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

by Alana Khan

  My mouth is open, panting, while my mind inventories my body, noting there isn’t a square inch of me that isn’t desperate for more.

  My mind knows the sound of gunfire and angry screaming is just a game, but my nervous system is on heightened red alert.

  I can’t control my pout as the hand between my legs abandons its post. Is my marauding pirate leaving? But he slips it between my pants and my skin and slides it ever so slowly past my navel, over my mound, whispers around my clit, and nestles at the entrance of my core.

  “Ohhh,” I sigh, so softly certainly no one could hear me over the sound of scattered gunfire.

  “I told you not to make a sound,” he scolds, his cirr gently yanking my head back. It inflicts no pain, just reminds me he’s the boss.

  I nod, reiterating that he’s in charge.

  “Good girl,” he breathes, “I just might let you live.”

  His hand is still circling, circling, stoking my fire. I squat, not-so-subtly trying to impale myself on that abusive, cruel finger that is driving me crazy. It doesn’t miss a beat, just keeps reminding me it’s right there, in complete control.

  “Little civilian wants this?” he croons as he grants me an inch, maybe less, of the despicable, ungenerous digit.

  I nod and, unable to stop myself, writhe against the brick-hard body lodged at my back like a second skin.

  Absently, I notice there’s less shooting and shouting. It’s been a miracle no one has stumbled into this back corner.

  “Come out, Dax!” Shadow yells. “It’s just you and me left.”

  Despite the drama playing out in the paintball arena, Ar’Tok hasn’t let up on his physical assault. In fact, he ups his game, dipping his finger deeper into me.

  “I can’t bear it,” I whisper. It’s too much. Too intense. As much as I want to come, it would mortify me to do it here where I might shout my pleasure, alerting everyone to what we were doing.

  He pulls out of me, drops the hand that was performing magic on my breasts, and kisses me chastely on my cheek. After dragging my bra over my breasts, he smooths my t-shirt down and takes a step away.

  We both snug closer to the bunker and peek at the action.

  “Are you surrendering?” Dax’s deep voice goads.

  “You surrender!” Shadow calls, insulted.

  “You can agree to share the win,” the owner’s voice booms over the loudspeaker.

  “By Freyd’s balls, that I will not do!” Shadow says on the run as he moves toward Dax and slides behind his bunker on the floor, feet first.

  We hear the concussion of a flurry of paintball hits, as well as a string of epithets that would have shocked me only a few days ago.

  “By Vorhee’s left nut!” Dax’s voice is passionate. “You hit me.”

  “Dracker!” Shadow yells, “You got me.”

  “Who was hit first?” the owner asks. “We might be able to determine a winner.”

  “I think this is our cue,” Ar’Tok says as he straightens and rearranges his hard-on in his pants. He looks me over, tucks an errant strand of hair behind my ear, then pulls me into the center of the room.

  “I believe we win. We agree to share the prize,” he says, then whips his head toward me. “If that’s okay with you?”

  I laugh, grab his hand, and kiss it. “Sharing the win is perfect,” I tell him, my eyes alight with happiness.

  “Did you plan this all along?” I whisper as we approach the exit to collect our prize.

  “I didn’t give a drack about the win. I already won the moment I put my lips on you, civilian.”

  Oh my, there’s something about the way that last word rolled off his tongue, so deep and powerful and sexy. I have a feeling I’ll never be able to hear that word again without feeling an urgent twinge down below.

  “Ar’Tok and Star win?” Savannah’s voice is incredulous. She’s competitive; the win by two underachievers must infuriate her.

  “Well played!” Shadow says as Dax slaps Ar’Tok’s back.

  “Strategy is everything,” Shadow admits as he stares at Ar’Tok’s straining cock, then throws his head back in a hearty laugh.

  Okay, Star, I tell myself, they all probably know what we were doing during the entire battle. And they likely all wish they’d thought of it. I hold my head proudly as the owner formally bestows us with a silver chalice—fake I’m sure.

  “The day won’t be complete until you two drink blanquard from it,” the owner tells us.

  Our eyes meet over the loving cup. That sounds like a lovely idea.

  Back in the hover, Grace decides to lead everyone in a singalong. The paintball excursion must have emboldened her, because she’s standing near the driver, breaking the must-be-harnessed rule and teaching us ridiculous songs.

  Although most of the females seem to know the words, I don’t feel bad, I’m learning them along with every male on the bus.

  “John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt,” we sing, Ar’Tok and I swaying to the music and amused at the ridiculous lyrics. Some of the males, whose native tongues pronounce things differently from American English are struggling, but everyone is laughing and poking fun at the words.

  “Old MacDonald” is enjoyed by all. Perhaps the males can’t picture cows and chicks and pigs, but they’re enjoying the heck out of making animal noises.

  Five stanzas into “The Ants Go Marching” song and Zar, always known for his even temper, complains that it’s boring. Then he prods Anya, his mate, to teach us something more exciting.

