Hybrid's Love

by Seraphina Donavan

  “Take your clothes off,” she said. “I want to see you.”

  As he moved to fulfill her request, Wren raised up on her elbows to watch him. In that pose, half reclining on the bed, her full breasts with their puckered nipples on luscious display, she was far more alluring than she realized. His eyes never left her as she watched him disrobe. He removed his weapons first, placing them on a small ledge near the bed. He stripped off his jacket and boots, then his shirt. At the sight of his chest, her full lips parted in a slow, sensual smile.

  He was beautiful, she thought. His broad shoulders were powerful, the sleek muscles bunching and shifting as he moved. His chest was smooth and devoid of any hair, revealing the hard planes of his pectorals and the flat copper discs of male nipples. The delineated muscles of his abs were taut and firm. His hands moved to the waistband of his pants and her breath hitched with anticipation. She had glimpsed him before, poised at her entrance. She’d touched him, had felt the wonder of his cock moving inside her, but now she was curious to look at him, to see the perfection of his body. His pants skimmed over his legs, to be discarded with his other clothing. Standing before her, naked and proud, she was stunned by the perfection of his body. The hard planes of his chest and stomach, the perfectly sculpted muscles of his hips and thighs—she wanted to touch every inch of him. Her gaze was drawn to the hard length of his cock, jutting from a nest of dark curls. He was long and thick, so thick she knew that her hand couldn’t fully wrap around him. Her body wept for him, eager to feel the power of him inside her again.

  Kyr sat down on the bed beside her, his hands moving over her thighs, caressing her, melting away any tension in her muscles until she was languid and ready for him. She expected him to move between her thighs, to take her and claim her. But he didn’t. Instead he dipped his head and began to kiss the soft skin of her thighs. His tongue followed the arcing crest of her hip bone to the downy thatch of auburn curls. He pressed his face against her, his hot breath fanning over sensitive skin. He inhaled the scent of her, reveling in her desire for him. He nuzzled the mound of her sex, then parted her thighs. Kneeling between her legs, he placed his mouth on her, delving his tongue into the cleft of her cunt, relishing the salty-sweet taste of her. He traced every curve and fold with his tongue, suckling, scraping with his teeth. The rasp of his whiskers over those sensitive nerve endings had her moaning and writhing beneath him. He was relentless. He parted her with his thumbs, his large hands framing her opened pussy, revealing the dewy, pink recesses of her most secret places to him. He dipped his head again, but this time he was deliberate. His lips closed firmly over the hooded bud of her clitoris.

  It was not gentle. The hot pull of his mouth was firm and commanding. She didn’t scream. She didn’t even moan, unable to make a sound. The fierce heat and firm pressure of his skilled lips had robbed her of breath. She could only fist her hands into his dark hair and cling to him as he drove her toward an orgasm that rocked her body. Her heels dug into the mattress, lifting her hips from the bed, pressing more fully against his questing mouth.

  When two fingers speared inside her, thrusting rhythmically as he continued to pull at her clit, she collapsed onto the bed, gasping. Dragging a breath into her scorched lungs, she pleaded with him. She wasn’t certain if she was begging for him to stop or begging for him to continue. His other hand moved beneath her bottom, lifting her more fully against his mouth, deepening the penetration of his fingers inside her. He didn’t withdraw that hand from beneath her, instead, he kneaded the rounded globes of her bottom, and then gently separated them, the tips of his fingers caressing the cleft between them. He wouldn’t, she thought. Surely he did not mean to. But he did. Damp with the cream of her desire, his fingers slid easily over the puckered opening. He pressed, not penetrating, but caressing, fondling. He swirled the callused pad of his thumb over that sensitive flesh, while he pleasured her pussy with lips and fingers.

  “Oh, God! Kyr!” she cried out, feeling the tension coiling deep her belly. It was too powerful, too much. He smiled against her, but did not relent. He pressed deeper into her pussy, suckled harder at her clitoris, and pressed the tip of one finger into the tight ring of muscles guarding the most taboo entrance of her body. He felt the first spasm of her orgasm, her clitoris pulsing against his tongue. “Please,” she gasped, “Please… I need you inside me.”

