To Serve my Alien Man

by Sabrina Kade

  To Serve my Alien Man

  Rebels of Sidyth

  Layla and Dolan Slice of Life

  No matter how strong she appears, even she has a breaking point.

  Sabrina Kade

  https://sabrinakade.wordpress.com/

  https://www.facebook.com/sabrinakadeauthor/

  https://www.amazon.com/author/sabrinakade

  Copyright ©2019 by Sabrina Kade

  ASIN:

  Cover Illustration by Kasmit Covers

  Typography & formatting by Sabrina Kade

  Editing services provided by Moonlight Proofreading

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the copyright holder.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER ONE

  The Rebels of Sidyth

  Author’s Note

  DEDICATION

  About the Author

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  CHAPTER ONE

  Layla

  Stretchmarks. ¡Dios mío!

  There are no mirrors on Hethdiss, but I don’t need one to know that pregnancy is pulverizing my beautiful curves – or at least the outside of them. People are always telling me how great I look, how pregnancy suits me, and that’s great, but sometimes, I’m not sure. Frowning, I pinch the lower part of my belly that never seemed to puff out like a balloon like Sloane or York’s. Nope. Bottom of the tummy is still soft and flabby. And no amount of cocoa butter could tame the lightning marks zigzagging up and down my stomach like they own the damn place.

  “I’m disgusting,” I mutter, rubbing my stomach. “No offense to you, little fella, but your mamma certainly isn’t the hottest thing on the planet right now.”

  “What is this you are saying?” A male figure rises from our bed out of the corner of my eye. “Disgusting?”

  It’s Dolan, of course. We’re in our shared lair, and he was probably sleeping as I scoped out my round belly. Honestly, he’s part of the reason I'm worried about my ever-inflating curves. I turn around to face him, and he looks as mouthwateringly gorgeous as ever, even with a bad case of bed head and tired eyes. He stands from the bed, and the sheet falls away, further reminding me that I may be out of my league right now. His body is long and lean, and the paleness of his steely blue skin is enough to make my mouth water. Pregnant or not, I can’t get enough of him lately, even if I’m starting to feel something I haven’t felt in a long time.

  Self-conscious about my body.

  He stands behind me, and wraps his arms around my body, ducking those heavy, masculine hands under the curve of my belly, and it’s hard not to feel a little better about myself. Everything about my body has fallen apart since I started carrying this baby, and I don’t know how much more time I’m going to carry or even how much bigger I’m going to get. “Disgusting,” I say to Dolan, shaking my head as he stiffens for a moment.

  Dolan says nothing at first, rubbing his hands over my curves as though trying to calm my worries without words. I don’t mind it so much. Usually, whenever I’m feeling low, Dolan can pick me right up with his full body massages or passionate kisses. But I don’t know if I’m feeling it. I see his hands on me, and they don’t look right. It doesn’t matter that he’s seven-feet tall; he still looks smaller compared to me. I’m thick. Not fat. Not fluffy. Not big boned. I’m thick, and I don’t mind it most of the time. Dolan always talks about how he loves my curves. I’ve never doubted him before.

  Hell, I love my curves.

  But what I am now? Isn’t thick. It’s round. Grumpy. Sweaty. Contrary. And not cute.

  “I’m good,” I say to Dolan in what I hope is a gentle voice. I’m starting to wriggle under his touch, and he’s going to know that something’s wrong. I try to keep my insecurities at bay. This is Dolan I’m with. Not some asshole from high school who wanted to know what it was like to be with a girl who isn’t stick and bones.

  “Are you not well?” Dolan asks, trying to wrap his arms back around me. “Should we go talk to Chentan?”

  “No, I’m fine,” I say, spinning around in his attempted grasp. My belly takes up so much room between us that I can’t fight off the waves of insecurity. I step backward. “I’m … not feeling it today, all right? Is that okay?”

