The Quarry Master: A Grumpy Alien Boss Romantic Comedy

by Amanda Milo

Bash’s claws brush me as he moves to roll down the other side, all lovely impatience and crazy eyes. My leggings are stripped from me but stay relatively close care of my leg jewelry’s chain, which they pool and stay caught on once they’re decorticated.

  He goes still when my panties are revealed. They’re plain black cotton. They have a built-in tummy control band that makes my figure look a little bit nicer while I’m wearing them, which a girl always appreciates. I start to tug them off, but Bash puffs smoke and whispers a surprisingly soft, “Wait.”

  I look at him, hulking over me so impressively.

  “I want this off first,” he says and takes the hem of my shirt in his hands and slowly peels it up, sliding a hand under my back to raise me up enough for easy stripping.

  And when the cool fabric of his blankets meets my back, and I’m in just my bra and panties, lying under him like a sacrifice…

  I’m instantly wet. My thighs clench and my toes curl in his bedding.

  Bash’s nostrils flare, his eyes sinking down to my panties like he can smell how aroused he’s making me. But rather than rip my underwear off, he brings his eyes back up to my bra. “How do I remove this?”

  Not take it off, as an order.

  Not shoving it up or down to impatiently trap and show off my tits.

  He wants to be the one to unwrap me.

  I try to sit up to make it easier for him, but when he doesn’t budge, I fall back—right on top of his arm, which curls to take my weight.

  “There’s a clasp,” I tell him.

  Eyes not leaving mine, his fingers find it. I expect him to fumble a little. Heck, I do. Although I manage, just like every woman does when she’s got one arm thanks to biology or injury.

  But he slips the clasp free like he’s got fingers with more magic in them than The Fonz. (It’s probably all the practice he’s had playing with harness buckles, fasteners, and snaps.)

  And then I’m spread out under him, practically naked.

  This is the first time I’ve gotten undressed for a guy without warning him ahead of time what my breast situation is. I’ve found that a head’s up helps prevent that awkward pause during that pretty vulnerable moment when my nipples meet the cold air and the weirded-out stare of whoever I’m with.

  Bash is giving me a stare, but it isn’t a weirded-out one. It’s a starved one. He peels his lips back to reveal his fangs like he’s about to devour me.

  His rough-scaled hands cup my breasts, and if he finds it odd that one side of my chest is shaped slightly different than the other on account of my uneven muscle tone, he doesn’t pause or hesitate or show any outward sign that it matters.

  He’s making me feel… free. I don’t have to worry what I look like or what he thinks of me. To be honest, he’s probably thinking, ‘My mate is an alien,’ whenever he encounters anything that trips him up, and that’s fine. I’d rather be judged according to my species being strange to him on the whole.

  I feel extra vulnerable when he leans in and takes my mouth.

  One of his hands cups my face, swallowing my cheek and jaw, and then he adjusts his stance until he’s kneeling astride me, and his other hand is trying to smoothly slide into my underwear.

  Trying being the operative word.

  I jump when I get grazed by claws.

  “Damn it—did I hurt you?” he asks, breathing hard as he pulls back far enough to focus on my face.

  I feel almost too shaky to speak and I don’t even know why. “N-no.”

  His ears snap forward and he watches me like he’s trying to read inside of me to my soul. “Shh,” he finally says before he growls my name and drags his scaly nose along mine, like a nuzzling caress.

  When he does it again, I realize that’s exactly what it is.

  My legs are restless and I can feel how wet I am and I shift—and as I do, Bash inhales and goes very tense.

  And then he’s back down my body until he’s staring at my panties like I watch cake.

  (That would be with longing, appreciation, lust, and a little drool.)

  Slowly, softly, he drags a fingertip along the side of my belly—and the clawtip that trails behind it makes me shiver, the added sensation heightening my arousal.

  His talon hooks the band of my underwear and eases them down, baring my hip.

  When he stops, I look up into his face. He’s watching me with avid desire. “Ready?”

  Why him asking this excites me, I can’t say. But oh, it does.

  My knees come up, bumping him as he crouches over me and slowly peels my panties down my legs. Like licking frosting off of a cupcake, these things can’t be rushed.

