Highlander's Love: Winter Solestice (Against All Odds Series 3)

by Veronica Wilson

  Stacey could only guess at the meaning of the words that fell hotly from Tavos's mouth as he lay on top of her and hammered away hard and fast at her former maidenhood. They must have been the Sarmian equivalent of the Earth profanities that she had for so long dreamed of hearing the perfect boy grunt and groan while working his hardness inside her wet tightness. She joyously received all the humping and thrusting that he had to give her. She whimpered and moaned under him as the beating of his crotch against her mound and the sweet, savage sliding of his prong in and out of her made her entire body quiver. "Oh, don't stop," she gasped. "Oh, please... more... do it more..."

  Pounding into Stacey's depths with youthful fire and fury, never letting up a single beat, Tavos grunted, "Yes... shadaal yes, I will do it so much more. Shadaal, I will do it to you so hard, so deep, so long... Uuuhhh... UUUHHH..."

  Much as Tavos had resisted his heritage, it was in humping a woman that his warrior spirit showed itself. Stacey was almost terrified at how thrilled she was by the sheer savagery of his passion. Every stroke of his long, hard prong inside her was like the blow of some mighty weapon, struck by a conqueror who took her without mercy. She tossed her head back and forth at the sheer intensity of his beating on top of her. She welcomed the feeling that the pleasure of his animal, carnal thrusts would tear her asunder. Tears poured from the corners of her eyes. She groped his body everywhere: shoulders, arms, back, buttocks, thighs, her hands demanding more of his fearsome thrusting. In the midst of pounding inside her, Tavos roared, "Shadaal! I cannot hold it back!"

  Moving like a sexual acrobat, he kept himself sheathed in her channel while rising to his knees. He licked his fingers and lowered them to the place of her greatest sensitivity and began his ultimate assault, strumming at her little love handle while still ramming himself in and out of her. The pleasure was so overwhelming that Stacey grabbed a pillow and covered her mouth with it to muffle her scream, as the greatest ecstasy of all struck thunderously into both of them at once. Where Stacey had felt herself going over a falls, she now felt a wave of ecstasy crash down upon her, even as another wave let itself loose from Tavos's weapon of passion. His own wetness gushed into hers, cascading and flooding into her womb. He made an incoherent yell of conquest—and then, conquered as well, he fell on top of Stacey and was still.

  Stacey lay under Tavos, panting, gasping, sobbing, wet and tingling down below where he was still lodged inside her. In the wake of a first time that she would carry with her every day of her life, she was happy beyond all thought, beyond all expression. She caressed Tavos's body up and down, savoring the sheen of perspiration on his hard male flesh. They were quiet for a time and did not move. At some point she heard herself say, almost breathlessly, "It's still light out. How long can you stay?"

  His head resting on her bosom as if it were a pillow, Tavos replied, "Until morning. Until you must go for your appointment. I will escort you there."

  "How many times can you do it?" she asked.

  Tavos kissed her bosom. His erection had already returned and he was ready to use it on her again. He rose up to meet her face, kissed her, and replied, "We will lose count."

  And Stacey moaned with renewed delight as he slipped his pulsing prong deep into her again.

  Tavos cancelled all of his massage appointments for the rest of the week. He could recover the money in fees for interviews and speaking engagements as a pardoned absconder from the Sarmian wars. He stayed with Stacey for the remainder of her visit, in her bed, lying between her newly slender thighs and making love deep inside her day and night. Stacey Fagan ended up seeing very little of Nirvana Planitia after all. But she did not care, as she did get to see every last centimeter of the body and zazansa of Tavos of Sarma.

  THE END

  Desired by the Alien Warrior

  TESS AND THE ALIEN WARRIOR

  She climbed behind the controls of the floater craft and thought, It's obvious these things were made for a different body type than mine.