  Dolan frowns, figuring out immediately that there is more to my story than what I’m sharing, but he’s always been kind enough not to push me too hard since I got pregnant. “It is okay,” he mutters, turning away to retrieve a pair of shorts from the floor. He tugs them on, and not before I notice that his cock is rocking morning wood.

  I hate myself.

  Once Dolan has his shorts on, I feel him watching me as I start fumbling around with my belly again. I’m wearing more clothes lately. Bigger shirts. Longer skirts. I don’t like what is happening to my body.

  “I do not like hearing you say that word, my Chosen.”

  “What word?” I utter.

  “Disgusting. I know that you think this about yourself, and nothing could be further from the truth.”

  I spin, surprised that he’s picked up on this much. I try to add some humor to the situation. “Honey, I don’t know if we’re talking about the same person. Have you seen me lately?” To prove my point, I heft up both of my boobs. They’re heavy. “Are you seeing this?”

  His gaze grows hungry. “I see this, yes. I like this.”

  My frown deepens. “You… you don’t understand.”

  “Oh, I understand very well,” Dolan says, crossing the room back to me. But he doesn’t touch me this time, merely looming. “You are thinking that carrying our sprog has made you less attractive somehow. Well, you are wrong. I have never been more attracted. But that means nothing unless you believe it. Believe that I think you are attractive and believe yourself that you are attractive.” He shakes his head. “I do not like this side of you, Layla. You are beautiful. You have no reason to think otherwise.”

  “You’re an idiot,” I huff, hating that he can say such things so easily without missing a beat. It isn’t fair. “You just don’t know any different.”

  His eyes narrow. “What does this mean?”

  “It means,” I hiss, “that you don’t know how much better you could have it. I’m all you know.”

  This time he hisses at me. “I will not have this conversation with you. You are not in your right mind.” He storms past.

  “Where are you going?” I can’t help asking.

  “Away,” he grumbles. “Perhaps I will go see Hinda with Exer today. I will not stand here and be told by my mate how I am supposed to feel.”

  And then he’s gone.

  Well, shit. I fucked that up. But I couldn’t help myself. Doesn’t he understand? Doesn’t he see how I’ve gained almost thirty pounds since Chentan delivered the ‘good news’ about my little bun in the oven? And it has nothing to do with the baby. I couldn’t be happier now. I’ve gotten long used to the idea of being a mommy. Blythe and York have taken to it well, and I used to think none of them had a mommy instinct. But they’ve done
well. Their bodies have bounced back to normal.

  Ugh. That’s the hard part. Blythe and York are all pretty, trim, toned, and athletic to start. Ellis has the closest build to mine, but she didn’t gain weight like I did. Most of them gained twenty pounds each if that. And within a few weeks, they were back to their pre-pregnancy bodies. I don’t think I’m going to be that way. I’ll probably be pregnant for another few weeks, get even bigger and push out a twelve-pound monster baby. Weeks will go by filled only with breastfeeding and late nights, and I’ll be snacking to keep my strength up. I’ll only get bigger. I’m probably close to a size eighteen right now heading toward twenty. I’m not going to be like the other girls and magically burn off the baby weight. What I have now is probably here to stay.

  And it’s not like Dolan cares. He loves my body. He loves me. And for the most part, I love me too. There’s nothing I enjoy more than seeing my man loving my body and loving everything I’ve always liked about myself. I don’t mind my large breasts because they’re mine. I don’t mind my soft thighs because at least they’re strong. And I’ve always liked my face.

  It’s just that sometimes I wish I hadn’t gotten so curvy while pregnant. I knew I would gain some weight, but I didn’t imagine close to forty pounds and counting. And I didn’t believe that it would bother me so much. Dolan hasn’t changed. He’s as sex crazy and wild in the bedroom as always. And so am I. On the surface at least. Inside though, I’m not sure how I feel about this curvaceous new me.

