Alien Bride (Love, Drugs, and Biopunk)

by McGill, Brie

  Should she make the most of her imprisonment and enjoy the moment?

  Or would he come to expect things of her, things she wasn’t prepared to give?

  What wasn’t she prepared to give?

  She didn’t want to be swallowed by the collective: this much she knew. It was all too crazy here. She didn’t want to forfeit her touch with reality.

  If she hadn’t lost it already. She didn’t want to be found by family later, too mad to appreciate a rescue. She wanted to go home. She didn’t want to lose her identity.

  She feared she was doomed.

  Orion awoke lying on his side, face smashed into the rock-hard mattress, Ninkasi’s blue shawl crushed beneath him.

  Taking a deep breath, he smelled her perfume, her animal sweat.

  He squeezed the delicate fabric in a fist, pulling it from beneath him. The soft fabric tickled his stomach, his leg, sliding across his bare skin, sending electric shivers through his body. Beneath his blankets, it was just him and the shawl.

  No clothing. No secrets. No ardent bystanders.

  It was him, the shawl, and a maddening erection he desired to pound into infinity.

  It left him no choice, insisting he deal with it.

  Images flooded his mind of ripping the shawl from Ninkasi’s body, exposing her soft, sweet shoulders. He imagined the taste of her flesh, the scent of her body.

  He couldn’t restrain himself. It was unfair to make her the object of his desires; her abduction was likely traumatic enough, without the added complication of his insuppressible urges.

  In a perfect world, Orion could rip the lace of her dress away, caress her supple breasts, and she would beg him for more.

  Were Aleister to learn of his transgressions, the extent to which his feelings interfered with the mission would spark his limitless fury.

  Under the circumstances, Orion did what he could to protect their pact, the chateau, the secrecy Aleister demanded.

  He longed to peel back her skirt. . . Trace the scalloped lace along her inner thigh with his fingers. . .

  Perhaps with his tongue. . .

  It wasn’t like Orion forfeited details of their secret mission. Ninkasi still hadn’t seen his face! She wouldn’t be able to identify any of them.

  When her dress was off, he would squeeze her little waist and prod the entrance to her hot body with his—

  Rolling onto his back, Orion grazed the fabric over his chest, his legs, imagining her fingers, her mouth. Swirling the shawl around his shaft, he stroked himself, secured inside the exquisite caress of the fabric.

  It was broken, the way he wanted to take her, to possess her, to protect her.

  Her long hair, the curve of her hips, her green, distrustful eyes—her beauty drove him mad.

  Orion vowed to protect her from everything. She could fight him now; he didn’t care. He knew his visits weakened her and she would eventually consent to the capture of her heart.

  But there was nothing he could do to protect her from the truth about himself. . .

  Orion pushed open the door to the wine cellar. Shielding his forehead with the crook of his arm, he began the grueling descent down the winding stone stair.

  Aleister flew to the mainland to acquire some last-minute supplies for their mission. In the interim, Orion planned to drink more wine—

  He stumbled, catching himself on the railing. Burying his face in his hands, he forced himself down the stair—he wasn’t even drunk yet.

  He would drink as much wine as he could. Aleister, that bastard.

  Orion reached the bottom of the stair and sank to his knees. There was an intense ringing in his head: he clamped his hands over his ears and rested his forehead upon the cool stone floor. Dizzied, he tilted his head to the side, and scanned the vault.

  In every corner of the room, mounted on every wine rack and lining the stairs, stacks of Aleister’s magical anzein bricks scintillated in the dim light. He lined the wine cellar with these bricks to create a veritable fortress.

  A fortress against Orion. A fortress for his wine.

  Aleister, that bastard, and his subtle declarations of war.

  Orion forced his head from the ground, pushing himself up with one hand. The ringing was immense; his vision blurred and doubled, making it impossible to navigate.

  But it was no worry. He forged ahead in a staggering crawl, palms and knees knocking against the floor. A hot radiance from the bricks singed his body.

  Fortunately, he didn’t need his vision; he frequented the cellar so often, he could find the damned pinot blanc with his eyes closed.

