by Meg Ripley
“I love you, too,” Umi said, and his voice was rough with desire. Caden spread her legs wide, and her hand moved to pass over her vulva automatically, relishing how sensitive she was now that each of her nerve endings and circuits were buzzing with activity. Her lips were already slick with her juices, and her hips were moving slowly, almost imperceptibly, against the weight of her hand. Her other hand was pulling on her nipple, twisting the nub until it puckered and grew erect.
Umi lowered his mouth to her breast as he pressed the head of his member on her hot, wet opening. He sucked her nipple between his lips, teasing it with his teeth until Caden cried out in pleasure, pressing her hips upward in an attempt to pull him inside. He left her nipple and kissed the soft skin of her neck, raising his eyes to meet her gaze before he slowly pushed himself into Caden’s wet pussy.
It was like a door opening inside her--- she could feel the force of his love, his passion, his unbelievable need to stay inside her as long as he possibly could, and the desire to make it last forever. Every inch of her velvety walls was being massaged by Umi’s steely member, and she wrapped her legs around his strong hips, gasping as he pulsed deep inside her soaking pussy. She gazed at his gorgeous features as he slowly drew his cock out and rushed back inside, marveling at the exquisiteness of his expression, even in the throes of passion. His eyes were glowing softly, moving across her features and lowering to take in the bounce of her perky breasts as he thrust between her legs. His strokes intensified, and Caden felt the first stirrings of euphoria start to build in her core. She wanted to stay like this, being pounded by his beautiful, powerful body until she couldn’t move or speak from the mind-blowing pleasure.
“Umi,” she moaned deliriously as his cock moved faster more forcefully inside her. Every stroke brought another streak of incredible pleasure ripping through her body, and she tried to focus on meeting his passionate strokes with the motion of her hungry hips. He kissed her lips roughly, burying himself as deep inside her as his body would allow. Caden shrieked in pleasure, wrapping her arms around his broad shoulders as he thrust against her hips frantically. Her body was starting to tighten around him, and his moans were growing higher and more frenzied. One of his hands fisted in her silky red hair, and Caden looked down at his lean body as he propelled himself between her slick walls, pounding against her g-spot so hard that the air was sapped from her lungs. His mouth opened, and a low moan poured over her body like molasses, triggering an orgasm so violent she felt her nails rake down Umi’s muscular back before she could stop herself.
“Caden!” Her name left Umi’s lips as a passionate cry, and she felt her walls clench around his thickness as his cock twitched and spasmed, emptying inside her. He kept thrusting against her, and his weight rubbed against her swollen clit, provoking another slow wave of ecstasy that tightened the muscles in her thighs and inner core. She bucked against him weakly as he kissed her again, and he moaned with satisfaction. Then he pulled back and slid off of her, and, to her dismay, found his kilt to dress again.
It seemed wrong to jump back into action after having such an incredible first time together, but Caden realized she still hadn’t been debriefed. She pulled the white sheet around her, watching Umi’s muscled ass disappear behind his green garment. Something had changed between them; they were both smiling and meeting each other’s eye far more easily than before. It’s the bond, she thought suddenly. It didn’t seem like that profound a change, but it was there—in the he looked at her, the way she wanted to be constantly touching him, and the jab of pain in her heart when she thought about when she might need to leave him again. This is love, she thought, and it surprised her; Caden had assumed love would be a weakness. A sort of Kryptonite, she liked to think. But it had enabled her to take down a monster she never thought she could take down while clear-headed. Love had done that, and it made her happier than she’d ever been; who needed to be fearless when love could teach you to use it as a weapon?
“What’s next?” Caden mused aloud.
“Well, now that you’re awake, we need to go meet with the High Council.” He smiled when she didn’t react, and Caden blushed. “I take it you overheard us speaking. Lia will be there, and she’ll explain it better than I can.”
“Is something wrong?” Caden felt fear trickle into her bloodstream, remembering that she was millions of miles from homes. “What am I here to do?”
Umi looked embarrassed. “Well, you’re here to protect me while I help my planet try to stop its impending doom.” He laughed. “You look surprised now. I’m just kidding. Kind of.”
“Umi, be serious!” Caden stood, and was satisfied to see that he was very distracted by her naked body. “Eyes up here.”
His light brown skin took on a bluish tint, and Caden realized he was blushing. “Sorry. I’m trying to think of an easy way to explain it before you have to get dressed to meet them.” He paused, and his eyes closed again as he accessed his memory banks. They opened again a moment later, and he smiled excitedly.
“Superman’s planet was destroyed by natural forces? It imploded because of internal forces, and he never knew his home planet because of it.”
Caden nodded slowly. “This isn’t making me feel better, Umi.”
“It’s not like this yet,” Umi said. “There’s at least a handful of ways to stop it. One of those ways involves going down into the crust of our planet where only machines can go, in order to destabilize a pocket of energy that is threatening life.” He hesitated. “But the machines get too hot for us to pilot, and remotes stop working at a certain distance.” He gazed at her, apparently unwilling to go on.
