by Kym Dillon
“You are thinking too much. There will be time enough for that tomorrow," he said. “Come here.”
He gestured to his uninjured side, and she went where he bid, coming to rest in the curve of his arm, her head pillowed on his shoulder. He smelled fresh, as if he had showered before coming back to the room, and without thinking, she nuzzled his bare skin. If she closed her eyes and couldn't see the color, she would have thought he was a human man, though one taller and better built than she had ever been this close to.
What the hell was she doing? Cuddling with her kidnapper? Holy Stockholm syndrome, Batman. As much as she wanted to take a stand and hop off the bed, go back over to the couch and sit with her arms crossed over her chest glowering at him all night, she felt much too comfortable tucked next to him.
Zan chuckled, a deep rumble she could feel as well as see. “You feel wonderful,” he murmured, his hand coming up to stroke her cheek a little.
“You sound drunk,” she retorted. “I should know, I spent enough time wrangling them.”
“Not drunk at all,” Zan protested with something that seemed shockingly like a pout. “That damned medic shot me up before I could stop him. I've withstood ten times this without needing to stop and rest.”
“All that and humility, too,” she teased. She caught herself with a frown. This man was her captor, had kidnapped her. Why the hell was she teasing him?
“There is no room for humility when others are placing their very lives under your leadership. I suppose that's something you are going to have to learn to put up with. I'm not so bad, I swear.”
“Why?” Stella asked. “Why am I going to have to learn to put up with it? What are you planning to do with me? Why the hell did you kidnap me from Earth? What are your plans with me? Personal slave, indentured servant, interstellar whorehouse?
Later, she would think that she would never have gotten the answer that she did if he were fully in control of faculties. Whatever that medic had given him, it had taken away Zan's ability to be in any way diplomatic or tactful.
Stella had no warning for what came next. Her head hit the mattress with a soft bump as he pulled his arm from underneath her. In nearly the same movement, he rolled on top of her, his weight held up on the elbow of his left arm. His weight pressed her into the mattress, her round breasts flattened against his chest with only a thin layer of lace between them.
“I hoped to find in Terra an upra-sa to serve my purpose, but in finding you, my little star, I have discovered so much more than that.” His voice was thick and almost slurring. “So much more. You are not here simply to serve a purpose, you are here because I want you. No, I need you. Because, the minute I saw you, I knew you were the one for me. And you are. Mine. Of all the prizes that I have taken, of all the riches from all the raids, there are none more precious than you. None more precious, nor more lovely...”
Okay, that was way better than an alien whorehouse.
She opened her mouth to argue with him, but then he dipped his head down to hers. His mouth slanted over her own, his tongue sliding past her lips with the calm assurance of welcome.
Stella knew that she would never be able to beat him in a fair fight, but as drugged as he was, it would be no fair fight. She could roll up, punch him in his wounded side, leave him bleeding and groaning for touching her, for taking her from her home against her will.
She did none of that.
Instead, she gave herself up to the kiss and the sincere sweetness of it. It was as if she had telegraphed her desire to him, and his body molded to hers. One thickly muscled thigh pressed its way between hers, and she slid one foot along his leather-clad calf.
The kiss started out as sweet, and she could feel the way the pressure of it intensified. His tongue dipped in and out of her mouth in imitation of what was on both of their minds, and his had slid lightly up her body from hip to belly to breast.
Stella had never been the most confident about her body under the best of times, but right now, none of it mattered. What mattered more was the way her nerves seemed to wake up at his reverent touch, the way her entire body arched towards him, wanting more, just short of begging for it.
“Ancestors, but you are beautiful,” Zan murmured. “I had thought Terran women would be special, but I must admit, I wasn’t prepared for your beauty. So soft and dainty and sweet.”
Stella could have laughed. With her large breasts and curvy hips, and extra forty or so pounds, no one had ever called her small or dainty before, but she supposed to Zan, who towered over her, she must have been. Instead she gasped as his mouth moved to the crook of her neck, licking and biting greedily until he found the pulse that beat there. He kissed the spot as if it were sacred, as if he was privileged to have touched it.
“You're so strong,” she found herself murmuring, and Zan laughed.
“With you by my side, I shall be,” he said cryptically.
Before she could ask him to explain himself, he resumed kissing her shoulder and neck as one hand slid along her face. She trembled when she felt the pad of his thumb brush over her lower lip. Somehow, even that light touch sent a shiver of thrills through her body. Then, he pressed his thumb against her lips, and when she opened her mouth, he slipped inside. She was startled at the pleasure drawing lightly on his flesh with her teeth and her tongue. The motion awakened a deep need inside her, and for an instant, she thought of the solar heart, pulsing with contained heat and potential.
“Never seen any as lovely as you,” Zan murmured, and his mouth moved down to her breasts. Instead of removing the bra or pulling it down, he mouthed her nipples through the t-shirt and coarse lace, the warm wetness of his mouth eliciting a moan from her lips. She was shocked at her own response. She had never thought that she was a woman who was all that aroused by her breasts.
