Part Three
GEORGIE
I stare around me uneasily. Somehow, I’ve fallen through a hole covered by the falling snow. It’s a stupid misstep, and it seems that this planet is absolutely riddled with caverns, because I’ve landed in one.
And this one’s occupied. Really, really occupied.
A dozen pairs of eyes stare at me out of weird, fish-like faces. They’re kind of human, kind of not. They’re bipedal and have two arms and legs and are tall. Taller than me. Their eyes are enormous in their pointed faces, their mouths small and round. They look almost cartoony, except for the matted pale hair that covers almost every inch of their bodies. And they smell like a wet, dirty dog. Ugh.
One hoots at me, the sound querulous.
“Hi,” I say softly. I don’t move a muscle as they gaze at me. It’s clear they’re trying to decide if I’m friend or foe. They remind me a bit of Wookiees from a Star Wars movie—Jesus, I’ve really got to get my mind off of Star Wars—except for the fact that they’re white and have enormous eyes. And tails, I realize as one creature moves forward, his tail flicking back and forth like an irritated cat.
It cocks its head and studies me. Then it hoots again.
“Georgie,” Vektal snarls from above. “Georgie!” I hear his hands scraping against the ice above, and snow rains down on my head.
“I think I’m okay,” I call up to him.
The tail-flicking creature lifts its head and hoots at the air again, sounding a bit like an owl.
More snow flicks onto my face, and I peer up. The rocky cavern has a hole up above, and Vektal’s desperately scraping at it, trying to clear enough space for his much larger body to follow me down. He looks frantic and bellows another command at me that I don’t understand. Is it ‘stay put’ or ‘move’ or what?
I look at the bug-eyed yeti-things.
One tilts its head at me and wags its tail faster. It’s almost like an ugly puppy. Almost. I smile and get to my feet slowly, noticing that the ‘puppies’ are all a foot taller than me. “Hey there,” I say, keeping my voice sweet and soft. Maybe if I treat it like a puppy, we’ll get along just fine. When its nostrils flare and the tail thumping increases, I extend my good hand out so he can sniff it.
Immediately, the creature snarls. He slaps my hand away and gives me a vicious shove. I give a startled little scream as I fall to the ground. Another creature pounces on me right away, pulling on my hair and my clothing. Another hoots and throws snow at me. I realize they aren’t like puppies at all, but more like vicious, angry monkeys.
And I’m in an entire den of them.
The hand twisting in my hair pulls hard, and I scream again, trying to slap it free. Another smacks my injured ribs, and the breath gets knocked out of me. I cough and roll around on the ground, trying to protect myself from their wild swings and hooting calls.
From above, there’s a wild, ferocious roar. Then the entire ceiling seems to cave in.
Vektal. Thank God.
Something heavy slams into the ground, and the creatures screech and retreat. I squeeze an eye open just in time to see Vektal roar with fury, the sound vibrating with intensity. The entire cavern shakes, and I watch as he draws his blades.
The creatures back up even more.
I don’t blame them—Vektal looks utterly terrifying. The light in his eyes is blazing, and his fangs are bared with fury. I’m even a little frightened when he turns his gaze toward me.
But then he scoops me off of the ground and flings me over his shoulder, caveman-style, before storming his way down an entirely different passageway. The creatures hoot and scream at him, and when one pounces, I feel Vektal’s big arm sweep it aside as if it’s nothing.
They cluster about, shrieking, and one grabs at my hair again, fisting a handful before I can bat it away. I cry out, and Vektal turns, this time with a knife.
The creature’s dead before it hits the ground.
I gasp at the sight, but then Vektal’s slamming through the cavern, pushing his way through the grabby creatures, and I’m so relieved at the sight of sunlight a few moments later that I want to weep.
We’re out of the cavern, and the creatures aren’t following us.
That doesn’t mean my alien stops, though. He continues on, trudging through the deep snow with a sense of purpose that makes me a little intimidated. I’m still waiting for the I told you so.
But I’m cold and freaked out, and I say nothing to protest my stupid move. If he wants to play caveman, as long as he keeps me safe, I’m fine with that. He’s angry. It’s pretty obvious to me that he’s rather furious, actually. He mutters under his breath in an angry tone, and his body is tense against mine. And the thing that sucks the most is that I can’t even apologize for stomping off. We don’t have the words. I’m so frustrated and unhappy that I want to kick something.
Except my entire body hurts from my fall, and my ribs feel like they’re on fire. So instead of kicking something, maybe I’ll just cry instead. If I do, though, the tears will probably just stick to my face.
This whole damn planet is against me.
I’m feeling pretty miserable when Vektal sets me down in the snow and glares fiercely at me. “Saan tes.” He points at the ground. “Tes!”
