by Ruby Dixon
He crouches next to me, but he doesn’t try to tie me. Instead, he cocks his head, as if waiting for me to speak again. I have to assume that he doesn’t understand his people’s language, or else he’d have tried to speak it already. He’s like Mowgli or Tarzan – completely wild.
I need to start with the basics.
I tap my chest, over my thick clothing. “Harlow.” I tap it again and repeat my name, and then reach out to tap him.
He pushes my hand aside, his brows drawn.
I try again. “Harlow.” I point to myself. “Haaaaaarlow.” Then I gesture at him.
The light goes on in his head. “Arrr-loh.” He taps my breast.
My khui immediately responds to his touch, and a hot blush covers my face. I hope he doesn’t notice how hard my nipples are. I don’t want him to touch me. I really don’t. Not when he’s that filthy and I expect him to tie me up at any moment.
But there’s no denying that my cootie and my brain aren’t on the same page. I just hope he doesn’t pick up the scent of the moisture seeping between my thighs. Because then he might not be willing to play the name game and instead tackle me to the floor of the cave.
And I hate that my body really, really likes the thought of that.
“Harlow,” I repeat. I smile at him, and then gesture at him again. Surely he has a name?
“Ar-loh.” He puts a hand to his own chest. “Rukh.”
The word is guttural, almost swallowed in is throat. I try to repeat it. “Rooookh.”
He snorts and taps his chest again. “Rukh.”
“Oh, are you going to correct me, then?” My mouth curls up in a half smile. “Then let’s start with my name. It’s Harlow. Not Ar-loh. Ha-r-low. Ha in front. Like ha ha ha ha.” I repeat the sound.
“Ha ha ha,” he echoes. “Ha ha ha-ar-loh.”
I giggle. “You’re terrible at this.”
His hand goes to my face, feeling my mouth. His eyes are wide. I freeze, but he only taps my lips with his fingers and then tries to make a sound. Oh. He likes my laughter. I laugh again, forcing it a bit to see how he reacts.
A smile breaks out on his face. His teeth are big and white and sharp, and they look wild in his dirty face. I smile back at him. We’re getting somewhere.
For the next few minutes, we practice saying each other’s names. I can get him to make the H-sound in Harlow when he makes a biting motion, but the name still sounds bait mangled. I’m about the same with his name – he’s only pleased when I make a swallowing sort of sound with the R that doesn’t feel natural with a human throat.
But we’re getting somewhere. I smile at him again and decide to try for the next bit of communication. I put my hands out as if warming them. “Fire?” I try the word in his language, since English would be useless for him. “Harlow needs fire?”
He frowns and gives a small shake of his head. He doesn’t understand.
“Makes sense,” I say to myself, drumming my fingers on my lips as I think. There’re so many things I need to ask for if I’m staying here for a while – blankets, a warmer shelter, fire, food, water, bathing, weapons…the list overwhelms me. I feel helpless and more alone than when I first woke up out of my tube. A tear of self-pity slides down my cheek and I angrily scrub it away. “Shit.”
“Shit?” he repeats, and touches my cheek. “Harlow shit?”
A laugh escapes me, chasing my sadness away. “Not quite, Rukh. But I’m sucking at this language thing. Maybe I need to try something else.” I glance around at the cave but there’s nothing that could even be remotely used for fire. So I get to my feet and offer him my hand. “Come with me. Let’s go gathering.”
• • •
I’m still woefully lacking in a lot of survival skills, but one of the first things that the tribe insisted I learn was how to find fuel and how to make a fire. We go walking, with Rukh watching me curiously the entire time. I think he half expects me to run off on him, but that’s not part of the plan.
I don’t have anywhere to go.
Instead, I look for signs of dvisti, the shaggy, pony-like herd animals of this planet. They eat the wispy, ice-coated fauna of this place, and their dung is the staple of most fire pits since wood seems to be rare. I gather an armful and then bring it back to the cave with me, trying to teach words to Rukh as we walk. It’s a losing battle, but I try anyhow. Most of his attention seems to be fixed on figuring out what it is I’m doing.
