by H. E. Trent
She growled out his name, half in warning, and half as a plea to finish—to not leave her on the edge. Certainly, he wasn’t that kind of sadist. Or perhaps he was the kind of sadist who would stoke her toward a violent orgasm in public just to remind her who was boss. Hell, she wasn’t so sure anymore just who was.
“Murk…” Her legs wobbled and hands shook as she reached back to touch him—to grab hold of any sort of anchor. She clutched his thigh and clamped her teeth together hard as the orgasm rolled through her. And he kept stroking, fluttering his fingertips against her G-spot and eking out every last bit of her pleasure.
“Gonna kill you,” she said on a wheeze.
“Mm-hmm.” He let her panties snap back into place, gave her a gentle pat on the bottom, and dropped the back of her skirt.
He followed the impressions Trig’s feet had left in the black sand and slid his fingers into his mouth, sucking them as he passed their hosts.
They watched him, awestruck, still staring as he retreated farther and farther, and Court stared at them.
They didn’t give a shit about her. Their respect was all about Murk and what he’d done. His dominance. His…stature.
She rolled her eyes and set off in the other direction. She’d go the long way around, and she’d keep quiet for a while. Once they were back in the flyer and out of earshot, all bets were off.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Murk imagined that if he’d been a lesser man, Court’s glowers might have rendered him completely impotent, but he’d grown immune to them. He kept sketching on the pad of paper he’d been gifted with in Orinot and only looked up periodically to note the exact arc of her bottom lip or the angle of her jaw. He had so many compositions in mind for her. Sketching and painting her would give him endless satisfaction, especially once her belly was round with their child and her body softened with new curves. A goddess, indeed.
Trig quickly looked back from the pilot’s seat and put his eyes back on the sky, chuckling. They were in the middle of a thousand-mile stretch of mountainous terrain that had the occasional copse of high trees. Autopilot was unreliable at the low elevation they flew at, and, with the wind pushing against them constantly off of their path, Trig needed to fly manual.
“I think she’s still mad,” Trig said.
Murk shrugged. He would have ground out, “So be it,” if he wanted to exercise his throat, but he didn’t. The three of them would be together a very long time, and her acclimating to the dynamics of their relationship as soon as possible made sense to him. Trig had the luxury of knowing the way things worked—of knowing Murk even before they were committed lovers—but Court needed to adapt quickly or she’d be in for a hell of a shock when the baby was born. He’d be even more like himself then.
He looked up to note the way Court’s neckline dipped, and in the process found her grinding her teeth.
Sighing, he grabbed his writing tablet off the seat back where he’d left it to charge in the sun. He wrote, “Do you need something to put in your mouth?”
She gave him a cold stare in response.
He wrote, “How’s your gag reflex today?”
“Becoming worse with each passing minute.”
“Perhaps you should practice suppressing it.”
“Perhaps I’ll bite you.”
He doubted she would. She’d settle nicely onto her knees and take him into her mouth without a single scrape of her teeth, but she wanted to maintain the pretense that doing so would be her idea, not his.
He wondered if all Terran women were so perplexing. He should have been pleased at the fact she’d suck his dick at all. Every Jekhan woman he’d ever made love to had expressed a patent distaste for the act, but he wanted more from her. His body craved her compliance, but his mind wanted her cooperation even more. He’d give her so much in return if only she’d comply as nicely for him as Trig did for her.
He wrote, “Bite me where I wish for you to. I like to be nipped at the insides of my thighs.”
She read, but didn’t respond.
Small miracles.
She turned her attention to Trig, leaning over the seat so her round bottom was in the air.
Murk gave it a gentle swat and grinned when she swore some aspersion at him. She was a fiery one, his mate.
“They offered a vial of Marscadrel,” she asked Trig. “Why wouldn’t he take it?”
Murk scoffed and resumed his drawing.
“Couple of reasons, probably. For one thing, he probably thinks the drug is too large a gift. He’d want to repay them. Second, he probably thinks he doesn’t need it.”
“Why not?” she asked.
“Because of the baby.”
“What does the baby have to do with anything?”
“Didn’t I explain this?”
“No. You two half-explain everything.”
“Shit.” Trig sighed and drummed on the steering console. “I wish there was a book that could tell you everything. I don’t know all the right words.”
“Give me the ones you do know.” The irritation was clear in her voice.
Murk wondered if perhaps she wasn’t completely to blame for her frustration. If she’d been Jekhan, she would have already known how their bodies worked, and Murk and Trig hadn’t exactly been clear about how linked they were.
Murk set down his pencil and glanced up at the other man’s profile.
Trig worked his jaw side-to-side and drummed some more. “You’re really hormonal right now.”
“Back on Earth, that observation would earn you a punch to the nose,” Court said.
“How is what I said offensive?”
“Just take me at my word that it is.”
He sighed. “Fine. Um…the point is that he doesn’t need the synthetic chemical, because he’s making enough of his own right now. Does that make sense?”
“His system is regulated because of me?”
“Yes.”
“I see. And if I decided I didn’t like him and left now, would he be okay?”
Murk cut her a dirty look when she glanced over her shoulder, and she gave back as good as she got.
