Jaxar

by Nancey Cummings

  She melted into him, knocking over her wine glass, but that wasn’t important. What was important was the way his kiss drove out every sensible thought in her head and she wanted more.

  “Yes,” she breathed.

  In one swift motion, Jaxar pulled her into his lap, knocking over her chair.

  “Vanessa,” he said again, in that chocolate-coated-lickey tone, “what happens on the third date?”

  “We determine if we’re sexually compatible.”

  Jaxar growled and it went right to the center of her being, aching and warm. “Yes. Let’s do that now,” he said.

  Chapter 15

  Vanessa

  He stood, cradling her in his arms, and her feet caught the table’s edge, slamming her toes directly under the tabletop.

  “Ow!” she hissed. Stupid open-toed shoes.

  The table rocked, then tipped over. Dishes, their meal, and the wine spilled on the floor. That didn’t matter because Jaxar moved with urgency to the counter. Her ass landed directly on the cinnamon rolls.

  “Oh shit,” she said, jumping up and putting weight on her foot, which led to more cursing.

  Jaxar swept the counter clean, knocking over the dirty dishes used to prep their meal. The cinnamon rolls landed face-down on the floor. While Van lamented the loss of their dessert—homemade cinnamon rolls, made with love—Jaxar tugged on the strappy heels but they would not budge.

  “I’m fine,” she said.

  “You are not fine. You’re wearing inadequate footwear and now you are injured.” He tugged again, as if determined to pull her fuck-me shoes off by brute force alone.

  “Use the buckle, Jaxar.”

  Growling with frustration, he yanked on the buckle until the leather strap snapped.

  “Or not. That’s cool.”

  Gently, he lifted her injured foot. Unbuttoned at the bottom, the dress fabric fell to one side, showing quite a bit of thigh. “Can you move your digits?”

  “Yes.” She wiggled a toe.

  He frowned. “It could be broken. Terran bones are fragile. We will go to Medical.”

  “It’s not broken and I’m not going to Medical for a stubbed toe.”

  “Your toe is red. That is not the correct color.”

  “So you’re an expert in my color now,” she said, clearly flirting, her foot in a sexy alien’s hand and her dress falling open, exposing all the goods.

  Magenta burned onto his cheeks. Her breath hitched in her throat. He gulped, the cords in his neck working a swallow.

  “I have a cream,” he said.

  “I bet you do.” She flinched. Why did she say that? She was so bad at flirting.

  “In my bedroom.”

  “Go on.” Why couldn’t she stop talking? Maybe if she spread her legs more and hitched the dress all the way up…

  “I’ll be right back.”

  Van sighed, tugging her dress back down. Dinner was on the floor. Her ass had sat on the cinnamon rolls—rest in peace, you beautiful buns—which meant her only dress was probably ruined. Her overprotective alien boyfriend was convinced she broke her toe, and now he ran away because he glimpsed her panties.

  This was not how she envisioned the evening.

  Jaxar returned, holding a small container. He unscrewed the lid and gathered a generous glob, the medicinal odor practically radiating off the goop. “This is good for inflammation.”

  “Oh, Mahdfel trade secrets. I thought you guys healed too fast to need muscle rubs.”

  He worked the cream into her foot and she nearly melted off the counter. “Yes, and inflammation is part of the healing process. This speeds it along. Feels good?”

  “Feels wonderful. Don’t stop.” The cream warmed, giving a tingling sensation. The sharp odor wasn’t so bad, almost like peppermint. “This isn’t how I imagined saying those words.”

  He paused. “But you do want to say them.”

  She groaned as he dug his thumbs in. The tension in her back just vanished. The man was a genius with his hands. “Not on the first date.”

  “But on the eighth?” That grin again, white fangs against a warm plum complexion. His hands moved up her thighs, tingling with the remnants of the cream. His thumb brushed against the fabric of her already soaked panties.

  In an act of great self-restraint, she lifted his hand from the juncture between her thighs. “Second base only,” she said.

