Challa

by Linda Mooney

  Except that now he had less to offer a woman when it came to intimacy.

  Challa had changed all that. Hell, Challa had changed everything. Challa was drawing him out, and giving him back his life and a reason for living again.

  Compton buried his nose in her hair for the fourth or fifth time—he’d lost count, and couldn’t care less how often he did it anymore. No matter where he sniffed her, that whiff of honeysuckle continued to excite him. It wasn’t soap or shampoo. He’d bet his life on it. Neither was it perfume. When he’d held her in her alien persona, that sweet scent had been on her, the same way it was on her now in her human guise.

  “Answer me something first?” he whispered.

  “What?”

  “Why do you smell like honeysuckle?”

  Swear to God, he felt her stiffen with surprise. But at the same time, it was like fireworks were going off inside her. Compton held his breath as the sensations fluttered up to him.

  “Are you sure I smell like that to you?” she asked with undisguised delight.

  “Yeah. Why?”

  “Because it’s another way true life mates know they were meant for each other,” Challa confessed. “We each hold a very unique scent for each other.” She peered up at him. “Remember when I said you smell like oranges to me.”

  “Yeah. Why oranges?” He quickly searched his memory to see if by chance he had handled any oranges recently, or drank any juice. Challa tapped his chin with a forefinger, drawing his attention back to her.

  “Among my people, we can read emotions as smells. And right now you smell worried.”

  “Worried? What does worry smell like?”

  “Like apples.”

  He managed to chuckle. “I’m beginning to feel like a fruit cocktail.” He started to say more, when Challa shifted around on the couch and halfway crawled into his lap to kiss him.

  She had warmed up to the point that her flesh beneath his palms was pliant and unbelievably silky. Her hair fell across his neck and cheek as she continued to climb over his legs before she stopped, facing him, her legs straddling his. Compton stared up at her, unaware that his breathing had quickened. Unaware that his hands had slid from her back to her ribs. And at that moment his thumbs were able to caress the sides of her breasts.

  Her breasts.

  His thumbs twitched involuntarily. So did his erection, which tented up between them. There was no way he could hide it now, and no way she could not notice it.

  “Compton, why does my Ruinos self not frighten you?”

  God, he loved the way she talked. Especially the funny little way she rolled her Rs. Or flipped them. Or whatever the hell it was she did to make them sound that way.

  “Promise you won’t laugh?” he whispered back. “I was raised on science fiction. Books, movies, you name it, I was a first-class geek in school, but it didn’t bother me. Not really. I always wondered what it would be like to go into outer space. Meet alien creatures. Explore strange new worlds.” He managed a tiny shrug. “Maybe, deep down, I always knew I would encounter someone like you. Who knows? I could ask the same thing of you.”

  She looked surprised. “What do you mean?”

  “Why doesn’t it frighten you that you’re in love with a human?”

  Challa paused to think about his question. Her weight in his lap was doing wild things to his sex drive. Things he was uninitiated in, unfortunately. Compton tried to adjust the way he was sitting on the sofa, but it only compounded the problem. Challa shifted her buttocks until she was nearly impaling herself on him.

  “Don’t laugh at me, Compton, but you’re more like a Ruinos male than you know.”

  “Oh?”

  It sounded stupid, coming up with a single, simple one-word response. But his body refused to focus on anything else but the growing heat in his groin, and the rich, delicious smell fogging the inside of his head because of her nearness.

  Challa nodded, laying her hands on his shoulders, and bent down closer. The periphery of the world went scarlet as her hair flowed past her cheeks and blocked his view of the living room.

  “Do you want to have sex with me?”

  Compton barely had the chance to react to her question, much less answer, when Challa added, “I need to know for certain if you’re my life mate. I need to have sex with you to be sure.”

  And then she kissed him.