  Tess Beckett did not need a body of lean, slender curves for the kind of work she did or the kind of life she led. These days, when having a plump figure was strictly an option and the majority of people did not opt for it, Tess could have easily checked herself in for an afternoon of adipose laser surgery and had done with it. And she had always meant to do so, but it had never seemed terribly urgent. When things were not urgent, Tess always had a habit of thinking, Ah, there's always tomorrow. In her life as a diplomat and a negotiator, other things had always seemed more pressing. There was always some political fire to put out on some planet. There was always some dispute on some world that needed her skill for mediation. There were treaties to be ironed out, or the occasional new sentient species to be welcomed into the galactic community. She was a busy woman and had little time for vanities, especially since her pretty face, bright blue eyes, and long curls of auburn hair—so lovely when she did them into a single braid—were enough to see her through most situations.

  But neither her presentable face nor her gifts for diplomacy had enabled her to defuse the political bomb that was ticking in the Lotar Valley on the planet Sarma today.

  She had dressed more casually for the work than was her custom , opting for a simple pullover shirt and a coverall that lent themselves to piloting a floater better than her body did. Squeezing herself into the pilot's seat of the floater, Tess actually heard herself grunt in a manner that did not befit her dignified position as a diplomat. These quick, hovering craft were built for the use of Sarmians; and these Sarmians, make no mistake, were primarily a race of warriors. Muscular, lean, athletic warriors; people with bodies hers would have resembled if she had not put off that adipose laser treatment. Note to self, she thought. We have really got to get around to working on our procrastination, the very first chance we get.

  The general wisdom held that the Sarmians were long-lost cousins of the human race, descendants of early humans who had been taken off the planet by alien experimenters eons ago. The alien abductors themselves had long since vanished, perhaps done in by the very war that they had bred the Sarmians to fight. At the moment Tess would not have minded a little artificial selection for herself, feeling distinctly uncomfortable at the controls of a craft designed for someone sleeker than she.

  Running her fingertips along the lighted surfaces of the control panel, Tess recalled the afternoon when, to entertain her, one of the pilots here at the regional capital of this sector of Sarma had offered to teach her how to operate a floater. She had spent the last few weeks at the capital, a luxurious place of terracotta-colored domes and sparkling fountains and pools set into one of the mountainous areas of the planet. She had come here to help the Sarmians settle into their new status quo. With their new king, Dantar, ascending to the throne, the time of internecine wars that had divided the planet and taxed its resources was over. It was time for the warring factions, which had fought over the throne since Dantar's father became unfit to be king, to iron out the last of their differences and get on with their new lives. Tess had jumped at the chance to help them do it and left Earth to aid in the negotiations between tribes. That was what had brought her to the Lotar Valley—and that was where she met Rendar.

  The thought of Rendar motivated her to recall more clearly her day of floater piloting lessons. The man was as magnificent as any terrestrial male beauty she had ever seen. He was built as much for pleasure as for battle. The Sarmians had the unusual trait—by Earth standards—of hair on their foreheads in a tapering pattern down to the bridge of the nose. In Rendar's case, the forehead hair complemented the spread of hair across a chest like two shields of hard, muscular flesh and down the rocky road of his abs. These were the highlights of a body of muscle with massively powerful arms, formidable shoulders and legs, and a broad, mighty back that made him look as if he could hold up the mountains of his home like the mythical Atlas holding up the Earth. Judging by what she had seen of him, Tess could only imagine what kind of war club he must have in his
private arsenal, but she shook off that thought as too distracting for the moment. If she could not head off the thing that was about to happen, the universe might be deprived of that wondrous masculinity.

  Recalling what buttons to press to lift the floater out of its spot in the outdoor hangar space of the capital, Tess got the thing off the ground and made it skim its way out from among the other vehicles and into the surrounding terrain. Soon she had it humming over grass and out to the hillsides where the interior of the Lotar Valley awaited. She was grateful that her chosen assignment was in one of the more temperate areas of Sarma. She had heard of some of the fauna that inhabited the desert areas of the planet—like those vicious, burrowing shambleclaws—and was perfectly happy not having to deal with any of them. All things considered, Sarma was a planet as lovely as Earth, in spite of the toll that the wars for the throne had taken on large sections of it. In fact, it was widely believed that contact between Sarma and Earth had unfolded peacefully because Sarma's infrastructure was in such disarray and its resources were so depleted from all the conflict. An interstellar skirmish with these proud, aggressive people was the last thing Earth needed. Besides, with a Sarmian like Rendar there were things so much more pleasing to do than fight.