  If he was disappointed or upset, he gave no indication. “What is second base?”

  “Above the waist, under the clothes,” she said, her voice husky with desire. Part of her wanted to jump into bed right that moment and the other, less hormone-driven part of her mind, cowered in terror. Not from him, never, but from being vulnerable with him. This was too fast, no matter what her body wanted.

  “I don’t mean to be a tease, but there’s no rush, right? We can take our time,” she said.

  Jaxar

  Above the waist, under the clothes.

  Terrans had so many rules about courtship.

  The tiny buttons confounded him. He growled with frustration, wanting to tear the infernal things and let the fabric fall to the floor, but one small thought kept his action in check. What kind of engineer, skilled in the manipulation of many delicate, minuscule parts, could not unbutton a blouse?

  “Let me,” Vanessa said as her slender, clever fingers undid the top button with ease. The fabric parted just enough to expose the base of her throat. She paused over the next button.

  “More,” he commanded.

  She sighed in such a manner that made him believe she not merely teased him but enjoyed the surrender as she complied. Good. He delighted in her fighting spirit and when she yielded, the push and pull of it. A very good indication of their sexual compatibility, he’d say.

  The top portion of the dress fell away, exposing her shoulders and two little beige straps. He watched her eyes intently as he ran a finger under a strap, letting the elastic fabric rasp against his skin. He pulled back and let the tension snap the strap back. Her pupils went wide, and she bit her bottom lip.

  Very, very good.

  He nuzzled her ear, nipping at the lobe. Her scent was strong here, green and rich under the chemical perfumes of soap and lotion. She was ambrosial and he hungered.

  Her pulse pounded and he felt the solid, steady rhythm under his tongue as he licked the column of her throat. The taste of her intoxicated him and the cadence of her heartbeat enraptured him. At the curve where her neck joined her shoulder, her taste changed.

  Jaxar pulled back. He wiped the back of his hand across his lips to scrub away the taste. A foul tan substance coated Vanessa’s neck. “What is that?”

  “Oh. Concealer, to cover up my bite mark. I wasn’t sure—”

  He dragged his fingers over the bite’s location. His fingertips came back beige. Using a napkin, he wiped away the substance and did not stop until he uncovered the mark. The scars stretched tight over her tan skin, outlining a perfect bite. Tenderly, he traced the line of scar tissue, wondering how deep the bite went and if it had hurt her at the time.

  “Do not conceal yourself,” he said.

  “I know the bite bothers you. I’ve seen you stare at it.”

  He dragged his eyes away from the pale scar and held her gaze. She did not look away or appear flustered, but her breathing had altered. She was nervous.

  “This?” His finger traced the line of the bite. “This does not bother me. This is your history. I am upset that the male who did this took more time and careful consideration with his bite placement than how he treated you.”

  “Careful? Really? Because it felt like he was trying to gnaw my shoulder off at the time.”

  Jaxar huffed with amusement. “I will make sure you are well distracted when I bite. You will only feel bliss.”

  “Oh yeah?” She wrapped her legs around his hips and pulled him closer. His hardened cock rubbed against the damp fabric of her undergarment.

  “I will mark you here,” he said,
brushing her other shoulder. Tradition, and perhaps instinct, called for the claiming mark to be on the right shoulder, but it was not a rule. Just habit.

  “Not over the other one?”

  “I will not erase your history.” He licked the skin there, letting his fangs scrape the future location of his claim. She shivered. “You will have to wear many off-the-shoulder garments so that all the males will know that two males tried to capture your heart but only one could hold you.”

  Vanessa choked back a laugh. “I’m sorry. I’m not laughing. I know you’re being super sweet and that was the sexiest damn thing I’ve ever heard, but when did you start doling out fashion advice? I spend most of my time in coveralls.”

  “I think you spend most of your time wearing too much clothing, period.”

  She tangled her fingers in his hair, drawing out the moment. “I’m inclined to agree with you.” She tugged on his hair, pulling him down for a kiss. “Do you want dessert? I want dessert.”