“Stay here. Got it,” I mumble, feeling guilty. I cross my arms over my chest and wait.
He gives me an exasperated look and then heads a few feet away. I notice we’re right back at that stupid cliff wall with the buried cave. We’re right back where we started a short time ago, except in the meantime I’ve had half my hair pulled out by rabid yeti, acquired a few more bruises, and now he’s pissed at me.
I hate this place. I hate that it’s cold and it’s snowing all the damn time and everything wants to eat my freaking face. I hate that I’m wearing a smelly, gross jumpsuit and that I ate raw meat and that there are a dozen girls up the hill who would probably kill to be in my place at the moment, and I can’t even feel grateful.
I just feel miserable.
I do my best to fight back exhausted, frustrated tears, but they’re coming on anyhow. I’m shaking and trembling from cold and misery, and by the time Vektal digs out the mouth of the cave and enters it to make sure it’s safe, silent tears are leaking from the corners of my eyes and freezing on my lashes. Because of course they are. Not even his cloak is keeping me warm now, and I stifle a stab of resentment that he’s practically in a tank top and leggings and seems to be just fine with the weather.
After a moment, he emerges from the cave and indicates it’s safe to come in. I join him, and it’s not much to see, the interior a small grotto hacked out of the rocks that opens up near the cliff wall and then snakes further back into the earth. There are supplies near the front, another leather door hanging, a few furs for warmth, and a small stack of what looks like cakes of mud and some wood. It’s cozier than anything I’ve seen recently, and it’s out of the wind. As Vektal pushes the leather covering over the entrance to block out the rest of the snow and wind, it’s dark inside.
But safe.
I’m safe. I shiver, and then I’m shaking as a sob escapes my throat.
VEKTAL
Not for the first time, I despair at how helpless my mate is. I’m utterly confused by her—if she knows nothing about the land, how did she get here? Even the metlaks didn’t know what to make of her. I’m furious at myself for letting her wander away. I’m furious that the metlaks could have hurt her more grievously than they did. I know of kits that have been torn apart by accidentally encountering a group of metlaks on the prowl.
Georgie, my precious mate, my resonance, fell right into an entire den of them. She could have been killed before I made it down to rescue her.
The thought has my hands shaking and my khui thrumming against my chest with an angry beat. How can I possibly take care of someone who is more helpless than a kit? Someone who demands to go into the dangerous mountains instead of letting me take her home to my people?
Who is my Georgie? How did she get here? Other than the metlaks and the sa-khui, there are no other people on this land. She is precious.
And I nearly lost her. I’m twisted in my own anger, stalking about the cave as I prepare a fire for my shivering mate. I stack wood and dung chips, rub the fire-making implements between my palms until I catch a spark, and then create a fire by feeding it tinder. When the flames begin to lick at the wood, I gesture that Georgie, shaking with cold, should move closer.
“Dankyew,” she says in a soft voice.
“I don’t understand you,” I growl at her. It’s another obstacle in the way of my mating. I want to tell Georgie that she is mine. That she is my resonance. That she’s safe with me and I won’t let any harm come to her if she’ll just trust me. That she is my light and my reason for being now, and that we shall create a hearth and family together. But I can tell her none of these things.
She sniffs loudly and moves a little closer to the fire, sticking her tiny, five-fingered hands out to warm them. Her bad wrist is an angry color. Maylak, the tribe healer, could cure this with a touch. But she is not here, and my Georgie must suffer. “Give me that,” I say gruffly, indicating that she should give me her injured hand. She probably hurt it worse during her fall, and I’m chagrined that my mate is so poorly cared for.
“Nowyurmadatmeeh,” she says and sniffs loudly again. Then, she bursts into tears.
“Ah, Georgie,” I murmur and pull her against me. Her face presses against my vest, and she sobs. I stroke her hair, now crunchy and hard with ice. She’s going to get sick. I’ve forgotten she has no khui to warm her and dragged her up one side of the mountain and down the next. She’s fragile, my small five-fingers. I chide myself for not taking better care of her. “It won’t happen again, my resonance,” I tell her, stroking her rounded cheek. “I shall take better care of you, starting now.”
And even though it’s callous of me to use all of the supplies here, I build the fire even higher. I don’t care if I’m sweating as long as my Georgie is warm and comfortable. And I hold her against me for what feels like forever. Her hands burrow under my clothing, seeking my warmer skin, and my cock grows hard at her small touches. But she’s still crying, and so I hold her and comfort her as best as I can, until the tears die away and she’s only sniffling her unhappiness.
Her hands are still under my clothing, though. My cock hasn’t forgotten this, and I ache with need, my khui thrumming in my chest. I want to make her happy. I want to make her strange, sweet face smile instead of cry.
