by Amanda Milo
But she is certainly doing well at bestowing one on me.
A pumping growl burns up my throat when she drops back and I can see the bruise forming nicely from her effort. I force her face up with my nose and press my lips to hers hungrily.
Her hand caresses the back of my neck, brushing my quills backwards and coming to rest on one of my dorsal spines. “You get turned on by some interesting things,” she comments, nibbling at my upper lip.
When she licks one of my fangs, my arms stab under her and squeeze her up tight.
She gasps.
I start to loosen my grip, but she stops me. “Don’t change position! This—what you’re doing with your—grinding on me—”
I could manage this better if I was propped up on my hands, but she’s turning insensible, her mouth falling open, her back draped over my arms like her spine is broken. Her eyes are rolling up in her head with every one of my strokes.
I’m grinding her clit with my pubic bone. Rather than bounce her under me with my thrusts, I begin to rub her with enough force she should burn through the other side of the mattress.
Her moans of delight tell me she won’t mind.
She squeals when she orgasms, and the sound excites me. My teeth close over her neck before I realize what I’m doing.
No! NO—Do NOT bite her.
Isla doesn’t recognize the danger. She’s panting and purring and her hand is lazily hugging my ribs. She feels so small and fragile under me. She’s so trusting as I cover her, and it makes me feel powerful. Makes me feel more crazed.
And I need to finish this before I thrust her sore. I raise myself up on braced arms and adore the way her eyes hungrily travel up my muscles, from wrists to my shoulders, all of me so much wider and heavier than her. I feel dominant and protective, hunkered over her smaller body like this. With powerful claps of my hips to hers, I ride her until I’m coming on a bellow that shakes stalactites down.
And with a vicious snarl, I lunge up and sink my teeth into the headboard, splintering the wood instead of sinking into her tender skin.
***
I lick Isla clean. Sweat, fluids—and when I come to her ankle, intending to kiss her diminutive alien toes, I find blood.
The metal cuff has rubbed a raw patch on her thin skin, rubbed it so roughly that the mark has begun to bleed.
Growling with sick displeasure, I lick the wound and ignore Isla’s assurance that it’s “fine.”
I turn and take the key from the low stand positioned by the head of the bed. I set her leg free, and give her a silent look of warning. You can run now, but I will chase you if you try to leave me.
She doesn’t scurry back and attempt to escape though.
She sighs lustily. “That was gooood.”
I prowl up her body, kneeling astride her. She pats my stomach—then fondles the muscles there. “I am so keeping this.”
Hope curls in me, because it sounds as if she truly means it.
Her soft human palm slides lower. I rumble a warning as her hand tries to wrap around my member. I’m sensitive enough to hesitate—but willing to have her touch me, and willing to serve her if she wants me. She squeezes. Then she squeezes again, drawing her hand down my shaft. She gives it another squeeze at its base. “There goes the opportunity for testing,” she says teasingly.
“And what,” I growl, drawing her around the shoulders until I raise her to sitting in front of me, “are we testing?”
She gives my shaft another squeeze, making my cock jump. “I was trying to see if my fingers could touch.” She grins up at me, a wicked look heating her eyes. “They can’t.”
I uncurl her fingers from me and bring her hand up to my mouth to—
Nip it.
—kiss it gently. “Be careful. You might want to rest your body while you can, because I don’t intend for either of us to sleep at all tonight.” I lean down to take her mouth. “Should I feed you before I feast on you again?”
“I’m loving the way you think—but actually, my imminent need is to pee. Up, up.”
She pushes at me and I rise off of her, letting her off the bed. “The elimination closet is there.”
Her eyes are so expressive. They dance with humor and disbelief as she mouths, “Closet?” and minces for a few steps.
When she sees me watching her, eyeing her for signs of pain, she tosses me a smile and lengthens her stride and she struts towards the darkened doorway of my—
No. Our. We share this den together now.
My hearts swell and pump fiercely.
She stops suddenly… and immediately, I know what she sees. To her left is a wall shelf filled with everything I’ve collected from her since I’ve known her.