  And then Bash backs up, big hand planting beside me, one talon still poised in my underwear, keeping them stretched just below my knees, and he dips his face down and licks me up my center like I’m his cupcake, and he just has to have a taste.

  My panties disappear. One minute, they’re impeding the movement of my legs. If I wasn’t so aware of the heaviness at my ankle, I’d expect they’d be sailing across the room, but I know they’ve got to be sitting midway somewhere along my leg chain, hanging out with my leggings—

  Bash buries his mouth between my thighs.

  At the feeling of his lips closing around my surprised clit, I shriek and grab his quills.

  Big hands wrap around my thighs, jerking my legs open for him to feast.

  “Bash!” I might squeal. It could be a scream. Let’s just say it’s a good thing he doesn’t have any neighbors.

  He pulls back a little to center himself and his tongue drags up my slit like I’m his favorite flavor of ice cream. “Mmmm,” he purrs into my pussy.

  I shudder and my eyes roll back in my head.

  CHAPTER 36

  BASH

  I prod my tongue at her opening, the taste of her filling me with the madness to consume her and cover her and breed.

  Her knee bangs into my horn.

  “Ow,” she mutters. Before I can ask her if she’s all right, she grabs my other horn with her hand. “No, don’t stop! Don’t stop!”

  I snort, which makes her buck and squeak.

  Creator, she’s pretty, all spread out and wild like this. She’s writhing under me, moaning, “Bash, Bash—please, please—”

  I inhale, loving the fact that I have her like this. Isla is mine. With my deep breath, her scent coats my insides with a tingling warmth. The nodes on my tongue are feverish for another taste of her. It’s not an itch, but it reminds me of one in that it feels like the only way to satisfy the area is to give it good, hard friction. I drag them along her slit up to her nub of ultra-sensitive tissue.

  And I experience sudden deafness.

  At first, I think it’s my body’s reaction—that my senses are so overwhelmed by the flavor of Isla—my mate—that everything short-circuits.

  But panting into the heated area between her legs, I realize I can still hear my thundering hearts, and the sliding sound of the sheets beneath us, and my breaths… I just don’t hear Isla.

  My eyes ride the hills and mounds of her body up to her face to see she’s frozen, hand over her mouth, eyes closed in extended ecstasy.

  Testingly, I rake my tongue over her again.

  She twitches, and her hands fall away and her mouth opens… but no sound comes out.

  I dip my head and capture her nerve-bud in my mouth.

  Isla doesn’t make a whimper.

  I suck on her with the full power to match my disbelief. Yet still—she doesn’t make so much as a squeak.

  I’ve found Isla’s anti-chatter switch.

  Creator, it’s been here, waiting to be activated this whole time.

  Evilly, I grin into her slick flesh and give in to my urge to feast.

  Her voice returns. Eventually.

  She screams my name when she climaxes. I make her scream until she’s hoarse.

  And when she’s whimpering and shuddering beneath me as if I’m destroying her, when she’s pulling my horn and pushing my
head and grabbing my ear, when she digs her nails into the back of my hand where I’m pinning her leg open, keeping her spread for me like a Locerabug—a shimmery little insect with soft, sparkly wings that flutters when it takes flight—I’m in full lust and torturing her sensually has become torture for us both.

  “Isla,” I pant. “I can’t wait to have you.”

  “Fff-finally,” she manages, her teeth chattering as I nose the junction of her inner lips, bumping her bud’s tip that’s hard as a pearl, making her body jump and tense. My saliva coats her swollen flesh, which is good, because I’ve done my best to eat every drop of her body’s entry-easing juices. She’s swollen—as am I—and it’s bound to be a tight fit. I should probably offer her water to replenish herself. At this rate, I’m going to dehydrate her before we consummate our mating. “Are you thirsty?”

  Her pupils are so large, there’s only a silver ring of iris peeking in her eyes. Her brows show her confusion and her lips draw back as if in beautiful pain. “I’ll suck anything you want, just—I need you, put it in please,” she senselessly begs.