  His world went from clear-cut to absolute gray in a matter of seconds. Every cell in his body was screaming to make love with this creature, to this unearthly woman who was riding his lap with equestrian skills. But his conscience was holding the Sword of Damocles overhead, threatening to put a halt to any future he may have believed could be possible with her.

  Her mouth was working miracles as Challa took the initiative. Her tongue explored him, tasted him, and her lips made soft sucking noises as she practiced on him.

  Practicing. Oh, yeah. The woman was teaching herself how to kiss by imitating what he had done. Squeezing his eyes shut, Compton leaned back and let her have her fun until she paused. Her breath was a puff of honeysuckle air in his mouth.

  “Compton?”

  He managed to crank open his eyelids. She was so close to his face, he could see the purple glitter moving in her irises.

  “I need to have sex with you to be sure.”

  She was breathing heavily. Well, hell, so was he. But it was the look of worry on her face that managed to give him something to focus on.

  “What do you mean, ‘to be sure’?”

  “I…” Her eyes dropped to her arm, then back up to him. “A true blood bond won’t occur until after we have sex. That’s what Kreesi said. When true bond mates have sex, they have their first orgasms. Then you get the blood line in your arm. It’s the sign of a true pairing.”

  Compton found the ability to chuckle. “Challa, I’m not one of your kind. How can I get a blood line in my arm? And what’s a blood line? Is there some sort of cutting ritual involved?”

  His brain was defogging. He tried sitting up a little straighter. Challa never moved, nor did she take her eyes off of his. What she was telling him was slowly sinking in after elbowing its way through the sexual haze he’d been caught up in.

  When true bond mates have sex, they have their first orgasms.

  “Shit, Challa! First orgasms?”

  She nodded and started to say something when he interrupted. “You’ve never had an orgasm before?”

  “No. I—”

  “Are you a virgin?”

  She never got the chance to reply when a grenade went off in his head.

  …they have their first orgasms.

  How the fuck did she know?

  “Compton?”

  “Challa, how did you know I’ve never had an orgasm? I mean, inside a woman?”

  He had no idea how she would answer the question, but he knew he wasn’t expecting what she replied.

  “You could not be my true mate if you had.”

  Chapter 16

  Cementing

  Challa started to kiss him again, but Compton knew the time for that was over. There was one enormous roadblock still to overcome, and until they both met it head-on, nothing further would come of tonight. Not having sex, not loving Challa—not a damn thing.

  Almost too roughly, he pulled her away from him and set her down on the sofa next to him. At first she looked bewildered. Confused. Then tears started welling up in her eyes.

  “What’s wrong? What did I do wrong?”

  He hurried to reassure her. “Nothing, Challa. You’ve done nothing wrong. But there’s a lot I haven’t told you that is important for you to know before this goes any further.”

  She sniffed and nodded and waited.

  “I need to tell you what happened to me while I was overseas. It’s…oh, damn. It’s not pretty. And what I have to show you is downright ugly. But you have to know.”

  “Okay.”

  Damn it, his hands were shaking like he had palsy or something. Compton cur
sed himself for his weakness. At the same time, he prayed that what he had to tell her, and what he had to show her, wouldn’t change what they had between them. But he was scared shitless, anyway. It was too soon in their relationship. The fragile thread between them wouldn’t be enough to survive the next hour, and he could almost feel his heart starting to shrivel at the thought.

  “Challa…Challa, I was injured.”

  She gave him a quick grin. “Is that why you creak?”

  “Huh?”

  She reached over and touched his prosthetic leg, feeling it through the denim. “It makes a funny creaking noise.”

  “You can hear it?” He knew the joints tended to make little sounds, but it was inaudible to him whenever he had his jeans on. He watched her nod in answer.

  “Your leg.”

  “It’s a prosthetic,” he explained. “To replace the one that got blown off.”

  Her eyes widened in fear. “You were tortured?”

