Gwen continued making a meal of the bounty between Dantar’s legs, taking his piece in long and sumptuous sucks, and sending her tongue down behind the root of his maleness to lick at the generous roundness of the man-fruits that lay so ripe in his sac. She feasted on him and sent wave after wave of delight rolling through the fantasy of muscles that was his body, savoring the succulent taste of him, feeling as though she would never get enough—until at last he looked down his torso at her, stroked the dark thickness of her hair, and said, “Come back up now and take me inside your gliarra.”
Once again context told Gwen his meaning. Her gliarra could be only one thing, and hearing that he was ready for it, she was all at once aware of how wet and engorged it had become from the way she had sucked his zazansa. Wearing a Mona Lisa smile and exhaling in anticipation, she climbed back up onto the bed beside Dantar and lay on her back with knees bent and thighs parted. He moved with all the speed, surety, and skill that he had shown rescuing her outside, whisking away her halter and undergarments and making her naked. With the same decisiveness he climbed atop her and lowered himself into the valley between her legs, bringing his bludgeon, wet from her sucking, into play. Gwen wrapped her arms around his shoulders and moaned long and joyously at the first passage of Dantar’s tool between her slippery folds and deep into her passage.
Dantar took her with all the pent-up fire and passion of having wanted to be inside her since the day before. All of his unrelieved wanting went into every deep, hard, swift stroke of his long and beautiful tool inside Gwen’s wet and quivering gliarra. While pumping fast and furiously in and out of her, he lowered his face to hers and kissed and licked her lips. “At last I am in you,” he moaned softly into her mouth. “I am in you and you are so good. I wish never to take myself out of you. I wish I could keep it in you forever.” And he beat on and on, throwing the full force of his muscles against her, slamming ecstatically against Gwen’s mound and driving his hard weapon of flesh into her tightening wetness.
Gwen made incoherent and rapturous sounds of bliss under Dantar, accepting his every thrust, receiving and welcoming his every stroke, and feeling herself becoming someone new with the way he penetrated and possessed her. She felt her flesh and her being joining his, yielding to him and merging with him. She felt his awesome erection making her a part of him as it claimed the moist and slick depths of her sex. She could only imagine that he was reaching all the way to her womb, and that when his moment arrived he would pour himself into her as a raging river.
Gwen held tight to him, feeling his thrusts and beats as if in every cell of her body, letting him build the intensity of his mad, frenzied humping to where it must inevitably go. When he tore his lips from hers, gritted his teeth, and released a loud grunt into the air—“Uuuhhh…!”, she knew that the moment was upon him. With a last impassioned blow against her mound, he drove his length all the way into her and held it there. He kept his teeth clenched and made a sound akin to Rrrrrr…!, the sure sign that his godlike body was now charged with orgasm and that a mighty burst of sticky white wetness was now surging into Gwen’s depths. She tightened her thighs around him, encouraging him to empty himself into her completely, to give her every drop that he produced. And Dantar obliged her. He kept his throbbing length locked inside her for a long time before finally relaxing on top of her.
It was with the greatest reluctance that Dantar pulled out, but also with the knowledge that he had one more duty to perform as her mate. Slowly he climbed down between Gwen’s thighs to where his zazansa had been, and let his tongue find the pulpy knob that controlled the one joy even greater than his penetration of her. She moaned at what he did, the licking and sucking at what his tongue so skillfully found. He played with it, licking and swirling and stroking, carrying her along with every pass of his tongue upon it until he brought her up to the heights that he had reached by thrusting inside her. Her ultimate, wailing outcry of euphoria told him that his mission was accomplished and that ripples of unbridled pleasure were now spreading and bouncing through the body of his new mate.
Afterwards, they sat up in each other’s arms in bed, mouths sliding and sucking together, hands roaming over breasts and pecs and down to the treasures between their legs. “It is done, my love,” said Dantar. “Or in truth, it is only begun: for I shall have you in bed all this day and all this night. I shall lie atop you and enter you and fill you many times before we are wed. The servants will bring food and drink that we need not leave here. We need only lie together and know one another’s bodies.”
“Still with the royal wedding?” she sighed before giving in to another sensuous kiss.
“It must be. Thus joined in body, we must join in life.” And he kissed her yet again to underline his decree.
Gwendolyn Rush, having thus been fantastically sexed by a man beyond her imagining, a man who expressed in no uncertain terms his intention to keep her and sex her without let, relaxed in his arms and pondered what he offered her. But this time she pondered it without indignation, without outrage, without resistance or the thought of protest. Perhaps she had been looking at the whole thing in the wrong way.
She had come to Sarma seeking answers about the origins of its people and their relationship to her own. Perhaps in his desire for a queen and her desire for knowledge lay an opportunity. As Dantar’s queen she would hold vast authority and have the resources of a planet at her disposal. There might just be a way to be the woman under Dantar in his bed and to accomplish what she set out to do.
The ruler of a planet could surely build a university of her own.
THE END
My Alien Alpha
Alien Romance
Another amazing night, I see.
Disappointed, the woman took a sip of her blackberry schnapps while observing the inside of the bar. The place was almost full, mostly occupied by single women and the occasional middle-aged man in search of an easy lay.
