Ar'Tok: Book Ten in the Galaxy Gladiators Alien Abduction Romance Series

by Alana Khan

  I imagine Ar’Tok behind me, cautiously inching in, maybe up to his ankles by now. When I turn to see him, he’s not there. Where’d he go?

  Then a huge water animal surfaces at my side with a wet grunt, has the audacity to give my cheek a dripping kiss, and then stands on his feet laughing in excitement.

  “How’d you do that?”

  “As soon as I could slide under the water, I just . . . I have no idea. I think I was swimming.”

  As if the wet kiss wasn’t bad enough, he shakes his head at me, flinging water from his cirr like it’s lethal projectiles.

  “Ah!” I hold my hands up between us which does absolutely nothing to stop the barrage.

  He dives into the water, only inches under the surface, and flutter-kicks away. Pivoting to watch, I feel my face stretch into a smile. I wonder about the Simkin race, did they evolve from the water? Here’s a guy who’s been out of his cell a total of two months, and acts as if he was born for this.

  I inch farther out, so I’m up to my boobs, and just watch him for long minutes as he dives and surfaces. Occasionally he bobs up, waves at me, then submerges again. Although he’s out there exploring, the most dangerous thing I do is try to touch one of the tiny fish bold enough to approach me.

  Half an hour later, Ar’Tok swims to me, stands, and says, “I’m going to teach you how to swim.”

  He’s not playing around—no teasing smile, no abusive cirr pelting me with hard water droplets.

  “Not today,” I tell him firmly. Now who’s the one who doesn’t want to try something new?

  “Okay,” his voice is gentle, his expression open and kind. He’s going to let me take this at my own pace. “I’ll give you a ride.”

  He stands in front of me, his back to my front, and with no further ado, lifts me onto him, so I’m riding piggyback.

  “Put your arms around my neck.”

  My legs surround his waist, my arms drape onto his chest, my breasts are smashed flat against his back. We’re wet and slippery and it strikes me that this is better than any dream I’ve ever had.

  The sun creates shimmering stars on the water, and the sound of the ocean envelops us. We’re both half-naked—he’s in skintight shorts that leave nothing, and I do mean nothing, to the imagination. My one-piece suit, although it’s the most modest one for sale at the hotel store, hugs me so tightly now that it’s wet it reveals my hard-pricked nipples to a casual observer at one hundred paces. And Ar’Tok is not a casual observer.

  The longest of his cirr wind around my arms to anchor me, and off we go. Ar’Tok kicks through the water as we swim farther from shore.

  “Is this safe?” I ask, my wet lips at his ear.

  “Yes. I was out farther than this a moment ago.”

  How is it possible that he’s such a strong swimmer? I’ve never been this good at anything the first time I tried it. Well, maybe programming. Dad told me a million times I was a natural.

  “This is magical,” I murmur, my mouth so close to his ear I’m sure he hears me.

  “Yes,” he agrees, still kicking us through the water.

  I don’t know if he understands the depth and breadth of what I’m saying, so I elaborate. “You in my arms, your wet skin under my fingertips, the sun ricocheting off the water. This is divine.”

  He flips so fast I barely have time to panic before he’s treading water, holding me safely in his arms in the bridal position. We’re face to face. I can feel his warm breath caress my face. Without bidding, my tongue snakes out to catch the shining droplet of salty water hanging precariously from the tip of his nose.

  We just gaze at each other, ridiculous grins on our faces. Is this what all the books are about? Was every love story ever written penned about this? This amazing feeling? Was every love song ever sung about this? Because my tummy is swirling and my heart is thumping and I feel overwhelmed with . . . I can’t say it. I can’t use the word.

  “Don’t wake me,” he husks into my ear. “Don’t wake me from the best dream of my life. I’m afraid I’ll wake up in that cell again—that all of this was the product of my imagination.”

  He pulls back, so he can look me in the eyes. “I’ll tell you one thing, Star. Even if this is a dream, it’s the best part of my life. Nothing could compare to this.”

  His lips sink toward mine and he takes my mouth. In the past, he’s been gentle, maybe even tentative. Right this minute, though, there’s nothing tame about him. Maybe it was conquering the zip-line under the canopy of trees, or maybe it’s his ability to swim like a merman, but this male is kissing me like he’s not going to stop until he steals my breath away.

  My hands tangle in his cirr, which return the favor by clutching onto me like they’ll never let me go. As if I wasn’t pressed close enough to him, he pulls me tighter, his tongue exploring me, savoring my taste as I’m savoring him. All I can detect is salt and flesh and liquid warmth.

  The back of my mind vaguely wonders what would happen if a leviathan shot up from the seas and did backflips over our heads. Would either of us notice? We’re far too engrossed in each other to pay attention to anything but this, right here, right now.

  My core is hungry for him. As if he can read my mind, he rearranges me, splitting my legs wide and nestling me against his rock-hard cock. This pulls a gasp from me as my eyes flare open. How can I live through this without bursting into flames?

  “Tonight,” I promise. “I can’t wait for you any longer. We have to be together tonight.”