Once we return to the cave, I clear out the center of the floor and make a pit, then line the edges with rocks. I pull out the cord I keep around my neck that I made for myself when I was first learning many of the basic skills for survival on this planet. Fire was number one, so I and a few of the other girls made necklaces with a bit of steel on them. It seemed someone had salvaged a few bits from the elders’ ship, thinking they were interesting. We humans quickly cannibalized them and I kept one circuit-looking square tied to a thong on my neck. Now I just needed a striking rock, which this planet had a lot of, and some tinder.
A bit of fluff from the inside of my boot and a dry, torn-up bit of dung provided the tinder, and I began to try and make a spark. It took me a few bangs of the rock, but a few minutes later, I had a smoky coal. I blew on it and then fed the flaming tinder to my pile of dung chips, adding more fluff to make it burn.
The lick of warmth was immediately gratifying. I sighed with relief when the flames caught and began to burn strongly, and I put my hands out over it. “Fire,” I told Rukh.
“Fire,” he echoed, and I realized he was speaking in his language. I’d spoken in English unthinkingly.
“You remember fire?” I point at it.
He nods. “Fire.”
I smile at him. “Harlow needs fire.” I mock-shivered. “Too cold otherwise.”
His brows draw together, and then he nods slowly. “Harlow fire.” His warm hand touches mine. Oh God, he’s really, really warm. I pull away, even though the only thing I want to do is keep touching him.
My traitorous cootie? It purrs loudly.
RUKH
Har-loh fascinates me. She feeds animal scat to the licking flames – the fire – and holds her hand over it. I realize what she was trying to communicate to me.
She’s cold. Her strange, five-fingered hands are small and don’t hold heat. She shivers even in the furs she wears. Her body isn’t like mine, impervious to the weather. She’s affected by it, and as the suns go down and the air grows colder, she moves closer and closer to the fire.
I realize how inadequate my small cave is to make her comfortable. I chose this one simply because it was near to where she and the bad ones were staying. It’s not home – I have no home. I simply stay in a place for a time, and then move on. There are better caves, though. Some are warmer, with pockets of hot melted snow in them. She would like that, I think, as she drinks from my water skin and shivers at the chill of the snow-water.
She is fragile, my Har-loh. I must make sure I take good care of her. The thrumming in my chest demands it.
I feel strange around her. Possessive. I’ve seen the bad ones and have never felt about them the way I do about this strange, flat-faced female. There’s something about her that gnaws at me, that makes me want to spend every moment with her in the cave, watching her. To feed her from my hand and to go out and collect all the dung I can find so she can have the fire she so desperately needs.
I killed a creature for her earlier and brought the meat back to her. She ate it, but it was clear she was not pleased. I need to find what pleases her.
She yawns, and the motion is delicate and feminine, her small hand going to her mouth. “Tmrrohweneedhabigkilltewskinfrblankits.” She rambles sounds when she needs to communicate, and I watch her small mouth work around the noises. I want to desperately know what she is saying, but I am ignorant.
It frustrates me.
Har-loh gives me a sleepy smile. “Wishewhaddapilloh.”
Even though her face is flat and her brow is not ridged in t
he slightest, she is utterly beautiful in that moment. I feel the urge to touch her, and I reach out and take her hand in mine. She has one more finger than I do, and they’re cold against mine. I can feel her startle but a moment later she relaxes and grips my hand back.
“Har-loh,” I say in a low voice. Her skin is so soft. I want to explore all of it, to see what lies underneath the heavy furs she insists on wearing. Her scent emanates in the cave and it makes my cock stir.
A shiver moves through her and she bites her lip. For a moment I think she’s cold, but then her chest vibrates hard, singing like mine is, and I realize she is feeling the same things I am.
Encouraged, my hand goes to my cock.
“No!” she says quickly. She looks embarrassed and gives a small shake of her head. “Dondoodat.”