  “No, not directly. My rig was hit by an RPG. That’s a rocket propelled grenade. Two of us were killed instantly. Another one of my buddies died in the hospital. I’m the only one who survived, but I lost a leg and…”

  He realized it was going to be harder than he thought, but it had to come out. Mentally keeping his fingers crossed, Compton gently pushed her off of him and stood to unbuckle his belt. Unzipping his jeans gave him a bit of trouble, but he finally managed to pull them over his stiff erection. After so many years in the military, he’d stopped wearing any underwear. Going commando was probably the only habit he’d kept after becoming a civilian again.

  He let the pants drop to the floor and waited for her to get a good look at the reason for his reluctance. “It’s okay with me if you want to touch.”

  She gave him an odd look before turning her attention to his package. A minute passed in silent inspection. Then another. She ran a fingertip around the edge of the prosthesis and the inch-thick foam pillow that padded what little portion of his leg was left below his hip. She barely gave the leglike replica a second glance before moving her attention to his genitals.

  Challa reached over to push aside his heavy thickness that almost touched her face. “You have only one man sac?”

  “Yeah. The other got blown away. The doctors keep telling me I can still have kids, but…” He bit his lip to keep himself from yammering. He couldn’t allow himself to run at the mouth at this stage. It was too damn important that Challa make her decision without him trying to sway her.

  She touched the tip of the scarred penis. It bobbed slightly but remained jutting firmly forward before it angled slightly upward and to her right.

  “Why does your manpipe look like that?”

  “My what? My manpipe?”

  Challa glanced up at him. “That is what we call this part of a man’s body. What does your kind call it?”

  “Technically, it’s called a penis. Guys also refer to it as their cock or their dick or their johnson. There are other words we use, but they’re not public terms.” He managed a ragged breath. So far, so good. At least she hadn’t made a face at it, or appeared put off by the sight of it.

  “It got…burned. The doctors did what they could to save it, but the scar tissue keeps it from being straight.”

  “Can you still feel with it?”

  “Oh, yeah. Yeah.” Thank God for that.

  He continued to stare down at her as she tentatively touched him. Her slender fingers slid across the rough, prominent ridges running down the side. Her touch made his dick quiver. Her mouth was so close to the head, he could feel her breathing on it. His skin started to pucker in anticipation.

  God, what he wouldn’t give to have her take him in that ripe little mouth and suck him till the cows came home.

  “I was lucky that day in that I survived. But as for having a healthy sex life before or afterwards… You’re right, Challa. I’ve never had sex. It’s a…long story.”

  “Will it…hurt…to have sex?” she faintly whispered. She didn’t have to tell him she was as worried as he was.

  And then it hit him.

  She still wanted him. She still wanted to have sex with him.

  Holy Hallelujah! If he could have done back flips, he would have.

  Compton reached down to take her hands and lift her off the couch, unable to keep the smile from splitting his face. “I promise I’ll do everything in my power not to hurt you,” he softly said.

  “No. I don’t mean me. I mean you,” Challa corrected him. “Will it hurt you to have sex?”

  Hurt me? Compton mentally slapped himself on the forehead. You numbskull! You have one nut, and your wacker looks like it was put through the sausage grinder, and she’s worried about you!

  Rule Eight: Always take the offense if there’s no reason to take the defense.

  God help me. We have the blind leading the blind.

  He pulled her into his arms, seeking her lips. Challa eagerly came to him and hungrily gave in. Somehow he sensed an emptiness in her that she was finally allowing to be filled. An emptiness, a hunger, and a need. Plus a nearly overwhelming sense of happiness. It sparked the fuel between them, until there was combustion.

  Compton felt the hidden animal inside him come forth with a possessive roar. Challa was his, was meant to be his, and would always be his.

  More astonishing was the fact that her being from an alien race didn’t affect his feelings for her one iota. That alone was enough to blow him out of the water. When he should be petrified with fear, he was on the verge of starting a brand new chapter in his life. No. Fuck the chapter. A whole new book!

