Alien, Mine

by Sandra Harris

  He raised himself, not without difficulty, to his feet.

  “Right, where’re the treats?”

  “She ate them.”

  “All of them?”

  Dovzshak nodded.

  She sighed. “Alright, we’ll get some more, but you have to make sure she doesn’t get into them.”

  His reply was borderline querulous. “How’m I supposed to do that?”

  “Get a grip, soldier, I’ll show you. Now remember, it’s discipline and then praise, lots of praise, and patting when she’s done something well. Right, we’ll get some training treats and then we’ll start with sit and ‘no’, or maybe we should start with ‘no’.”

  That evening after a culinary extravaganza and a number of embarrassing speeches extolling her virtues, Sandrea maintained a defensive position in a corner of a huge reception room. The cream of Alliance society glittered around her and for a fleeting second she thought longingly of the quiet ducts of the Bluthen asteroid. At least there all she had to do was survive, not—ugh—socialize.

  “So, Ambassador.” Councillor Hognan invaded her hideout and offered a delicacy. “How are you?”

  She squashed her immediate reaction to repel all boarders and accepted the treat.

  “Fine, thank you, Hognan, and you?”

  His richly covered paunch quivered to a suppressed laugh. “Well, very well, thank you.”

  “I know you have already accepted the apologies of the Council, but I would like to express my personal regret at the position you were forced into.”

  She shrugged. “Don’t worry about it. Some good came from it.”

  Hognan rubbed his thumb along his index finger, twirled the stem of the cut crystal flute between the fingers of his other hand, and stared into his drink.

  What’s he really want?

  “I believe General Mhartak has asked for your Eternal Monogamy.”

  Ah, here it is.

  “Yes.” Her gaze turned to the object of their conversation.

  “Excuse my forthrightness, my dear. I do not wish to seem indelicate, but are you sure you wish to pursue an intimate relationship with a being not only outside your own race but whose skin is so dissimilar to your own?”

  Mild offence and surprise held her tongue for a moment. “Is it me or him you don’t approve of?”

  Hognan eyed her with calm regard. “Neither, my dear. General Mhartak is greatly honoured by our people and you have become their darling.”

  Darling? Hell, somebody has been seriously misinformed.

  “I am concerned only,” he continued, “that you have not explored your compatibility fully.”

  She returned her gaze to Eugen standing halfway across the room and answered the Councillor’s misgivings.

  “On my world, Hognan, it takes a lifetime to fully explore a couples’ compatibility. If you’re in it for the long haul, you accept your partner, warts and all. You may rest assured my feelings for Eugen Mhartak will not change.”

  “That is all I hoped to hear, Sandrea. I wish you happiness.”

  She granted him a smile. “Thank you.”

  “Well, Ambassador, if you will excuse me, I must circulate.” The look he gave her before ambling away clearly said in her official capacity she should too.

  She girded up the loins of her mind and sashayed into the crowd in the most ambassadorial manner she could attain. Close to midnight, a much-loved hand took possession of her elbow and a deep voice offered, “Would the Ambassador care to retire for the evening?”

  She did not need to be asked twice. With a speed that impressed her no end, Eugen escorted her around the dignitaries it was essential they pay their respects to before leaving, then propelled her out to his waiting hoverjet.

  On the hour’s flight to Eugen’s place in the mountains, Sandrea took the opportunity to power nap. The changing engine resonance of landing woke her. She wriggled upright from her slumped position in the co-pilot’s chair to peer through the forward screen. Eugen touched a switch and golden light spilled from several large windows of a sprawling lodge nestled into the harbour of a semi-circular bluff.

  “Oh, Eugen your place is lovely. Are you sure you don’t mind me scattering my desert roses around?”

  “Our place, my heart, and, no, I look forward to having your possessions everywhere.”

  “You might not be so eager when you see how messy I can be.”

  His big body leaned over her and he scooped her from the chair. Serenity and anticipation hummed through her as his strong arms held her close and carried her inside. She ran a hand over the hard, wide planes of his chest.

  “It will be lovely to be here when we’re not at the front. What was that, Eugen?”

  “My heart?”

  “You made a noise, a funny strangled sound. Put me down, I’m too heavy.”

  “That was not the cause for my . . . discomfort,” he said, striding into a softly lit living area. He released her legs and folded her close. “My heart, I am indescribably joyful that you have agreed to share my life, but . . .”

  “But?”

  “It is out of the question for you to accompany me when I return to Kintista. It is far too dangerous.”