So while she warms herself by the fire, I dote on my mate, like I should. I examine her wrist and then cut a strip from one of the furs, binding it tightly and splinting it against one of my bone knives. It will hold until I can take her to the healer. She gives me a grateful smile and points at another one of the bone knives on my vest.
“Kinnihafwon?”
I shake my head to indicate I don’t understand, and with gestures, she shows me she wants to hold it. Ah. She wants to defend herself. I give her one of the blades. I wear six, and now I am down to four. Tomorrow, I will show her how to use it and how to stab with it so if she is attacked by metlaks again, she will be able to fight back. They are cowardly creatures at heart and will run if endangered.
At the gifting of the knife, her smile widens and she beams happily at me, as if I have given her the greatest of treasures. “Iveel betterwit it.”
I nod, though I don’t know what she’s rambling about. Just that she’s smiling. It’s enough for me. I will do more, though. There are furs in this cave, furs left for comfort for hunting warriors who venture out this far. They’re stale and stiff with age, but they’re warm. When we leave in the morning, I will break the rules of hunting politeness and she will wear them as we travel. I won’t have her shivering any more.
“Cookh?” she asks and points at the kill slung at my belt. “Cookhnao?”
“Cookkh?” I repeat, holding the quilled beast up for her to see. “Is that what you call it? Cookh?”
“Eeeht,” she says and smiles up at me, her small teeth gleaming. She points at the beast, then at the fire. “Cookhden eeht plis.”
Ah. Instructions. I point at the fire. “Cookh?”
“Wellthassfire ifyewont tewget teknikal butyess.” She nods. “Cookh.”
Even though it goes against every instinct I have, I do as she asks. I skin the animal and skewer tasty bits on one of my bone knives, and she holds them up to the fire and then eats one with happy smacking noises. She exclaims over each bite, and by the time the food is gone, her eyes are getting drowsy and content.
I’m content, too. We’ve stopped early, but Georgie is warm and safe and fed.
I explain to her with hand signals that I must collect more wood and set traps for more food. She is to stay in the cave and keep the fire going and rest. She looks uneasy but nods, and I leave her with my bone knife and water skin.
I hurry through the gathering, finding dvisti dung instead of wood. I have no axe with me, and this far up the mountain, the trees are stunted. I set snares for more quilled beasts and the scythe-beak birds. Dvisti are the best eating, but Georgie seems determined to go up the mountain and we cannot carry so much meat. If she were another sa-khui, it would be easy, but my Georgie is delicate and not nearly as strong as our weakest warrior.
I return to the cave near dark to find Georgie sound asleep, curled up in the blankets, knife in hand. The fire is banked to coals, and her hair has dried into shiny, golden-brown curls that are lovely to see.
They’re almost as lovely as the soft smile she gives me when she wakes up. She sits up in the nest of blankets and gives me a sleepy look. “Mountain?”
I shake my head and set down the fire supplies off to one side in the cave. There’s a fierce snowstorm outside, and the drifts we must wade through to go up the mountain are getting deeper by the moment. I pull back the hide door to show her the snow, and she looks crestfallen.
“Tomorrow, we will go to the mountain,” I tell her. I’m not sure why she is desperate to go, but it must mean something to her. I gesture with my hands, trying to explain that we will go when the sun rises again and the storms stop. Eventually, I just settle for soon.
“Soon,” she echoes and gives me a smile. She seems satisfied with my answer.
The day is going to be a long one. The suns would still be high in the sky if they were out, and we are snowed in, tucked away against the bitter cold. Georgie cannot withstand it like I can, and having her with me slows me down. I would not trade her presence for the finest hunting, but I must acknowledge that having my mate with me means I must make different choices than I would if I was alone. Caring for her has now taken priority.
The thought of being with her all day feels like a gift.
She gestures at the fire and says my word for fire.
“Yes, fire.”
“Fire,” she repeats. Then she grabs a handful of the furs she is sitting on and gives me a questioning look.
“Furs.”
“Furs,” she echoes. The words sound funny in her mouth, as if she has a hard time making the rumbling throat noises that I do. But I’m pleased she wants to learn how to communicate with me. For the next while, we name off things that are easily pointed at, and Georgie tries to pronounce them. Then, she goes back and repeats them in different orders each time, trying to learn the words.
Eventually, we run out of things to name in the cave and proceed to bodies. She pats her curly, disheveled locks.
“Hair,” I say automatically, amused that she immediately starts finger-combing her tresses. I will make her a bone comb when we return to my home cave.
“Hair,” she grumbles, giving up on the tangles. Then she leans toward me and pats my mane. “Hair?”
“Hair,” I agree.
