Barbarian's Heart: A SciFi Alien Romance (Ice Planet Barbarians Book 10)

by Ruby Dixon

  “Touch my clit,” she whispers.

  I lift my head, surprised. It is the first noise she has made that was not a moan or a cry. “Your clit?” I do not know the word. “Show me.”

  “Here,” she says. Her free hand slides between her thighs, and she parts her folds. Her fingers skim over her slickness, and then she circles the little nipple at the top of her cunt.

  I am fascinated by the sight of her touching herself…and jealous. She is mine to touch. Mine to pleasure. But I will take what she shows me, and learn. I watch her as she slowly traces around the nipple—her clit—and her breathing quickens. She likes soft touches here, then.

  I push her hand aside and bury my face between her legs again, finding her clit with my tongue. I can hear her gasp when I find it, and I set to copying her motions, tracing the tip of my tongue around it in a circle like she did. Her entire body trembles in response, and she releases a small cry.

  Encouraged, I redouble my efforts, licking, nibbling, and sucking on that small bit of flesh. If she wants me to tease her clit, I will. If she wants me to lick it for hours, I will. I watch her movements and pay attention to the grip of her hand in mine. I learn which things she likes—like the quick swipe of my tongue over her clit—and which do not move her. Over and over, I pleasure her with my mouth, and the taste of her fills my senses. I want to spend hours here between her thighs, feeling her quiver.

  One of her legs twitches, and I push my free hand down on it, forcing her legs to spread wider. “Mine,” I growl hungrily between licks.

  She whimpers, and her hand goes to my mane. Her fingers knot in my hair and she cries out softly, her hips arching. “I’m so close,” she pants. “Don’t stop.”

  “Never,” I vow, and lap at her with newfound determination. She grips my hand tightly as I continue to work her clit, over and over. Her hips rise higher with every lap of my tongue until she is pushing against my mouth, a little keening noise escaping her throat.

  Then she comes in a rush of wetness, her entire body trembling. She gasps loudly and quakes, and I grip her hand tightly and continue to pleasure her with my mouth. I do not let up until she pushes me aside some moments later. “You’re going to kill me if you keep that up,” she tells me, all breathless wonder.

  “I am pleasuring my mate,” I tell her, ready to do more.

  “I’ve definitely been pleasured,” she says, panting. “I…wow.”

  “I did well?”

  “Better than well. Amazing.” She squeezes my hand again. “Thank you.”

  “Why do you thank me?”

  “Because you didn’t have to do that.”

  “I have been dreaming of that for days.” I press a kiss to the inside of her thigh and enjoy her little quiver of response. “There is no greater pleasure than tasting you on my lips, and watching you come apart.”

  She smiles and pats the furs. “Come snuggle with me for a bit?”

  “Snuh-gul?”

  Stay-see nods, and as I move beside her, puts her arms around my waist and presses her cheek to my chest. She tucks her body against me and twines her legs with mine. “Snuggling. Cuddling. Holding each other.”

  “I would be happy to.” I put my arms around her and feel content. Happy. My khui sings a song of contentment. My cock aches, and my need is fierce, but I do not need more in this moment. I have my mate in my arms, her taste on my lips, and her well-pleasured body resting against me.

  It is more than enough for now.

  9

  STACY

  “You’re sure the weather will hold?” I ask Pashov as I peer out of the cave at the clear skies the next day. The weather is lovely—for Not-Hoth. It’s sunny and there are only a few fat flakes drifting on the breeze. Instead of Antarctic winter, it’s more like…Canadian winter. Still chilly, but not nearly as miserable. “As much as I like being here with you, I also worry we’re going to lose our window for travel. Maybe we should be traveling while the weather is good?”

  “Rokan says the brutal season will wait a bit longer,” my mate says stubbornly from his place by the fire. He holds Pacy by the hands and is trying to get the baby to walk instead of crawl. Pashov looks over at me, a touch of hurt on his broad face. “Do you not wish to be here with me?”