  My tail winds around her wrist, jerking her arm over her head, pinning her to the bed. “You’re mine now, Isla. I’m going to ride your body until you sheen with sweat. I’m going to come in your channel until it pours down your pretty thighs. And then I’m going to lick your center clean so we can start all over again.”

  She shudders hard, her eyes falling shut—and she goes limp under me.

  “Isla?”

  Her mane is sticking to her pretty face, sweat beads glistening on her skin as she manages a crazed grin. “I just had my first orgasm from nothing but dirty talk.” Her eyes open, and she looks me up and down as much as she’s able, considering her prone, pinned position. “Well, that and like three hundred pounds of scales, horns, and restraining tail.”

  I sit up and grab the waist of my lone undergarment—and enjoy the way Isla’s gaze fixes on me with rapt attention as I peel the precum-damp fabric away from the throbbing head of my cock.

  Her jaw drops open in something that might be shock… or horror.

  I finish ripping the garment off and kick it free of my legs, my tailblade cracking the floor in my hurry. “Isla?”

  She blinks once, twice. She tries to close her mouth like it’s a struggle. “I’m feeling so conflicted. Am I supposed to wrap my lips around it, or feed it a peanut? I mean, it’s a freaking trunk!”

  I frown down at her.

  She reaches out with one finger like she might pet it.

  I hiss, my whole body shooting through with erotic tension. My erection kicks higher and stays at that angle, like a cocked flagpole.

  “You,” Isla says in a confiding tone to my erection, “would be the highlight of any circus.”

  Teeth bared, mouth open enough for me to be able to suck in air, I’m concerned and confused. “You called it a trunk. Why? My translator is giving me… a storage chest?”

  “Just imagine that your wang is a really big alien animal’s prehensile nose.”

  “What?”

  “It’s okay, it’s okay—just stick it in!”

  She sounds certain now, and I want nothing more than to have her.

  Walking on my knees until I’m kneeling at her spread legs, I draw her heavily chained ankle over my thigh, kissing it, caressing it, fitting my fingers to the crook of her leg and enjoying the way her skin shivers and her breathing speeds just because of my touch. I take her other leg and charm it to fit outside of mine, enflaming her with gentle touches and murmured words until my thighs are warmed by the backs of her legs and I can angle myself to fit my glans to her opening. She has been so abused by my attention that her entrance is a puffy-looking slit.

  I feel like a monster as I push myself inside of her. She’s slick with wetness but yes—tight, and I force-feed her my length with a low, vibrating groan.

  She grimaces in pleasure beneath me, trying to raise her hips… wait. Not pleasure. I sense… distress. My whole body freezes. “Isla?”

  Her eyes are screwed shut. “Holy shit.”

  I struggle to focus on her rather than the sensation of her heated sheath squeezing the glorious hell out of my cock. I begin to rise off of her. “I’m hurting you?”

  Her eyes pop open and with a lunge, she wraps her arm around my neck, trapping me by hooking her bony elbow behind my horn. “It’s either because you're either mucho grande—”

  My translator supplies Very Big.

  “—or you made me wait so long that my virginity grew back—but whoa.”

  My hips retreat. I start to withdraw.

  She catches my bicep and gives me a stern but fond look. “No, just stay. Stay still a minute. I just need to...” she squirms under me, making my eyes cross, “adjust a bit.”

  Smoke beginning to cloud out from my bared teeth, I scan around us and spy a pillow. I snatch and drag it under her hips, to which she gives me a bright, only-slightly strained smile. “Thanks.”

  I regard her, considering and discarding ideas for how to help. My tail thrashes and the blades scrape and ping against the stone wall beside my bed. I’m frustrated that for me, Isla feels incredible—but for Isla, I’m giving her pain.

  Feeling abjectly maladroit, I relax my neck until I’m barely resting my forehead on top of hers. I’m mindful not to let her bear my skull’s load; my horns weigh a veritable—well, probably half her body’s weight. Between each of my outgrowths, it has to be cog-damned near.

  I press my lips to the bridge of her nose and move down, brushing my touch over her smooth alien skin.