  Her mouth was pure honey. Awkwardly, she pressed herself against him, in spite of the fact that a length of petrified wood was determined to keep them separated. Grabbing one of her hands, he drew it downward until she found his length, gripped it, and gradually he showed her how to pump him. Challa did so without question, setting off powder kegs in his blood with every push and pull.

  Compton gasped for air, groaning loudly then hissing air between his teeth back into his lungs. “God, woman. You just don’t know…”

  …how so fucking good it feels. How so absolutely wonderful you smell. And taste. And feel beneath my hands.

  He could touch her without repercussion, and he took every advantage, starting first with her breasts. To his delight, her nipples were like little bullets. Hard and prominent, he carefully pinched them to see how she would react. Challa gave a little cry of surprise. A second later, she almost attacked him in retaliation, shoving her whole body against his.

  Compton fought for his balance for a split second before letting go and falling back onto the couch. But he took Challa with him, dragging her down into his lap and his arms.

  His ears caught the sound of something ripping. Too late, Compton realized he’d torn the sheer fabric body suit. Before he could apologize, she shimmied out of it and tossed it away from them.

  She helped him shed the jacket then pulled the shirt over his head. Compton shook himself free, letting his clothes drop over the back of the sofa. He was left with his pants around his ankles, but he couldn’t kick out of them with Challa perched on his lap.

  Looking up at the loving expression on her face, he gasped. The firelight threw patterns of light over her skin and hair, giving her skin and face a burnished glow. Her breasts hung suspended within reach, awaiting his hands. Her hair seemed to move on its own, a living cape in scarlets and golds. If she was uncommonly pretty in the daylight, Challa was a vision of unearthly loveliness in the near dark.

  “You’re so incredibly beautiful, do you know that?” he whispered.

  She laughed softly as she reached down with both hands to grasp him. Again, Compton was amazed by the fact that his deformity didn’t faze her, much less put her off. He tried to watch as she slid the scarred skin up and down over the hard and heavy muscle, until the deformed helmet head was as dark as her hair. When she leaned over to drop a light kiss on his chin, and her nipples rubbed
over his bare chest, a shock of desire jolted his entire body. Compton immediately grabbed her hands to stop her.

  “I want…I want to be in you,” he barely managed to gasp. It was taking every ounce of willpower not to come right then and there. Her reply stunned him.

  “How?”

  His eyes flew open to find her waiting for his answer. “How…what?”

  Oh, dear God, is she asking how I could make love to her with my dick looking the way it does? Or is she needing to know how we could manage without my leg?

  Self-doubt and recrimination washed back over him as he remained in mute confusion. After a few more moments, Challa cocked her head at him. “Do you want me to lie down on the couch? Or the floor?”

  On the floor?

  Compton suddenly realized Challa wasn’t talking about his dick or his leg. She was talking about location! His brain went fuzzy as his worry vanished, and the load on his shoulders disappeared. He was vaguely aware of Challa sliding off of him and giving his hands a tug. He soon found himself on the rug next to the hearth. When she took his face between her hands and kissed him, all inhibitions dispersed like mist facing the sunshine.

  It was glorious to feel her kissing him. He loved the way she tasted and licked his lips and mouth in ways he had never experienced. The warmth coming from the fire changed her honeysuckle smell into something darker, richer, and more erotic. It almost resembled a jungle scent, unrestrained and primitive. Involuntarily he lifted his hips toward her, and something clattered in the background, nearly shattering the mood.

  “Let me get this damn thing off,” Compton muttered, and reached down to quickly undo the straps keeping the artificial leg attached. He shoved it away from them then rolled over, taking Challa with him, until she was lying underneath. She gazed up at him, wide-eyed, at the sudden, unexpected shift in positions. “Am I too heavy?” he asked her.

  She laughed lightly and shook her head, pulling his face back down. His right hand found her breast, and he barely had time to realize how utterly soft and firm it was when his dick sent a second, more urgent message to his brain.