by Robin Lovett
I picture him, and he appears.
Koviye stands in the middle, surrounded by burgundy blooms, all of him visible. And when I say all of him…
“Well, this is different from your preferred uniform,” he says with hot humor in his tone, glancing down at himself. He’s shirtless and wearing only something that looks like pants, but not quite, because I can see his usually iridescent blue skin tone through the fabric. I can see everything but what is bulging between his hips. Only the shape of him there is outlined.
His skin that earlier today was a flowing web of light sky blue has deepened to a rich cobalt. It’s sexy. I can’t explain it. It makes me feel hotter than I already am. The heat in me, it doesn’t hurt. I’m not afraid of it.
I just feel the want. And it doesn’t feel like agony anymore. It feels thrilling.
And I want him.
“You’re here,” I say.
“It’s your dream. I wouldn’t be here if you didn’t want me.” He looks down at himself. “I wouldn’t be nearly naked if you didn’t want to see me.” There is joy in his face. He’s excited to be here—with me.
I can’t help smiling, too. I’m not afraid of him or nervous about being near him here. This is a dream. It’s not real. There’s nothing I can’t do here. There are no consequences.
I can have him. Any way I want him.
Feeling far too clothed myself, I rest my fist on my hip and ask, “If this were your dream, what would I be wearing?”
His mouth quirks up at the corner. “You’d be just as you are.”
“In my uniform?” I laugh, a low throaty sound, one I haven’t made in too long. It feels so good, I do it again. “I don’t believe you.”
“You should.” His voice drops, and he takes a slow, leisurely step toward me. “Watching you in it, giving orders all day, do you know how many hours I’ve spent fantasizing about taking it off you?”
“No…” My breath comes faster, and my lips part. I want to hear him say more.
He doesn’t come closer. He moves around me, circling me, like I’m his prey, and he intends to capture me. If I weren’t already craving sex with him more than my next meal, I’d be salivating for him to catch me. As it is, the wondering how he’ll enact his fantasy, how he’ll undress me, has me yearning for him to come closer.
“It is my deepest desire to see you bare, to luxuriate in your skin,” he breathes, only loud enough for me to hear.
I strain to listen, focusing on the words, his voice. He moves behind me, where I can’t see him, but I want him to keep talking. “What will you do?”
“Touch you.” His breath comes so close behind me, I feel it on my neck above my collar.
My eyes close. If his touch is even half as pleasurable on other parts of my body as it was on my hand and my neck, I need it. “Where will you touch me?”
“Anywhere you want, lulipah.”
I feel the heat of him behind me, standing inches away but not making contact. “What does lulipah mean?” I’ve tried to ignore it until now, ignore the way it rolls off his tongue like a sensual delight. But here in my dream, I like it.
“It means ‘my desire.’ Because that is what you are. My only desire.”
“For now,” I correct him. He is Fellamana, only capable of desiring what he wants in the moment. Tomorrow, that won’t be me.
A surge of anxiety overtakes my joy in being here with him. It is my dream. It should not matter here. I forget why him wanting me only for now is a bad thing.
“This bothers you.” But something about the way he says it makes it easier, as though even with his words, he calms me. “There is only now, Jenie. Especially in dreams. There is no tomorrow. Be here with me.”
“But once you have me, you will be done with me.”
“Perhaps it is you who will be done with me. I’m the only one who can help feed your desidre in this place outside reality. How do I know you aren’t merely using me?”
Maybe. I wish I could let go of the fear, let this interaction be entirely casual. It would be so much easier.
He caresses the back of my hand, his fingertips making contact with mine and lingering there. “If you reach out with your feelings through my touch, you may be able to feel my desires as I can yours. Try.”
I close my eyes and focus on the sensation of his skin against mine, and it’s something I’ve never experienced before. My awareness travels into him. I can feel him, not just his touch but the intensity of…him. I don’t have any other words to describe it.