  There were several bottles he intended to procure: Aleister’s snide, flamboyant security measures invited Orion to drink more than he normally would, more than he had planned.

  He collapsed, rolling onto his side, an arm outstretched toward the wine racks at the far end of the room. His fingers curled and uncurled.

  Aleister. . . That. . . bastard. . .

  Old Uncle Eldon’s grapes were worth it.

  A knock on the door interrupted her thirty-fifth game of solitaire; Ninkasi dropped a handful of cards on the floor.

  “Ninkasi?” It was Orion’s magical voice.

  She fought the urge to run to him. She sat on the white throw rug before the crackling fireplace amidst a mess of cards, and turned to face the door.

  Another knock. “I’m entering.”

  The door opened: Orion joined her, immediately enticing her with a billowing white shirt with gold embroidery that allowed another luscious peek at his chest. His sleeves cropped above the elbow, revealing a glimpse of skin between his shirt and the hem of his cream-colored gloves. He wore a sparkling belt and snug black velvet leggings with a paisley gold.

  His silver ballroom mask shimmered in the light of the fireplace, with a plume of sky-blue feathers and golden sequins. Tonight, he let his hair down around his shoulders.

  Orion sauntered to the table at the window, and hoisted a scarlet patchwork satchel onto a chair, bottles making a dull clank inside. “I thought you might want some dinner. . .”

  “I saved this one for last because” —Orion cracked the third bottle of wine with expertise— “I think you’ll enjoy it the most.”

  Ninkasi sat on the fearsome bear rug, resting against the antiquated sofa behind her. “It’s a dessert wine?”

  Orion filled the glass hanging loosely in her hand. “It’s particularly sweet.”

  She giggled and swirled the glass beneath her nose, eyes locked on the bit of chest exposed by his shirt.

  He poured himself a glass, set the bottle on the table, and reclined against the sofa beside her. Leaning toward her, he spoke with his hands. “There’s an aroma of. . . What was I saying?” He pushed a hand against his face and cackled.

  She was unsure how to interpret the sudden laugh: this made her laugh louder.

  “Vanilla, yes.” He straightened his back. “Vanilla, melons, almonds. . . and cream.”

  Ninkasi sipped the wine, sweet like candy. “What’s for dessert?”

  Orion tilted his head and stared at the ceiling.

  She admired the definition of his throat, the shape of his chest, his brooding lips. She laughed deviously, strictly ignoring a sudden urge to mount him, and drank again.

  He pointed at her, taking a swig of wine. “You wouldn’t believe what I had to endure to get this wine.” He patted his mouth.

  “Aleister’s detonated reproach.” She crossed one leg over the other and the dress rode up her leg, exposing verdant Chantilly lace stockings.

  His head rolled against the couch and his eyes followed the movement of her skirts. “Did he say something to you?”

  “He put me to work.” She swirled the wine and took a sip. “In his batshit crazy laboratory. Said I had to work off the debt incurred from drinking his wine.”

  Orion slapped his face.

  She stared through the blue plumage of Orion’s mask, searching for a connection with his eyes. “What does he do
in there?”

  He cradled his goblet with two hands and sat up, facing her, speaking matter-of-factly. “Aleister doesn’t drink.” He swilled more wine.

  “Then what does he do?” Ninkasi’s head crashed onto a sofa cushion. She studied the freckle at his mouth, his tightly pressed lips. “And what would he care?”

  “The tragedy is. . .” Orion pointed at the ceiling. Balance wobbling, he splashed wine on his leggings. He frowned and thumbed at his pants. “These wines.” He rapped at his glass. “They were made to drink right away.”

  Ninkasi angled her body toward him, pulling in her knees, accidentally brushing against him. Propping up her head with one arm, she drank leisurely.

  “They aren’t meant to age in a cellar.” Orion leaned forward, clanking his glass against hers.

  She leaned in for the toast.

  “Too much time spent in the cellar will destroy them.” He drank his wine, remaining close.

  Ninkasi downed the last of her wine and set the chalice on the floor. Sweeping her hands over her lap, she smoothed the rumpled emerald gown.