Her fingers move to my horns, and she lightly skims one. “Whazzis?”
“Horns,” I tell her. I scarcely dare to breathe as she traces along it. Though my horns do not have much feeling, her breasts are close to my face and the scent of her arouses me, as does her fascinated touch. I long to grab her and pull her against me. Instead, I clench my fists and force myself to remain unmoving.
“Whazzis?” she asks again, and her fingers brush over my forehead, the bony ridges there, and then my nose.
“Face?” I don’t understand what she’s asking. I touch her cheek. “Face, like yours.”
But she gives a small head shake and rubs one of the ridges with a small fingertip. It makes my cock leap to attention, and now I’m fully erect and aching, my pulse pounding directly in my groin. Her fingers touch the ridges along my nose, and then over my brows, and then brush over my heart. “Slikeharmr?”
“It’s just skin,” I tell her. Hers is smooth all over, while mine has texture in certain places. Her funny, flat brow and tiny nose look odd to me, and her comment makes me think that perhaps I look strange to her.
Her fingers trail down my chest a bit more, and she keeps touching me with soft, ticklish brushes of her fingertips. My khui vibrates with need, and I have to close my eyes to brace myself. I’m going to burst across her hand if she reaches any lower, so I grab her hand before she can keep exploring.
Georgie is in control, but I cannot take much more of this gentle exploration. If she touches me again, I’m going to throw her down on the furs and fuck her until she screams with pleasure.
GEORGIE
Vektal takes my hand in his as I run my fingers down one big shoulder. It has that ridged, gnarled armor-like plate over one bicep and the back of a hand.
“No,” he tells me in his language.
I’m confused. I thought he liked me and wanted me to touch him. His soft leather leggings can’t hide the erection straining against them. I’m a little frightened by the sheer size of it, but I know Vektal would never hurt me. He’s been fussing over me all afternoon, making sure my wrist was all right, checking my bruises, and shoving small bits of cooked food into my mouth the moment they were ready. All the while, he was touching me with possessive little touches that let me know that he was right there with me, that he was aware of me.
So to be pushed away now? When we’re learning about each other? It hurts my feelings. “No?”
He sees the hurt on my face, and I hear his chest thrumming even harder. “Georgie,” he says in that soft, unique way of his. He gestures at himself, then glances heavenward and mutters something I can’t make out.
“Are we done playing our game, then?” I ask. I was just getting to the interesting parts. And, okay, I might be flirting a bit. Because touching him and feeling that suede-like skin against mine and watching him react? It’s like catnip to a cat. He’s just so warm and has such soft skin over those rock hard muscles, and he looks at me like I hung the moon, and . . . it’s intoxicating.
I wonder if he’s attractive for his people. He’s attractive to me, now that I’ve gotten past my initial shock of the horns-and-blue-skin-and-glowing-eyes thing. His features are strong and well-defined, his nose straight and regal, even if it is ridged. His cheekbones are high, and he’s got a beautifully sculpted mouth.
And he has the most amazing shoulders and biceps. I want to fan myself just thinking about them. Fact is, he’s just pure pleasure to touch. I’ve been enjoying running my hands over him quite a bit, and I can’t get our little interlude in the stream a few hours ago out of my mind. About his hand, dragging down to my pussy and claiming it with a touch. Letting me know that he wants me if he’s going to take me up the mountain.
I’d touched him back. Gripped that big, delicious cock in my hand and gave it a squeeze to let him know I was willing to play his game.
“Georgie,” he says again. He gives me another shake of his proud head and then rubs a hand down his face in a very human-looking gesture of frustration that makes me smile.
“Yes?” I purr, sidling up to him again. Now that the cave is warm, I’ve stripped off most of the furs I was cocooned in and am down to my jumpsuit. I’m so close I can practically rub my breasts on his arm.
And he won’t look at me. Instead, he shakes his head and says something that sounds like, “Sa nisok ki yemev.”
“Yeah, I don’t know what that means,” I say, brushing a finger through his mane. His hair is straight, black and coarse, and super thick. It doesn’t grow anywhere else on his body, either, which I find interesting.
He pushes my hand away, but I hear the strange purring going wild in his chest. I know he’s enjoying my touch. I just don’t understand why he won’t look at me, or why he pushes me away.
“Vektal?” I ask. “I don’t understand.”
His eyes flare with light anew, and he takes my wrist and guides my hand to the erection straining his soft breeches. Then he gives me a look as if to say you see?
Ah. I get it now. A small smile curves my mouth, and I feel rather powerful at the moment. He won’t touch me—won’t look at me—because it’s arousing him and he doesn’t want to push me into anything.
Really, for a big barbarian, he’s being the perfect gentleman.