  He looked at the ruin of the kitchen area and their meal on the floor. “I should admit that I have regrets, but I do not.”

  She hummed in agreement. “I had my heart set on a cinnamon roll, though. We’re just going to have to get creative.”

  She hopped down from the counter and retrieved the tub of frosting from the cooling unit. Dragging her finger through the sugary concoction, she closed her eyes with pleasure as she licked her finger clean. “Orange and vanilla. So good,” she moaned.

  Jaxar liked date night. Immensely.

  “Come here,” she said.

  What else could he do? He stood patiently as Vanessa smeared frosting across his lips and then licked them clean. “Best cinnamon roll ever,” she murmured.

  “My turn,” he said, taking the tub. Patiently, he spread an even layer over her plump lips and carefully covered the base of her throat.

  She tasted divine. Sweet. A touch salty. Wine and lust and every good thing he believed he’d never have.

  His.

  Chapter 16

  Vanessa

  Two Weeks Later

  Nothing made a person feel quite so useless as clutching a clay pot full of dirt as the ship entered battle.

  The alarm sounded. Van stood planted in the corridor as warriors rushed past her, transfixed by the scene out the window. A ship—she didn’t recognize the design—fired on another ship. Judging from the size, the ship receiving the blows was a civilian cargo vessel. The ship dealing out the damage had a patchwork look that made her think of junkyards and shady mechanics.

  Her mind searched for the correct word. Marauders? Were space pirates a thing?

  She should find a safe spot to wait out the incident, but her feet would not move.

  A dozen smaller vessels appeared, presumably Mahdfel fighters launched from the Judgment. Lights flashed. Van shielded her eyes, unsure what she witnessed until the floor gently rocked. They were under fire. The Judgment. A ship the size of a city. The ridiculousness of the situation proved too much to process and she stayed rooted in place, clutching that damned pot.

  “What are you doing here?” Jaxar asked. A light touch on her elbow broke her paralysis.

  “I don’t know where the shelter is,” she said.

  “Come to Engineering. It is the safest location on the ship.”

  Safe sounded good. Another flash of light. Silently, she counted. When she reached ten, the floor swayed. Out the window, the Judgment returned fire to the attacking ship.

  An eerie internal glow consumed the disabled ship, red and orange fissures opened along the hull moments before the ship exploded.

  A wave of light and debris rolled toward them. Alarms wailed. Jaxar pushed her to the ground, covering her body with his. The ship shuddered. Moments later, debris hit the external shielding. What was not burned off by the shields hit the windows, but the glass held.

  The whole situation was unreal, like a scripted scene from a film playing out before her. She had been in moments like those in real life, not just witnessed from a safe distance, but she had never experienced the strange sensation of floating out of herself before.

  “Are you well? Unharmed?” Jaxar eased off her and pulled her upright.

  She nodded, hand on her chest. Her heart raced but not like she was crashing toward a tunnel. “Did we blow up that ship?” That couldn’t be right. The Mahdfel saved people. They didn’t destroy ships that sent distress calls. “Did we!”

  “The Warlord did not issue such an order.”

  “How do you know?” Those people… gone. She felt helpless, like she was a kid again, alone and on a highway.

  He tapped his ear. “Audio feed. Now, steady breaths. Do you require a medic? No. I will not risk it.” Jaxar slapped at his comm unit on his wrist, calling the medics.

  “I’m okay. Feel,” she said, pulling his hand to her chest. She wanted him to feel the beating of her heart but she needed to feel him, to remind herself that she was not alone.

  He growled, as if displeased at the frantic beating.

  Not alone.

  “Count with me. One, two, three, and take a breath,” she said. Leading by example, she took a deep breath and held it for three beats, then exhaled. Jaxar mimicked her. His agitation appeared to ease as the tightness in her chest dissipated.

  “Oh, no,” she murmured, spying the potted plant. Knocked out of her hands, it rested on its side, the soil half-spilled. Van scooped up the dirt as best as she could with her hands. The leaves did not appear to be crushed. “Esme’s gonna be so mad at me if I kill her plant.”

