by Cara Bristol
He slung the pack he’d been carrying onto a boulder and extracted a bar of soap. “Here,” he offered.
“Thanks.” She grabbed it and, with as much poise as she could fake, ambled to the river. She squealed as cold water lapped at her ankles. Behind her, Marlix chuckled. While wading in, she twisted to glare him, and then the bank dropped off, her feet fell out from under her, and she plunged into an icy bath. She came up shrieking and flailing. Marlix laughed. Tara secured her footing on the smooth riverbed, hip-deep in water. She had dropped the soap, but it floated, and she snatched it before the current could whisk it away.
Tara fought temptation to lob the soap at his smirking face. “You-you—” She squeezed the bar so tight, it shot out of her hand again. He threw back his head and roared. A flock of birds roosting in the trees took flight with a panicked caw.
She stood there, shivering with cold, outrage coursing through her until epiphany struck. She had never heard him laugh with such abandon, as if he’d thrown off all fetters. He had needed this outing as much as she, Tara realized. In that moment, he was no longer Alpha, no longer Parseon, no longer a kidnapper, but a man. A dangerously sexy man.
When his revelry dissipated, Marlix swiped at his eyes, then yanked off his shirt, toed off his boots, and stripped away his pants, transforming before her eyes once again into Alpha. Naked, standing on golden sand against a wooded backdrop, his essence was revealed. Masculine. Primitive. Predatory.
Tara’s mouth dried. Marlix did not lumber as many large men did, but he padded to the water, the personification of grace and power. Muscles contracted and released as he moved. His shoulders spanned a wide breadth; his swinging arms bulged with muscles. A mat of hair covered his chest and arrowed down to his cock, nestled between lean, sinewy thighs.
He waded into the river with minimum splash and no fanfare, uttering not so much as a hiss as he submerged. He arose with his dark hair plastered and gleaming against his scalp. Eyes as golden as the sand glowed and sparked with vestiges of mirth.
Abruptly he presented his back. “Wash me,” he commanded.
“I thought this was supposed to be my bath,” she said but lathered her trembling hands.
“But you are not bathing,” he pointed out.
She set the soap on the top of a boulder. Taking a deep breath, she flattened her palms against Marlix’s broad back. Water had cooled the top layer of his skin, but from underneath he radiated a fierce heat. She glided her palms over his expansive shoulders, noting how his torso tapered to a perfect vee. In circles, she spread lather over his skin. Down, down she followed his spine.
The water lapped at her abdomen but only reached to his thighs, exposing his ass. She resoaped, and then washed his buttocks, relishing the firmness of his high, tight cheeks. Oh, the sweet temptation of retaliation. To slap him just once. Just once. Who was she kidding? She wanted to scorch his ass, but one strike would be all she’d get before he would upend her and set hers afire.
Would once be worth it?
She scooped water into her cupped palms and dribbled it over his shoulders, back, and buttocks, watching as the soap trickled over his skin.
Marlix spun around. “Do my front,” he ordered.
Between his height and the width of his shoulders, he seemed to block out the sky, and she stood on trembling legs in his shadow. Water had curled the hair on his chest and abdomen into whorls. His cock, erect now, grazed his abdomen. She gulped and raised her gaze from his erection to his face. Twin suns blazed.
As if she bathed an Alpha warrior every day, she soaped his shoulders. Gone was the layer of chill; his skin radiated pure heat. She lathered the mat of chest hair, and could not resist curling her fingers in the whorls. Her thumb grazed a nipple, and Marlix hissed.
She glanced at his face and then, with mischief tickling her mouth, circled the nipple. Marlix’s growl shot straight to her sex. Her pussy and clit contracted.
Her stomach fluttered with nerves and desire as she resoaped and wrapped her hands around his cock. Satisfaction coursed through her with his sharp inhalation. Captured in her palm, his erection throbbed. Maintaining a tight grip, she stroked his length from tip to root, noting with awe her fingers did not meet around his girth. She should have known. He’d been inside her. Filled and stretched her.