“You wouldn’t leave us, would you?” Trig risked a look behind his seat, his features anguished.
He was going to be anxious. Trig always got anxious, and Murk hoped Courtney had the right words at the ready to placate him.
He set down his pencil and narrowed his eyes at her. Don’t make yourself out to be a liar, Courtney.
Sighing, she turned to Trig. “I’m not averse to commitment, Trigrian. In fact, I prefer it to the alternative. I guess I’m at that age when sure things make me more comfortable than what-ifs.”
“You’re just upset.”
“Yes, I’m upset, and I’ve never been the kind of woman who’d pretend she isn’t.”
“Murk, fix this,” Trig pled. “This is your fault. It’s one thing to perform leh-acran to show off your bounty, but I don’t think…what’s that phrase? God, I heard it in one of those movies in the database. When a man uses his fingers to—”
Court leaned over the seat again. “You’ve been watching porn?”
“Is…that what those vignettes are called? Um, I stumbled onto some while looking for films about Terran plants. The directory was near the one about pineapples. It was massive, and I was curious.”
“Dear lord, you need constant supervision.”
“Are you volunteering to do the supervising?”
She chuckled as she sank down into the back bench again and laid a hand atop of half-sleeping Jerry’s head. She’d obviously put the dog between the two of them to guarantee Murk didn’t touch her.
He scoffed. If he wanted to touch her, he would—dog, or no dog.
“I can’t think of a better person for the job. And I think the phrase you were looking for was finger-fuck. He finger-fucked me.”
“Ah. Yes, Murk, you didn’t have to do that.”
Murk shrugged. They were right. He didn’t. At the time, thoug
h, he’d felt like doing so had been his prerogative. He’d read Court’s aroused state—smelled it, actually, because it was so obvious with her hormones in overdrive as they were—and perhaps figured he’d derive some satisfaction from getting her off for all to see. There was no harm done, really. He’d seen much more flagrant displays of leh-acran, and he’d always thought the convention a beautiful thing. His mastery, her submission…
He adjusted his crotch to give his cock a little more room in his pants.
Court sucked her teeth. “I don’t think I’ll be getting an apology from him anytime soon.”
He caught her gaze locked on his lap. Her lips parted and tongue tracked over that succulent bottom lip.
No, he wouldn’t apologize.
And why should I?
He picked up the tablet and wrote, “Why would I say sorry for something you obviously enjoyed? Would you deny me of my pleasures?”
She read. Blinked at him. “Are you kidding? Your pleasures?”
“I seek my pleasures from Trigrian. And from you. I have no desire to stray as I am certain you’ll give me what I need.”
“Which is?”
He waved a hand dismissively. He didn’t know how to put such things into words. As Trig had explained before, sex play didn’t exist amongst the Tyneali, and Murk would venture to guess that most Jekhans weren’t wired the right way, either. The fact that Trig had seemed amenable had been one of many reasons Murk had pursued him as a young man.
“Don’t wave me off. What do you need, Murk?”
He tapped out a rhythmless beat with his middle finger against the side of the tablet as he thought. Shrugging, he wrote, “I want you to do things Jekhan women would refuse.”
In a lot of ways, their women ruled their households by the seat of their panties. Withholding sex was a bargaining ploy as old as the hybrid race itself. Fortunately, Court didn’t seem inclined to play such games—she just yelled at him.
“I think we’ve already established that I already do a lot of things Jekhan women wouldn’t. I’m a pretty generous lover. That isn’t the issue. The issue here is advance consent. I let you slide this time.” She reached over the dog and poked Murk’s arm. “It’s not enough for Trig to ask me to play along. Those words need to come from you.”
He glowered at her, and wrote, “You never fail to amuse me.”
“You know exactly what I meant. I know you’re not going to stop what you’re doing to type out a permission slip. In spite of my openness, I do have some limits, and having never been in public with me before, you have no concept of what they are.”
“This isn’t a typical relationship.”
“That’s an understatement.”
“I’m used to initiating what I want without discussion. Saves time.”
“Advance consent saves time, too.”
The flyer rocked hard to the right, sending both Jerry and Court sliding across the seat. She grabbed the rail overhead to steady herself, but Jerry tumbled onto the floor with a bark of annoyance.
They canted again, but to the other side.
“Shit,” Trig muttered. “Wind through this valley has got to be gusting harder than we’re managing to fly through right now. I don’t want to use up the mineral energy because we might need the stores to get over the ridge near Little Gitano.”
A huge gust on their nose sent the flyer on a fast, frightening drop for several seconds.
“Damn it. I’m going to set us down under some cover and give the solar panels a chance to recharge. We’ll lift off again when the wind dies down.”
“How long is this leg of travel?” Court bent down and scratched Jerry behind the ears, consoling him.
“Used to take about an hour by air rail—one track on top of the tram, and one below. Very stable and mostly immune to the wind because of the tunnels through the windiest corridors, but those were destroyed during the invasion. Now it takes twelve hours at the very least.”
He brought them down slowly and carefully landed at the base of a tall hillock. Turning around, he looked first at Court who had one hand on Jerry and the other on the overhead grab bar. Then he looked at Murk. “Are we okay?”