And the desire that he is feeling, it sends shivers over my skin. Goose bumps sprout, and my arousal increases unbelievably more until I am pulsing hot and molten between my thighs.
“How…” I gasp, breathless, overwhelmed by what he feels. “Your wanting me is stronger than my wanting you.” I didn’t think that could happen. The demand in my body is like a tidal force, and yet somehow, his is stronger. I can’t fathom how he’s containing it and hasn’t attacked me and ravaged me already.
I don’t fear it. I’d fight him off myself without a doubt, but the possibility that I wouldn’t want to is where the worry is.
“Don’t worry,” he corrects me. “If you reach farther into me, you’ll notice the desire to bring you pleasure is far stronger than to take pleasure in you for myself.”
I do as he says and notice it is true, and it’s almost as though I can feel images of me in his mind. The way he sees me, I am a sexual delight, not an object for his possession but a being of strong passion—passion he wants me to unleash on him.
My worry subsides beneath the want to luxuriate in his desire, to bathe in it as I bathe in my own.
“You feel me now, all of what I feel for you,” he says with relief. “Do you feel how once will not be enough with you?”
“Yes.” I wobble, unbalanced, growing too immersed in him, and have to open my eyes to stay on my feet.
“I will still want you tomorrow. That much I can promise.” He breathes with a tone that betrays a heavy longing. “May I take down your hair?”
“Yes.”
He probes into the locks I pin daily at the nape of my neck. It is my one luxury. In my life of utilitarian efficiency, I keep my hair long, though it is more work, as a reminder of myself, of who I am, of the fact that I am more than a soldier. I am also a woman.
But I rarely see it down. I never wear it down. I can’t. It would be in the way.
The way his delicate touch searches for the pins in my hair is slow and somehow erotic. I hear his breath move faster against my neck, and it’s clear that his fantasy of undressing me has included taking down my hair. Feeling my hair is part of his need to touch me.
It fills me with a sensation of being cared for, of being valued, of his patience to take every minute pleasure in me. Or, as he says, to make me feel every small and tiny pleasure in myself.
The thick tresses fall to my waist, and he combs them with his fingers from the crown of my head to the tips. He sinks them into my scalp and massages my head in a way that is somehow sexually charged by his firm touch.
I am eager for more, for the next step, to be naked, for him to do this to me everywhere. And for the orgasm my body has been demanding for days. “You don’t need to seduce me.”
“But I do.” He presses his mouth and nose to the top of my head, inhales and shudders, as though the scent of my hair is a potent aphrodisiac. “I would not dream of skipping this part.”
“But it’s my dream. And I need to come.”
“Come…” he muses. “This is a euphemism, yes?”
“To orgasm, to climax. La petite mort.” I’m not sure where the extra phrase, the one from a long dead, ancient human language originates from, but I learned it somewhere.
“La petite mort?” He repeats in fascination, still stroking my hair. “This is another human language.”
“The little death.”
“Mmmm, how desperately intense,” he muses. “We have many names, too. Though they de
scribe the different kinds of orgasms.” He presses his chest to my back and moves his palms over my shoulders and down my arms. I can’t help leaning against him.
I stare up at the sky, the moonlight and stars glittering in a dark night and giving off so much light, I had thought it was daytime in my dream, until now.
“There is the regulme,” he murmurs, his hands drifting over me, inching, slowly seducing. “This is for self-regulation. The basic need to orgasm daily to ease the hunger of the desidre. It is pleasurable as it always is to…come, as you say, but it is merely a means to an end. Most often applied to pleasuring oneself.”
“What are the others?”
He moves his hands to my center, running them over my middle, caressing me through my uniform. “There is the blirame, which is one of bliss and satisfaction given generously by a lover of skill.”
By the way he says it, it’s as though there is another, one greater than this. “What comes after blirame?”