  Three stanzas into “99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall” Zar roars, “Terrible!” so loud everyone on the bus stops mid-word until we realize he’s having fun. “Okay, males, let’s teach these females what a true gladiators’ song sounds like.”

  They start singing a song that roughly translates to ‘Charlotte the Harlot’.

  “How about a quiet ride?” Savannah interrupts. It takes her about three repetitions, but the guys eventually get the message.

  By the time we arrive at the Multi-Pleasure, the sun has set and the bus is quiet.

  “I made a reservation for dinner in an hour and a half. Any of you who want to join us are invited,” Anya says.

  “Let’s order room service,” Ar’Tok whispers as he gives me a meaningful look, one eyebrow arched. My body’s still desperate for release from his little pirate-and-frightened-maiden routine at the paintball venue. He’s got to be one step away from crazy from our unfulfilled explorations over the last few days.

  “Aww,” I pout. “I thought we could eat with everyone, then maybe dance until midnight.”

  His jaw tightens, and he silently swallows but doesn’t argue—he’s too much of a gentlemale to protest.

  “I’m joking,” I tell him as I give his cheek a flying kiss. “I know exactly what we’ll be doing in an hour and a half, and I hope it has nothing to do with a dining room packed with people.”

  We exit the hover all talking at once, jabbering about how much fun we all had. The girls all include me in their discussions about what we might do tomorrow. A week ago I never would have dreamed I would have friends, or that they would be as nice as all these women.

  My hand rubs my chest as I watch Ar’Tok get swallowed up in a crush of laughing, joking gladiators as they congratulate him on winning the paintball match. I assume everyone on the bus knows we were making out in a corner somewhere but none of them mention it. They all seem genuinely happy we won.

  “Okay,” I tell the women, “I’ll check my comm and see what you all come up with for tomorrow. Thanks for including me.”

  “You don’t need to thank us for including you. You’re part of our crew now, at least until you want to leave,” Anya reassures me.

  Ar’Tok extricates himself from the clutch of gladiators, grabs my hand, and pulls me to the far hallway, so we won’t ride the lift with everyone else.

  “I couldn’t share you with anyone else for one more modicum,” he murmurs when we’re alone in the lift. He tips his h
ead as he inventories me, raking me from head to toe. “Let’s order room service. I’m starving. Showers. Eat. Bed. In that order.”

  “Okay.” How could I resist a male who looks at me the way he’s looking right now? If he could devour me, he would.

  I kick off my boots, plop on the bed, and fall asleep while Ar’Tok comms the restaurant with our order.

  Chapter Eight

  Ar’Tok

  Star looks cute passed out on the bed, holding the chalice we won for our outstanding paintball expertise. I never dreamed our explorations would go on as long as they did, assuming we’d be hit within minimas. I knew neither of us had a great desire to shoot other people with paint, so I figured the reward of the experience far outweighed the cost of losing the game. But here we are—the big winners.

  Padding to the other side of the bed, I dry my cirr as I look at her beautiful sleeping features. My cock is already hard as I imagine all the intimacies we’ll share tonight.

  I hurry to the door as soon as I hear the muffled knock, then wheel in the cart laden with covered dishes. Other than our tasting game, I’m unfamiliar with anything on the hotel menu.

  “Star? Sweet? Want to sleep? Want food?”

  She startles, even though my voice was quiet. “I fell asleep?”

  “Yes. Clutching our expensive trophy,” I tell her. “I ordered half the things on the menu, but it can wait if you want more sleep.”

  “No.” She sits, wiping stray strands of long, black hair off her face. “What’s on the menu?” She spears me with a pointed gaze, then focuses on the tent my cock is making under the towel slung around my hips.

  “Here.” I hand her the menu. “Pretty much everything on the left column. When we’re done with that, you get what’s under my towel for dessert.” My smile disappears for a moment as I wonder if that was crude. It’s hard to know what’s acceptable after the males sang that bawdy song on the bus today.

  “Hold that thought. Because our water synthesizer was on the fritz for the better part of a year when I was twelve, I’m the queen of the fastest shower in the Procul sector.”

  She hurries into the bathroom, still clutching the trophy.

  “Whoops!” She returns to set the silver cup on the dresser, then scurries to take a shower. Five minimas later, she emerges dwarfed in a fluffy purple robe.

  She saunters to the wheeled cart laden with eight covered dishes, a bottle of blanquard, and an entire cake decorated with flowers so beautiful it should be a crime to eat them.

  Lifting one cover at a time, she inspects the contents of each dish with intense scrutiny. The aromas filling the room rival those we smelled in Jorgan’s hangar.

  “You chose well, Ar’Tok. They look and smell amazing. I’m afraid, though,” she strolls to stand in front of where I’m sitting on the bed, “there’s only one thing in this room I’m hungry for.”

  She holds my gaze as if the planet will quit spinning on its axis if she lets go, then drops to her knees between my feet and undoes the towel tucked around my waist.