Jasmine, old girl, you have officially hit rock bottom, she told herself, unintentionally lifting the glass up to her mouth again a mere moment before she managed to regain control and put it back on the table.
The night is young and I will have to drive home afterward. She only noted what she already knew, a transparent and fairly ineffective attempt to slow the pace of her drinking.
“Fun,” the woman spoke aloud, allowing her voice to be drowned out by the merciless racket given off by the latest popular tune. Reacting to the mention of the word, her lips contracted, bending upwards to form a sarcastic smile. It had been ages since anyone had managed to amuse Jasmine, and by the look of things in this place, the trend wasn’t going to change any time soon.
How do they do it? She asked herself, unable to pry her eyes away from the other patrons, completely and utterly shocked by their sheer banality. Eagerly displaying empty smiles, the various people—both paired and individual—danced and yelled while downing glass after glass of cheap alcoholic beverages, all just to temporarily become mindless enough to enjoy this place.
Is that the point of life? Drink away your boredom every night, only to have to do it all over again tomorrow? In response to that train of thought, Jasmine’s arm moved by itself again, allowing the pleasant aroma of her liquor to take some of the edge off.
Not nearly enough, I’m afraid. Slowly, she placed the glass back onto the table, feeling the draw of its contents the very second it left her mouth.
Maybe I should follow the others’ lead tonight after all, she considered while watching what little was left of the sweet, potent liquid as it swirled around its transparent little container. Get myself wasted, hook up with one of these guys… Let loose for a little bit. Maybe I’ll feel a bit better tomorrow, then.
Now partially willing to check out her options, Jasmine lifted her gaze from the table and started scanning the bar again. The situation hadn’t changed. In fact it had gotten worse, as a rural-looking elderly chap mistook Jasmine’s curiosity for interest and immediately set foot toward
her.
Oh, no. Please, God, Satan, anyone who might be listening, make it so that he’s going after someone else. Unmoved by her prayer, the man kept coming toward Jasmine’s seat, treating her with the sight of his own set of sparse, yellow teeth along the way.
“Well, well, ‘twas about time for you to give me the eye, pur’ty thing,” the intruder bellowed out, the rough, gravelly tone of his voice somehow cutting through the omnipresent racket with little effort.
Seems like nobody’s listening after all, Jasmine concluded, donning the least friendly expression she could instead of replying to the older man’s greeting.
“Always knew ya had a thing for meh, little miss Paulson.” He kept on talking despite the complete lack of reaction on Jasmine’s part. Taking his unpleasantness to another level, he pulled out a chair before sitting down directly opposite the obviously uninterested woman.
“All’a you’s the same, y’know? Yo’ time comes, you ain’t so pretty no more, them young’uns don’t chase you around th’ way they used to.” He practically spat the words out. It was remarkable how repugnant he was.
Does he really approach girls with that attitude? Or is this his special routine, prepared just for me? Involuntarily, the woman chuckled. She regretted it immediately afterward.
“Ah’m right, aren’t I?” The intruder seemed pleased with himself, not giving Jasmine the chance to respond before continuing with his act. Visibly swaying due to intoxication, he bent his torso over the table, now barely more than a foot away from her face. “Don’t take much to figure out. When it comes down to it, all’a ya want th’ same thing.”
“If there is in fact one need common to all women, I’m sure that it’s to be as far away from you possible,” said another voice, interrupting whatever the older man was about to do, its origin obscured from Jasmine’s view by the interposing body. It was a deep baritone that by all means should have been drowned out by the bass of the music, but somehow managed to remain clear and understandable.
Like a spring, the old intruder jerked himself back into a standing position, immediately turning around to face this stranger. There was strength in those old bones yet; that much was apparent from the motion, but it all evaporated completely once the older man got a sight of whom he was facing.
Easily over six-foot-one and built like an athlete, the deep-voiced man towered over most of the bar’s patrons. The crimson shirt he wore over his black pants was slightly unbuttoned at the top, letting everyone know just how well chiseled the upper parts of his pectoral muscles were. His hair was dark and wavy, closely cropped at the back of his head but significantly longer at the top. Adding a curious vibe to this generous display of resplendent masculinity was a pair of sunglasses he wore over his eyes. They were red, and far more reflective than was the norm for shades of that color.
For several seconds the woman and her unwanted company stared at the new arrival, both surprised for different reasons. Not willing to let the silence go on for much longer, the handsome stranger took a deep breath and spoke again, the tone of his voice still astoundingly clear.
“The lady does not enjoy your company, sir. It would be best for you to step away right now.” The tone was strangely threatening, but the mysterious man’s posture was anything but—relaxed, slightly bent to the right, his hands resting within the pockets in the side of his pants.
“She didn’t say a word ‘bout dat!” the older man argued, his left hand dramatically extended toward Jasmine’s part of the table. Noting her lack of confirmation, he sighed, the frustration quickly turning into anger. Now having formed fists with both of his hands, the unwelcome man started yelling at the stranger, the gravelly tone of his voice becoming even less pleasant.