He fingers the zipper at the top of my collar, the one that runs down my center, the one that will open my chest to him. “The amuria.” He says it with reverence, like it is something sacred. “It is an orgasm shared between lovers, united as one. It is not easily achieved. Without skill.”
The way he says skill, it’s as though with pride, but he begins to inch down my zipper so I barely manage to say, “You possess…this skill?”
He dips his hand inside my uniform, over my skin, stretching his fingertips to the tops of my breasts. “I am Koviye,” he growls in my ear in a bass tone that reaches all the way into my core. “I am the master of amuria. I have even been known to achieve the pleuris, with a lover who is open to such ecstasy.”
“The pleuris?” I want to hear him describe it.
“The multiple orgasm, and not just multiple, but shared multiple, at the same time.”
He inches my zipper down farther, and I can’t help writhing my ass against him, and feel…
I pause and moan deep in my chest. It’s not a delicate sound but a primal need he awakens in me that I can’t suppress anymore.
His cock at my back is…long, thick, and so hard…but a different sort of hard than a human man. It’s not forgiving like flesh; it’s granite, almost like stone, but hot, gods, he’s hot, searing through my clothes. I don’t know how he can be real.
But I guess he must be. I’ve never had sex with an alien before.
And I want to find out.
“Jenie…” he groans tightly through his teeth. “Do you feel me?” He gives a heavy guttural moan.
I rock my ass up and down against him. “Koviye…are you really that hard?”
“Not…always.” He gasps. “You do this to me. It’s you, lulipah.”
I have a small thought that this could be a line he feeds to every lover, but I toss it away. I want his hands on me, him inside me, to come all over his fiercely hard, hot cock while he thrusts it into me over and over—I want it too much to care about anything else.
“N-now. I need you to fuck me.” I am not above begging. I will get on my knees. Fuck, on my knees, I could suck him in my mouth. But I’m too empty, too achingly needy between my thighs. And the desperation to feed the desidre that’s been torturing me for too long roars through me.
I reach behind me and dig my fingers into his hair. “Now, Koviye,” I growl, not begging, demanding.
“Have no fear, dominaq. I will satisfy you.” But his hands shake as he lowers the zipper of my uniform to below my waist. Behind me, he is not only hard, but his chest rises and falls rapidly against my back.
He presses his palm to my lower abdomen, and I cry, “Don’t stop!” Not understanding why he doesn’t lower his hand and touch me where I need him most on my swollen, throbbing clit.
I glance down at his hand, and it starts to glow and then…
I come. In an explosion. Like a bomb going off inside me. Like a star shooting up my spine then ricocheting through every nerve in my body. The sensations are searing, overwhelming and…brutal. Brutally perfect.
I’m screaming and writhing against him. He shouts my name, and his voice cracks in ecstasy.
It lasts, like cycles circling between us. I can feel him coming and feel myself coming at the same time, like we echo each other. Like as soon as the orgasm ebbs, it transfers to him and comes back to me all over again.
I don’t know how many times or for how long, but when it finally stops, I’m kneeling on the ground, lying back against his lap, and struggling for awareness.
I’m already asleep, so I can’t lose consciousness, but my mind wanders.
I’m walking through my garden again and there are smoke tendrils still coming from the ground. I drift my fingers through them, though, and they’re not smoke anymore. It’s steam, still hot but full of moisture, and the response of the plants is immediate. They thrive and brighten.
It is a magical sight. The fluorescent-colored flowers reminiscent of my childhood enliven to something far more vibrant than those I lived with on Ulreya. They become crystalline, like they are reflecting light…or they are light. Almost like stars, but varying in color, and open. So open.
I bend to touch one, and it’s soft as fluffy cotton, softer, like silk. Something I’ve only felt once in my life at a museum.
“It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” Koviye’s voice sounds behind me.
I turn to see him, and he’s changed, his skin no longer flowing in a shade of blue or even glowing with his light but refracting in rainbows the light of the flowers around him.
He places his hand on my shoulder. “You did this.”
