Love Galaxy (The Intergalactic Dating Show #1)

Chapter 26

Chapter Twenty-Six

Briar

F inishing my call with Lydia, I knock on Sorin’s bedroom door, entering when he calls my name. His cracked and battered tablet is lying on the bed next to him, but he quickly moves it, making room for me.

“You’re kind of amazing, did you know that?” I lie down, and he rolls onto his side so we’re face to face.

“You are too good for me,” he says, tucking a stray strand of my hair behind my ear. This little thoughtful gesture has tingles racing along my skin.

“Me?” I snort. “God, no. I’ve barely done an unselfish thing in my entire life.” I trace the pattern of his scales across his upper shoulder, where they’re larger, more pronounced, almost like decoration—or tattoos.

“You have been worrying about the other Females.” He takes both of my hands in all four of his, caressing his thumbs over the backs of my palms. “I should have thought earlier to show you how to communicate with them.”

“It was nice seeing Lydia again.” And I tell him everything she told me about the shell company and not being able to discover any information on Mr. Smith. I also tell him about Chloe and the compatible sperm.

“There’s always the chance she was lying,” is how I finish, although I’m not sure for whose benefit I said that. Mine, maybe, as I try to convince myself our compatibility isn’t a big deal.

Back on Earth, I never worried about getting pregnant, other than to buy a packet of condoms and ensure I was practicing safe sex. Now, guilt churns inside me, making me feel physically ill. If I leave, I’ll not only be taking myself away; I’ll be taking away Sorin’s chance of having children. He’d be such a good dad, too, way better than mine ever was.

Why would you leave? demands the annoying voice in my head, the one that sounds like Chloe. When I close my eyes, I can imagine what she looks like—hands on hips, rolling her eyes. Your life back on Earth had fallen apart. This is the perfect opportunity for you to start fresh. You should be thanking me, she says. I’m helping you.

Yeah, Earth sucked. But deciding if I’m going to spend the rest of my life on Ril II is a big decision. The biggest decision I’ll ever make, and I’m fucking terrified I’ll make the wrong one and spend the next fifty years regretting everything.

Twenty days to decide how I’ll spend fifty years is hardly fair.

I open my eyes. Sorin still hasn’t spoken. His mouth is pressed tightly closed, and I swear I can see a muscle ticking in his cheek. He’s furious.

“You okay?”

I hate Mr. Smith for putting us all in this position.

I hate that he’s got power over the decisions we make.

I hate that he might be my only way back to Earth.

And I’m terrified I’m going to demand he take me back to Earth at the end of LOVE GALAXY just so I can give him the finger. Because isn't admitting that I’m falling in love with Sorin the same thing as admitting Mr. Smith was right to abduct me? And I never, ever want Mr. Smith to think he was right. I never, ever want Mr. Smith using me as his excuse to abduct more women for future LOVE GALAXY seasons.

“I will kill him,” Sorin eventually says, speaking between clenched teeth.

I raise my eyebrows, surprised. “Have you killed someone before?”

“No, but that will not stop me.”

“I suppose there’s a first time for everything,” I joke, shuffling closer, eliminating the space between us. I can hear how unsteady Sorin is breathing. “Lydia might be a bit pissed if you kill her ride back to Earth.”

If Mr. Smith is watching us now, he’s strategically keeping quiet.

We lie like that for a while. Surrounded by silence. Both lost in thoughts. I try returning to the daydream we’d invented together, the one where Sorin and I pretended we’d met in a café, on a blind date. I try putting us both back into their, trying to imagine our first conversation, trying to imagine our first kiss. But I’m struggling to ignore the red lights of the cameras, spying on us.

“I wanted to ask.” Breaking the silence, Sorin raises one of my arms so he can more clearly see my tattoo.

“Why do I have the moon and stars?”

“These are stars?”

“Yeah.” I scrutinize the familiar markings. “At least, they’re symbolic of stars. I wish I could say I got it for some deep and meaningful reason, but really I got it as a rebellion.” It sits below my elbow, nestled snugly in the center of my arm. I’d picked the brightest, most obnoxious blue ink available, wanting it to be as visible as possible. “My parents were always going on about how I couldn’t get any piercings or tattoos because my body was sacred, blah blah blah.” It still makes me angry. “As soon as they disowned me, I got this tattoo.” I sigh. “Maybe I picked the moon and the stars because to me they felt like freedom.”

“Mayhaps you were always meant to come here.” Lowering my hand to his mouth, he kisses each of my knuckles. “To travel among the stars.”

I don’t believe in destiny, but there was so much hesitancy in his voice, as if he was only just brave enough to say the words aloud, that I kiss the closest part of him I can reach, which happens to be his chest.

“Hey, did you know Harlee has a crush on Roan?” I grin like we’re sharing gossip in high school.

Sorin sits up. “How has she crushed Roan?”

“No.” I laugh. “My bad. I mean, apparently Harlee like likes Roan.” I should have asked if the youngest brother returned her feelings, and then I remember how eager he was to talk with us Humans. He’d been so bright eyed. So young and excited. Of course he’ll be falling in love with Harlee. From what I saw of her, she’s sweet and cute. They’d probably make a perfect pair.