Now though, as he suckled on her scarcely covered nipples, she could feel herself finding the sensuality of it all unbearable. It had never been her own body that was insensible or frigid, she realized in a rush. It was all about the partner she had chosen. Matthew hadn’t been very giving in the sexual department. He hadn’t been very giving in any department. Yet, she wasn't sure she had chosen Zan, not really, but right now, she sure as hell didn’t want him to stop.
He lifted his mouth from her breast and smiled when she made a noise of protest.
“Beautiful little star. Don't worry, I shall give you what you like. I consider it an honor to please you.”
He nuzzled close to her again, this time lifting her t-shirt so he could lap and lick his way down her belly, his motions slow and completely sensual. He nuzzled her soft skin, making her groan, and her hands found their way into his thick hair. The locks there were sleeker and more silky than she would have thought, and as he kissed the curves of her hips and thighs, she whimpered, threading her fingers deeply through his dark purple hair.
She noticed his motions slowing and slowing even more. There was more and more time spaced between the tender kisses, and then, as she looked down in surprise, they stopped entirely.
“Zan?” Stella asked in confusion, and she got no response. “Zan!”
In a panic, wondering if the medic had missed something that might have killed the commander after the battle, she squirmed and struggled and rolled him onto his back. A loud snore followed by deep, heavy breathing caused her to throw her head back on the pillow and chuckle.
She stared at the ceiling as her body came down from its aroused state. It was several minutes before she could even think straight. When she did, the incredible, frustrating, amazing, shocking, unbelievable events of the day ran through her head. The most shocking of all was that her heart felt as if it were a battleground, and at the center of it all was the man who slept by her side.
“What the hell am I doing here, Zan?” she asked quietly, but the sleeping man had already given her her answer, she realized. He had said he needed her, but what did that mean?
Shaking her head, she curled against him. Right now
, she decided, she was not in any state to pull back from comfort or pleasure.
She drifted off into a fitful sleep, curled against the Ferexian commander, and the last thing she thought before slipping into unconsciousness was that he smelled amazingly good.
5
There was no way to determine what time it was when she woke up, and blearily, Stella realized that it wouldn’t matter anyway. There was no reason to think that the crew adhered to a twenty-four hour Earth day. Hell, for all she knew, they stayed up for a hundred hours at a time before sleeping for five.
It was oddly distressing to realize that not only were there no windows in the ship, but that there was no reason for there to be. There would be no sun to greet, no birds or people. There was only the darkness of the vacuum.
Zan still snored lightly at her side in the same position in which he had fallen last night, and Stella’s frustration returned. She needed to get answers, and as soon as Zan woke up, she was determined to do it.
Right now, however, he was out like a light, and as much as she was tempted to ‘shake and wake’ him, the conversation they were going to have was best done after he’d had a full sleep and recovered somewhat. Instead, Stella made her way to the little bathroom area, relieved to find that things worked much the way she thought they would.
In the shower, she couldn't find any soap, but when she turned on the spray hesitantly, she was rewarded with a jet of hot water, just cool enough to be tolerable. She rinsed herself off thoroughly, but then she noticed a little switch next to the tap. When she flipped it, the water sputtered slightly before changing abruptly in quality. She gasped for a moment because the texture of the water had somehow turned oddly thick, almost oily. It should have felt disgusting, but then she realized she could smell the slight wood smoke scent she had detected throughout the apartment. It must be the alien equivalent of soap. She hesitated for only a moment, before stepping back under the showerhead. After a rinse, the strange substance, she was left sparkling clean.
Of course, now that she was clean, the last thing that she wanted was to put her dirty clothes on again, at least at the moment. Well, if Grape Ape was going to kidnap her, that meant that he had to clothe her as well. It seemed only fair.
Zan was still sleeping when she poked her head into the bedroom, and for a moment, Stella allowed herself to be soothed by his steady breathing. She still had no idea what was happening to her, or how she was going to get out of this mess and get back to Earth. She felt as if she should have been more panicked, more afraid. Perhaps she was in a state of semi-denial. Yes, that might well be it. She was suppressing the fear somewhere underneath the calm, and it would all come boiling out later.
Right now, though, she needed clothes.
She padded softly to the wardrobe in the corner, and she inspected the clothing she found inside. There was nothing that would fit her, of course, but surely there was something she could borrow. Rifling through the clothes hung up inside, she saw a something that looked like a breastplate made out of a thousand small glimmering green scales, and more tunics of the kind that she had seen Zan wearing earlier.
Impulsively, Stella pressed her face against the clean clothes where they hung in the closet. There was the faint wood smoke scent again. it was becoming inextricably linked in her mind with the man who was sleeping just a few feet away. She found herself nearly overwhelmed with the urge to climb back in bed with Zan.
Sometimes, even I don't know what I'm thinking, she thought ruefully before turning back to the closet.
She was startled to find something towards the back of the wardrobe that was in her size, but when she tugged it out, she made a face. It was flimsy and transparent, a particularly vibrant shade of turquoise. It was less a nightgown than it was a piece of underwear, and there was a fringe of what felt like cheap white fur all the way around the hem. It was obviously not meant for the commander of the Righel. No, it was feminine and much too small. It surprised the hell out of her when a surge of jealousy shot through her, and Stella grimly thought that she would far rather go naked than wear that thing.