  “Vanessa. Give me the plant. We’ll set it down here and retrieve it after the all-clear,” Jaxar said.

  “No.” Van twisted away. “Esme sent this. If I leave it, someone will knock it over.”

  “All right. May I carry it?” He cradled the potted plant. “Are you well?”

  She nodded. “Yeah. Just stunned, I guess.” In the past, when faced with a choice of fight or flight, she had always chosen flight. Running kept her alive, so Van was baffled as to why she couldn’t tear her eyes away from the firefight outside the window. Maybe because the marauding ship had to know it couldn’t win.

  “Why did the pirates make that ship explode?” Under fire from the Judgment, the marauding vessel should have been ramping up to jump into hyperspace and flee, not attacking an unarmed cargo hauler. The cruelty of it made no sense.

  “Vanessa, please. Come with me to Engineering. You will be safe there.”

  “I’m fine here.” The fight would be over any moment.

  “Please. I need you to be safe.” He ran a hand up the back of his head, knocking loose the knot again.

  “That hair.” Van stretched up on her tiptoes and grabbed the loose knot. Without thinking, she gave it a hard tug. Their eyes locked.

  Jaxar growled but she knew he wasn’t annoyed. Quite the opposite.

  A hot blush rose on her cheeks and she cleared her throat. “It’s too long. You’re just begging for it to get caught in some gears and if you’re lucky, it’ll only rip out all this pretty hair,” she lectured while she worked his hair loose. Rather than admire how the silky strands slid through her fingers, she focused on gathering it back into a knot and fixing it in place with the hair tie.

  “As long as you agree that my hair is pretty,” he said.

  Van rolled her eyes, not rising to the bait. Pretty was not the word to describe the alien man. He was hot as sin, yes, and stubborn and frustrating. He didn’t listen more often than not, but he watched her with a careful gaze, like she was the most precious thing in the universe. It was a heady feeling for a girl forgotten by her own father and discarded by her ex.

  Powerful. Cherished. Safe.

  She liked it, and she suspected that she liked him, too. More than liked him.

  Jaxar

  Engineering was the safest location on the ship. Jaxar repeated this fact to himself every time he looked up from his screen to confirm her wellbeing. He assigned Fennec to keep her o
ut of the way and entertained. Even knowing that his eager young minion shadowed her could not assuage the worry in his chest. He found himself needing to verify her safety every few minutes.

  Fennec gestured broadly with his hands and Vanessa laughed in response.

  Jaxar found himself inexplicably infuriated. Her laughter belonged to him. How dare Fennec charm and amuse her.

  Huffing through his nose, he scanned the room to determine how many males paid attention to his mate and not the mission at hand.

  Too many.

  A male, young and with a smooth face, watched the interaction and ignored his instrument panel.

  Jaxar threw his tablet stylus at the male, hitting him in the center of his forehead. “Back to work,” he snarled. “Everyone needs to work and stop flirting.”

  Himself included. He ignored the way Vanessa’s eyes went wide and the tilt of her head, as if his foul mood did not intimidate her. He should have put her in his office and locked the door. She would not have been pleased, but she would be safe and no other males would look upon her with greedy eyes.

  Still. He needed to monitor Fennec. The male’s motivations could not be trusted. Only distantly did he acknowledge how he tormented poor old Rohn and his jealousy over Jaxar’s friendship with Nakia.

  “Are you going to give me a status update or should I polish my horns?” The Warlord’s voice snapped at Jaxar through the comm, dragging his attention back. In a crisis situation, the warlord kept the comm channel open for the teams.

  “The debris is interfering with the scans. We can adjust the arrays but improvement will be minimal until the debris is cleared. I need eyes to search for escape pods,” Jaxar said, though he doubted anyone from the destroyed cargo ship had enough time to reach an escape pod.

  “Proceed with the adjustments,” Paax ordered. “What is the estimated arrival for Mylomon’s boarding party?”