  And now, I’m not sure how comfortable I am with Dolan touching me. Why do I have to be like this? I know I’m good at pleasuring my man. He can’t get enough of me. And I know it has nothing to do with my curves. They’re the reason I caught his eye in the first place. My man has massive arms, and he needs a woman who can fill them. He loves that he doesn’t have to worry about breaking me. And I love that about me too. But sometimes I look at Blythe with her enormous baby and even more significant mate, and I love the differences. I see Sloane’s slight baby bump and how her body has barely changed at all, and sometimes I wonder…

  Would it be wrong for me to try to look like Sloane or York once I have this kid?

  Would Dolan still want me if I wasn’t one of the heaviest girls on Hethdiss? Would I be happier if I took the time to do something about my massive stomach, dense breasts, and thunder thighs? It never helped in high school. No matter what happened, I was always happiest when I was me. Size fourteen to sixteen. Extra large tops that fit just right. The biggest bras sold at Victoria’s Secret. Wide but sexy high-heeled stilettos. I don’t want to be stick thin, but maybe I don’t want to be this woman that I am now. This woman wears bag lady clothes. This woman pinches her tummy. This woman is uncomfortable in her own skin.

  This woman isn’t me.

  Layla a few years ago would never compare herself to girls like Sloane and Phoebe who are about as thin and pale and frail as girls can be. Layla a few years ago would never be jealous of Blythe’s huge tits and impossibly small, athletic frame to contrast. She wouldn’t care about York’s smooth skin and the workout twins’ impressive biceps. Nope. Layla would be happy being Layla. There are good things about me, and there still are! I love my deep brown eyes and skin that reminds me of caramel in a Snickers bar. I love my full cheeks and thick, wavy hair. I love my voice, and I love that I hardly ever have inhibitions in the bedroom. I think it’s something Dolan enjoys as well.

  Except lately I don’t think I’ve been as much of a blast as I could be.

  I’m too worried about my belly flapping when I’m on top, and I’m way too big to be on the bottom right now. I still love me some doggie style until I wonder, do I have stretch marks on my ass now? Will Dolan care? Is he just trying to be kind so he doesn’t lose his sexy, curvaceous, hotter than a habanero mate?

  Outwardly, I groan and waddle back to the bed and take a seat. The cushion feels nice under my butt, and I have to give Dolan credit for asking one his brothers to swap. The old cushion had no support, so at night I felt like I was sinking into the floor. But now? It feels good. Especially with the sun rayers turned down as low as they can go. I know Dolan doesn’t like it, but he’s doing it for me because otherwise, he’ll wake up in a pool for my sweat every damn morning.

  What a turn on, right?

  I bet Sloane doesn’t sweat at night. I bet—

  “Layla? Hey, girl. You in there?”

  Speak of the sexy red-headed devil.

  I groan, sit up and cross the room to open the curtain and sure enough, my best-friend on Hethdiss – Sloane – is standing there with a broad smile on her modelesque face. She’s bracing her back just like I’ve been doing lately even though she’s probably only gained five pounds (if that) so far this pregnancy. She’s glowing while I’m sweating, and she glides into my room with ease and sits on the floor like it isn’t ten million miles away and beams up at me.

  “How are you feeling?” she asks after pushing a few deep red strands away from her pale face.

  My lower lip trembles. I can hide how I’m feeling around a lot of people, but I’ve never been able to do it around Sloane. For some reason, the girl gets me. And it’s funny because looking at her, she doesn’t seem like the type to give me the time of day. On the outside, she’s an inch shy of six feet, probably a size four with skin like gossamer. Her nails are long and oval, and her lips are almost too full to be natural. Maybe they aren’t. Sloane says she was changed so many times over the years by her previous owner that she’s not sure what’s real or fake anymore.

  That has to be a little terrifying. Still, I know the pregnancy is real, and it looks damn good on her.

  “Ready to pop,” I admit, realizing that this is still the truth. Sloane probably thinks I’m talking about the little nugget inside me, but I’m ready to pop in other ways.

  “I’m not surprised,” Sloane says, smirking at my belly as I take a seat back on the edge of the bed. “You’ve blown up the past few days. I wouldn’t be surprised if you gave birth by the end of the month.”