Capped by a bulbous smooth mushroom head, his erection jutted straight without curving.
A soldier at attention. A warrior in manner and form. She smirked inwardly, unaware her face reflected her thoughts until he growled.
“Something about my manhood amuses you?”
Oh, the temptations he presented her with today! But a hint of vulnerability within the glowering depths of his eyes tamed her sense of mischief.
“I’m enjoying touching you,” she responded honestly. “You have an awesome cock.”
A hint of pink tinted his cheekbones, and he averted his gaze. Just when she thought she had him figured out. Her heart softened at his embarrassment.
“I did not expect a Parseon male to be circumcised,” she commented, striving to control her breathing.
His gaze collided with hers. “They are not. Only Alphas.”
Another mark setting him apart from other males.
She continued to stroke his erection, sneaking glimpses of his face. He appeared stoic, almost stony except for the small muscle that twitched in his cheek. She swirled her thumb over his cockhead and teased the meatus, imagining the slipperiness was caused by precum and not soap. She recalled the taste and texture of his cum, close enough to Terran to be identifiable, yet different. Sweeter. Like nectar. Without warning, she scooped a cascade of water over his cock to rinse away the soap.
“Monto! That is cold.” He flinched.
“You’re a big, tough warrior. You can take it.”
His eyes glittered. “I think I will take you instead.”
She widened her stance to keep from pitching forward into the water under the force of the current and her desire. “Do your worst, bad boy.” She was proud of the sass in her voice. And grateful Mother Nature had departed for another month, leaving her free to explore her options.
“I do not understand these names you call me.” Marlix grabbed the soap and lathered his hands. His large palms covered much more area than hers could, and he worked briskly, efficiently, yet sensually, to wash her shoulders, her arms, her hands, her fingers, and…holy, fucking mother of mythological deities, her breasts.
“They-they are nicknames. Terms of…” She trailed off. Endearment, she’d been about to say.
He cupped a tit in each hand, his tug on her nipples sending zings of pleasure through her, but it was his look of concentration, of satisfaction, that wreaked the most havoc with her senses.
Marlix’s chest rose and fell; his own breathing, like hers, had increased. His eyes glittered with devilment moments before he released her and splashed her chest. She gasped, and her nipples, already beaded, tightened further.
She squealed with surprise when he lifted her and deposited her on the edge of the boulder. He began at her feet this time, using his soapy hands to massage, transforming ticklish areas to erogenous zones. Every place he touched seemed to be hardwired to her sex. A brush on her instep—a pulse in her clit. A stroke on her calf—a contraction in her pussy and womb. A slide up her inner thigh—all systems fired at once.
He nudged apart her legs, and he explored her sex, gliding over and between swollen folds, circling the hood of her clit, teasing the opening of her pussy. Need spiraled. He sought her gaze and smiled. She recognized payback but also serious sexual intent. Amber had darkened to caramel.
She shrieked as a wave of icy water hit her aroused sex. He grinned. “I can play too, Earth girl,” and she realized with shock her Alpha baboon kidnapper had bestowed her with a nickname.
But she had no inclination to ponder the significance, because he was fingering her sex again, baring her clit to the gentle flicks of his finger, rubbing between her folds, an
d then easing into her slick channel. His teasing strokes created delicious friction. She rocked against his hand as tension built, and ecstasy rolled toward her. She squeezed her eyes shut and flung her head back. “I’m going to come.”
An icy blast of water hit her sex. “Noooo!” she yelled, a string of curses rushing to her lips. She’d been so close! “Fu—” He cut off her words by plundering her mouth with a rough kiss. From his initial awkwardness, she’d gotten the impression Parseons did not engage in mouth-to-mouth contact. What he lacked in technique, he made up for with enthusiasm, and she lost herself in the touch, smell, and taste of him.
He resumed stroking her clit, and sensation climbed faster and higher until she once more hovered on the brink of orgasm. Marlix shifted, and she stiffened, expecting another icy blast, but she found herself lifted off the rock, and then his massive, hard cock prodded her entrance.