Murk shrugged. They were stuck in close quarters with one very annoyed pregnant female and a skittish dog. Everything was just fine.
“Let’s have some dinner and maybe get a little rest. I’ll set up the sensors to alert us when the wind normalizes.”
“I’ll get the food out of the back.” Court leaned into the front area and tapped the right-side door release. “Jerry probably needs to go out anyway.”
Trig grabbed her wrist. “I can do it.”
“I know. But I need to.” She cut Murk a glare and climbed out with Jerry on her heels.
Trig moved into the back, settled next to Murk, and sighed. “Murk…”
Murk rolled his eyes and put up his hands.
“Listen. You expect to get your way because that’s what you were used to and that’s what your privilege bought you. But, she’s not being unreasonable, is she? Don’t you want a little more than just being tolerant of each other? I thought you wanted more than that.”
He did. He didn’t want a typically tolerant Jekhan relationship where every member of the household tiptoed around each other and did everything they could not to be offensive. He wanted passion. He’d always been known for his, and he’d fully expected to douse his personality when he’d settled into his group of three.
But…he didn’t want to. He wanted the wild sex, the big love, the passionate exchanges, and…hell, maybe the big fights that went along as a side effect of all the personality clashes—because they actually had personalities. He didn’t know how to navigate that, and naturally, Trig didn’t either. Murk couldn’t even be sure the relationship was sustainable, but fuck, he wanted what they had, and more.
“We’d better eat this chicken,” Court called out. “It’s not going to keep long. Is that all right?”
“Sure,” Trig called back. “And why don’t you have some chocolate while you’re back there?”
“You’re assuming that I haven’t already.”
Murk leaned back, let out a breath, and pulled the fucking stabbing hairpins from his scalp.
Trig didn’t take things for granted. He’d grown up expecting nothing, and had always been grateful when anyone considered him. Of course he wouldn’t assume anything about Court—only hope. Murk didn’t know if he could do the same. He was used to compliance. People didn’t push back against him.
Court was going to be his undoing, and he wasn’t certain if he would fall apart so gracefully.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
With so little to distract her beyond the view out the windows, Court noted every twinge—every tiny cramp—in her abdomen and fretted. She felt too much.
Or maybe not enough?
She was bloated, for sure. Bloated and crampy. She’d convinced herself that the sensations couldn’t be right and that something was wrong with her baby.
Or is it even a baby? Is it still there, or—
Her gaze came into focus on marvelous violet eyes as Trig tipped her face up to his. Kneeling in front of her in the back of the flyer, concern pulled at his features. Words shaped on his lips, but she hadn’t been listening.
“I asked if you were all right,” he said. “I guess I’ve been talking to myself for three minutes.”
She swallowed. Nodded. Found Jerry’s head beneath her right hand and scratched behind his ears. “Sorry. I’m so distractible lately. Must be all the progesterone. I read somewhere once that the hormone can make women a little batty.”
Her sister-in-law had complained of vivid nightmares. Court expected she would be seeing the same thing soon, although she couldn’t imagine a much worse nightmare than the one she was enduring when her eyes were open.
“Is there anything you can do for it?” he asked softly.
She appreciated the tenderness, but didn’t really need any at the moment.
“Progesterone levels out in the second trimester. Supposedly, anyway. I don’t know if that Tyneali part of the baby impacts anything.”
He nodded. “I don’t imagine there are too many people who’d know that. Anyhow, we’re about to lift off.”
“But it’s nearly dusk.”
“I know, but the dark won’t make much of a difference. We’re fully charged, and have enough mineral stores to get us at least to Little Gitano if we get through this corridor without too much wind resistance. These are supposedly the best conditions we’re going to have until tomorrow, so I’d like to try to get moving.”
She looked over at Murk, who wore some expression that was a mix of curiosity and annoyance. “What’s gotten up his craw this time?”
“Up his craw? Do I want to know what that means?” Trig chuckled. “But if you’re asking why he’s surly, I don’t think his mood is directed at you, but to me. I’m certain he’ll remind me later of how much he enjoyed the conversation you just missed.”
“You don’t seem too worried about that impending reminder.”
He shrugged. “I get Murk. He gets me. Our relationship probably isn’t typical.”
“There’s definitely nothing typical about the two of you.” She pulled her feet up beneath her on the seat and laid her head against the flyer wall. “How much farther?”
“Just a couple of hours at invisibility speed once we get out of this corridor. Last time I was in the area, not too much had been built up, so we’ll likely be flying into darkness. We won’t be able to see how poor the condition of the farm is until morning, so let’s just pray the living areas are sound and that we’ll at least have a place to rest our heads.”
“If push comes to shove, we could always sleep in here.”
“Good point.” He eased through the gap at the right of the front seat and settled back into the pilot’s chair. Moments later, they were off the ground. The flying was rough, but less turbulent than it had been immediately before they’d landed.
What I wouldn’t give for a little stasis right now. Knock me out and wake me up when we get there.
If she were in stasis, she wouldn’t keep thinking about how much she had to pee.