by Cynthia Sax
Ary caught the container in one hand. “I will slather the lube on my monster.” He grinned, amused by her inventive names for his spicka, his Storm quick and clever, a mate to be proud of.
“You do that.” She caressed her breasts, tugging and pulling on her pink nipples.
Lejno. She tempts me. Ary twisted open the container and the scent of leather wafted upward. He dipped his fingers into the gel and spread the cool substance on his overheated spicka, rubbing it into his skin, ensuring every ridge and rim was covered, his touch forceful and ruthlessly thorough.
“Is that how you like it, my Ary?” His Storm gazed at him with wide eyes, her lips parted enticingly. “Violent and rough? Because I can touch you that way.” She kneeled on the sleeping support and reached for him.
“No.” He yanked his spicka away from her skillful fingers. “You touch me that way and I spill my seed in your hands, not on your ass.”
A fixer sniggered behind him. Ary cast a hard glance over the horny males, unable to determine which of the fixers dared to ridicule his lack of control. “When you meet your mates, you will no longer laugh.”
“When we meet our mates!” The fixers cheered, slapping their hands together.
Ary shook his head, reasoning with them futile. “Turn over, my Storm.” He clasped her hips and flipped her onto her stomach.
“My Ary,” his Storm squeaked as she bounced, her ass cheeks as pale as the single moon orbiting her planet. “Slow down. Before you pound that big battering ram into me, you need to lube me up also.” She rose to her hands and knees, tilting her ass upward. “Make my ass as slick as my pussy.”
Ary dropped a dab of lube on his palm and rubbed his hands together, warming the gel. “Your pussy is wetter than the simulator’s.”
“That’s how wet I want my ass.” His Storm swayed, her curves entrancing Ary, his spicka gyrating to her rhythm. “Stick your fingers in me, my Ary.”
He drifted his fingertips down the shadow of her crease and she trembled, her skin rippling alluringly, drawing him closer. “Touch me, ruler,” she purred, her voice husky. “Command my body.”
Ary wedged his hand between her ass cheeks and parted her flesh, unveiling her pink puckered hole. Mine. He drew in a deep breath, inhaling the musky scent of her excitement, and he circled the entrance to her back passage. His Storm clenched and unclenched her flesh as though trying to suck him inside her.
Ary pushed one of his lube-covered fingers into her, his progress meeting opposition. “Sladky matka, my Storm. You are tight.”
“I can take you.” She panted, clutching the covering blanket. “Keep going. Don’t stop.” Her body refuted her words, gripping his finger, attempting to block his invasion.
Ary wouldn’t be thwarted, advancing slowly. His finger passed the ring of resistance and he slid in up to his joint. Triumph. He gazed at his green hand pressed against her white curves, his finger buried deep inside her ass, and his chest expanded with pride.
“Ohhh…I can feel every ridge.” She arched, her movements sensuous and flowing. “That’s it. Pry me open. Prepare me for your big cock.”
He pumped into her, slicking her flesh with lube. Her passage eased and he added another finger, stretching her asshole. Fabric rustled around him. Ary looked over his shoulder. The fixers stood with their uniforms pooled around their boots, their hands working their spickas as he worked his Storm’s ass, matching his rhythm.
“One more finger, my Ary,” his Storm panted. “Open me wide.” He dribbled more lube between her ass cheeks and she gasped. “Cold.” The gel dripped over her skin, leaving a glistening trail.
“I will warm you soon.” He stroked into her ass with three fingers, massaging her hip with his free hand. His Storm undulated under him, her pussy juices moistening the inside of her white thighs.
“Not soon.” She moaned. “Warm me now. Fill my ass, my Ary. I need your cock inside me.”
Ary withdrew his fingers and positioned behind her. He prodded her hole with the tip of his spicka, testing her. “You are too tight, my Storm,” he declared, despair clawing at his chest, wanting her so badly. “I will fuck your pussy.”
“No!” She glared back at him, her pale-green eyes flashing. “You’ll fuck my ass, my Ary. Go slowly. You can’t hurt me.”
“Fuck her ass,” the fixers chanted rowdily. “Fuck her ass. Fuck her ass.” They yanked on their spickas, the slapping sound of flesh on flesh added to their cheer.