Impaled her. His fingers bruised her ass as he gripped her cheeks and thrust into her. He kissed her again, nipped and sucked her throat, bit her shoulder
Tara’s whimpers mingled with his growls as he pounded into her, and then stars burst behind her eyes in ecstasy. His cock jerked within her, jetting a gush of his cum. His bellow harmonized with her cry, and another panicked flock of fowl took flight.
* * * *
A day of surprises. Marlix extracted a thin blanket from his pack and spread it over the ground, then presented lunch—small slabs of meat held between two slices of panna. Sandwiches. A couple of pomes. And a clear flask of something that could be…beer? The big baboon had packed a picnic lunch.
Naked, Marlix sat cross-legged on the blanket and patted the ground. “Sit,” he said. “Are you hungry?”
Her insides melted into something gooey and soft. “Famished,” she said, not trusting herself to utter more than a single word. She armored herself by dressing first and then sat where he’d pointed. He handed her a sandwich and a flask.
“I had this the other night at an alerina. It is good. Try it.”
“Thank you,” she said, and took a sip. As she’d guessed. Beer. She eyed the food, the blanket, the beauty of the secluded beach, and then the man beside her. Her mouth dried. “This is almost like a date,” she joked.
“A date?” Marlix raised his eyebrows.
She sighed. Really, he should have attended more briefings. “In the olden days on Terra, when a man liked a woman in a romantic or sexual way or both, he asked her to go someplace with him so they could talk and learn about each other. Often they shared food together.”
“Oh.” He bit into his sandwich and chewed. After swallowing, he said, “This would be a date, then.”
She grabbed her flask and gulped down a mouthful of beer. In what galaxy did kidnapping equate with courtship? He’d snatched her out of her shop and had held her captive, and just because he slapped two pieces of bread together he assumed everything would be copacetic? But emotion swelled. He likes me! Her heart fluttered with the giddy pleasure of an adolescent schoolgirl crushing on an idol.
She stared at his handsome face. He had stolen her, hidden her, and yet his lack of pretense, his admission imbued his behavior with an artlessness that was somehow…almost…innocent by its ignorance. It was as if he held strong feelings for her but did not know what socially appropriate behavior was.
She should loathe him, wish for his actions to be met with a swift and harsh justice, yet when she delved into memories of her captivity to fuel her anger, she extracted the time he’d sought medical attention for her, his comforting her when she’d cried over her attack on Terra, his horror when he’d thought he’d injured her, the sexual pleasure she’d experienced with him. And now this. A picnic. A date. When had a man ever gone to such lengths to impress her?
Now twenty-nine, she’d become jaded before she was out of her teens, but through Marlix’s unfamiliarity with Terran ways, she saw the universe for what it was, still raw, inchoate, often brutal, yet filled with incredibly sweet possibilities.
Her relationships with Terran men had been a meeting of equals, partnerships in which decisions were carefully weighed. Permission requested. Courtesies observed. Disagreements discussed. Negotiations sealed with handshake kisses. Fair. Equitable. Boring. Sterile. Cold.
Even when she’d been with someone, she’d felt alone, had never experienced the connection or comfort that would allow her to let down her guard to share even a small measure of her burdens. She’d been a teenager, just a child when the death of her mother had left her to care for herself. She’d managed, succeeded beyond anyone’s expectations—but her victories had echoed with a hollowness. Tara didn’t want to become a kept woman, and damn sure not a slave, but she’d be lying to herself if she didn’t admit that there had been times when independence had seemed less like freedom and more like an encumbrance.
She pressed her fingers to her temples as if that could stem the heretical thoughts. She took another drink of the beer but found it difficult to swallow the ale or reality. Tara wedged the flask into a depression in the sand beneath the blanket.
She fortified her resolve with a deep breath. “If you like me so much, you should release me.”
His chest rose and fell. “I should. But I cannot.”
“Do you intend to keep me forever?” Hope and dread tangled.
“Forever is a long time.” He scanned her face. “Are you unhappy with me?”