  “That’s not it at all. I love being with you.” I pull the privacy screen back over the entrance and move toward him. “Being here together has helped us reconnect,” I say, and touch his arm. “It’s been wonderful to have private time. I would love to stay in this cave for months on end if we could.” The little cave is big enough that we’re not tripping over each other, and just small enough to be cozy. It’s a little smoky at times, but I could be happy here. “I just worry about the travel. It hasn’t exactly been easy. I don’t want us to get stuck in the storms when they do come in.”

  “Rokan is never wrong,” Pashov tells me. “He says it will be clear for longer, and my chief has given us four hands of days before they will come searching for us.”

  “But you said it would take at least five days to get to the valley, right? Maybe six if we travel slow. That means six days here, and we’ve already been here four. I don’t want to cut it too close.” I stroke his arm. “I just worry.”

  He gives me a knowing look. “You do not wish to cut it close, or you wish to see your new home?”

  I laugh and feign lightness. “Am I obvious?”

  Pashov smiles at me. “You like to keep a tidy cave, and this one is a mess.”

  I glance around at the crowded little cave. Our gear is piled up in one corner, along with a lot of Kemli and Borran’s gear. We haven’t unpacked much, because I am acutely aware that we’re going to have to gather it all up again and cram it onto the sled. Because of that, we tend to have to step over rolls of furs and baskets of dried meat while we move around the cave.

  That isn’t what’s bothering me, though.

  Last night, after the oral-sex-a-thon, I fell asleep curled up in Pashov’s arms, content and happy and feeling like my mate was back. That things were starting to get back to rights in my world.

  I woke up to the sound of his nightmares.

  Sometime while I was sleeping, Pashov had moved me back to my own furs, and I’m not sure how I feel about that. Part of me thinks it’s sweet that he remembered to put me back, and part of me is disappointed that he didn’t hold me all night. I know he’s just following my wishes, though, so I can’t be mad. Pashov was asleep in the next room in his own blankets, and thrashed wildly.

  Pashov has always been a heavy sleeper, and he’s never struggled with nightmares. Not since I’ve known him. Last night, though, he flailed and moaned in a nightmare until I woke him up. He sat bolt upright, eyes wide with terror, his skin beaded with sweat. When I asked him what was the matter, he murmured something about the cave falling in on him.

  Then he promptly fell back to sleep.

  After that, however, I couldn’t sleep. The restlessness isn’t like him.

  I worry he needs the healer, after all. His memories haven’t come back, and with the nightmares, I’m scared he’s hiding a deeper brain injury. Or what if he has PTSD after the ceiling fell in on him? It’s possible, and I feel ill-equipped to help him through something like that.

  I also worry that we’re vulnerable alone out here in a cave by ourselves. What would happen if there was another earthquake and something should happen to Pashov? It would be beyond devastating to lose my mate after such a near miss recently, but even more awful…what would I do to keep Pacy safe? I can’t just think about myself; I have to think of our child. I’d have to somehow hunt and survive and find the others.

  Our existence is so fragile here.

  But I don’t want to stress Pashov. I also don’t want him to feel like he’s not enough for me. If it was safe? If there were no worries? I’d miss the others, but I’d be perfectly happy spending the entire brutal season curled up in the cave with my mate.

  There’s too much to worry over, though.
I nearly lost my mate once. I don’t want to lose him again. So I smile and shrug and decide to pretend I’m excited about the new living quarters. “It’d be nice to see what the new little houses are going to be like. And Georgie said there would be toilets. I admit, I’m looking forward to toilets.”

  Pashov turns his face up for a kiss. “You will have more than enough time to set up your new nest, my mate. Let us enjoy our time together, yes?”

  “All right,” I say, and press my mouth to his with affection. Maybe I’m being paranoid. Nightmares don’t mean a brain injury. The healer would have seen it already. And we’re safe here. Pashov wouldn’t take me and his son somewhere like this if he thought we were even in the slightest bit of danger.

  I’m just overthinking.