There’s also a bucket below the shelf filled with nothing but her rocks.
“Is this…” Isla asks, her voice trailing off as she reaches into the pile of her things and pulls out her mane’s controller-ring. “Is this my hairband?”
I remain silent so long, she glances at me over her shoulder.
“Yes,” I admit.
“And is that my glitter pen?”
“Yrrr.”
“What was that? And—Bash, is this…” She picks up a ball of paper, smooths it out, and reads the alien scribbles on it. “This was my scrap paper.” She looks back at me.
My tail flicks, agitated.
“That I threw away,” she stresses.
Uncomfortable, I glance away, trying to see past the smoke billowing up from my nostrils. “I know.”
“What is all this?” Her voice sounds odd, finally forcing my eyes back to hers to gauge her reaction.
She’s smiling. “Oh my GOSH—is this hoarding?!” She dances in place a little, either from her excitement or from her burgeoning need to ‘pee.’
When the Gryfala who kept me saw me hoarding her things, she panicked. It marked the end of what we had, which, it turned out, wasn’t the relationship I thought it was. On my side, I would never have walked away from her. But she all but ran from me that day. I told myself if I was ever stupid enough to be in that predicament again, for Creator’s sake, lie. Don’t admit how crazed you are for your female.
But I don’t lie. Because I am crazy for Isla, and she should know it. “Yes. I have been hoarding all of your things.” Wrapping papers from foodstuffs, spoons she ate meals from, rocks her hand collected, the controller bands that hold her mane. There’s even a stubby writing instrument. It’s one that she was keeping tucked behind her ear and she thought it fell out. It did, but instead of alerting her that it fell, I retrieved it from the ground and shamefully kept it hidden in my pocket. I touched it every chance I had until I started to become hard by the association of keeping her lost item as a trophy. At that point, I knew I was ill. I’ve gone through more anti-bonding spray to keep me from attacking males in her vicinity than any Rakhii the hobs have been supplying the elixir to save for Zadeon, the former gladiator.
Evidently, he is even more insane for his female.
I don’t envy him. Sometimes I think that if I were driven any madder, I’d wrap one of Isla’s limbs in my tail, and simply not let her go.
I’ve thought about that. A lot.
And there have been many nights that I’ve slept on a bluff near the compound. Under the stars, growing wet with the dew of the grass. Too brain-sick over a female to bother with a bedroll or any sort of protection for myself. The whirring of the security cameras irritated the tevek out of me, but I couldn’t make myself leave when I knew Isla was slumbering just inside.
Isla picks up one of her rocks that I’ve collected. “I remember you being weird about this! You’ve been keeping all this stuff? Everything my sweaty hand touched became special to you?” She lifts a wax-paper sandwich wrapper from three cycles ago. I watched her lick a substance off it called cheese. I’ve licked it every night since, even though the taste of her tongue has long since disappeared. “Wow. I didn’t know I could be so touched and a little freaked out at the same time.�
�
My hearts resume their beating rhythm when she turns to me and looks… thrilled. “You’re obsessed with me! I got mated to my very own sex machine stalker!”
CHAPTER 37
ISLA
So, if I were on Earth, and Bash were a human guy—I’d have to run away. Because girls, if a guy on Earth rifles through your trash, follows you at work, intimidates other men away from you, forces you to marry him, and chains you to his bed? It means your life got switched to the Lifetime channel and it’s time to get gone.
But Bash is not human.
He’s a Rakhii, and while I hear they’re all bonkers, I’ve also seen (and heard tell) that they’re one hundred percent devoted and safe. I don’t have to worry about being beaten, tortured, or starved. I don’t have to worry about my captor forcing me to do any sick, nasty things. Not anything sick and nasty that I don’t already want to do with him, that is.
What I do have to worry about is retaining the ability to walk.
That old saying about ‘walking with a stick up your ass?’ I had no idea where it came from, but now I’ve been enlightened: someone got railed by a guy with a cock the size of a giant Sequoia. Now I’m crippled. And there wasn’t even any ass-action! He never went near the back door. I’m walking funny just from being taken in the regular ol’ fashion. I mean, Gob Gamn.