Ary pushed against her hole. She squeezed his tip, the pressure teetering on the edge of unbearable. “My Storm.” Am I damaging her? He couldn’t see her face, his Storm staring straight ahead.
“Listen to your people, my Ary. They want this,” she pleaded, her voice thin and high. “I want this. Fuck my ass. Do it for them. Do it for me…for us.”
“For us.” He burrowed deeper, working his spicka into her ass one ridge at a time, his shaft vibrating against her inner walls, coating her with lube. Lejno. Ary gritted his teeth and clutched his base with one hand, resisting the urge to thrust deep, to spill his seed inside her ass.
“I’m thinking too much. I can’t loosen. I can’t let go.” Her fingers curled in fists, her muscles straining under him. “Slap my ass, my Ary.”
Slap her ass? He stared down at her, appalled by her request, unwilling to damage his small mate further, his spicka inflicting enough stress upon her fragile body. “No.”
“Do it,” she commanded, her tone allowing no refusal.
Ary slapped her ass using only a portion of his greater strength. His Storm cried out, her ass muscles eased around his spicka and he slipped fully into her glorious ass.
“Yes.” She expelled a deep breath, dropping her head.
He glimpsed the shine of tears on her cheeks and his stomach coiled into a tight ball of regret. “I damaged you, my Storm.”
“We will fix.” Fixer Vern stepped forward, his eyes swirling with concern.
“No!” His Storm stiffened. “Don’t touch me. It’s a good damage.” Ary studied her, doubt in his heart. “If I bit your cock, you’d feel damage, right?”
His spicka bobbed inside her, disrupting the tempo of his gyrations. “I am a Silan. We are bigger, stronger. You are a frail human, so small and delicate.” He caressed her ass, tracing the red mark on her pale skin. My mark. A buzz of pride filled him.
His Storm rolled her eyes. “This frail human took your big Silan cock up her ass and she liked it. You fill me, my Ary.” She wiggled, brushing her curves against his hips, her back passage easing to accommodate his girth. “Like no other man can.”
“There will be no other males.” Ary growled, angered by her mention of other sexual partners. He pulled out and surged back into her, swaying her body forward.
“My Ary!” she screamed, tossing her head defiantly, her red curls bouncing, her hair as alive as the rest of her. “Yes, that’s it. Fuck me. Fuck me hard.”
Ary rode her small body, pulling her backward, impaling her upon his spicka as he thrust forward, his hips smacking against her reddened ass. An enticing heat rose between them, binding them together. Her skin glowed with passion and beads of sweat formed on his forehead.
“God. You’re so big, my Ary.” His Storm pushed back against him, meeting each of his lunges. She gripped the covering blanket with her slender fingers, her knuckles white. “And when your ridges slide along my ass, your cock…your cock vibrates my pussy.” She panted, her words strained. “Ohhh…” She moaned, her sex noises escalating Ary’s arousal.
He clenched his teeth and tightened his grip on her hips, the urge to spill his seed tremendous. The males behind him pulled vigorously on their spickas, their grunts joining his.
“Oh. Oh. Oh.” His Storm’s voice rose with each thrust as Ary slammed into her ass harder and harder, rocking her body. His balls bounced against her wet pussy, speckling his skin with her juices, her scent compromising his control. Blood coursed through Ary, rushing to his spicka.
“Close
, my Ary.” The muscles in her ass cheeks constricted, her softness hardening. “I’m…Ohhh…” She screamed, bucking upward, her ass muscles clamping down on his spicka.
“My Storm!” Ary roared, jerking against her, releasing an endless stream of hot seed into her ass, transforming all of his concerns to her frail shoulders. Roars echoed around them as the other males found satisfaction, their seed splattering on the tiled floor.
“Sladky matka.” Ary shuddered, the ridges over his spine rattling. “You are my world, my Storm.” He lowered his body over hers, covering her rounded spine with his chest, bracing his weight with his arms. “I would give up everything for you.” He nuzzled his face into her soft curls, the unusual heat in his torso returning.