To her consternation and confusion, she wasn’t. But one thing had become clear: if she did succeed in making a getaway, she would have to leave Parseon, because Marlix would hunt her down. She would be forced to abandon her business and return to Terra. Her adventure on the alien planet would end, and she would never see Marlix again. Tara didn’t attempt to fool herself that the former pained her more than the latter.
Was that why she hadn’t chanced an escape? Urazi didn’t watch her all the time.
You would have been on foot, alone in a dangerous land without money, food, or water. Without a good head start, Marlix would recapture you, punish you.
Those were the lies she used to rationalize her inaction.
“I wish you would allow me more freedom. I’m a prisoner in the cottage. It is like being in solitary confinement.”
He settled his gaze on her hair, her arm covered by the sleeve of the shift worn backward. “You would draw too much attention, raise too many questions.”
“You explained all that. Genetic mutation, the marking by a Terran.” She repeated the story he’d given to the Enclave guards.
“Sentries are not chosen for their intelligence,” he said. “Others will not be so easily fooled.”
Tara sighed. She bit into her sandwich.
“I will try to find a solution,” he offered. “What would you do if you could leave the hut?”
Escape. Her chest constricted with despair as she contemplated the possibility. “I would walk. Get some exercise. Go to the bathhouse. Explore the Enclave. It is a region of Parseon I have not seen.”
“The Enclave is a part few have seen,” he explained. “I myself had not visited until I brought you.” He opened his mouth as if to say more but then closed it. He stared off into the distance. Bleakness descended over his expression, but when his gaze alighted on her again, that Alpha arrogance had snapped into place. “I will not release you. You are mine.”
Chapter Twelve
Marlix left strict instructions with Urazi to guard Tara, then departed the Enclave via conveyance. He pulled it off onto an overgrown lane not far from the tram depot, changed into his Alpha uniform, and reattached his insignia. Leaving the beasts to graze, he caught the high-speed transport for Loraq, the Parseon capital.
His PCD allowed him to communicate from remote locations with the subcommanders of his province, but he did not dare miss a High Council meeting of the Alphas. Though Protocol had calmed violent tribal rivalries among the five factions, nature and old feuds resisted eradication.
Marlix’s conversation with Tara at the river h
ad given him much to think about. He disliked leaving her at this juncture, but missing a convening of the High Council could prove disastrous to his command. Heading off possible usurpation of his territory or curtailment of his power necessitated his presence.
He entered the columned soaring edifice of the High Council and strode across the marble floor toward the main assembly chamber. As he passed an open door, he was grabbed, dragged into the vacant room, and slammed against the stone wall.
“Bring her back!”
Commander Dak twisted his shirt, his face so close, Marlix could feel his breath. Anger ignited, and Marlix shoved at the Alpha, tearing his own shirt when Dak reeled backward. The other Alpha caught his footing and lunged, and Marlix leaped at him. Fists flew. Marlix feinted left, and Dak’s blow whizzed past his left ear, but another clipped him on the temple. A sharp pain lanced his brow and split his skin. Blood spurted.
He jabbed into Dak’s gut, and the Alpha grunted but recovered to target a punch at Marlix’s jaw. He blocked the blow with his forearm, but another aimed at his cheek hit its mark.
Punching and cursing, they pummeled each other until a series of blows and deflections stalemated into a wrestling clinch. Had Dak not kicked the door shut, a passerby might have mistaken them for two men locked in a filial embrace. If not for the blood spilled.
“Where is she?” Dak growled.
His opponent’s bleeding lip filled Marlix with triumph even though his own face had taken a beating. “That is not your concern,” Marlix huffed.
“Do you wish to cause an intergalactic incident? It is bad enough you stole her from the Bazaar in my province, but the Terrans will not approve of you absconding with one of their females. There will be ramifications.” The Alpha’s blue eyes radiated fury.
“Then why have repercussions not occurred?”
“Bring her back!” Dak bared his teeth, and Marlix understood.
His hunch at the onset had been correct. “You have not raised an alarm about the theft of one of their females because your diplomatic relations would crumble into dust.” Marlix pushed and sent Dak sprawling across the room.