  “We will,” he agrees as he rocks us together. Between his movement and mine and the rhythmic swaying of the sea, my passion ratchets past the point of no return. Need—the pure desperation of wanting this male—blasts through me.

  My hands move to his hard buns, pressing him against me with even more force. “Yes, right there,” I say when the placement and rhythm are perfect. Squeezing my fingers into his shoulders as I ride him, I crush against him hard enough to hurtle over the edge of pleasure.

  “Ar’Tok!” My passionate scream is carried off over the waves and out to the next continent. “I bit your neck,” I apologize when I realize what I did in the throes of passion. To make up for it, I kiss the red spot, then lick it.

  “You must be dying for release,” I say as my hand sneaks between us and stealthily slips inside his shorts.

  “Yes, I am,” he says, grasping my wrist and placing it back on his shoulders. “But I can wait until tonight in a proper bed.”

  “Tonight,” I promise.

  Chapter Seven

  Star

  There are only so many times a girl can ignore intrusive pings on her comm before she opens her eyes in the morning. I squint at the device on my wrist using the time-honored technique I’ve developed over the years. I pretend that if I don’t open my eyes all the way I won’t wake up all the way. It’s never worked, and it’s not working today.

  There’s been a flurry of communications from the females on the two ships. I keep scrolling and see dozens of comms. What it boils down to is that a group of them are going to get mani-pedis in half an hour.

  A few texts are directed to me personally.

  Star, say yes. We all want to spend some time getting to know you, says Anya.

  This will be fun! Brianna says.

  The best part is that the guys are coming with us. You absolutely MUST keep the secret that this is not something Earth guys do. We all told them it’s a couple’s thing. Bring Ar’Tok! This is from Aerie, the female who helped me negotiate this vacation.

  What’s a mani-pedi? I ask.

  I get a flurry of responses.

  It’s da bomb.

  It will be off the chain.

  It will rock!

  It will be the epitome of chillaxing.

  None of you answered my question. Will I like it?

  Yes.

  Yes.

  Yes.

  Will Ar’Tok like it?

  Totally. Unless you tell him it’s only for females.


  OK. I respond with a shrug. What do I wear?

  Like you were on the Fool. No need to dress up, although Savannah recommends boots. Tell your guy to wear cargo pants and a t-shirt, I think several of our males loaned him some. Meet you in half an hour outside your room.

  I smack Ar’Tok’s glorious ass which is hidden under the covers, but I know from memory it’s definitely glorious.

  “Wake up. We need to be on the other side of our door in half an hour. Fun is right around the corner.”

  I see his brow, bunched tight on his forehead. Shit, the poor guy is never going to find satisfaction at this rate.

  As I’m brushing my teeth, I review the events that kept us from being intimate last night.

  Rula, the driver who seemed ever so concerned with our comfort yesterday, did not sit around with nothing to do while Ar’Tok and I played in the ocean. He was evidently friends with the barkeep at “Paragon’s best beach,” which, I’m sure, is why we wound up there.

  By the time Ar’Tok and I slogged out of the water, our digits pruned beyond recognition, Rula was hammered. Since neither Ar’Tok nor I had a clue how to fly a hover-limo, we had to wait for him to sober up.

  Once he seemed lucid, Rula drove ninety minutes in the wrong direction. Ar’Tok and I dragged into our room around three this morning.

  “I want to be clear-headed and awake when I sheath myself in you for the first time,” Ar’Tok had said as we arrived at our room.

  By then, I was so tired his words didn’t even sound sexy, though they and the lusty look on his face should have made me want to drag him to bed and rip his clothes off. Actually, I did drag him to bed, just to sleep.

  “Ar’Tok,” I call as I turn on the shower, “I think we missed a memo.” Yuck, my skin feels dry and sandy and sticky. “Even though we were in the water all day yesterday, I think we were supposed to take showers when we got home.”

  “Lesson learned,” he calls through the door. “Is there a reason we’re leaving our room today? I thought we had something very important planned.” Even though I’m in the shower, I imagine his eyebrow waggling in a sexy statement.

  “Fun is on the agenda. You’re going to love it. The girls promised we’d both love mani-pedi’ing. All the guys are coming, too.”

  “What is it?”

  “I’m clueless.”

  Half an hour later, there’s a whirlwind of second introductions in the hallway because no one could expect me to remember everyone’s name. A few minutes after that, we’re in the uber fancy nail salon off a long hall from the main entrance of the Multi-Pleasure.

  Mani-pedi, I’m told, is short for manicure and pedicure. A lovely female of a race I’m not familiar with, super-thin with an emerald green wig, helped me into a contraption where my feet are currently soaking. Ar’Tok is adorably ensconced next to me, his eyes bright with excitement as his hot-pink wigged attendant hunches over his feet.

  We’ve overrun the ‘spa’, as I’ve been instructed to call it. The women all look at home and are laughing and joking with each other. Each male is dutifully sitting next to his female with a bemused look on his face.