“She likes Roan?” Sorin repeats, and he still sounds confused.

“Yeah,” I agree. “Lydia thinks there’s a chance Harlee will want to stay here and not return to Earth. But I can’t say that for sure,” I quickly add. “I’m telling you what Lydia told me. I didn’t actually speak to Harlee. She wasn’t there.” And Roan hadn’t been there either, even though it was his tablet Sorin had called.

“I am pleased for my brother. He has been lonely for a long time.”

I relish the warmth radiating off him. You might think cuddling someone with scales wouldn’t be all that cozy, but it really is. Sorin is so much larger than I am that when he wraps me in his arms, it’s as good as being wrapped in my favorite blanket—better, even.

“What about you? What do you want?” I whisper the question, and then instantly wish I’d kept my mouth shut because whatever he says is only going to make me feel worse, I know it.

“Me?” His voice is quiet, like he’s talking more to himself than to me, but my shoulders tense in anticipation, nonetheless. “I could not sleep last night, and not only because… ” Still holding my hand, he gestures downward, and I don’t have to look to know he’s talking about his dick and everything we got up to outside, away from the cameras. “I could not sleep last night because I was afraid that when I woke up this would all be a dream. That you would be a dream and that you would have disappeared?—”

He shuts his mouth, and I actually hear all his sharp teeth snapping together, like how I imagine a crocodile would sound if they suddenly got too self-conscious to finish their sentence.

I don’t press him to say more, though, not when there are three cameras spying on us. Not when I’m still too much of a coward to decide about staying—or leaving.

In the following days, we find a routine. Sorin cooks. I clean. We spend the mornings checking the farming lakes closest to Sorin’s house, him teaching me how to record algae growth. He says the latest crop will be ready to harvest in another forty days or so. Neither of us mentions how I might not be here to see that happen.

I’d never thought of myself as a farm girlie before. But maybe some of Sorin’s quiet pride in the work that he and his brothers are doing is rubbing off on me. Or maybe I’m a big enough sap that I find anything Sorin is doing to be interesting. He could watch paint dry, and I’d want to sit with him and watch too, just to spend time with him.

Maybe that’s what falling in love is—tripping over your own feet in your haste to be as close as possible to the object of your desire while low-key panicking that you don’t recognise the person you’ve become.

I’d be lying to myself if I were to pretend I never pause to think about what my and Sorin’s potential child might be like. I can’t quite imagine skin mixed with scales… but decide it isn’t important.

Sorin, bless him, hasn’t mentioned it again. Still, sometimes when I catch him watching me, I wonder if that’s what he’s thinking about.

In the afternoons, we like to go swimming (swimming being an excuse to grope each other underwater where the cameras can’t see), or sometimes we’re given another task to complete.

Yesterday we spent a depressing number of hours trying to construct a kissing booth out of boxes emptied of produce from Sorin’s pantry and stacked one on top of the other only for the entire thing to fall apart before the kissing had commenced.

Then, in the evenings, we curl up in Sorin’s bed together. I’m slowly getting used to having no blankets or pillows, mainly because sleeping next to Sorin is like sleeping next to my own personal heater. Also, because I’ve woken every single morning wrapped around him like an octopus with eight tentacles. I’m practically his blanket. I swear I don’t mean to sleep on his side of the bed, usually entirely on top of Sorin; it happens when I’m unconscious, like my body’s got a mind of its own.

Not that I’m complaining. Not that Sorin’s complaining either. Although the poor man looks tired more days than not, as if he’s hardly getting any sleep, and he always, without fail, has an enormous bulge between his legs first thing in the morning.

If there weren’t cameras, I’d so be going down on him. As it is, we have to be careful about how many times we sneak outside at night for more hands-on action. Mr. Smith has definitely cottoned on to what we’re doing, and a few times now he’s dropped hints like anvils about how he’s ‘letting’ us get hot and heavy together as a reward for us giving him good content.

I hate that I’ve noticed a correlation, but two days after Sorin and I completed another one of Mr. Smith’s crappy tasks and then got handsy with each other in the swimming lake, Mr. Smith didn’t interrupt. But four days ago, when I tried ignoring his instruction to monologue more, he specifically disrupted Sorin and me kissing at the kitchen table with stupid threats of sending Chloe over to interview us.

Worst of all, his tactics are working, because I’m so desperate to spend any and all time with Sorin that I’ll do practically anything Mr. Smith demands of me so I get the reward of uninterrupted Sorin cuddles.

It still gives me the heebie-jeebies, though—following commands. And when Mr. Smith tells me to do something I was already planning on doing, oh my God, I feel like committing violent crimes! I’m gritting my teeth now, thinking about it. Full of feminine rage.

As for monologuing, I just say the first shit that comes out of my mouth. Any time I’ve got a second to myself, I’m making up lies about how I’m feeling and what I’m thinking. Whether Mr. Smith knows if I’m lying or not is another matter. I suspect he doesn’t care, so long as he gets enough footage to cut into episodes.