Caden frowned, wondering what it was that he wasn’t saying. Then the answer came a moment later. “You need us to go down for you,” she said slowly. “You need cyborgs to pilot the machines.”
Umi nodded. “But I won’t make you, or anyone else, do anything you don’t want to. I won’t make anyone do anything until they’re informed.”
“I’ll help,” Caden said quietly.
“What?” Umi’s voice was laden with panic. “Caden, it’s dangerous. We don’t even know how dangerous. A cyborg has never done this, not on this planet.”
Caden smiled impishly at Umi. “You mean I get boldly go where no cyborg has gone before?”
Umi blinked his lovely blue-green eyes. “That’s not from comics.”
“Star Trek had comics, too,” Caden insisted. “That’s not the point. I want to do this.” Her heart was pounding in her chest, and she took hold of Umi’s hands as she spoke. “I’m awake now. I can do this. For the first time ever---even though I was created for a specific task—I feel like I have real purpose.” She pulled him toward her and kissed him gently, and she felt him soften against her lips. When she pulled back, he was smiling, too. “Let me do this for you,” Caden said. “Let me help. I’ll do whatever the council agrees is best in the end. What do you say?”
Umi seemed to battle with his emotions for a moment, and his eyes closed again. When the opened, they were clear and decisive. He smiled, and Caden’s hear skipped a beat. “My hero,” he said, and leaned forward to pull her into his arms.
THE END
Chosen Alien Bride
One evening, Charlotte notices a brooding, handsome stranger in a darkened corner of the sports bar that she waitresses at. She finds herself drawn to him as if by some strange supernatural force. He shares his story with her and reveals that he is an alien who has been drawn to her from deep within the cosmos.
Though skeptical, Charlotte's doubts vanish once he begins to demonstrate his alien "talents." Can Charlotte's stranger convince her to abandon her solitary life on planet Earth and join him on his home planet as his destined bride?
“Didn't your mother ever teach you it's not polite to touch things without permission?” Charlotte chastised the man whose drink had nearly landed in his lap. It would've served him right, too, given that the precariously perched drink nearly toppled from her tray when he trie
d to squeeze Charlotte's ass as she leaned over to place the drinks on the table. She glared down at the offender, who returned a look of semi-inebriated chagrin.
Ugh, I already feel like I need a shower, she thought.
She was supposed to be off this evening, but she'd naively accepted the shift for a coworker who claimed she had an important family function.
“Family function, my ass,” Charlotte muttered to herself. By now, she was quite certain that Alison had simply been aware of the guests who would be occupying the sports bar tonight: a bachelor party! If they wanted to spend the evening in a drunken stupor, grabbing at every woman within arms' reach, then Charlotte had no problem with that. But, they really should have moved their party to a more fitting venue—like a strip club or a brothel! But maybe that was the problem; perhaps the groom had blown all his money on the wedding and had none left to enjoy his last night of single-hood with a bang. Charlotte smiled at the pun.
If he'd only budgeted more wisely, the table full of overgrown little boys could be enjoying all the tits and asses they could afford and Charlotte, who had opted for a job where her clothes remained on, could finish out her evening without fingerprints covering every inch of her uniform. It didn't help that the owner's idea of a “uniform” was a skirt that resembled something a school girl would wear, along with a tight, button-up, white blouse. Yeah, like those weren't designed to provide the bar's patrons with walking fantasies, she thought dryly.
Charlotte moved on from the table, grateful that the night was nearly over. “Just one more hour and I'm out of here,” she comforted herself. She moved around the room, checking to see if customers needed refills or another order of wings, and then headed back to the kitchen to hand over two more orders for the evening. She could survey the bar from her position just outside the kitchen. It was the part of her job that she loved; watching people come and go, seeing the play of expression on their faces, guessing why they're celebrating or drowning their sorrows in drink. While she was in the crowd, she couldn't see what was going on around her, but from here, it was the ultimate improv—reality TV at its best. It wasn't that she was a nosy person—it wasn't any of her business what was really going on in her customers' conversations—Charlotte was just fascinated with people.
She'd grown up as an only child, with two professional parents who spent a great deal of their time working. When she was young, it wasn't uncommon for Charlotte to wind up eating dinner with the babysitter, and then once she was old enough to care for herself, eating entirely alone. She used to eat in front of the television; not to keep up with her favorite sitcom or drama, but to watch the news. It made her feel better to know that the people on the television were actually out there somewhere. When her parents passed away in a plane crash just after her seventeenth birthday, Charlotte waited for something to be different. They had gone away for an anniversary vacation and on the day they were expected home, they never arrived. It wasn't until Charlotte was dining that evening in front of the television that she saw coverage of the crash on the news.
Day after day, she continued with her usual routine. She didn't miss her mother tucking her in at night—her mom never did that. She didn't miss tossing a ball around with her dad—he didn't have time for that. In the days, weeks and months following her parents' deaths, she made her own food, stayed on top of her own homework and tucked herself in at night—just like she always had.