I realize he’s right. All this beauty is what my imagination has created.
He caresses my skin, which no longer has my uniform covering it. I glance down at myself, and I am now topless, too, wearing some sort of skirt-like garment shielding my hips and thighs. But my legs are bare, my feet are bare.
Koviye’s gaze strays with longing over my breasts, my peaked nipples, and downward. It’s more than longing though. The need dripping from his expression—it makes me smile. Whatever fear I had of him getting enough of me after one orgasm was unfounded.
He jerks his gaze to mine. “I should go.” His words are sharp, his features tightening with agitation. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen him lose his constant patience.
“Why?” I am far from done. “I was hoping you’d show me the amuria.” I lift the corner of my mouth, amused at finding our roles reversed, me teasing and flirting with him.
“That was the amuria.” There’s surprise laced in his tone, like this is somehow bad. Or, not bad but a cause for concern.
“Is that wrong?”
“It is…well.” He scratches his head in confusion. “It’s too much for a first time, so I need to go.” His words are too fast.
“Too much?” I step closer. “Are you afraid of me, Koviye?”
“No, but I must leave you.” He starts to disappear, to become translucent. “Sleep well.” Then he’s gone, nothing but open air where he was standing.
My body reverberates with the orgasm he gave me, with a mere touch of his hand to my abdomen. He didn’t even touch my clit or trace the apex of my thighs. But still I came—the amuria. He came at the same time, and it was too much for him, or me, or both of us, I guess.
I glance around at the garden still sparkling with stunning beauty.
I wonder if it’s all because of me, or if it was because of him being here. With him gone, I don’t know how long it will stay this way.
Chapter Eight
Koviye
I sit up, gasping for breath, forcing myself awake.
What was that?
I have never…I don’t understand…this isn’t how it’s supposed to go. I feel…satisfied. Just from her dreams. It was intensely pleasurable, and I wasn’t even inside her; she wasn’t even touching me.
I’m still hard.
“Is everything okay?” Ilena asks from the bed next to me.
She looks wide awake, like she hasn’t been sleeping at all.
“Uh…yeah. Fine.” I scrub my hand over my face and breathe, forcing control over myself. I can be calm. I don’t get agitated. I don’t get scared, but I am. And I’m desperate for more of Jenie. Even though my desidre is fed and I feel the ease in my muscles from the toxin having been released—though I don’t understand how that’s possible—from a dream.
I glance at Jenie lying blissfully asleep in her bed, all tension gone from her face. I’ve never seen her so relaxed. The energy above her skin flows in a delicate light blue, the same calm color that is normally mine. I’m glad she’s not feeling pain or agitation or anxiety.
Now it’s me who’s filled with those things. I look at my hands. I’m no longer varying in shades of peaceful blue. I’m a chaotic blur of maroon and navy. So unlike me.
I stand. I have to get out of here.
“Did it work?” Ilena glances at Jenie, breathing so easily and deeply in her sleep. “She seems better.”
“It worked. She is better.” But even amidst Jenie’s calm, I can still see it. Her blood has not cleared of the desidre toxin. It still sneaks within her in small swatches of red, but at least her emotions are at ease. That will help her cope with the desire that will still be in her system when she wakes.
In a few hours, she’ll open her eyes and still want sex. I can’t be here when that happens. I can’t guarantee I’ll be able to resist her enough to hold her boundaries.
If it was that good, if she brought us to amuria—and it was definitely her and not me, which I can’t even begin to explain how unusual that is—on the first try, what’s it going to be like the next time? Or the time after that?
Or if next time it’s real and not a dream…
If there is a next time.
I move toward the door. “I have to go.”
Ilena nods. “That’s probably best.”
“Thank you,” I say. Despite my discomfort, despite my agitation about the intensity of what happened, I would not take it back for anything. “It was such a privilege to be with her.” And I likely never will be again.
Ilena shrugs. “She only wanted you.”