  Wow. Have I gotten that big lately? Without saying a word to Sloane, my attention drops to my stomach. I can barely see my feet. Huh. Maybe that’s why Dolan was so quick to go. Maybe he was saying all the right things, but after closer inspection, he was like, do I really want to hit that? And then left.

  “Hey, I don’t mean anything by it,” Sloane says when I continue to remain silent. “We’re pregnant. We’re supposed to be getting bigger. That means our body is doing the right thing. There’s a person in there. We’re not supposed to look like supermodels while we’re growing a damn baby.”

  “You look like a supermodel,” I can’t help retorting in a critical voice.

  “I do not!”

  “You do too!” I grumble, folding my arms over my massive stomach. “All of you do, you know. You’re all carrying kids, and not one of you gained a lot of weight. Even with an alien baby! But me? Geezus, I look like a pot-bellied pig. You said it yourself! I’ve blown up. And I’m probably going to continue to blow up until I’m as big as a house and then Dolan will—” I stop myself short, shaking my head. “Ugh, never mind.”

  “Wait,” Sloane says, rising so smoothly it’s like she’s covered in butter. “Is that something you’re honestly worried about? Dolan?”

  “No.” I try shifting on the bed so Sloane can’t see my guilty expression, but I’m too lazy to get up completely. Sloane takes a seat on the bed. “I’m not,” I try again.

  “You are,” she says, almost sounding shocked. “You’re worried about Dolan? Dolan? You do know who Dolan is, right? The guy who’s obsessed with my best friend.”

  “He was obsessed,” I grumble.

  “Did you guys have sex last night?”

  I blush. “Well, yeah, but—”

  “And was Dolan into it?”

  “Of course,” I huff. “My man has no complaints.”

  “Then what the hell are you talking about, chica?” I turn, wide-eyed to look at Sloane
when she uses my term of endearment on me. Her light blue eyes are soft, and she’s so pretty that it makes me want to cry. She’s not a cruel beauty like Lacey. She’s not as flakey as some of the other girls want to believe. She’s not like Phoebe. She’s my best friend. “You’re gorgeous. Dolan knows that. I know that. But most importantly? You know that.”

  I frown. She’s right. But I’m still surprised how much her words affect me. “I do know—”

  “So then nothing else matters,” Sloan interrupts. “You’re human. I get that. We all have our insecurities.”

  “Even you?”

  “Especially me,” Sloane grumbles. “Come on, I told you before. I’m not sure what part of this is me anymore.” She brandishes her hand up and down her pale, lithe frame. “And don’t even get me started on my hair. I know what color it used to be. Or at least, I think I do. But maybe Exer wouldn’t like it. Do you think I don’t consider things like that? What if this baby has beautiful blue skin and orange hair? What will Exer think?”

  I consider her words. “He won’t care.”

  She grins. “I agree. And you should feel the same about Dolan. I’m sure you’re not the first pregnant person he’s seen. I know you’re not. Blythe, York, and Ellis? Do those names ring a bell?”

  “None of them gained weight like I did.”

  “Dolan doesn’t give a shit.” There’s a sharpness to her words that takes me by surprise. “Dolan loves you no matter how much weight you gain during pregnancy. He doesn’t love your weight. He loves you. But if you’re not happy? That’s something else. You can do anything you want after the baby is born or start right now if you’re that unhappy. But don’t change yourself for Dolan. Dolan loves you. He loves your body. So stop this nonsense, chica.”

  I can’t help smiling, thinking of Dolan and his rock-hard cock this morning. He wasn’t just put off when I called myself disgusting. He hated it. He can’t see how I would think I’m anything but the most beautiful woman in the universe because that’s how he sees me. I think of how we made love last night and how he gripped my hips and smoothed his calloused hands over my breasts. He loved every pound and every inch of my body. Even with me growing larger by the day with pregnancy, it does nothing to slow his libido. Honestly? It’s not doing anything to slow down mine either.