  I pull out one of the big hides from a recent kill. We’ve scraped it clean of all meat and fat, and it’s dried out. Now it’s stiff and ready to be worked, and I consider it, trying to figure out what to make. Extra boots would probably be wise, even though it’s not water-proofed. But Pacy needs more diapers, or as the sa-khui refer to them, loincloths. This particular hide is too tough, but I could get out a scraper and work it over to soften it up. Pashov needs winter tunics, I need a couple of ponchos to go over my winter tunics, and there’s just so much stuff to make that I get a little stressed thinking about it all. I wish we could hop in the car to the nearest Walmart and buy supplies, but it’s all on us. Sometimes it’s a little overwhelming.

  So I focus and try to think about what is most urgently needed. Boots are probably the smartest idea for now, because one pair only means that my feet turn into blocks of ice by the end of a day of travel, and the boots take longer than one evening to dry out. My current ones can be reinforced with more padding to make them warmer, and I can use the hard leather to make a spare pair. Extra diapers are nice to have, but I can just use a bit more arm muscle and scrub the ones I have. The good thing about frozen leather is that you can just scrape off the gross bits and wrap the skins in herbs to freshen them. It’s not quite the same as having disposable diapers, but beggars can’t be choosers. I should make Pashov a new tunic, but the leather’s poor quality, and I don’t know how soft or comfortable I can make it, even with scraping. It would need days and days of scraping to be supple. That might be wasted effort. I spread the skin and look at Pashov. “Boots for me or a tunic for you, do you think?”

  “Boots,” he says without looking over at the leather. “You need to keep warm. I am not as bothered by the weather.”

  “Yes, but you’re out in it more than I am,” I fret. “It’s just that the leather’s so hard and gross for a tunic. You need something soft.” I look over at him. “Are you going to hunt anything with a better hide that I could use for you?”

  “I do not like the thought of leaving you and Pacy here alone while I hunt,” he tells me, taking Pacy’s small hands and helping him wobble a few steps forward. He has a delighted smile on his face at the baby’s progress, and reluctantly looks over at me. “But I can check my traps, and if they are empty, I can see what else is frozen in the cache, but it means smoking more meat.”

  “I’m fine with that,” I tell him. “Better too much meat than not enough.”

  He picks Pacy up and gives him a noisy kiss on the baby’s round cheek. “Then I shall go and do as you ask. Will you be all right alone with this fierce little one for a short time?”

  I chuckle, and not just because Pacy is so clearly delighted with his father’s playfulness. “I’ll feed him and put him down for a nap.” He’s been playing with the baby for a good while, and I’m hoping Pacy will be tired enough to sleep. That’ll give me free time to work on the skins without having to fish things out of Pacy’s small grabby hands. This cave isn’t exactly baby-proof.

  My mate nods and gets to his feet, swinging Pacy into his arms as he does. “I will try not to be gone for long.” He moves to my side and gently hands my son down to me.

  “Are you feeling okay?” I ask, since I can’t help but worry.

  Pashov gives me a curious look. “Of course. Why would I not?”

  “No reason,” I say brightly, figuring now is a bad time to ask about the nightmares. “Just be careful when you go out.”

  “Always,” he tells me, and kneels in front of me. He cups my face and, while my arms are full of wiggling child, leans in and gives me a deep, delicious kiss full of tongue and promise. “Perhaps if he sleeps when I return, you will let me lick your cunt until you whimper again.”

  I can feel my face get scorching red. “All right,” I say, and I sound as fluttery as I feel. That was a bold statement if there ever was one. And it’s not like I’m going to protest that statement. I’m down with another round of pussy-licking. I’m thinking my mate is back to his old self more and more every day, and it makes me so happy.

  If only I could stop worrying.

  Pashov takes his spear and puts his knives in his belt, then heads out of the cave. “Back soon, my mate.”

  “I’ll be here,” I call back after him, wry.

  A few moments pass, and the cave starts to feel very empty. I begin to worry. What if his playful mood from today is an act? I can’t stop thinking about the nightmares, or the fact that it’s been weeks and his memories still haven’t come back.

  He won’t be gone for long, I remind myself. Hunters go out all the damn time. I need to stop being such a worrywart. I can’t help it, though. I nearly lost my mate recently. Of course I’m going to worry about him.