  Her eyes open, and although it’s difficult to focus on each other at such close a range, neither of us look away as I kiss and nuzzle her face. I notice the lines bracketing her mouth ease. She shifts under me more and the tension seems to be less in her; her muscles are looser.

  My cock throbs inside of her, making her lips part prettily. Watching her mouth, I struggle not to imagine her other set of lips, the ones that must be stretched obscenely around the girth of my shaft. I want to look, to watch myself sink inside of her, but I know if I do I’ll explode.

  I can wait. We have the rest of our lives to explore this. It’s difficult to believe, but Isla is making me believe it. At every turn when she could have walked away from me—when perhaps she should have run—she stayed with me instead. She didn’t balk at becoming my mate. She welcomed the joining.

  Now we’re joining this way, and all she needs is time. And patience. I can give her that.

  I run my hand along her side and grip her hip. Just this, just holding her like this makes my ballsack ache like it’s about to burst. Tevek, she feels good. “Is the pain better?” I ask.

  “I’d call it discomfort, not pain.” She wriggles again and brings her hand up to my jaw, tracing along my face until she reaches the base of my ear. It flicks to ward off the tickle of her touch, and she smiles. “And it’s better. I’m ready”

  Slowly, I draw my hips back, hearing the squelch of her wetness as I withdraw my length. My eyes stay glued to hers, scrutinizing her for the smallest hint of discomfort.

  Her lids sink to a heavy half-mast and her upper teeth expose themselves. For my kind—and if she were a Gryfala—this would be an erotic promise. Fire kicks inside of my shaft to see her flash these at me. Flat, save for two slightly useful cuspids, they are all ivory beauty ready for love marking—and she sinks all of them into the pillow of her lower lip.

  Good? I mean to ask, but it comes out a statement—along with a loud, satisfied grunt.

  “So good,” she sighs, her thighs tightening slightly around my sides.

  When my shaft retreats far enough for my glans to meet the resistance of her snug channel mouth, just before I tug free of her opening, I nudge forward, sliding deep.

  Her eyes grow wide, and I’m thrilled with her beautiful reaction. This is not from pain—but surprise. She even gives a little gasp.

  Enamored with the way she yields to my invasion, I si
nk in until my pelvis meets hers. “Isla…”

  My tail slithers up her ankle until it’s anchoring around her calf. The one that isn’t shackled to the bed by a manacle and chain she can’t break.

  Her hand brushes down my back, making my scales pull tight.

  And then her fingers dig into my flank. “Faster.”

  I give her faster.

  She grabs me by the low dip in my horn. “Come down on top of me.”

  I fold my arms under her neck, hugging her, covering her whole body.

  “You feel,” she says, “good—yes!” She mewls contentedly, but it’s a broken puff of a sound as I ram into her. “Like the world’s—heaviest—weighted—blanket!”

  Her shout is music as a climax overtakes her, shaking her from the inside out, beginning with ripples at her core that cause her whole body to tremor—and watching her drives me wild.

  Her breasts are two pillows between us, and why it feels so good, I can’t explain. I bring myself down on her harder, enjoying the noise she expels, loving the feel of her strange nipples poking into my scales.

  Her knees find purchase higher along my sides until she closes her legs around me, her tail-bound calf and her shackled ankle banging against my back as I pound inside of her.

  I’m careful to keep my face from sinking too low beside hers—because I have quills atop my head that I fear could poke her. They’re flexible and leathery, but I wouldn’t doubt they’d still hurt. I kiss her cheek and growl, “Bite my shoulder.”

  Her eyes flash to mine, and then she opens her mouth wide enough to fit around the upper fibers of the muscle.

  Hot. Wet. Sweet.

  But I don’t feel any teeth.

  “Harder,” I beg, groaning, curling my back to drive into her with all the passion she’s inciting in me.

  She clamps down nicely, really digging into the meat.

  My turn.

  NO.

  I desperately want to bite her back. I cannot though, I know that I cannot. Her eye rolls towards me, and I realize she’s staring at my exposed fangs. I close my mouth and drag my tongue up her cheek. Nip it, I think, but I quell the instinct. Isla is not a Rakhii with thick-scaled skin to withstand a proper lovebite.