  He glanced at her legs. “And that idiot keeps them under lock and key.”

  She tilted her head toward him, leaning closer.

  He drew in a sharp breath.

  Ninkasi curiously slipped one finger beneath his mask at his nose.

  Orion wrapped his hand around her wrist.

  “Won’t you ever take off your mask?” She fell into him, pressing her forehead against his, feeling the mask’s coarse silver sparkles, its wild azure feathers. She traced her finger down his cheek, along his angular jaw.

  He grabbed her free hand.

  “What could I do? Who would I tell?” She pushed her face into his, brushing her nose against his obscured nose, feeling the red feathers tied into his hair tickle her face. “Why won’t you let me see your face?”

  He looked away, but remained close, his cheek against her cheek, clutching her hands.

  Ninkasi felt his breath in her ear. She smelled the tobacco, the mausoleum incense in his hair.

  Pulling away, he reached into his pocket, words a whisper. “First, close your eyes.”

  She obeyed with a curious smile.

  The familiar, heavy cloth of a blindfold sealed her vision. Agile fingers secured a knot behind her head, determining the perfect tautness of the cloth around her face.

  “What else do you always carry besides a blindfold?” Ninkasi rested one hand on his lap for support.

  His breath caught in his throat, and he pressed a finger against her lips.

  She heard an elastic snap, the clatter of the mask on the floor. His knees cracked as he knelt before her. Sturdy hands lifted her hands and planted them on his face.

  Ninkasi gasped, sweeping fingers across his brow, feeling the long bridge of his nose. She delicately traced fingers over his eyelids, across the high ridge of his cheekbones. She felt his eyebrows, his temples, and raked fingers through his thick and silky hair. She pawed him with wonder and amazement, trying to comprehend every minute detail of his face.

  Orion snatched her wrists, clutching them with an iron grip.

  She twisted her arms, trying to break free.

  He tightened his grip, and leaned over her, kissing her. He pinned her against the sofa with his body and released one hand, cradling the side of her face, communicating a treatise of unspeakable desires with his tongue, raw, uncensored, and urgent.

  She tasted shrouded ambitions, solemn regrets, wounds and fantasies and facades, his mouth teaching her mouth, kissing to confess as if she were the only person alive to hear him on the planet. His kisses pierced into her soul.

  Her chest fluttered, and Ninkasi melted beneath him, a radiant warmth rippling through her body. She met his kisses with insatiable appetite, and tasted sweet wine on his breath. Her hand again found his face, a novelty, their secret.

  He scooped her up and carried her to the other end of the rug, closer to the hearth.

  Feeling the warm glow of the fireplace behind her head, she heard Orion’s ragged breath, felt his long hair sweeping against her shoulders, her face.

  Orion’s hands seized her hips and he frisked her, caressing the curves of her waist, her chest, settling upon her breasts. His hands slid along her tummy, her hips. Silk gloves glissaded over the silk gown, his hands squeezing the soft width of her thighs, the contour of her calves, the bones in her petite ankles. He pulled his hands along her lace-stockinged feet, reaching the tips of her toes.

  She sighed with delight, body pliant, expectant, wanton beneath provocative strokes. Disoriented by the blindfold, her body responded with a hypersensitivity to touch.

  He balled the hem of the dress in his fists and peeled the emerald gown up her legs, to her hips.

  Ninkasi lifted her hips, feeling the dress shucked from her body; she arched her back and lifted her head, her frocks stripped in a fluid motion. Her legs caught between the powerful crush of his thighs, he towered over her, on top of her, and she could not lift her hips to meet him. Her hands blindly sought his body.

  Loosening the ties on her corset, he slipped it over her head. Restraining her arms, he bestowed a trail of kisses down her neck, her collar, her chest. He kissed the edge of one breast and lightly flicked his tongue across her nipple.

  She writhed beneath him, her face growing hot.

  He planted tender kisses on her other breast, granting equal attention, edging her toward thrashing frenzy with his tongue. Restraining her hands, he kissed along her stomach.

  She couldn’t stop him, didn’t want to stop him, laid bare before him. She yearned to look into his eyes, to know his feelings.