  I occupy myself with feeding Pacy. He’s fussy and doesn’t want to settle down, but after a belly full of milk, he starts to get drowsy and even crankier. I let him cry himself to sleep, though I’m starting to feel like I need a nap myself. Eventually, though, he’s quiet and drifts off, and I get up to put him in his basket in the next room. Finally, I can get some work done.

  I hear the screen move in the other room and relief shoots through me. Pashov’s back already? I tuck Pacy in one last time and head back to the main cave.

  It’s…not Pashov.

  At first, I don’t know what it is. I’ve spent my time on the ice planet sheltered in the tribal cave, and so I’m not familiar with some of the creatures that live here. All I see is dirty white fur and long arms and legs as something sneaks into the cave. Then the stench hits me. Like wet, filthy dog, it permeates every inch of the small cave and makes my eyes water. I must make a sound of some kind, because it turns to look at me. That’s when I see the big, rounded eyes, the small owl-like mouth, and the flat face.

  This has to be a metlak.

  The creature is hunched over on the far side of the cave, away from the fire. It hisses at me, and I feel a bolt of alarm. My little Pacy is asleep in the next room. I have to keep him safe—but my knife is near the metlak, and Pashov is away from the cave. I don’t know what to do. Frozen with fear, I stare at the creature, waiting.

  It crawls along the side of the cave, as if trying to get as far away from the fire as possible. It heads towards the packed baskets we have stacked along the back of the cave, and sniffs the air. It opens one, finds a packet of herbs, and shoves a handful into its mouth.

  Is it…hungry?

  Pashov told me that these lands were close to metlak territory. I didn’t give it much thought, considering that they, like the dvisti, aren’t much of an issue in the safety of the tribal cave. Out here alone, though, I stare at the creature and try not to panic.

  How do I get it out of here? They’re known to be wildly unpredictable and fierce when cornered. Being in my cave probably counts as cornered.

  It spits out the handful of herbs and swipes at its tongue with its long fingers, then makes a high-pitched, whistling sound before yanking down another basket and digging through its contents. As it moves, I can see ribs showing through the dirty, matted fur.

  It’s starving.

  And I feel a twinge of guilt over this creature. It’s clearly struggling to survive. I’m still scared of it, but maybe
I can feed it and get it out the door before anything bad happens.

  “Are you hungry?” I ask in a low, soft voice.

  The creature hisses at me again, and I remember what Lila told me—that she had found one that understood hand signals. Well, to a certain extent. Maybe this one does, too? I gesture at my mouth, miming chewing.

  The thing pauses, watching me with avid eyes.

  Okay, yeah. It definitely is interested now. My skin crawls, but I force myself to move forward.

  It stops hissing and growls low in its throat instead. It’s a warning to me, but I need to show it where the food is before it destroys all of the things we’ve worked so hard to replace since the cave-in. I pick up one of the baskets of dried meat and pull out a dried slab, offering it up.

  The creature grabs it from my hand, sniffs it, and then flings it aside.

  “All right,” I murmur. “You’re clearly not a meat eater.” I try to remember what Lila said about these things, but all I can think about is that my little Pacy is sleeping in the next room, and I don’t want this creature to know he’s there. I need a weapon. Actually, scratch that. I need this thing gone.

  It grabs at another basket, and I wince, because it’s another one full of smoked meat. The creature grabs a handful—a dirty handful—and then casts it aside like it’s garbage. It’s ruining all of our food, and that’s something we can’t afford. I need to do something.

  I push the metlak aside, reaching for one of the large, basketball-sized not-potato roots that my mate brought back yesterday. I was going to dry it and save it for later, but if it gets this thing away, I’m game.

  The metlak hisses at me again, and it bats at my arm, its claws leaving raised welts on my arm. I bite back my yelp of shock, recoiling. “I’m trying to help you, asshole,” I whisper. I have to keep my voice low so I don’t wake up Pacy. He’s a sound sleeper like his daddy, but he’s also still a baby and easily startled.