  “I am inside you,” he said, and moved his fingers, pressing deeper, intensifying the orgasm that still quaked inside her.

  “No,” she said, “Not your fingers.”

  “Tell me, Wren,” he said, “What part do you want to feel inside you?”

  Her face burned with embarrassment, but her need was greater than her modesty, “I want your cock. I want you to put your cock inside me.”

  He rose up then, but rather than slide between her welcoming thighs, he turned her over. He pulled her to her knees and positioned her just so. Her breasts were pressed against the mattress, the fabric of the sheets abrading her sensitized nipples. His hands grasped her hips, lifting her slightly. She could feel the press of his cock against her. She spread her knees further apart, parting the damp lips of her pussy. There could be no clearer invitation. She knew that she was submitting to far more than sex, that by giving him entrance, by welcoming him into her body this way, she was accepting his earlier statement that she would belong to him.

  Kyr took his cock in his hand and guided himself into her. Inch by inch, he fed his cock into her wet, welcoming heat. Her pussy was impossibly tight. He could feel the walls of her sex clasping him, squeezing his cock like a fist. Seated to the hilt inside her, his balls pressed against the swollen lips of her cunt. He moved, flexing his hips, driving deeper. She sobbed with pleasure. The sound spurred him on, and he moved again, driving into her faster, more forcefully, spearing deeply inside her. Her fingers twisted in the sheets and she screamed. The sound of their flesh slapping together filled the room as he drove into her, accompanied by her soft cries and the harsh rasp of their breathing. It was an erotic symphony, and he relished each note.

  It wasn’t simply sex. It was a claiming; hot, primitive and animalistic. His hands tightened on her hips, his fingers digging into the soft flesh, pulling her tightly to him as he rode her mercilessly. Deftly, he slipped one arm around her, his hand moving to the thatch of fiery curls. He touched her where their bodies joined, finding the sensitive protrusion of her clitoris. He worked it skillfully, sliding his fingers over it, around it, until with each thrust of his cock into her, she was screaming. Each thrust intensified the contact of that furled bud with his dew slicked fingers.

  “Cum for me,” he said, his voice harsh and rough.

  Wren was sobbing, every erogenous zone in her body stimulated by his primitive masculinity. There was something more though. In her mind, she could feel his pleasure; she could sense not only his physical pleasure, but his satisfaction in hers. It wasn’t simply their bodies that were connected.

  Kyr felt her then, felt the first conscious, tentative touch of her mind to his. His pleasure swelled, as did his pride in her. He unlocked the gates then, letting his thoughts and feelings flood her. He poured his need into her, his desire for her. He let it flow from his mind to hers. At the first spasm of her pussy, the first hot clench as her orgasm rippled through her, he was lost. He pumped harder and faster, until his body shuddered, and his cum was pumping inside her, thick and hot. His, he thought. She was his.

  Chapter Four

  Wren awoke slowly, blinking against the light. She was aware of heat, the warmth of a hard, masculine body curled about her. Stretching, she also became aware of the tiny aches and twinges, a reminder of the passion that had flared between them. He’d made love to her twice more through the night, bringing her to rippling, shuddering climaxes again and again. She’d never had a lover so attuned to her needs, so able to play her body with such exquisite skill. But it wasn’t simply that he was a skilled lover. It had happened again and again, stronger each time he f
ucked her, that strange convergence of their minds. It frightened her, but if the pleasure he had been able to give her was the result, she would learn to live with it.

  Rolling onto her side, she looked into his sleeping face, marveling that even in repose, he looked fierce. There was no boyish softness in his face, no slackening of his chiseled jaw. Dark whiskers shadowed his jaw line, emphasizing the sensual curve of his lips—lips that had touched her intimately, that had wrung pleasure from her until she was weak from it.

  His eyes opened. He was instantly, completely awake. There was no confusion, no sleep induced fog clouding his eyes. They were so dark that she had initially thought them brown, but during the night, losing herself in his intense gaze, she had discovered that they were the deepest shade of blue she had ever seen. “We should reach the Outer Rim within the hour”, he said, his voice sleep roughened.