  Unbidden but not exactly unwelcome, the image of Rendar once again came into Tess's mind. He had the body of a warrior, but his square-jawed face was built for other things entirely. Those dark eyes and that perfectly trimmed dark hair accented features that demanded surrender on something other than a battlefield. As she had helped to hammer out the new peace treaty between Rendar's tribe and their neighbors, Tess's mind had turned again and again to negotiations of a different kind with Rendar himself. The tribal leader had treated her cordially during her stay at the capital. He had escorted her on a personal tour of the Capitol compound itself and been her host for a display of Sarmian battle skills to entertain the diplomats from Earth. The Sarmians were extremely proud of their mastery of combat. It was ironic that they had entertained their human guests with mock battles during peaceful functions, but it was the Sarmian way. And Rendar, clad only in his battle kilt with shield plates strapped to his chest and shoulders, made the most stunning of combatants. Gliding over the field and toward the forest on the floater, Tess recalled the sight of him on this very plain, striding out with sword and spear, leading the men of his tribe in war games. How like a god of battle he had seemed—a handsome, noble god.

  In quieter functions, Rendar had paid Tess personal attention, sitting with her at banquets, telling her stories of the history of his planet and his tribe, fascinating her with the strange duality of his people. The Sarmians were basically as advanced as Earth, but their ways seemed so much more primeval. She ironically found them more "earthy" than the people of Earth, in spite of their having the same level of culture and technology. From talking with Rendar, she had picked up on how intrigued the Sarmians were with their cousins from across space. To the Sarmians, terrestrial humans were everything they were and everything they were not: a strong and hardy but oddly genteel race. Rendar had never said it in so many words, but Tess had always had the feeling that he and his people found Earth humans rather "soft." And by Sarmian standards, they were. There were no women like her among the younger women of Sarma. On this planet, soft and round bodies were the province and privilege of age. To be sure, the magnificent Rendar had never known the intimacy of a woman less magnificent than himself. Tess had never asked him what he actually thought of her. She had the feeling that he liked her well enough, but that his fondness was mostly an appreciation of her manners and her helpfulness. He certainly could never think of her in the same way that he thought of the women of his own world. Tess knew she was a curiosity to Rendar, and that was all.

  And as fascinating as Tess found this leader of his tribe, the one thing she did not want to know about him was how red his blood was in comparison with her own. Depending on the outcome of what was about to happen today, something she had been powerless to prevent, she might just have to face the dread of finding out.

  Now that she was getting the hang of piloting this craft, which ordinarily would be piloted for her, Tess felt confident enough to speed up her skimming path into the forest. She swooped and swerved around trees with bark that resembled the scales of fish, and flowers in shapes and combinations of colors that never occurred on Earth, and grasses in more shades of green than she could count, looking more like the bristling manes of horses than like vegetation. All of these she had admired on previous visits out here, and might have stopped to admire more, if her course and destination were not so urgent.

  She sped her way down along the forested slope of a hillside, the natural beauty of Sarma becoming a blur in her focused eyes. At the bottom of the slope, the forest broke into a broad meadow, on the other side of which lay a hill like the one she had come down. Midway between the meadow and the other hillside, a river meandered its way through this, the heart of the Lotar Valley. On her side of the river, a large gathering of Sarmians had divided itself into two groups. One group huddled around a figure which Tess could not see, but whose identity she could well guess. The other group congregated near a proud, muscled, chest-and-stomach-haired figure clad only in a battle kilt and boots, whom Tess recognized instantly. Rendar looked on with curiosity and concern as Tess lowered the floater to the grass of the meadow, climbed out, and headed directly for him. Tess saw that he was holding a mighty spear with a formidable, leaf-shaped blade at either end. She gulped at the sight of it.