The fixers mumbled their gratitude. Footsteps rang on the floor and the doors slid open and shut behind them. The chamber grew quiet, the silence broken only by their breathing.
“Did you?” his Storm whispered. She dropped to the sleeping support’s surface and Ary’s spicka slipped from her ass. He shivered, missing the warmth of her body. “Did you give up everything for me?” She rolled onto her back, her face flushed with pigment, her eyes wide.
Ary glanced at the camera positioned above their sleeping support. He lowered his head, skimmed his mouth along her cheek and pressed his lips against her ear. “Once we return to Sila, I will no longer have a role on council,” he murmured.
His Storm inhaled sharply, her breasts rising, pressing against him. “But that’ll cause a war. Our people will attack Earth.” She clung to him, her fingernails carving into his skin, the pain grounding him.
Ary felt her fear and he wished to offer her words of comfort, yet he was unable to lie to her, his mate. His Storm and his honor were all he had left.
“And they made this decision because our people protested against you?” Her breath wafted over his skull ridges, warm and reassuring.
Our people. The warmth in Ary’s chest spread across his shoulders. “Yes.”
“Then the rulers do listen to their people. Interesting.” She caressed his skin, her fingertips light and soft. “If our people decided to support you, would you get your job back?” She tilted her head, her red curls bouncing against her cheeks, and Ary nodded, overwhelmed by her beauty.
“In that case, we have nothing to worry about.” Her lips curled into a small secretive smile. “You’ll have a role on council, my Ary.” She patted his shoulders. “Trust me.”
“I trust you with all that I have.” Ary covered her mouth with his, striving to capture her confidence, grateful to have his Storm as a mate.
Chapter Six
What am I doing? Two days later, Storm smiled at the talk show audience projected onto the simulation room’s walls. The Silan males smiled back, their eyes swirling, the drone of their discussions filling the small space, their speech alien and incomprehensible. I don’t even know their language.
Ary shifted on the couch beside her, his big thigh pressing reassuringly against hers. He knows the language and he won’t let me fail. Storm turned her head and studied him. He stared straight ahead, not meeting any Silan’s gaze, his spine ramrod straight and his face flushed with a green so dark, his skin appeared black.
We’re making this appearance for the people, his and mine and ours. Storm tapped his hand with her fingertips. Ary flipped his palm upward and threaded his fingers through hers. With the warmth of his touch, her nerves settled, a calmness covering her.
Words Storm couldn’t understand originated from a Silan she couldn’t see. The audience members clapped and hooted. A tiny talker bounded onto the stage, holding his arms up, a playful smile on his purple-and-green face. His image was impressively crisp and lifelike, as though he had entered the room with them. He bounced from one side of the stage to the other, calling out to the crowd in Silan.
Oh God, I don’t know what he’s saying. Tension tightened Storm’s shoulders. She looked at Ary and tilted her head. Help me.
He put his arm around her and pulled her closer, fitting her into his big body. “Talker Duzy makes humorous talk, not very humorous,” Ary drawled in her ear, his lips buzzing against her skin. Storm smiled, her fear lifting.
Their bubbly host turned his head with an exaggerated snap and gazed at her, widening his swirling eyes. He made a chirping noise. The audience laughed.
Ary growled. “Do not disrespect my mate, Talker Duzy.” His muscles flexed against her back, her crisp new purple uniform forming a thin barrier between them.
The elfish talker raised his palms in mock surrender. “My apologies, Ruler Arystokrata Nazwisko.” He spoke in heavily accented English, and Storm relaxed, easily understanding him. “I mean no disrespect to you or to Talker Storm Nazwisko.”
Ary said nothing, his anger winding around his form, dark and visible. Storm squeezed his hand, attempting to diffuse the potentially combustive situation. “We accept your apology, Talker Duzy.” She inclined her head. “It has been a long voyage. My Ary and I look forward to reaching Sila, our home.”
The buzz in the audience increased in volume. “We look forward to the arrival of you.” Talker Duzy sat with a flourish on the giant silver host chair, the seat making him appear even smaller than he was. “You are the first talker female.”
This is my opening. “And my Ary is the first ruler to take a mate.” Storm smoothly redirected the conversation.