It’s ironic because now I’m the one who wants to do more. Maybe it’s the need for comfort or the fact that I find him weirdly attractive. Or maybe it’s that my belly’s full and I feel safe for the first time in what feels like forever, but I’m in the mood. The more he tries to be noble about things? The friskier I get.
“I guess I don’t need to ask about birth control, do I?” I say to him and put a hand on his shoulder. God, I love touching him. It feels utterly decadent. “I’m not on the pill, not that it matters now. And I’m pretty sure that since we’re different species, you can’t get me pregnant.”
He watches me with narrowed eyes, as if waiting to see what I’m going to do.
“Allow me to make the first move,” I tell him softly, reaching out to undo the top laces on his unusual vest.
Vektal’s strange eyes flicker with light, and then he purrs harder than ever, his chest practically vibrating from the strength of it.
“I appreciate the rescue earlier,” I say, tugging at the laces. The fabric, a soft hide of unnatural coloration, falls away at my touch. I brush aside the knives and pouches tied to it, revealing Vektal’s broad chest and the ridges that cascade down his breastbone, between two massive, hard pectorals. “Allow me to show you how much.”
I lean forward to kiss him—
And he automatically leans away, looking at me with surprise.
“Kiss,” I say, stifling a giggle. I’d almost be offended at his expression of surprise, but I know Vektal’s not familiar with kissing. Maybe he doesn’t make love like humans do, either. The thought intrigues me.
“Kiss,” he agrees, and when I lean forward again, he doesn’t pull away.
I brush my lips over his firm mouth. His lips don’t part under mine. If anything, he’s stiff and unresponsive while I kiss him. I decide to coax him a bit more, pressing my lips to his over and over again, then nibbling on his lower lip. He doesn’t open up no matter how much I coax him, so I gently brush the seam of his mouth with my tongue.
He jerks back in surprise, eyes narrow as he gazes at me.
“Still a kiss,” I tell him. I wrap my arms around his neck. “It’s called a French kiss. It’s where tongues mate. I think you’ll like it if you’ll give me a chance.”
Vektal’s gaze remains focused on my mouth as I speak. He leans in and presses his mouth to me, quickly, and then gives me a suspicious look, as if waiting to see if I’ll correct him.
“Kiss,” I agree and press my mouth softly to his again.
When I feel his tongue brush my lips, I capture the tip of it and suck lightly.
He groans . . . and so do I. The ridges creasing his brow, his chest, his cock . . . they’re also on his tongue. I’ve forgotten about this, and I moan when I remember how it felt as he licked my pussy.
Vektal thrusts his hands into my tangled hair and holds me against him. “Kiss,” he demands again. It’s clear he wants more.
So I give him more. I lock my mouth to his and slide my tongue against that textured one, moaning again as he rubs against mine. He’s still against me, as if judging my movements. Learning them. So I brush my tongue along one of his long fangs, pleased to feel the purr in his chest escalate. When I’m breathless from kissing, I pull away from him and give him a pleased look. “How was that?”
“Kiss,” he says again, and then he takes charge. Pulling my mouth to his, Vektal begins an all-out kissing assault that leaves me utterly dazed. He nibbles and sucks at my own tongue, and then starts a slow, languid thrusting that reminds me of sex and leaves me aching with need.
By the time I pull up for air, we’re in the furs together, and I’m pressed against his bare chest. My pulse is throbbing a beat between my thighs, and I’m aching with need.
“You’re pretty good at that.” Boy, really, really good. He’s going to kill me if he gets any better at it.
“Georgie,” he murmurs against my mouth. “Kiss.” And his hand goes to the collar of my grimy jumpsuit. He presses his mouth along my upper lip. Then my cheek. Then my jaw. “Kiss,” he says softly again.
“Yes,” I say and pull at the fastenings of my jumper. I tug it open, and my breasts spill free.
He looks at my bare skin with something akin to wonder. His large, four-fingered hand lifts, and he presses his palm not to my breast, as I expect, but the smooth valley between them. He strokes my skin, then runs his knuckles up and down over my breastbone, fascinated.
Then, Vektal’s attention turns to my breasts, and he brushes those knuckles over my nipple. I gasp, feeling arousal bolt through my body, and he seems equally surprised at the texture of my skin there. He lightly touches one with a fingertip and the nipple hardens and puckers at his touch.
“Sem,” he says in a low, reverent voice. Then he touches my skin between my breasts again. “Sem.”
“Soft?” I ask. I touch his chest, the ridges there, and then shake my head. “Sem?”
“Georgie sem,” he says, voice ragged. The thought looks like it tortures him.
“Yeah, I guess I’m pretty soft,” I agree, smiling. “But fun to touch, right?” And I grab his hand and put it back on my breast.