  Wren smiled, “Typically, you begin by saying good morning.”

  He kissed her, his mouth settling over hers. The rush of sensation was becoming familiar, but was no less heady. “Does a kiss constitute an acceptable greeting?” he asked, pulling back.

  She sighed, “It will do nicely.”

  Kyr rose, naked and glorious from the bed. He stepped into a corner of the small room, and immediately, walls that appeared to be made of glass emerged, forming a cubicle around him. Water began to cascade from the ceiling, sluicing over his bronzed skin, beading on the hard muscles. He washed quickly, not lingering, but did so with an economy of movement.

  Wren marveled at the perfection of his body, at the ripple and flex of powerful muscles as he moved. The doors opened, and he stopped out. She watched a bead of water slide in a meandering path from the hollow at the base of his throat, down his chest. It disappeared into the nest of dark hair that framed his massive cock. Under her gaze, he stirred, thickening and lengthening.

  “There is no time for what you are thinking of,” he said, as he dried his body with a piece of cloth.

  Wren sighed, and snuggled deeper into the bed. She was envious of that piece of cloth as it moved over the satin covered steel of his body. “Then you should put clothes on.”

  Kyr retrieved a pair of pants and pulled them on. He adjusted his semi erect cock, biting back a curse as he fastened the pants. The tight fabric was torture as it imprisoned his sensitive flesh. “I have to man the ship. While it can pilot itself through empty space, docking is another matter.”

  “You’re very good at easing into tight spaces,” she said.

  The air seized in his lungs. He had never experienced anything in his life like her gentle teasing. The playful banter had been intended to stir his body, and it did, but it stirred his emotions, as well. When he could speak, he said, “There are more clothes in that locker. Take whatever you need.”

  Wren sat up in bed, the sheet falling to her waist, baring her breasts to him. Her nipples peaked in the chilled air of the cabin. On her breasts and her neck, he could see the faint marks left by his whiskers, and darker marks left by his mouth. She had called them love bites, and he knew that he carried several of his own. Recalling the feel of her mouth on him, he knew that he had to move away from her now, or he would not be able to. “Stop,” he said.

  “Tell me how to work the shower,” she said, dutifully pulling the sheet up to cover herself.

  “You simply step inside. It is set for one hundred degrees Fahrenheit,” he said, walking way. The idea of her showering, the warm water cascading over her soft skin, had him aching for her. Ignoring the demands of his body, demands that should have been more than adequately sated during the night, he moved to the control deck of the shuttle. Disengaging the autopilot function, he took over the steering, and initiated a docking request. Within moments, he received a clearance response and directions to the appropriate airlock.

  Within a few minutes, Wren had joined him again, taking the seat to his right. “So, do I need to buckle up for this landing?”

  He glanced over at her, noting that she had somehow twisted her wet hair into a knot and secured it with something. She wore another of the simple flight suits, with the boots and jacket had given her yesterday. “It isn’t a landing. It’s a docking, and I do not anticipate any difficulties.”

  Wren drew her legs up into the seat, and rested her knees on her chin. Through the windows she could see the station they were approaching. It looked, to her mind at least, the way she had always envisioned Atlantis. It was a large structure, mostly metal, covered with interlocking panes of octagonal glass or some other transparent material. Inside, she could see buildings and streets and the hustle and bustle that made it look like any other large city. Except, she reminded herself, it was in outer space. “So what is this place going to be like?”

  Kyr knew what she was asking. “It is a space station built as a neutral zone intended for commerce and negotiation. It is ruled by a man who used to the Commanding Officer of the Sentinel Guards. There will be many different races represented. Some of them may look quite frightening to you, as the Aldacyians did, but you must remember we are in a Neutral Zone. No one will harm you. Dressed as you are, if you do not speak, no one will realize that you are from Earth.”

  “Is it a bad thing to be from Earth?”

  He could hear the fear in her voice. “No.” he replied, gently. “But, we are attempting to hide from the Aldacyians.”

