Chapter 9
NINE
MARIA
An elf was standing next to the table, looming over me as he spoke with Lyrien's voice.
He wasn't exactly an elf; that was just what my mind registered the moment I looked at him.
His jawline was firm, his chin pointed, and he had pointed ears that peaked out from beneath the filaments of his hair.
His skin was a shade of dusky grey, with the undertones that reminded me of Lyrien's hull.
His hair was made up of the same glowing white filaments I'd grown used to, pouring out of his head and tumbling down his back in dreadlocks that shifted as if they had a life of their own.
Along his shoulders were small divots that reminded me of the ones on the drones, only looking more like flesh than metal or artificial material.
He was shirtless, with just loose trousers hiding his pelvis and legs.
His form was mouthwateringly fit, and just the sight of him ignited the heat that flared between my legs.
Suddenly, I realized the utter heaven this could be.
Whatever kind of creature he was, he had just given me the best orgasm of my life and then built me a VR suite where he could take on the appearance of anyone.
He had been dedicated to my care and well-being, and wanted me to be happy and healthy.
I could spend the remainder of the trip in absolute blissville if I wanted to.
But that was another assumption.
I had already made a massive mistake in assuming he was just software. It hadn't occurred to me that a ship could be alive.
"You're very tall," I said, craning my head up to look at him. This form he had chosen was about seven feet tall, which would make kissing him ridiculous, given how short I was. I personally preferred a nice five foot nine as my lip-to-lip ratio for height. "Can you make yourself shorter?"
"I'm a big male," he said, sitting down at the booth with me. "Get used to that."
Even as his no-nonsense tone stirred heat in me, I realized I had heard those words before, and suddenly I realized the culpability of my own confusion.
"You told me you were male," I said.
"I did," he replied.
"I haven't really asked enough questions about you," I said. "I was so caught up in the idea of you in my head, I didn't hear the words you were saying. I should have asked more questions. Why would software use a biological term to describe itself?"
"You ask plenty of questions," he said with a smile. "I could have explained more."
"Yes," I agreed. I reached across the table, laying my hand flat on the surface. "So there are things we both could have done better. How about we focus on moving forward instead?"
He tilted his head to the side, then mimicked my gesture, covering my hand in his. It felt warm, like a hand. My mind couldn't separate what I was seeing from what I was feeling.
"It feels like I'm touching another person," I breathed out.
"You've always been touching another person," he said.
Those words struck me, and I hesitated.
His fingers curled around mine, holding onto me even as embarrassment at my own oversight rushed through me.
"You kept telling me that you really liked me touching you," I said.
"I did," he replied as he turned my hand over and trailed a finger down the center of my palm. "You responded with the same."
There were so many thoughts in my mind, so many questions all tangled up and begging to be asked, that it was hard to express myself through them, so I chose the simplest one to start, even if it was painfully blunt.
"Do you want to fuck me?" I asked, feeling nervous and flustered, even as I said the words to the question I desperately needed the answer to.
He was an alien, and I couldn't assume that he was playing around with me for the same reason I was reacting to his touch.
Maybe he just liked touching me platonically, and me getting off on it was just an extra.
"Ignoring my desires, not to say they aren't important, but I want to know if this is something that originates from you, not from some need to take care of me. Is that something that you want to do?"
"Fuck, mate, breed," he replied, without hesitation, his voice husky as he leaned forward, his eyes holding mine. "The idea of sliding into you, feeling how you take me in, caressing you as I find every way to make you scream my name is something I very much want to do."
His direct words sent a shock through me, my entire body heating with arousal.
Then the seat shifted under me, and I felt the pressure of a firm caress between my legs, causing me to grab his hand.
"Lyrien," I gasped out. "We aren't done talking!"
I didn't want him to hold himself back. I wanted him to lose control, to grab me as he did before, to tear off my clothing and give me what he just promised me.
Except wait, what did he mean by breed?
The seat settled down under me.
I needed boundaries, or he was going to do something like that again, and I was going to lose any chance to talk about this before it happened. I knew myself well enough that I was a stroke or two away from deciding that words could wait until later.
I cleared my throat.
"For right now, only touch me with this," I said, gesturing to the form of the dark elf in front of me. "Your touch makes it hard to talk, and I want to talk."
He looked at me, that sinful way a man has of looking, like he was absolutely certain he was going to have me, it was just a matter of how soon, and my insides fluttered in response.
I shifted in my seat and was both relieved and disappointed when it didn't move underneath me.
He could just lift up from the seat below me, pull off my clothes, and have me right there, without me moving from that spot.
The thought itself was a form of torture, given how badly I wanted that to happen.
"You can also leave the room," he said, a challenge in his voice. "You're the one who is touching me right now. This entire room is me, no protection of the metal plating of the corridors to separate us."
I didn't move. I didn't want to move.
I just widened my eyes as I stared at him.
He grinned at me like he was a cat and I was a bird caught in his claws.
He stood up abruptly from the booth and stepped over to my side of it.
I scooted over automatically, deeper into the booth, the intense awareness that my rear was rubbing against him, and he sat down, his huge body blocking me from the sight of the rest of the room, caging me in to the corner that I had chosen not to leave.
He put one hand over the back of the seat behind me and leaned into me, all muscle and intent.
He pushed up my skirt with his other hand, letting it settle on my bare skin, just above my knee.
My heart pounded in my ears as I realized that he was doing exactly what I asked him to do, to only touch me with this projected bipedal version of himself.
In the context of a body that was similar to mine, the intention of his action was so painfully clear that it caused me to clench my inner channel in anticipation.
There was no question about what he wanted.
"What do you want to talk about?" he asked in a husky voice.