“Ruler Arystokrata Nazwisko is the first in many ways. He is the first ruler to answer questions.” Talker Duzy grinned, clearly thrilled to snag the first interview. “And he is the first ruler to fight our enemy.”
“To protect Sila!” a warrior in the audience bellowed, his black-and-green ridges rattling. Other Silans cheered.
“I did what any Silan would do,” Ary murmured, his contribution to the conversation surprising Storm, his silence being Ary’s major stipulation for appearing on the popular Silan show. “A warrior would have defeated our enemy with more speed and skill.”
The warrior roared and the audience hooted, thumping their armrests with their big fists. Talker Duzy’s grin widened. “You are known for honoring the statuses of Silans, yet there are many Silans who do not honor your status as ruler, Ruler Arystokrata Nazwisko. They believe rulers should not take mates until all of the other Silans have taken mates.”
Ary stiffened and Storm leaned back, pushing into him, distracting him with her touch. “Earth is much like Sila,” she purred in her sexiest voice. “Rulers wish to talk with rulers. How can we negotiate for more mates if we do not have a ruler to talk for us?”
Ary held her hand tightly, his fingers as unyielding as steel. “We have no set plans to negotiate with the humans,” her brutally honest mate admitted.
“Negotiations will come.” Talker Duzy waved his well-manicured hand. “Silans have found many mates. The Earth rulers will not remain ignorant for much longer.” Their host studied her, his eyes holding more intelligence than his jovial countenance relayed. “A ruler does not need a mate to negotiate.”
“A mate will ease negotiations. Most Earth rulers have mates.” Storm curled her fingers into Ary’s palm, drawing strength from his grip. “And I can speak to the females, reassuring potential mates that they can find great happiness with a big, strong Silan mate.” She glanced up at Ary, openly admiring his rugged countenance.
Talker Duzy raised his forehead ridges. “You are a talker.” He gazed at Ary. “Our ruler has chosen wisely.” The popular talk show host looked at his suddenly silent audience. “I honor Ruler Arystokrata Nazwisko’s status as ruler.”
“I honor Ruler Arystokrata Nazwisko’s status as ruler,” the Silans repeated.
“A mate for every Silan!” a fixer yelled. The males cheered.
We did it. We earned their support. Storm met Ary’s gaze. His eyes swirled with emotion and she cupped his cheek, wishing to ease his turmoil. Ary turned his head and pressed a kiss on her palm, his lips firm and warm.
My big alien. Storm melted under his
touch. I love him so much.
Shit. I love Ary. She froze, her body temperature dropping dramatically.
Ary gazed at the Silans in the audience, his people, and his chin lifted proudly, his profile stern and aristocratic, his shoulders broad and his spine straight. He is intimidating and regal and I love him.
* * * * *
Three sleep cycles after their appearance on Sila’s number one morning show, the ship shuddered under Ary’s boots and stilled. We are home. He plucked at the cuffs of his uniform, his excitement dampened by concerns about their reception. Will Silans protest our arrival? He tensed. Will they attempt to damage my Storm?
His Storm fidgeted beside him, rearranging a wayward curl. The fiery lock defied her efforts, bouncing back to its original spot, dangling over her left eye, and she huffed. “I hate my hair.”
“Your hair is beautiful,” he murmured, the lights setting her tendrils ablaze. “My Storm.” Ary shifted his weight from his right foot to his left, his stomach twisting. “If I no longer have a position on council—”
“You will.” She clasped his hand, her fingers seductively slender and pale.
Ary gritted his teeth, determined not to allow her touch to distract him. “If I no longer have a position on council and you wish another mate…” His voice cracked and his mouth dried, the words sticking in his throat.
“I’ll never wish for another mate.” His Storm’s gaze lifted, her eyes covered with a thin sheen of moisture. “I love you, my Ary.” Her skin flushed with pigment and she dropped her head, shielding her face.
Love. Ary stared at her. An uncomfortable silence stretched as his Storm meticulously straightened his mangled cuffs and brushed out the wrinkles in the fabric. The human reply is to repeat the phrase, but will this reply be a lie?
“Silans do not experience the love emotion,” Ary confessed, unwilling to risk lying to his mate.