He responds by kissing me again, and I lean into his caresses. There’s something about him that’s so very delicious. His kisses turn hungrier, and I moan as his hand cups my breast. I press against him, wanting more of his touch.
Vektal’s big hand moves over my body, exploring me. He pushes at my open jacket, and I remove it because I want him to touch all of me. Pressing my skin against his is warmer than any piece of clothing. I want to be against him, naked, and the thought of his big body covering mine sends shivers of anticipation through me. I shimmy out of my jacket, the tight sleeves resisting a little thanks to my bad wrist and the wrappings around it, but I’m topless soon enough.
I push at his vest, because turnabout is fair play, and he removes it. Then we’re both half-naked and gazing at each other, exploring the differences in our bodies. He has the textured, armor-like patches on his arms and chest; I’m soft all over. He’s got suede-like skin that feels like heaven against mine. We both have belly-buttons and nipples. I run my hands over his, and they feel hard, textured, like the armor plates. Maybe that’s why he’s so fascinated at the softness of mine.
I press my breasts against him and tuck my chin against one hard shoulder. This allows me to run my hands down his back, and I sigh with pleasure as I continue touching him. He’s purring so hard his entire chest is practically vibrating, and it feels good against my skin. His shoulders are enormous, the strength in them turning me on. His back has more of the textured ripples down his spine, and they lead to his tail. I have to admit that the tail makes me smile. It’s a long cord tufted with black hair like on his head, and it’s currently lashing back and forth against the blankets.
“Georgie,” Vektal murmurs into my ear, and then I feel him nuzzle at my neck.
Oooh. My nipples harden in response, and I cling to him as he licks the tender skin of my neck, then goes to my ears and teases an earlobe with his tongue. By the time he returns to my neck a few moments later, I’m moaning with pleasure and rubbing my breasts against his big chest.
His hands go to my ass, and he pulls me against him. Then he’s brushing his lips over my breast, and I cry out when he takes a nipple into his mouth. I cling to his horns, holding on to him as he coaxes and teases my nipple with his lips.
Oh, sweet Jesus, the tongue ridges are a delicious torture. They drag over my sensitive nipples, until I’m practically climbing the big guy. I’m panting and feeding him my breast, and over and over he nuzzles it with his mouth until I want to scream with need.
Vektal’s hands tug at my pants, and that seems like a fantastic idea to me. I shuck them with quick movements, eager to be naked against him. “You too,” I tell him, pressing my mouth to his again. “Want you naked too.”
I get to my feet to pry the tight pants off. I’m pretty wet, and I can feel my juices when I press my thighs together. I have no panties on under the uniform, so by the time I get it off, I’m totally naked—pasty, bruised skin and all.
My big alien pushes my hands aside when I try to go back into his arms. Instead, he insists on checking over all my bruises, I assume looking for new ones. I roll my eyes and endure his ministrations, more interested in getting into his pants than having him peek at my bruises. When he insists I turn around so he can look at my back, I give him an exasperated sigh and put my hands to his breeches, sliding them in to cup his groin.
That gets his attention, fast.
My hands curl around his length, and with touch only, I feel the differences between him and human men. For one, his girth is pretty freaking impressive. He’s scalding hot to the touch, and in addition to his huge size, he’s got that hard knob, like a knuckle-shaped ridge that protrudes over his cock. I have no idea what it’s for and no questions to ask about it. He’s also ridged here, though the skin feels less abrasive, more textured like his tongue.
God, I bet it feels amazing inside a girl. I shiver at the thought. Lucky females of his race. “I’m interested in seeing more of this,” I tell him. I slide my fingers underneath his cock and feel the base of his sac. I wonder if he’s sensitive there.
His hands go to my hair, and he begins to kiss me again, flicking that textured tongue against mine. I moan and grip his cock tighter. I want him naked, but he’s still wearing his pants, so I try to fix that for him. Unfortunately, I can’t figure out how to unlace them. He’s got a breechcloth of some kind over leggings that are rigged with some sort of complex laces that are too much for this needy girl to figure out. I settle for shoving them down his hips.
Vektal chuckles and murmurs something against my mouth. He pulls at the laces, and his pants sag, then fall down. Well, damn it. Maybe I just don’t know how alien clothing works. I no longer care, either, because my big, beautiful alien is naked and I get to bask in the glory that is Vektal. When he stands at his full height, he’s utterly gorgeous.
He looks down at me, blue eyes glowing brightly, and his chest rumbles with the continuous purr. His hand goes between my breasts again, and I wonder if he’s checking for a purr of my own. “Humans don’t do that,” I tell him. “We get wet instead.” And I take his hand and guide it to my pussy, so he can see for himself.