I frown. Being around her – smelling her incredible scent, touching her skin, hearing her song – all of it makes me want to touch my cock. But she has used the ‘no’ word and I want to please her. Aching with need, I force myself to let go of her hand and I back away.
She settles in the corner of the cave, pulling her clothes tight around her, and goes to sleep.
• • •
Night. It’s dark, and the inside of the cave is bitter with cool air. Something is clattering and has awoken me. I immediately reach for my weapons, then realize that the sound is coming from Har-loh.
Her small, blunt teeth are chattering together with cold.
I go to the fire but it is out, the scent of smoke replaced by nothing but ashes. There is no way for me to make her warm. I growl in frustration.
“R-R-Rukh?” she says between chattering teeth. “Thaty-y-yew?”
“Har-loh. Fire?”
“Toodarkh,” she says between clacks of her jaw. When she doesn’t get up to fix it, I realize she is telling me she can’t, for whatever reason. I am hit with a sense of worry – what if I can’t take care of her? I brought her to this place; what if it kills her?
I move to her side and touch her face.
She leans in to my caress. “Sowarhm.” She reaches out to me with her shaking arms. “Cmere.”
I don’t understand her words but it’s clear she wants me to move closer, and I’ll take any opportunity to touch her. I slide my body down next to hers, curious. To my surprise, she immediately pulls her clothing off her body and piles it on top of me. Then, she flings herself against me and clings to my chest like a baby metlak.
I’m stunned at this. She’s baring her flesh and pressing it against me?
Her ice-cold fingers grip my sides, and she moans. Her cold feet press against my legs, and she burrows down against me. Ah. I understand now. She is seeking my heat, my warmth. It’s almost too warm for me under the pile of thick leather clothing she has thrown on top of us, but she seems pleased, so I do not move. Instead, I wrap my arms around Har-loh, pulling her closer.
The sound of pleasure she makes sends a jolt through me. My hands slide over her skin. She’s so incredibly soft. I can’t stop touching her. I don’t want to stop touching her. I touch her arm, her back, her soft buttocks. There’s no tail, which is bizarre, but my cock responds just the same. I can feel the hardness of it pressing against her belly as I hold her. It’s leaking from the tip, and I have to fight against the urge to rub up and down against her stomach.
Har-loh inhales softly and wraps her arms around me. She’s not pushing away, even though my cock is stabbing her in the stomach and leaking fluid onto her. She nestles her head under my chin and rubs her nose against my skin.
The breath hisses out from between my teeth. This is too much. I can’t help myself; slowly, I rub my cock against her. The feel of her smooth skin against mine is like nothing I’ve felt before, and my cock aches so badly I could scream.
Instead of pushing me away like I expect, she moans softly. Her fingernails dig into my shoulders, and she hooks one leg around my thigh, dragging it between hers.
“Har-loh,” I groan. I can feel the vibrations in her chest. I know they mean something, that we are connected somehow, but the only thing going through my mind is the need to claim her. To make her mine. I grip her against me and drag my aching cock over her belly. I’m leaving wet trails on her skin, but I don’t care. If she’s not going to push me away, I’ll seek release.
To my surprise, she nuzzles against my neck and gently bites down on my skin.
I explode; I can’t help it. My sac tightens to the point of pain and then my cock unleashes a sticky torrent on her body. I seem to spurt forever, unable to get the image of Har-loh’s little teeth biting down on my neck out of my mind. It’s the most erotic thing I can possibly think of.
But now I’ve gotten her all wet with my spend. Vaguely ashamed, I ignore the singing vibration of my chest and her clinging arms. I reach between us and find a sticky pool on her skin.
“Sokay,” she breathes. “Happens.”
I don’t know her words but her voice is gentle. She reaches between us with a corner of her clothing and cleans her stomach and my hand, and then flings it aside. She burrows down against me again and my chest thrums with pleasure. I don’t understand what just happened between us…but I liked it. I liked it too much.
And…Har-loh didn’t seem to hate it, either.