She shoved it to the back of the wardrobe, and in the end, she found a soft beige shirt, sleeveless like so many of the other tops in the wardrobe were. Unlike the others, which were designed for heavy use and outdoor wear, this tunic was soft to the touch, more like a light suede or velvet. When she shrugged it on, it fell past her knees, but it was perfectly comfortable, even with no underwear on underneath.
Stella was just wondering what she should do next when there was a soft chime at the door. For a moment, she wondered if she should wake Zan, but then the door slid open, and an enormously tall figure stepped in carefully, carrying a covered tray.
“Uh, hello,” Stella said softly, suddenly more aware than she had been a moment before that she was entirely naked underneath her borrowed tunic. “Are you the nurse?”
“No, not at all,” said the alien with a chuckle. “I'm Kall, the cook's assistant.”
Kall had to be at least four or five inches little taller than Zan, but he was terribly thin. There was a ruff of green feathers around his neck and his shoulders, and though his face was fairly human in some respects, his nose and mouth jutted forward in a beak-like fashion and his eyes were like black oil drops. Despite his strange looks though, he appeared kind, regarding Stella with politeness and courtesy.
“I see the commander is still asleep. Shall I set it on the table here?”
It took Stella a moment to realize that she was being addressed.
“Oh, um, me? I guess do whatever you would do with it if I weren't here...”
Kall shook his bald head, his ruff raising a little as he did so.
“It is a meal for you and for the commander both.”
“Oh, thank you, that sounds amazing, I'm so hungry...”
She hadn't noticed the hunger gnawing at her belly until the mention of food, but once she did, it was impossible to ignore. She hadn't eaten since well before she met up with the Righel and its commander.
Kall drew off the cover of the food, and Stella examined it with interest. There were thin, delicate slices of some kind of meat, as well as a white tuber drizzled with a nearly black sauce, and there was a pile of something that looked a great deal like carrots if carrots were a soft indigo.
“This looks—amazing,” she smiled at Kall. “Maybe you could tell me a little more about what it is I’ll be eating? I'm new here, you see, and I never thought I’d be eating anything from a planet other than Earth. There are actually so many different foods from around my own planet that I have yet to try...” It suddenly dawned on her that she may never again have the opportunity.
As it turned out, though, it was the exact right thing to ask. Kall had a passion for food that reminded Stella of Terani's passion for engines, and soon he was seated on the couch, telling her all about the fitfit plants that grew large, crisp white tubers under the ground, all connected to one another. He showed her how to slide the slices of bazdil meat under her tongue and slice of fitfit root on the top to get the most out of the mingling of both flavors, and try as she might, she had the hardest time getting the hang of it. She giggled when time and again, they fell aside.
“I guess I'll just have to enjoy this the human way,” she admitted, and Kall shook his head.
“No, that won't do, let me try...”
She opened her mouth wide to let him place the small slices of food into her mouth, but apparently they had been carved with someone larger in mind. Both of them giggled at the failed attempt, and that was when Zan appeared.
He didn't speak. He simply loomed in the doorway between the living room and the bedroom, utterly naked, brows furled with an expression of fury on his face.
Kall reacted first, lurching off of the couch, his ruff fully fluffed out in stress and alarm. He was stumbling over a mouthful of apologies, but none of it seemed to be getting through to Zan, who stalked closer.
Alarm rose in Stella’s throa
t. She was familiar with the look and the posturing. She’d seen it many a late Friday or Saturday night at work, guys who’d done a little too much imbibing and felt ten feet tall taking that stance right before the fists started flying. She couldn’t draw her eyes away from his manhood dangling heavily down his thigh, thick, and a slightly darker purple than the rest of his skin tone. She had a feeling, though, that any fight that Zan started was going to be far worse than anything a drunk frat boy could pull.
He reached for Kall, who was backing towards the door, and Stella knew that she had to act. She acted on instinct rather than anything rational, the same instinct that might have gotten her killed.
She wrapped her arms around Zan's waist, and laid her head against his firm chest. She could feel his breathing slow as he calmed slightly. She knew that if he truly wanted to go after Kall, that there would be nothing that she could do that would stop him, but for now he paused. That was all that mattered.
“Kall, I think you better go,” she said, and she was startled by how level her own voice was.
The cook's assistant looked between her and Zan nervously. Zan still never said a word, his eyes focused intently on Kall's face. For a moment, Stella thought that Kall would simply fall to pieces at the idea of even tacitly disobeying his commander, but with a quick and respectful salute, he ducked out. The doors closed with a hiss behind him, and Stella slumped back on the couch in relief. When Zan loomed over her, turning his dark eyes her way, she realized that her problems were far from over.
“What the hell were you doing with that piece of slime?”
“Don't call Kall that,” Stella said indignantly. “He was just showing me how to eat this food the kitchen sent up for—”