  A number of replies crowded her mind. No shit? probably being uppermost.

  “I know, Eugen. Don’t forget my front is a hell of a long way from the Alliance one. I’ve been on both and survived both. If you think I’m letting you go back there without me, you’ve got another think coming.”

  “Do you have any idea what I go through, seeing you in danger?”

  “Probably much the same as I do. It’s no picnic for me, either, watching you charge into battle.”

  “Kintista is a military base, only military personal and—”

  She pressed her lips together and smothered a chuckle as realization sank into Eugen’s features. His muffled “Damn!” confirmed her victory and she finished the sentence.

  “And government officials with clearance. I believe that includes ambassadors.”

  Her fingers walked up his chest. Sweet pleasure brought a smile to her lips. Eugen growled soft and low. She kneaded the hard planes of his pecs and pressed against him. He moved to clasp her hands, but she danced playfully out of his reach.

  “Uh-uh, keep your hands to yourself, General.”

  Joyful emotions danced through her, swaying her body in languid, sensual movements. She locked her eyes with his and bestowed him an immodest smile.

  Mhartak’s hungry eyes devoured every inch of his beloved woman. He bathed in the joy of simply being alive that shone from her.

  “Well now, my General.” She sauntered to him, “I think it’s time we established a few ground rules.”

  Mystification blanketed his understanding. “Rules?”

  “Ah-huh.” She trailed a finger across his chest then over his shoulder blades as she circled him. “You will remain motionless until I give you leave to do otherwise.”

  Her whispered breath feathered into his ear, sparking a blazing, erotic dance of his senses. Hunger pooled into a throbbing arousal and he inclined his head respectfully.

  “As you wish, my dear.”

  He knew he’d consigned himself to divine torture and relished the thought.

  She leaned close, lips almost touching his, and whispered, “Good.” Her hips weaved back and forth across his, tantalizing his hardening length. Her fingers began a slow unbuttoning of his shirt. His hands trembled at his sides and he fought to obey her order as her tongue slid, her teeth nibbled, and her lips kissed each inch of him she exposed. She reached the last button, slid her hands beneath the shirt onto his shoulders, down his biceps then swept the garment away. His skin softened into erotic receptiveness as the heat of her warm, full mouth expl
ored his chest then kissed her way around to his back.

  The soft swish of her removing a garment stirred his arousal in the increasing confinement of his trousers. Her naked breasts pressed against the flare of his shoulders. Desire tore a gasp from him. She wove her arms around his waist and reached for the fastening of his pants. Gentle, caressing hands smoothed them down his thighs and calves, and then the catches of his boots released.

  To her urging, he lifted each foot and she divested him of footwear and then clothes. His blood pressure spiked and his breaths came in short, shallow gasps. She moved to stand before him and his avid gaze drank in every sinuous move as she stripped the remainder of her clothing then stood, voluptuous and responsive, before him. The hard peaks of her nipples invited his attention and his mouth watered, longing to caress them with his tongue. But he did not move, knowing she would push him until he could no longer obey her directive. In the meantime, he would enjoy every delirious moment.

  She took a step closer and reached for one of his hands. She lifted his palm to a breast and, her own small hand over his, urged him to mould and stroke her. Her head fell back and her eyes closed. A groan of intense desire ripped from the centre of his being as she took her pleasure from him. He struggled to maintain a rigid stance. Her lids raised on eyes heavy with sensual promise.

  She smiled and reached for his other hand then drew him toward her as she backed away. In the doorway to their sleeping chamber, she halted.

  “Get a good hold of the architrave, dear,” she instructed.

  He gripped the ornamental moulding of the doorway and gazed down at her. Stretched out like an offering to a pagan goddess, he had never felt so aroused in his life. Her gentle touch on his extended body triggered an avalanche of molten rapture through his quivering muscles. Frissons of erotic delight cascaded over his skin and skipped down his nerves.

  With tormenting slowness, her lips teased the outline of his every profiled muscle. Bolts of craving zapped through his system. Her caresses became possessive, blanketing his torso with soft bombardments of desire. His hands clenched so tightly he had no doubt he’d scored the wood above the door.

  His chest rose, hard and fast, before she began a slow, enthralling, torturous journey downward. Her tongue slicked across his lower abdomen, teasing spears of anticipation arrowed straight into his engorged arousal. A groan of exquisite pain sang from his throat. The petal softness of her cheek brushed his shaft while her soft, auburn locks tormented his sensitive head.