  She reached Rendar's side directly, and for the first time in their acquaintance he looked as if he were not happy to see her. "Tess," he said, more sternly than she had ever heard him speak. “What are you doing here? Why have you come? This is not a matter for off-worlders. Your diplomatic corps would not approve."

  "That's why I didn't tell them I was coming," answered Tess. “And now it's too late to stop me. I want you to stop this. The wars are over, Rendar. This is madness."

  "Nay," Rendar said. "'Tis not madness. It is tradition. You have studied our ways, Tess. You know this."

  "I know there are alternatives. Listen to me. This is a new chapter in your history. You have a new king and you've begun a relationship with a new world—mine. You can learn new ways to do things. I helped you work out a peace treaty with Godan's tribe. Let me help you work out some kind of peace between you and Godan himself. You don't have to do this."

  "For a woman skilled in negotiation," said Rendar, "you are most stubborn. Yes, we must do as we do. The treaty that you helped to strike between our tribes was between the tribes themselves. Each side made concessions for the good of both. That matter is resolved. This matter... is not. It is not about the division of resources or the drawing of territorial borders. It is a personal dispute between Godan and me. His wife is no more. She fell at my hand."

  "Godan's wife was a casualty of war. In what war do people take revenge for casualties on one soldier?"

  "I was not merely a soldier, Tess. I was and I am the leader of my tribe, as Godan is the leader of his. On our planet, matters of personal combat may incur personal retribution, the pursuit of personal satisfaction. I slew Godan's wife. By custom and tradition he may seek satisfaction from me. And by custom and tradition—especially as the leader of my tribe—I am bound to answer his call. This battle needs must be."

  Tess poured all of her frustration and fear, and not a little anger at the whole bloody situation, into her protest. "What is with you people? You talk like poets and you act like... like..."

  Rendar gave her an intense, cautioning look, a gaze to warn her to measure her reactions and select her words with the greatest care. "Yes?" he dared her to finish that sentence.

  She shut her eyes and sighed, choosing discretion in the end. "I'm sorry, Rendar. I just don't want to see you hurt. You've come so far and accomplished so much. You're at peace, ready to make a new start. I don't want to see you lose it all."

  His look softene
d at this. "What we have accomplished has been with your help, Tess. 'Twas your patience, your wisdom, your help and guidance that brought Godan's tribe and mine to where we are now. From the day you arrived on Sarma, I have admired your firm but gentle hand in the way that you have advised and counseled us. I have admired your understanding of history, the history of my planet and your own; and your understanding of the needs that shape our ends. You have shown skill in diplomacy, in speech, in approaching people and encouraging dialogue. You are a true diplomat. As much as you fear for me, I fear for you sacrificing all that you are and all that you have done with your life on my behalf. I ask you to show the same understanding that you showed in our negotiations—and stand aside and let be that which now must be, whatever may come."

  Tess took in his words and found them wise and true. He had expressed his thoughts with the strength of a warrior and the conviction of a leader—but under them was something more. His tone spoke of a warmth earned by time spent in each other's company, a friendliness born from sharing his world and his experiences with her. The way he spoke to her showed respect and appreciation and a genuine fondness. Was she hearing something else in his fondness that was not really there? Was it only her imagination telling her that Rendar had grown to feel something more for her than a leader's appreciation of a diplomat who had traveled far across space to help him?

  Unbidden from Tess's mind came the thought of Rendar taking her in his arms and kissing her. To be sure, she was only reading such a desire into his sincere manner. He could not actually want to do that—not with her. Not with an Earth woman of a size and shape unlike any other woman with whom he had ever shared a bed, a woman who resolved disputes over a negotiation table instead of on a battlefield. It was completely out of bounds, Tess knew, for her to imagine such a thing.