Charlotte shook her head to dispel the sad reverie, and as her mind cleared, she noticed a new figure sitting in the darkened area of the bar. It wasn't odd to have new customers, and he probably wouldn't have caught her attention if he hadn't been staring back at her with a piercing gaze that she swore he was using to try to see into her soul.
She was accustomed to her fair share of ogling; at five foot, eight inches with a model's figure, attention from men, and even a few women, was an everyday occurrence. Her flaxen hair shimmered even in the poor lighting of the bar, and her big, stormy blue eyes captured almost as much attention as her long, slender legs and full breasts.
Even when she met the stranger's gaze, he didn't turn away, and the combination of a thrill and a chill ran down her spine. She knew she should be wary of the stranger; blatant attention like that was often a warning sign that the creep might be waiting outside after work. But for some inexplicable reason, she wasn't scared. And then, seemingly of their own volition, her legs began to propel her forward, moving her slowly toward the table where the stranger sat, still staring. She didn't know why she couldn't help herself—a tiny warning bell should have been going off in her head by now. But, she just kept moving until she stood directly in front of him.
“Hi there. Is there anything I can get for you this evening?” At least as a waitress, even if the guy turned out to be just another creep, her approach wouldn't strike him as odd or inviting. She was just doing her job.
“I'm fine for now. Thank you, Charlotte,” he replied politely, still staring at her intently. She wondered how he knew her name, and then figured he read it on her name tag. She wasn't accustomed to the patrons here being sober enough to bother with reading a name tag. But, as she looked down at her chest, following her mind's train of thought, she froze—she must have forgotten to put her name tag on before her shift started.
“How do you know my name?” she queried, a hint of panic in the tone of her voice.
“I know a great deal about you, Charlotte. And I'd like to know more,” he responded. The accent in his voice threw her off; she couldn't place it from any country she'd heard of.
“I bet you would,” she muttered aloud, beginning to think her “common creep” theory had been correct.
“No. Not in that way, though you are incredibly beautiful,” he said gently. “I mean, I would like the opportunity to learn about who you are,” he clarified, as if that should put her discomfort at ease.
He sounded 100 percent genuine, which made the situation all the more perplexing. Charlotte didn't know what to make of this stranger. By the way he spoke, how he held himself upright and looked clearly at her, she had a difficult time believing he was drunk.
“Yes, well, maybe I'll see you around here sometime.” She didn't know what else to say, and so a casual, uncommitted response seemed most appropriate. It was either that or, “You're creeping me out and I'd appreciate it if you'd leave,” she thought.
“I do not wish to leave. If you'd just join me for a drink, I am sure you'll come to see I am not here to 'creep' you out,” he explained.
The fact that he seemed to be reading her thoughts was disturbing Charlotte even more, and yet she didn't immediately tell him no. What was wrong with her?
“I'm in the middle of work, I'm afraid,” she told him honestly.
“I'm sure no one will mind if you took a break. I've seen you working all evening, and you haven't stopped even once.”
All of a sudden, “Charlotte!” her boss, Michael, shouted to her from across the room.
“Great. I'm in trouble already and I didn't even take the damn break,” she though exasperatedly.
“Go ahead and take five. We've got the floor covered for now,” Michael continued, and Charlotte's jaw nearly dropped to the floor. Michael wasn't the type of boss who was...well, nice.
Uncomfortably she nodded her head and sat down at the stranger's table, though she wasn't entirely sure when she was the one who had commanded her legs to lower her to the seat.
Her boss, her body with a mind of its own tonight, and the potentially-telepathic stranger sitting across from her; Charlotte was beginning to wonder if she was dreaming—or living in an episode of the X-Files.
“What's going on?” she queried, certain at the least that something wasn't right here. As she spoke, she looked up at the stranger.
Even sitting she could tell that he would stand nearly a foot taller than her. She looked closer; something wasn’t quite right about his features. The stranger had ridges on his forehead and markings along his hairline d
own to his neck. She couldn't make them out, but they seemed to shimmer iridescent. He had incredibly defined, chiseled cheekbones, and a hard jawline. His eyes were gently slanted and he had incredibly long lashes for a man. His dark hair was long, too, falling just below his shoulders, and she could just barely see the tops of his ears peeking out, suggesting they angled away from his head—sort of like Will Smith's ears, she thought wryly.
He didn't look like any man she'd ever seen before; every one of his features was exaggerated; some men might have a strong jaw or prominent cheekbones, or eyes that really stood out, but never a combination of all these things. But, he was beautiful—a solitary masterpiece unlike any other.
“Thank you,” he said.
“For what?” she asked, confused. When he didn't respond, but looked at her knowingly, “You heard that?!? But, how is that possible?”
“Why would you suppose that such things are not possible?” he queried back to her. But, as intelligent as Charlotte was, she couldn't find a logical argument.
And then he spoke again, an edge of frustration in his voice. “I wish I had time to do this another way—to woo you tenderly, I would like that very much—but I’ve been gone too long. It has taken me so long, and while I know you cannot possibly understand, I have come here for a reason, Charlotte. And it turns out, that reason is you. And I’m more glad than you can possibly imagine,” he explained cryptically.