  The sight of her preparing to confer the most ardent of kisses almost buckled his knees. Every inch of his skin blazed with erotic pleasure and pleaded for submission. He ground his teeth together and commanded his body not to erupt.

  The first lick of her tongue almost reduced him to cinders. She probed over his ridge, her teeth sliding over the crest, the unrelenting suction ripping pulsing waves of pleasure from his very core. His breath caught in his throat and his back arched as every fibre of his being focused on the intense bliss welling in his body. He tried to speak, to warn her that this would end soon if she didn’t stop, but all he managed was a strangled moan.

  Sandrea heard Eugen’s beseeching warning and eased her caress. She savoured the taste and texture of him on a slow withdrawal, then ran her hands over the bunched muscle of his thighs and rose. A smile of pure love sat with profound serenity on her lips.

  “Keep your hands where I can see them, Eugen,” she said, and let him make what he would of that order.

  His palms captured her breasts as she manoeuvred him back and down into a reclining chair. She pushed his shoulders and he half-sat, half-lay at her mercy. Her eyes drank in the play and ripple of muscle over his chest and abdomen. She leaned into the strong, gentle hands that captured her flesh, let her teeth rake over the skin of his neck, and straddled his thighs.

  “I love you from the depths of my soul, Eugen Mhartak,” she breathed into his open mouth.

  One of his hands snaked up to thread into her hair.

  “You are the light of my life, dear heart,” he murmured before claiming her mouth with toe-curling passion.

  Her back arched and Eugen’s lips trailed down her body. His lips closed over a nipple, declared ownership. The suctioning tug of his mouth pierced her with sharp, exquisite sensations and her eyes closed to revel in their splendour. His hands gripped her hips, hoisting her up to hover with tantalizing seduction over the broad crown of his desire.

  “Oh, Eugen,” she breathed, and he thrust upward, expanding her tight centre with burgeoning heat and strength.

  She rocked on him, rode him in a slow dance of intimate unification. She gripped the massive plates of his chest, leaning into them to support her trembling body.

  Mhartak allowed his hands free rein to roam Sandrea’s body. The rocking rhythm of their bodies increased and she cried out, urging him on. The sound of her wild, loving voice pushed him to the end of restraint. His body bucked as he battled for control.

  Without compromising their exquisite union, he bound her to him and rose from the chair. She wound her legs round his hips, creating such inflaming friction his knees almost buckled as he carried her across the room into their sleeping chamber.

  Breathing hard, he lay down on the covers and held Sandrea above him. Her moans and writhing pushed him closer to the edge. He flipped her over and pinned her to the bed with his hips and chest.

  “Be still, my love.”

  Her head thrashed on the pillow.

  “I can’t,” she gasped. “Eugen, please.”

  Her nails raked down his back while her hips twisted into his, demanding satisfaction. She convulsed, gasped, groaned, and tore his restraint apart. He surged forward and back, again and again, chasing her lead. Her entire body shuddered and clenched beneath him. Her inner muscles wrung waves of splendour from him and he followed her into that profound, shattering paradise.

  Mhartak opened his eyes and sighed. She would have to have her own detail, even when she was with him. No doubt Corporal Shrenkner would request that duty and quite possibly Kulluk. And Dovzshak. Damn, he could see he was about to lose half of Alpha. His eyes roamed over the sleeping form of his beloved woman. There was no doubt she was an asset to their cause and had saved their bacon, as she put it, a number of times.

  He smiled. Maybe the Bluthen deserved to have her inflicted on them. Yes, he would release Sandrea, Shrenkner, Dovzshak, Kulluk, Dexter, and the new laraxdon on the Bluthen and it would serve them right. He pulled a blanket over them both and snuggled spoon fashion into his mate. She wriggled closer in her sleep, her bare bottom brushing him enticingly, her sigh content.

  Yes, indeed, the future looked quite rosy.

  Biography

  Born in the far north of Australia, yearly cyclones, floods and being cut off from civilization for weeks at a time were the norm. An outrageous imagination helped occupy Sandra’s mind.

  An abiding interest in astronomy and a deep-seated need to always see the good guys win naturally influences her writing. Not satisfied with the amount of romance in science fiction novels she set out to redress the balance.

  She currently lives in sunny South East Queensland, Australia, with her husband and Cavalier King Charles Spaniel, who doesn’t seem to realize she comes from royalty and should act in a more appropriate manner.