I’m feeling really proud of my pussy for taking his kind of pounding.
As it happens, so is Bash. He gives her lots and lots of rewards.
It’s the middle of the night during a sex break when I ooze off the bed and force myself to my feet. “Food,” I call plaintively, hobbling into the kitchen.
I’m in my bra and panties, because naked felt too weird, but wearing Bash’s shirt was weirder. Like a hospital gown, it’s essentially useless in back because of the slits for his dorsal spines. It does smell divine though. So do I. The smell is coming from Bash—he’s leaking a very unique, strong scent from the areas around his horns and in his saliva and it’s also in… other things. So I am well and thoroughly marked.
Which is fine. But I’d also like to be dressed in a littttle more than my mate’s special fluids.
Before someone abducted me for a surprise marriage ceremony, someone could have done me a solid and told me to grab a change of clothes. Either it didn’t occur to my dear male, or the idea of me walking around his cave naked was appealing to him, I’m not sure. I’d wear my blouse from yesterday, but I like how Bash’s eyes follow me. Heck, I like how Bash follows me.
(He’s using his tail to chain us together. It’s exactly as romantic as it sounds. Or crazy, depending on how it sounds to you. But I’m loving it. After getting ghosted by men after my shine has worn off once or twice… Bash’s inordinate attention is good for my soul.)
My alien is glued to my heels, a fact I can’t miss because when I stop walking, I get poked in the back. By an erection.
The huge thing gives me shivers in all the right places but also makes my vagina feel very conflicted. It likes Bash’s penis. Bash’s penis is very hard though. And big. So big. Like, Bash is pitching freaking redwood.
“Are you sore?” Bash asks, his talon tips spanning my waist.
I scoff. “Am I sore!” But my back arches because the lower half of me is pure hussy. “What I am is starving.”
Immediately, Bash’s hands disappear from my hips. I glance down at myself and find ten little indents in my skin where his clawtips were.
“Here,” Bash says, and I look up to find him holding out an alien… fruit?
“Thanks.” I take it. “How do I eat this?”
Bash gives me a pitying look as he takes it back. “Even the smallest pups—the ones with more gum than fang—are taught how to eat the Shukiya to break their night fasts.” Pressing his lips together in mild disapproval for my appalling lack in education, he points a claw at the blue lobe of the thing. “The fleshy base is the edible part. The leaves are not.” He taps the yellow spiny leaves. “The thistledown is not.” He points to the green hair shooting out of the head of it. “Simply tear at the lowest line of leaves here,” he takes hold of the smallest yellow spines, “and the base peels easily from the inedible portions.”
He hands me the blue bottom of the thing, flicks the hairy and spiny parts into a compost bin, and I gamely take a bite of what’s left. “Huh. Not bad.” It tastes like a sautéed egg.
No warning: Bash backs me across the kitchen until my butt hits the tall counters where he kneels in front of me, locks his hand around my ankle, and raises it to his shoulder.
I turn into a limp noodle when he licks me right over my panties.
I almost drop my blue egg fruveggie. (Fruvegetable? Vegefruit?)
Bash catches it with his tail and shoves it back onto my hand. With two careful claws, he pinches the gusset of my panties. He moves it aside and pins it there with this thumb, taking one side of my labia with it, stretching me wide open—and then he spits on me.
“Wow,” I say around a mouthful of egg-fruit.
He leans in and dips his tongue to my cleft, wetly licking a trail.
Oh, the instant soothing of my swollen flesh.
I moan around my alien egg. “Your weirdness is forgiven.”
Bash snorts into my pussy, making me jump.
He tongues my slit, licking that strong, long muscle everywhere, forcing it into my vag, lapping between my walls, pushing past the flutters as my pussy contracts in stunned bliss.