My big alien falls to his knees and groans. He presses kisses to my stomach and then my pussy, and then holds my hips and puts his mouth directly on me.
I gasp and my knees get weak, so I have to cling to one of his horns again. In response, he lifts me off my feet and places me down in the furs, looping my legs over his shoulders and burying his face between my thighs. His tongue sweeps over my labia, and I moan when it circles around my clit.
Oh, God. Then he’s licking me with that crazy tongue of his, sweeping those ridges over my sensitive flesh and lapping up my juices. I whimper and cling to his horns, spreading my legs wider. It feels utterly incredible. I’ve had sex before and oral sex several times, but between the purring and the textured tongue? I’ve never had anything quite like this. Two licks and I’m moaning. Three more and I’m grinding my hips against his face. Two more after that and I’m practically coming off the furs, panting and crying out with need.
And my big, brutal alien just ignores my pleading for an orgasm and keeps on licking me with slow, steady, sensual motions that tell me he’s enjoying this as much as I am. He murmurs soft, unintelligible words with every stroke of his tongue, and when it swirls around the entrance to my core, I practically come out of my own skin. “Please,” I sob. “Oh God, please!”
But of course he doesn’t understand me. So I wail and beg for an orgasm, and he just licks away as I clutch his horns and think this is the most incredible, pleasurable torture I’ve ever known.
“Stop,” I moan. I’m so ready to come I’m aching inside. I want him deep inside me, filling me up. The licking and nibbling is just making me utterly crazy with need. “Oh God, stop, Vektal. I want you in me now.”
In response, his tongue thrusts into my core.
Deep.
And rubs.
I come apart in the hardest orgasm I’ve ever had, my legs locking around his face. I might be screaming his name and clinging to his horns. I might be thrashing against the furs. I’m not really sure because I’m seeing stars at the moment, and between that and the orgasm, there’s no room for any other conscious thought.
He growls, clearly enjoying that I’m coming, and just laps harder, which makes my orgasm seem to go on for mile after endless mile. I’m utterly spent and exhausted when he finally lifts his head, his eyes practically glowing like headlights, and licks his sinfully wet mouth.
I feel wrung out at the sight of that. I’ve come so hard and so frequently that I’m pretty sure that wasn’t one orgasm but a dozen stacked on top of one another, cascading with every flick of his talented, talented tongue. “God, your women must have some incredible stamina,” I tell him weakly as he crawls over my body like a big blue-gray panther and begins to nuzzle at my throat. I need a rest break, but he’s raring to go, pressing his mouth along my skin and licking all the parts he finds the softest.
And before long, I’m moaning and dragging my hands over that suede-soft skin, wanting him deep inside me. “Vektal,” I breathe and lock a leg around his hips. He’s so warm, the purring inside him fierce.
He touches my cheek and murmurs something soft and sweet and then my name. His hips settle between mine, and I realize again just how big his equipment is. Suddenly all of his enthusiastic licking takes on a new meaning because at least I’m wet as hell, which will ease the way.
“Georgie,” he murmurs, and I realize he’s saying something I’ve heard before. “Georgie sa-akh Vektal.” He nuzzles my throat again, and I feel his cock press against my core. It feels enormous, but I’m in this until the end, and I’m ready for him to fill me up. So ready.
Beyond ready, really.
He presses his lips to mine again and then begins to push into me. My body’s stretching to accommodate him, and I drag my hands over his skin, stroking and petting as he presses in, inch by thick inch.
When he’s seated entirely, I learn something new. That knob? The bony ridge I had no idea what it was for? I’ve still got no freaking clue, but I do notice that as he sinks into me, it pushes through my labia and brushes against my clit. I’m trying to analyze this unique sensation when he moves his hips and shallowly thrusts again.
And every nerve ending lights up in response to the push of that knob against my clit.
“Oooooh,” I moan. It reminds me of the time I had a Rabbit Vibrator and it worked my clit at the same time as my core. Having sex with Vektal? It’s like that, but better. Even more intense.
This . . . might kill me out of sheer pleasure. I cling to him as he begins to thrust again, sucking in a breath when his ridge pushes against my clit again. Did I think that the pussy-eating was too much to handle because of his sheer enthusiasm? It’s nothing compared to the mind-blowing sensation of him fucking the hell out of me, that ridge teasing my clit with every stroke, the ridges inside him humming against my g-spot. I come again. And again. I claw his back and scream my pleasure as he thrusts into me over and over, whispering soft words. I’m coming apart with every stroke of his cock, until I’m boneless and weak and mewing—
—and still coming.
