if he had the right to protect her. And perhaps, in his mind, he did…but that only amped up her anxiety. Tugarth was an Abbaleer, a breed of alien known for dominating those around them. With size and strength, yes, but also with sheer will.
As far as Dee knew, the leaders of the aliens’ s
ociety consisted of solitary Abbaleer and several of the alphas from prominent Lu’O brakkas. The third breed, the Gkiven, didn’t seem as ambitious. One day, if she had to, she planned on choosing a mate from within the gentler, less dominant breed; so what if the Gkiven had tails? Better that than an arrogant, overbearing attitude.
Melissa caught Dee’s gaze and cocked an eyebrow; the other woman was a whiz with any and all patterns—she could decipher math, languages, and even art. Body language was easier than eating cake, so Dee fully expected to be quizzed later. Of all the people to befriend, she’d chosen a nosy romantic.
Tugarth didn’t wait for more chitchat. He moved to Melissa and gently lifted her, not straining even a bit. The ripple of his muscles was entrancing—or would have been, if Dee had allowed herself to stare. And drool. No doubt she could easily make a fool of herself around the male, which is why she avoided him.
“The transpo leaves at the next break in the surface storm; once the sand settles, we’ll need to carry her out,” Tugarth said, nodding down at his subdued armful, “but the rest of you will wait until our specialist gets aboard and preps the haaze.”
“The what?” Iris asked.
He frowned—not as if irritated, but as if frustrated at having to use words. He spoke slowly, with precision, each word measured as it left his mouth. “The haaze will move us, with less danger than flying through this moon’s atmosphere.”
“Like the onboard teleporter, it’ll zap us from here to there?” Zeke clarified. “That would make so much more sense than those awful transporters!”
Tugarth nodded and started walking, passing Dee with a look that seared her. The lust in his eyes sparked dual reactions: panic and excitement. She shoved both aside and put her finger on the trigger; they had things to do, places to be, and no time to waste on feelings.
***
The Den, as the aliens called it, was packed. The centrally located space was the equivalent of a super-sized family room, though the roughly hewn tables and cute pond added a home-grown atmosphere at odds with the buff males. Everyone was talking and jostling when they entered, and the vibe was downright jolly—not what Dee expected upon telling them that they were facing an imminent attack.
Only a day before, the humans had arrived seeking help against the Pirates close on their heels. These aliens, who called themselves Peacekeepers, should’ve been panicking. Or, at the very least, planning and strategizing. Were they? Nope. The enormous idiots were celebrating the alliance.
A lot of the males quieted when they noticed Melissa, Iris, and Dee—their presence only added to the amped-up tension in the room—and moved aside so Tugarth could carry the wounded woman to the other Paradins. Zeke and Iris were right behind them, but Dee hung back. Following after Tugarth like a puppy didn’t appeal to her at all, not when she knew how susceptible she was to his particularly intense brand of charm.
“Listen up!” someone yelled.
Dee twisted until she spotted Delloruin—or Horny, as he’d been dubbed by his mate—standing at the foot of the staircase that led to the Paradins’ temporary sleeping quarters, flanked by two other Lu’O as if he needed bodyguards. Lanie was behind her brakka, her lips quirked into an indulgent smile.
“Only one of the three transports that the Paradins used to reach the moon is still working; the other crash landed, and the shield on the second faltered at some point.” Which meant that the diamond sand had ripped the thing to shreds. “We’re going to send a team of three up to the ship on the transpo and then use the haaze to bring the rest of us up. We’ll need a volunteer qualified in H-spec, a weapons marshal, and an engineer.”
Dee saw several of the aliens nod and smile, as if there was nothing wrong with that plan. All she saw was the potential for disaster. One old-ass transport meant that there was a hell of a lot that could go wrong—and if something did go wrong, there were a lot of people stranded on a miserable little moon while slavers descended on them.
Dee gulped. Her fingers twitched, and she wished she could take a look under the transport’s hood, just to satisfy her need to tinker. She’d fiddled with this and that for as long as she could remember—breaking, fixing, and improving anything with mechanical parts. It had driven her father crazy, mostly because whenever he’d ambled home, it was only to find something spread across the floor in pieces. She’d tried to avoid her father’s personal belongings, but she hadn’t always been able to resist…it was her comfort, a weird quirk she’d had no success in curbing.
An Abbaleer, a single Lu’O, and a Gkiven all stepped forward to travel to the ship on the transport. Dee didn’t recognize any of them on sight. Several of the other aliens yelled encouragement, but Dee turned and headed for the edge of the crowd. She was hyperaware of being surrounded by enormous, dominant males—of the same species that had annihilated her colony and then enslaved the few survivors.