  “And Earthlings aren’t common,” she surmised, in her best impersonation of Marvin the Martian. Her confusion from the day before, her loss of identity was still there, still plaguing her mind. Dwelling on it would do no good. It seemed to Wren that her best option would be to simply shelve those things until both she and Kyr were in a safer place.

  Kyr was aware of her strange mood. He didn’t understand it entirely. “We don’t really call you Earthlings.”

  Wren chuckled, “I think we need pop culture lessons for you or you’re never going to get my humor.”

  “Genetically, I am not predisposed to humor.”

  Wren’s mouth gaped as she stared at him. Was he serious? “What?”

  Kyr didn’t laugh, but a cocky grin curved his mouth and he winked at her. Wren started to giggle, unable to stop herself. She realized that it had been a very long time since she had actually laughed. “You’ll do,” she said finally.

  “High praise,” he muttered, as he eased the shuttle to the dock, and allowed the airlock to engage.

  The rear doors of the shuttle opened and two guards in armored uniforms stepped aboard, sporting strange looking weapons. Panic seized her, filled her. She wanted to reach for Kyr, to take his hand, to feel the comfort of his touch. That frightened her almost as much as the guards did. He rose, and removed a small object from his pocket. It was the size of a credit card, and appeared to be nothing more than clear plastic. He passed it to the first guard who then scanned it with a small apparatus at his wrist. A series of characters that she did not recognize were projected before them. Their pictures scrolled by with what she assumed were identifying statistics about them. After a few seconds, the guard passed the small card back to him and then spoke in a low, guttural language. There was a raspiness to his voice, a strange clumsiness in the speech, that made her glad she could not see what was beneath the helmets they wore. Kyr responded in the same language, but more fluidly, and the guards left.

  “How did you do that?”

  “I took care of it while you slept. You have the necessary identification to be able to pass almost anywhere in the galaxy.”

  “So what happens now?”

  Kyr sighed, knowing that he would have to tell her everything. “We must access your memories of the night you were taken and of how you came to be on Earth.”

  “I have no memories of that,” she said. It was uttered quickly and with an edge of desperation.

  Kyr moved closer to her, leaning in closely, he brushed the tips of his fingers over her forehead, pushing her hair back. “Yes, you do.”

  Other memories assailed h
er, memories of being poked and prodded and scanned. Injections of medications that had made her feel like a zombie, and hours spent sitting across from patronizing shrinks who wanted to know how she felt. Would it be any different? “Does it hurt?”

  Kyr could see her memories, could see the endless traumas that had been visited upon her, all because she had been taken from the place where she had belonged, because she had been taken from him. “No, it will not hurt you.”

  “Are there others who were taken… like me?”

  “Yes, but they have not been located yet. You are the first.”

  “They see things and know things. They’re different, too, aren’t they?”

  “They have abilities that, if they were taken to Earth, would set them apart.”

  “And is there someone like you for them?”

  This was not the same woman who had met him in the diner, who had hurled things at him, and been prepared to fight him tooth and nail. This woman was vulnerable, fragile. There was more pain inside her than he had ever dreamed, brought about by years of isolation, of being shunned. “Yes, there is someone like me… someone who needs to find them to be whole. You will not be alone now.”

  Wren leaned into him, feeling the comforting strength of his arms close around her as she laid her head against his chest. His heartbeat was strong and sure. “Is this real? Is what I feel for you real or just a product of some scientific experiment?”

  “We were made for each other, Wren. Does it matter?”

  It did. She couldn’t tell him why, but it did. Wren moved away, and the moment passed. Within minutes they were moving through the airlock and into the bustling corridors of the Sector F9 Station.

  Chapter Five

  It was like the bar scene in Star Wars. As they moved through the very active port, for lack of a better word, Wren was aware that she and Kyr were the minority. There were all manner of creatures, most of them bipedal, but very few of them appearing human. Deciding that discretion was the better part of valor, Wren simply kept her head down and stayed as close to Kyr as possible. The idea of being lost in the crowd terrified her.