My exhausted legs quiver as his strokes begin to take on a wilder edge. Vektal bares his fangs, his own features tightening as an orgasm rises inside him. I rake my nails down the tough, ridged spots on his chest and arms, and he growls low in his throat and shudders. I can tell he likes that, and I do it again. Come for me, baby, I think as he wrings another orgasm out of me and I choke on the overwhelming pleasure.
Then I feel him pulse inside me. Like the rest of his body, his semen feels several degrees hotter than my skin, and I can feel it as he comes, his growl of pleasure becoming louder and louder, the purr in his throat a thunderous rumble. He thrusts hard, and his fingers dig into my hips as he comes, and I feel him coming inside me, over and over again. It’s a new sensation for me.
Hell, all of this is.
But when he collapses on top of me like a big delicious blanket, and then presses his ridged forehead to my flat one and murmurs my name?
I feel content. Boneless—of course—but utterly, completely content. And I want to ask him if he wants to take me up the mountain tomorrow. But it seems like the wrong time to ask. I don’t want him to think I only slept with him because I want him to do something for me.
If I’m totally honest with myself, I slept with him because I’m completely attracted to him. The horns, the blue-gray skin, the tail, the weird cock, all of it. His gruff, protective demeanor. It does it for me.
He shifts over me, clearly trying to pull his weight off of me. I cling to him, because I love the feel of his big warm body over mine, in mine. And I sigh with contentment.
Vektal, on the other hand, begins to kiss me again. I feel him move his hips in a shallow thrust.
A small moan rises from my throat again. “It’s a good thing you can’t make me pregnant, buddy,” I say, even as I lock my feet behind his back.
???
VEKTAL
All night long, my khui thrums with contentment in my chest.
I have claimed my mate. Over and over, she’s welcomed me into her small, soft body, until we’re both exhausted from pleasure. Being with a resonance mate is like no other feeling; I am pleased to my very marrow with my sweet Georgie. I cannot wait to return to the tribal caverns with her. My hand caresses her soft skin even as she snores in my ear, the sunlight streaming in through the gaps in the cave-mouth covering.
I cannot wait for her to swell with my child. Our child. My khui was wise to pick her, even though she is small. She is strong in heart and spirit, and creative and enthusiastic in the furs. She doesn’t resonate for me. Not yet. But when she carries a khui, she will thrum with pleasure at my touch, like I do at hers.
From now until my spirit departs this plane, there shall be none for me but her.
I touch her sleeping features reverently, memorizing them. She’s a strange, tiny thing and soft all over, but her cunt grips my cock so tightly it’s an ecstasy that cannot be described. Her taste is sweet, but the expressions she makes as I fill her with my cock? Even sweeter.
I look forward to tonight, when I will drag my Georgie back to bed until she’s mewing with exhaustion but still eager for more as I pump into her.
I press my mouth to hers to wake her. “Georgie?”
Her eyes, still so dull and lifeless without the shine of a khui, flutter open. It will need to be remedied and soon, I decide. She looks tired, the circles under her eyes deep against her pale skin.
“Vektal,” she murmurs happily and slides a hand down my chest, which starts my khui to thrumming again.
“Mountain?” I ask her, raising a brow with amusement as she tries to burrow back under the blankets and return to sleep.
That wakes her up. “Mountain?” she asks, eyes wide.
I nod. “Dress yourself. I will check the traps, and then we will go.”
“Dnno wutyew sd butlessgo.” She looks excited, flinging her pale arms around the cave and searching for her discarded clothing.
It takes some convincing to get her to stay in the cave while I go out to check the traps, but with hand gestures and our few words, I manage to relay that I will go much faster if I am alone. She kisses me frantically before I leave, as if ensuring that I’ll return for her.
As if anything would ever keep me from her side again.
Rubbing my pulsing chest, I smile to myself and trudge through the snow. Yet another night of steadily falling powder, and the trails are almost entirely covered. I have walked these grounds many times in the past, though, and know exactly where to set my traps for them to yield prey. Since it is just Georgie and me, my traps are small and their catches, even smaller. Were I hunting for my people, I would seek dvisti, bring them down, and then bury them in the snow with a marker until a party could be sent back later to retrieve the bounty. This morning, though, I have two quilled beasts and a small hopper to feed my Georgie. There is no nearby stream, so I gather pure, sweet snow in my skin and then hold it against my chest so it can melt.
I check all my traps, and it’s not until I’m returning back from the last one that I notice an oddly-shaped lump in the newly fallen snow. Curiosity gets the better of me, and I approach it, then nudge it with a boot to uncover what lies underneath.
It’s a foot. Small, bare, and five-toed—like my Georgie.
It’s frozen solid.
As I stare down at it, I realize my Georgie’s not here alone. This is why she’s so frantic to get up the mountain. There are others like her.
Or . . . there were.