These brutes called themselves Peacekeepers, a title they’d taken upon themselves after forming a symbiotic relationship with a small coalition of planets known as Trialliance. When that symbiosis turned toxic, more than half of the Peacekeepers had reverted to their more…savage natures. From Peacekeeper to Pirate, the transformation had ended with a moon full of marooned aliens and her own colony being picked apart.
And, more pressingly, a new symbiosis.
In exchange for help against the fleet of Pirates, the Peacekeepers wanted a chance at lifebonding. At females.
Dee looked at Lanie, the first Paradin to hook up with the brutes, and couldn’t help but soften. The normally staid woman was smiling, surrounded by her males—the brakka always seemed to orbit around her, and the way they watched her…it looked a lot like love. Which was weird, because they’d only been on the moon for two days.
But weird or not, if the three aliens could eke a little joy out of the other woman, Dee was happy. Every survivor from Paradise Colony deserved to find happiness after the horrors they’d been subjected to.
Just not Dee. Being surrounded by the crowd was giving her the heebie-jeebies, but always having a brakka attached to her hip? No, thanks. One Gkiven, maybe ten years down the road—if they all survived that long—would be something to consider. Maybe.
“Looks like we’re sharing a wavelength,” Paul said as he sidled up to her. With their backs to the cavern wall, it was easier to breathe; the aliens were chanting some kind of good luck/farewell for their three brethren.
“Never thought I’d say this, but I miss space.” It was the first time she’d had her own room, her own private retreat when she needed to think—to breathe.
Paul grunted. “Yeah. At least up there I had a shower…you know, kind of.”
Yeah, she did know. The alien ship didn’t have actual showers; the equivalent was a freakin’ wind tunnel. The claustrophobic, single-person vestibules acted a lot like a hair dryer, except it was whisper-quiet and did a helluva lot more than just blow hot air. It was probably a thousand times more efficient than a bathtub or shower, but it lacked the comfort of the human ablutions.
Still, she was covered in itchy diamond grit and more than a little sweat, and the stupid wind tunnel would have gone a long way toward improving her mood.
Sarah, a woman from the third transpo, came up behind Paul. She slung a companionable around his neck and grinned. “Forget those showers,” she drawled. “These guys have real baths. Like, ancient Roman style.”
Dee was skeptical. They were on a diamond-dust moon, trapped in a cave. The only water she’d seen was the tiny pond in the Den, which was carefully protected by the males so it wouldn’t be contaminated. “Are the tubs full of sand?”
Paul snickered. “At this point, even a mirage of a bath would have me backstroking like a pro.”
“It’s real water—though one of the Gkivens, Jerrik, said it’s thick and feels a bit oily. He spilled the beans on the place, said the water comes up hot, like in the springs on Earth.” Sarah leaned in conspiratorially, “I’ve been dying to go, and with the
se guys busy singing their hearts out, now might be our only chance.”
“Um, what are you waiting for?” Paul snapped his fingers like a queen bee. “Lead on! Chop! Chop!”
Sarah laughed and scuttled off, Dee and Paul kicking up dust behind her.
The tunnels were empty but echoing with the alien sendoff. The creep factor of being somewhere so…well, alien, was mitigated by the presence of the two other Paradins, but Dee didn’t mistake comfort for safety. Her weapon was out of her thigh sheath and in her hand before she consciously thought about it; she’d probably never go another day in her life without drawing it at least once.
After a few minutes of walking, they reached an offshoot where the tunnel split. Sarah led them to the left, humming happily until they found a well-lit, but door-less, cavern. Dee sighed in dejection—of course there wouldn’t be a door with a lock.
“What’s with the look?” Paul asked. “This is fantastic!”
It was fantastic. The room was warm, curls of steam softening the harsh diamond walls, and it did actually resemble the ancient Roman baths she’d learned about as a child—in size, at least. There was no decoration, but the enormous pool could easily have accommodated fifty of the full-grown Abbaleer—with room to spare—and it looked crystal clear.
But without a lock, there wasn’t a chance of her stripping down and enjoying any of it. Dee shrugged off Paul’s question and took up a place in the doorway, ready to guard her friends. “I’ll stand watch.”
“What? No!” Paul had already stripped out of his shirt, but he paused to gape at her. “You can’t be seriously passing this up?”
“There’s no door,” she explained. He probably wouldn’t understand, but it was important to her. A door was necessary.
Something akin to recognition flared in Paul’s eyes, but he cleared his throat and dropped trou. “I’ll go first, and then guard your back,” he promised. Without another word, he jumped into the water.
Lanie's Choice: Survivors of Paradise Book 1 Page 11