  Her pretty lips pop open as she inspects my cock. Her eyes flick to mine, then resume their visual inventory.

  “I’ve never seen one of these up close and personal, Ar’Tok. I’ll admit I perused things on the Intergalactic Database.” Her gaze still hasn’t ceased its intimate inspection. “You’re beautiful, but . . .” she finally breaks her focus and looks at me. “I don’t think this will work.”

  I never thought the differences in our races might prevent our coupling. I take a hard glance at my cock, and remember the tight entrance I was toying with at the hiriashi arena. She’s right.

  I slide my palms along her cheeks and urge her up with a gentle press of my fingers under her jaw.

  “There are other ways two people who care about each other can be close, Star. I’ve given you pleasure several times before. I’ll teach you how to please me. I’ll never hurt you. Never.”

  She pulls back. At first, my eyes flare wide in worry as I wonder if she’s going to throw her clothes on and bolt from the room. Instead, she sits back, her bottom on her heels, and surrounds my ankles with her grip.

  “I’m going to explore,” she announces. Her fear has vanished, and she has an air of confidence. She slowly works her palms up over my calves, past my knees to the meat of my thighs. Her thumbs dig in as she glides upward, getting a sense of which parts of my body give no resistance, and which respond with a sensitive flinch.

  Leaning forward now, her silky black hair tumbles onto my thighs as she inspects me more closely. Sniffing in as her lids shutter closed, a small, close-lipped smile graces her beautiful face. Her nostrils flare as if she’s trying to breathe in every molecule of my essence.

  “You smell better than anything the Epicure cooked, Ar’Tok,” she says. After opening her eyes, she seems mesmerized by the hard cock straining at my hips, not taking her eyes from it for a modicum.

  Dipping her head, she nips the sensitive spot on my inner knee, then progresses up. When her little pink tongue slips out to trace upward, I grunt in appreciation.

  Her eager hand slides up my other leg, bypasses my cock, and presses against my stomach until I’m lying back.

  “Better,” she says. “I don’t need an audience.”

  One slim finger traces around the lip under the head of my cock. I groan and can’t contain my hips from thrusting into the air at just this slightest touch. A purr rumbles from my chest. Not only is it an announcement of my excitement, but the vibration takes my arousal up a notch.

  I grind my teeth together as her deft touch explores my length. When I bring myself pleasure I touch myself hard, with disdain. I was always alone in a cell, knowing the cameras caught every movement. I suspected the guards watched my quiet fumbling for their amusement. At times, they mocked me about it.

  Star’s gentle touch is an awakening. She’s not touching me like I touch myself, in a hurry to take care of business and then move on. Her touch is . . . appreciative, almost reverent.

  “Looking at you makes me wet, Ar’Tok.”

  I’d always assumed if a female got this close to me I would repulse, not arouse her.

  Her palm surrounds me, as much as she can reach around my girth. I feel her skin slide over each of the three thick ridges that surround me just under the head, then move farther down to caress the lines of bumps that trail up my shaft.

  “There are things I want to do. Do I need to ask permission?” her voice is soft and nervous and virginal, even while her hand clutches me more tightly.

  “Whatever you want,” I scratch out through tight lips.

  And then her tongue, the very tip of her tongue by the feel of it, barely grazes my skin as she swipes a drop of my essence.

  “Mmm, I never imagined you would taste like this. So good, Ar’Tok.”

  This seems to unleash something inside her. Her tentative touches, her whispered questions, disappear. The soft silk of her hair slides along my sensitized skin as she tilts her head, then slides the flat of her tongue along one of the lines of bumps on my cock, from base to tip and back again.

  For a moment, my hands move to lodge in her hair, to press her mouth against me harder. Instead, I grip the bedding, give up any need for control, and lie back to enjoy what this beautiful female is offering so freely.

  Her soft touches transform into harder ones as she gets to know the feel of me. The pads of her fingers seem fascinated by the three ridges that ring the top of my shaft. Then they explore the pronounced bumps that march in lines up and down the rod.

  Without warning, her mouth surrounds my head, then presses lower as she groans. The groan isn’t one of disgust or distaste or pain. Her noise is more of a moan, born of pleasure—arousal.

  “Star,” I say on a soft, satisfied bark.

  Her hands work my shaft as her little tongue runs rings around my head. One hand boldly explores my sac. I’m certain she didn’t miss my grunt of pleasure, because now she’s fondling my balls more fir
mly.

  That telltale tingle tightens, signaling I’m about to come.

  “Stop!” I order. I don’t want to defile her perfect mouth, but not only doesn’t she release me, she dips her head lower on my shaft, her hands and lip-covered teeth spurring my orgasm.

  I spill into her, my hands lodging in her silky hair as I groan the announcement of my pleasure. She doesn’t pull away. No, she rides out my spasms with me, cupping my ballsac and coaxing every drop from my cock.