  Orion placed one kiss below her navel, above the fringe of her panties. His lips brushed over her skin and he planted one wet kiss on the inside of each of her thighs.

  Ninkasi moaned, her legs parting involuntarily to draw him into her body.

  His thumbs hooked beneath the waistband of her panties and tugged them away. Securely gripping her thighs, he kissed her most sensitive spot.

  Ninkasi cried out, digging fingers into the rug.

  Orion abruptly released her. A belt buckle clicked, unclasping. Shirts rustled, removed and tossed aside. Pants unzipped. A hand patted the cushion of the sofa that creaked to support the weight of a person sitting down. “Come here.”

  Crawling toward the couch, she wondered what Orion had in store for her. Her nervousness compounded with anxiety and tumultuous desire.

  His bare hand locked around her wrist, pulling her close to him. Guiding her body with a gentle touch, he spun her around so she faced away from him. “I have to ensure you won’t try something naughty.” Winding a thick coil of fabric around her wrists, he bound her arms securely behind her back. “Not unless we both agree it’s a good idea.”

  She swallowed. Unable to see, unable to defend herself, to support herself, to touch, to feel, any previous sense of vulnerability paled in comparison to how helpless she felt in that moment, blindfolded and bound.

  Ninkasi had no choice but to trust him. She had to submit—which was what she wanted to do all along.

  Hands sliding over her hips and around her waist, along her bottom and down her thighs, Orion coaxed her closer to him from his comfortable vantage point on the sofa.

  Kneeling, she felt the intoxicating touch of his hands kneading her back, caressing her shoulders, stroking her neck. He clasped her head in his hands, physically assuring her of her safety and the superior treatment she’d receive. His bare inner thighs brushed against her upper arms.

  And then she felt it—just the tip of it—adamant, magnificent—graze her lips. It insisted nothing, merely alerting her of its presence.

  It was inevitable—that which she wanted and that which she feared. Unable to touch, unable to see, there was only one way to ascertain that which challenged her, would take her.

  Opening her mouth slightly, Ninkasi gasped, pressing her lips against the head of his sex. Her tongue tent
atively explored it, discovered its subtle flavor, frisking the tip.

  Orion drew in a heavy breath, cradling her head in his hands.

  Summoning her courage, moved by the brewing desire between her legs, Ninkasi took a breath to steady herself and opened her mouth, accepting him.

  Orion swept his hands over her face, through her hair.

  Lips gliding over his shaft, her tongue traversed the landscape of his flesh, sucking him, tasting him. Until her body relaxed, she doubted she could take all of him; the idea of giving herself to a dangerous stranger who dictated her fate disquieted her mind.

  A hand massaging her shoulder grazed over her chest and cupped her breast. Fingertips caressed the back of her head.

  Body softening, Ninkasi edged forward, accepting him further into her throat. The deeper she took him, the deeper she wanted to take him: her stomach quivered with a primal hunger and she arched her back, rearing up on her knees to take him from directly above. She grunted, falling on him, using her tongue to surprise him, feeling the wet friction in the back of her throat. Her breathing steadied, supporting a heightened state of arousal, and she became determined to see how far inside she could take his cock.

  Leaning into her, Orion held her, pressing one hand into the small of her back.

  She inhaled sharply, feeling the tickle of his long hair against her chest.

  His other hand found the entrance to her body and teased her, probed her.

  Digging her knees into the floor, Ninkasi parted her legs and thrust her hips forward, urging him to penetrate her. Sliding her lips along his hardness, she pulled away, sucking fiercely at the tip.

  She wanted to look at him.

  Orion pushed the tip of his finger inside her, slowly, gently, stimulating her.

  A moan escaped her lips.

  He abruptly removed his hand, retreating to his position on the sofa, audibly licking his finger.

  Edging forward on her knees, Ninkasi waddled toward him until her body pressed against the sofa. She leaned forward, her mouth open, searching for his cock.

  Interlocking one of his hands with a hand bound behind her back, Orion grabbed her coil of braids and guided her mouth to him, poking the tip against her lips.