“You think you’re the shiyet, don’t you? Young, rich an’ good-looking as you are, ya waltz up ‘ere an’ take what’s not yours. Dangnabbit, I was ‘ere first, ya no-good scum-sucking son of a-“
“It doesn’t matter that she didn’t say it, sir. What matters is that I said it, if you catch my drift.” The mysterious individual interrupted the older one’s ranting with no effort whatsoever, all while raising his right hand toward the upper rim of his glasses. In but a single motion, he lowered them ever so slightly, enough for the standing local to see what lay behind, but insufficient for Jasmine to catch a glimpse.
Now rendered completely speechless, the unwelcome older man relaxed his body completely, allowing his hands to drop to his sides. Defeated by something Jasmine could not comprehend, he turned toward his right and left their company, avoiding touching or even looking upon the stranger again.
“That coot won’t bother you again,” the dark-haired man said as he placed his sunglasses. “At least, not anytime soon,” he continued, dazzling Jasmine with a smile full of porcelain-white teeth.
“Mind if I sit down?” The stranger appeared to have asked only as a formality, having occupied the seat before Jasmine had a chance to respond in any way. Not that she’d have refused such a breath of fresh air.
“Not at all,” Jasmine replied, a smile unexpectedly creeping across her expression. “Although I find it amusing that you’ve taken the liberty to do so before I even gave you my approval, mister…?”
“James,” the dark-haired stranger finally introduced himself, still smiling. “James Ackerman, at your service. And if you are not interested in my company, miss, all you need to do is ask and I will be gone as fast as I came.”
“There’ll be no need for that, thank you.” Surprised by the mysterious man’s skill at grabbing her attention, Jasmine could not help but keep grinning. “You’ve made it abundantly clear that you’re a cut above the rest, at least as far as first impressions go,” she proceeded. “Though we’ll see how things go from there.”
“We could start with you introducing yourself,” James retorted, giving off the impression of an intense stare even through those non-transparent shades. “I’d hate to have to call you “miss” or “lady” all through the night.”
“Oh, all through the night, you say?” Jasmine reached for her drink, downing it in a single motion before gazing into her reflection within the stranger’s shades. “Kind of presumptuous of you to assume that we will keep each other company for that long, don’t you think?” She smiled again, the better to take some edge off her words.
“Not at all,” the man kept smiling back. “I’m that good.”
A bit of an ego on this one, Jasmine concluded, scanning the man’s features once again, but it doesn’t matter. I’ll bite.
“Jasmine Paulson, pleased to meet you.” Gracefully, she extended her hand over the table and the stranger responded in kind.
“A pretty name for a pretty woman,” he commented, the firm yet gentle touch of his palm inviting her to learn more, while not indicating a violent or predatory disposition.
“Tell me, Jasmine,” James inquired as he released her palm, “What is a girl like you doing in a place like this?”
"Well, James, I’d ask you the same thing, but I’m afraid you don’t completely fit the question.” She grinned, lowering her view toward where his nether region would be.
“I am serious,” he replied, the smile disappearing from his face. “You are beautiful, obviously highly educated, and it’s pretty apparent that you’re not quite happy. Why are you here, Jasmine?”
Initially, Jasmine wanted to keep playing the flirting game. Tell him that she was here waiting for the perfect man. Do a witty word-twister. What little of her rational mind was left by the schnapps wanted to keep this stranger at a distance for at least a little while longer. But the way the man looked, acted and talked, combined with the change of tone in his voice, somehow compelled her to say the truth instead.
“What else is there to do?” Jasmine finally replied after several long seconds of silence. “When you’ve been in this backwater for as long as I have, you’ve met everyone you’re ever going to meet. Nights like this are the height of my day. To be frank, you’re the mos
t interesting thing that’s happened to me in years.”
Now deprived of her own smile, Jasmine lifted her empty glass for James to see. “It all goes downhill after this.”
“So I see.” It was amazing how intense a gaze the man could pull off while revealing absolutely no part of his eyes. “That still doesn’t answer my question. This town is not for you. Why live here?”
“It started out as a sense of obligation, I guess.” Jasmine lowered her glass onto the table, staring into it for a little bit before meeting her reflection again. “My folks were poor, and they didn’t have any children other than me. I was a good student, graduated with a degree in biology fairly quickly; drained my parents’ wallets even quicker, though.”
Feeling something tighten around her heart, she stopped talking for a moment. She wasn’t sure how much time had passed by the time she was ready to speak again, but if the stranger felt anything akin to annoyance, he most certainly didn’t show it.
“I needed to get a job. We needed me to get a job. There was an opening in the local high school, and I grabbed it immediately. It isn’t too bad. Working with children is fun for the most part.”
“Was it worth it?” James inquired as if he was questioning the woman rather than merely getting to know her.
“Of course not,” Jasmine replied, the grief apparent in her eyes. “My folks died pretty soon anyway, and I’m still here, a decade older, doors rapidly closing around me. But that’s life, I guess.”
“But enough about me, I think,” her expression brightened on the prospect of changing the subject. “I’d like to know more about you, James. Who are you? Why are you here?”
Highlander's Pride: Winter Solstice (Against All Odds Series 1) Page 7