Today was day thirteen. I almost don’t want to go to sleep tonight because sleeping is beginning to feel like a waste of hours—well, except for the part where I wake up in Sorin’s arms.

We finished eating dinner about half an hour ago and already I’m yawning. Being active all day and not working in front of a computer means I couldn’t stay awake all night even if I tried.

I’ve almost finished cleaning the kitchen, but it’s taken twice as long as usual because every time I pass by Sorin to reach a cupboard he claims a kiss. A few times, I pretend to forget what I’m doing just so I can walk by him a few extra times for a few extra kisses.

Now, as I’m yawning and putting our shared bowl back into the near-empty cupboard, Sorin is side-stepping toward the ladder, the one that leads upstairs to the planet’s surface. He isn’t smirking because Ril’os don’t smile, but he’s looking smug, as he not-so-subtly tips his head toward the ladder, indicating I should follow.

Suddenly not nearly so tired, I scramble up after him, and then we’re both tumbling out the door. If we stay close to the house, it doesn’t usually matter what direction the wind is blowing; it’s possible to find a spot where we’re protected.

The second we’re out of sight of the cameras, Sorin is kneeling in front of me, his upper arms around my waist, his lower arms fumbling with the hem of my dress.

I yank the fabric out of his way, and he removes my G-string with all the confidence of a man who’s got one thought, and one thought only, on his mind.

“Briar,” is what I think he says, but it’s honestly hard to hear anything over the wind, even though we’re not directly in its gale.

I run my hands over his head, grasping two horns to keep myself steady, as he lifts one of my legs, slinging it over his shoulder. Despite my hold, I almost fall, he’s so tall. So I press my back to the house, bracing myself.

I tense, expecting his touch, but when it doesn’t come, I look down to see him staring at me there . Between my legs.

His lips are parted, and his slit pupils are round, almost circular.

I squirm under the onslaught of his gaze, but his two hands on my waist tighten, keeping me in place. With another hand, he runs his fingers through my pubic hair. And with his fourth hand, he parts my folds, truly exposing me.

My knees weaken. And now it’s my mouth that’s open as I watch him watching me.

I’ve never felt so exposed. So seen. So studied.

Heat warms my face. I want to close my thighs and widen my stance at the same time. I want to hide from him and show myself to him.

The conflicting feelings of humiliation and exhilaration send tingles racing through my body. They culminate at my core, and I can actually feel how wet I’m getting, all just from Sorin’s gaze on me.

His mouth moves; he’s talking again, but I still can’t hear him. And, of course, I can’t read his lips.

“Sorin.” I arch my back as he leans closer and licks me. Licks me there, between my folds. His tongue laps at my wetness, pushing the tip into my vagina, as if he’s desperate to taste more of me.

I feel rather than hear his moan. Then he leans back enough that he can look up at my face, checking I’m enjoying myself. When I see how damp his lips are, I moan, too.

He tips his head to one side as if to ask “yes?”

“Yes, Sorin. Yes!” I nod rapidly, trying to convey my enthusiasm, and he immediately returns his attention to my body, his tongue exploring the shape of me.

My hold on his horns tightens, like I’m trying to steer his head, and he obeys, moving his administrations higher. When he finds my clit, I gasp as pleasure almost too great for me to bear radiates out from that small bud.

His body vibrates; I think he’s pleased with himself, as he focuses his attention on my clit. I don’t know how I’m still standing. Probably if I hadn’t been wedged between Sorin’s solid form and the house behind me, I’d have slid to the ground.

Sure, I’ve had a few Human men go down on me before. But not like Sorin is. Not like he’s loving every second of it as much as I am. Not like we’re a team, working toward the same goal.

It’s like we’re both chasing my orgasm, determined to catch it. And I’m grinding myself against his tongue, barely even registering how he’s using his lips to shield his sharp teeth.

I slide down the wall another few inches, and Sorin bows his head, following me. I think an entire fleet of spaceships could land behind him, and he won’t notice. He’s still got two hands on my waist and another one keeping my raised legs over his shoulder. His fourth hand…

A fresh bolt of pleasure hits me when I see his fourth hand stroking his cock. It’s pointing up toward his stomach, red and angry looking. He doesn’t have foreskin; I’m guessing that would be pretty redundant when he’s got a literal cock pocket in which to store his dick when it’s not in use.

When he tightens his hold of himself, it’s almost like I can feel his hand, too, and I shudder, so, so close to coming. I can’t believe he’s going to come like this—driving himself wild with his tongue on my clit.

Then he sucks on me, changing the pressure and tempo, and my orgasm hits me, blinding me. I can’t do anything but exist in this moment, a Human-shaped ball of pleasure.

When I can finally open my eyes again, I reach for Sorin, but he’s already spilling, his whole body taut, his eyes pressed closed. His cock spurts again and again, white semen splattering his hand and hitting my leg.

Sweat rolls down my back and stomach, and I can’t stop panting. Like I’ve run a fucking marathon. I ease my leg off Sorin’s shoulder, and he catches me in trembling arms as I sink to the ground, burying his face in my hair.

If it’s this good outside in the wind, pressed against the side of his house, imagine how great it’s going to be in a real-life bed.