He licks me until I’m not sore anymore, until I’ve abandoned food and sunk my hand in his quills, directing him where he needs to be. And then he boosts me to the counter, divests me of my clothing barriers, lays me back, and hitches my leg over his forearm. He spreads me wide, hauls my hips to his, and spears into me. He drives into me until I feel like I’m choking on him and actual literal gurgles are forced out of me with every smack of his pelvis. With every stroke and pull of his massive cock as he mauls my pussy, I’m shaking for more of him.
And staring deep into each other’s eyes—we come together.
Which marks only the second time I’ve experienced simultaneous orgasm with a partner. And I’m not saying you should marry the man who comes with you, but if I were into seeing signs, I’d say it’s a damn fine indicator that I ended up with the right alien.
“Countertops are uncomfortable,” I mumble through lazy lips when my breathing has returned to normal.
Bash’s sides are still heaving like he’s run a race. Or screwed his wife stupid in the kitchen. But he edges off of me so that his weight isn’t pinning me to the unforgiving surface. He also blows fire on my egg and eats it without using his hands.
“Impressive,” I tell him.
His tail pulls another one out of a basket and offers it to me.
I peel it like he showed me and then I hold it up for him to barbecue. (He takes it off of my palm first.) We clean out his basket of them, dining on scorched alien-whatever-it-is.
“I can’t wait for tomorrow,” I share when Bash takes my hand to lead me to the bathroom.
Bash glances down at me. He doesn’t appear to share my enthusiasm but I get it. Returning to work means we’re going to be in public where having sex would be bad manners. “I can’t wait to tell everybody we got mated! We can tell them together.” I grin, imagining the shock on everyone’s faces.
Bash says nothing.
“I’ll do the talking. You make your noncommittal noises—”
“Rrr.”
“See? You’ve got this down pat.”
He hauls me into the tub (my clothes are scrubbed and rinsed in the sink), and I learn that literally everything a Rakhii normally cleans himself with could peel the skin off of a human.
“No, it’s fine,” I say when he makes a wordless growl of dismay. “Humans pay a fortune for exfoliation. They go to spas for treatment like this.”
“You did?”
“No—but lots of people do, really.” I clutch the absorbent cloth that Bash tried to t
ake away from me when I gaped at it. It’s not a ‘towel’—it’s waffle-weaved threads of near-sisal. Ouch. I brush it over Bash’s scales and find that it’s surprisingly absorbent. And bonus, it makes his scales shine.
When I buff over them in wonder, Bash growls and drags me close—and starts licking me dry.
“Well, this is different,” I say, smile-grimacing. His spit seems to speed the air-dry process on me, which is handy. But it is spit. “But it’s okay, really. And tomorrow we’ll grab my stuff from the compound, human-friendly towels included, and move it here.” I dance in place a little, thrilled—which startles him. “I get to move my things in with yours!”
Bash eyes me like he doesn’t trust my happiness over my fate with him. He’s going to learn that I’m the most willing abductee in the world—maybe the galaxy. I reach up and cup his face. “Stop stressing out. It’s going to be all right, Bash. We’re good together, see?”
Without a word, he pulls me in for a hug like he needs it.
***
Morning doesn’t get a chance to dawn bright and beautiful before Bash has me bouncing on him until I come twice—and then he flips me to my back and bangs us both to a glorious shared orgasm. Afterwards, he holds me—clutches me, more like—for a long time.
It’s still dark, but I begin to get ready for the day. My clothes are stiff thanks to not having any fabric softener, but they’re dry and they smell good. Once I start getting dressed though, things start to go wonky. Bash gets tenser and tenser with every item of clothing I put on. “What’s the problem?” I ask, bewildered.
“You’re going to leave,” he almost accuses through too many teeth, like once I walk out of here, he’ll lose me forever.
“Bash,” I say cautiously, eyeballing him. “You poor sweet alien.” Your psyche is so messed up. “I’m going to go to work—with you—we’re going to work together, just like before. But this time,” I move to him, and place my hand smack dab in the center of his broad chest (which makes his eyes go dark black, his nostrils flare, and his tail latch onto my ankle), “when we leave work for the day, we get to come home together. It’s going to be great. We’ll rip our clothes off and you can claim-fuck me right up against the door the moment we walk in.”