  Who do I vote as most out of place in this shop? I’ve narrowed it down to two. My first choice is Dax, who is huge, bearded, and not only soaking his feet, but has his face covered in ‘curative’ mud.

  “It’s definitely a thing, Dax,” his mate Dahlia scolds. “She’s doing me next. It makes your skin feel fantastic. Don’t worry, she’s working around your beard.”

  The runner-up, though is Zar, sitting like a king on a throne, his furred, feline feet in the bubbling tub of water beneath him.

  “Feels great, doesn’t it?” Anya asks, her hands being attended by not one but two royal-blue-wigged assistants. “Okay, ladies, on the count of three I want you all to hold up your polish colors. I might want to change my mind.”

  There is a vast array of colors, from pale pinks to corals to turquoise. I hold up the little pot of clear I found hiding at the end of a row of bright colors.

  “You can’t bogart the clear, Star,” Brianna scolds. She’s ensconced between her twin mates, Axxios and Braxxus, looking comfortable and happy. “All the males will need that.”

  “Why?” Humongous Dax demands. “I had my eye on that purple.”

  “Yeah, why?” Shadow asks, looking as masculine as a bionic alien can look. “There’s a green over there that matches my eyes.”

  Petra, his mate, giggle-snorts, clamps her hand over her mouth, and tries to squelch her amused squeal.

  “What?” Shadow asks, his face serious as a heart attack.

  “You want moss-colored nails, my love, you’ll get moss-colored nails. You’ll look handsome,” Petra says.

  An hour later, we’re all admiring our good taste as the polish finishes drying. Most of the couples decided to each pick a color and then have every other nail painted. Ar’Tok picked Happy Skies Blue, I picked Sunshine Yellow, and we each have every other finger and toe painted blue and yellow.

  Dahlia and Dax wave their fingers at us. Every other nail is purple and gold in honor of the local holiday.

  “How can you not love a planet that celebrates Blessed Peace Day?” she asks as she wiggles her fingers.

  My favorite couple isn’t a couple at all. Brianna and her two males picked red, white, and blue, which I’m told are the colors of the American flag. Even though three colors on ten toes isn’t symmetrical, it looks bodacious.

  “Let’s get going!” Maddie, the chef, says in her unique singsong way. “We have less than an hour to get to the studio.”

  “What studio?” Ar’Tok asks without giving her eye contact. He can’t drag his eyes away from his gorgeous toes.

  “Have you never watched the Peripatetic Epicure show? It’s all over the Intergalactic Database. He travels the galaxy in search of the most exotic foods, then whips them into complex and delicious dishes.

  “He’s here on Paragon, doing only six shows. We were lucky enough, with Star’s pull, to snag tickets to be in the audience. The tasting audience,” she adds as if we just found a winning lottery ticket. “Chop-chop. Get your asses moving.”

  We climb into a chartered hover-bus and are on our way within minutes.

  “What about all the new gladiators? Where are they?” Grace asks, holding her mate, Tyree’s hand.

  “They’re all lodged on Fornication Island,” Zar informs us levelly.

  “What?” I ask. I know they all must think I’m so unsophisticated, but really!

  “There are many names for it,” he explains, “but that was the most tasteful.”

  “Most tasteful?” Okay, I’ll admit, I’m scandalized.

  “Yeah,” Dax informs us. “Other names for it are the bang district, bone voyage, pump province, the sex sector. Some of the lodgings are the Come Cathedral, the Hot Hotel, the Intercourse Inn, the—”

  “I think we get the drift,” Zar interrupts. “The gladiators were recently released from brutal enslavement and want to have fun. They’ll meet back with us at the appointed time.”

  I was told that Beast recently went back to his owner’s gladiator training center and rescued fourteen fellow gladiators. They’re all trying to adjust to their newfound freedom. Some want to return to their home planets, others are going to stay with us.

  Us. That’s an interesting term. I’m not really a part of this happy bunch of escaped slaves. I belong on the Misfit as soon as the oxygenator is fixed. After sneaking a peek at Ar’Tok, I look back at my sunshine and happy skies nails and feel a pang of sadness at the thought of never seeing him again.

  I’d known I was lonely on the satellite. After dad died, I cried for weeks. Then I threw myself into my work, not only completing every job that came my way, but actively searching for more. It kept me from noticing how quiet and empty the Misfit was. But now, after all these people, and the laughter, and joking, and the sweet male at my side, the quiet echoes of my home will feel desolate.

  We pull up
to a warehouse that looks a lot like the place I met with Ergonn.

  “The camera person has been secretly paid off to blur our faces before the episode airs,” Zar announces. “Don’t worry about the Federation.”

  Maddie’s smiling and laughing as she leads us off the bus. We’re all given identification lanyards that allow us into the VIP section.

  Staff escort us into the cavernous room, which is tall with open rafters up above and hundreds of bleachers mounted in stepped fashion rising to the far reaches of the building. The vid set is up front, with a well-equipped kitchen located under glaring lights. There’s a rectangular wooden table, maybe twenty feet long and five feet deep, that separates the kitchen from the bleachers. Our contingent is escorted to this table.