Her small hand – no longer ice cold – touches mine. She tugs on my fingers, and I let her guide me. When she pushes my hand between her thighs, I suck in a breath. She is hot and wet here. She’s wet like I am when I am aroused. Is she aroused? Does she like it when I touch her? Tentatively, I brush my fingers over her body, exploring her. There is a patch of hair here, which strikes me as unusual. Her scent washes over me, though, and my cock stirs again. This is the scent of her arousal. I recognize it, and I want more of it. My fingers feel big and clumsy as I continue to touch her, learning her body. Underneath the tangle of curls, her soft skin parts, and she has wet, slick folds. Har-loh likes for these to be touched, I think, because she rubs up against me and moans. I want more of her moans, so I keep touching and exploring. She’s so very wet; her scent is everywhere, permeating my skin. There is nothing that has ever smelled finer to me. I want to pull my hand to my mouth and lick it clean of her, to taste her.
But she takes my hand and guides it again, to a little bump between her folds. And she uses my finger to gently circle around it, then stops.
Is she…showing me what she likes? I mimic the motion. Immediately, her nails dig into my shoulders, and she cries out. “Rukh!”
I growl, because the sound of her is making me wild all over again. My cock throbs and fills with blood, hardening again. I touch her bump again, but it doesn’t get the same reaction. I try a few different touches before I realize that she likes it when I circle it gently. I do that, and she jerks against me, crying out.
I want more of those responses from her. So I keep touching and stroking her just the way she likes, and a few moments later, she shudders against me, her leg locking around my thigh, and I feel a surge of wetness coat my hand. She has had her release, too. I’m fascinated. I was too young when my father died for him to tell me of men and their mates, but I have vague memories of his stories, and how things should be.
Her scent coats my hand and I raise it to my nose and inhale deeply. It’s sweet and musky at the same time, and it makes my mouth water. I lick my fingers—
She pushes my hand aside. “Dundoodat.”
I growl at her. Why is she depriving me of this? Of her sweetness?
But she only pats my chest. “Tmorrohwetakeabaf.”
Chapter Three
HARLOW
In the morning, I can’t even be mad at my cootie. Oh sure, I just spent the night curled around the world’s dirtiest alien barbarian, but I was warm and slept better than the night before.
Plus, you know, I taught him about petting. It’s weird that I feel proud of that, but I’m starting to figure out a few things about Rukh. He doesn’t really grasp what clothes are. He doesn’t grasp a lot of his own
language, and he sure doesn’t know what I am. I’m not even sure he understands what it means that we are both resonating to each other. He might not even know about sex.
It’s clear to me that he’s been alone for a long, long time. And because of that, I’m starting to understand him a bit more, and why he reacts the way he does. He carried me off and tied me up because he doesn’t want me to leave. Whether that’s the cootie and the resonance or if it’s simple loneliness, it doesn’t matter.
I can’t change things. I can’t make my khui stop vibrating when he’s around. I can’t turn back time and bring Kira, Aehako, and Haeden back to life. I’m here with Rukh, and I’m going to make the best of things.
And that means some changes. It means I start making the cave into a home. It means teaching him more language so we can talk. It means bedding and more clothing and figuring out how to store food and so many things that my head spins. A tiny part of me wants to go back to the elders’ cave and get Rukh lasered so we can talk, but I think about Aehako and Haeden’s dead bodies just outside. I can’t go back. We’ll just do things the hard way.
But first…I have to figure out how to slow down my cootie. It’s been a few days since I started to resonate to Rukh. I’m not unattracted to him – well, provided that under the layers of grime and the tumbleweed of hair, there’s a normal alien guy under there. But I’m not sure I’m ready to jump right into making a family. The cootie, of course, has other ideas; the longer we spend fighting our urges, the more powerful it makes them. Already this morning I feel a bit more aroused and sensitive than before. Last night’s heavy petting felt good. Really good. We’ll have to continue that, I decide.
Of course, while Rukh is out finding something to eat for breakfast, I make a fire and masturbate quietly. I give myself a quick bath with some melted snow, I have the fire roaring, and I’ve even cleaned off the dried cum on the corner of my skirt from last night.