Hybrid's Love (4 page)

Kyr sat down on the bed beside her, his hands
moving over her thighs, caressing her, melting away any tension in
her muscles until she was languid and ready for him. She expected
him to move between her thighs, to take her and claim her. But he
didn’t. Instead he dipped his head and began to kiss the soft skin
of her thighs. His tongue followed the arcing crest of her hip bone
to the downy thatch of auburn curls. He pressed his face against
her, his hot breath fanning over sensitive skin. He inhaled the
scent of her, reveling in her desire for him. He nuzzled the mound
of her sex, then parted her thighs. Kneeling between her legs, he
placed his mouth on her, delving his tongue into the cleft of her
cunt, relishing the salty-sweet taste of her. He traced every curve
and fold with his tongue, suckling, scraping with his teeth. The
rasp of his whiskers over those sensitive nerve endings had her
moaning and writhing beneath him. He was relentless. He parted her
with his thumbs, his large hands framing her opened pussy,
revealing the dewy, pink recesses of her most secret places to him.
He dipped his head again, but this time he was deliberate. His lips
closed firmly over the hooded bud of her clitoris.

It was not gentle. The hot pull of his mouth
was firm and commanding. She didn’t scream. She didn’t even moan,
unable to make a sound. The fierce heat and firm pressure of his
skilled lips had robbed her of breath. She could only fist her
hands into his dark hair and cling to him as he drove her toward an
orgasm that rocked her body. Her heels dug into the mattress,
lifting her hips from the bed, pressing more fully against his
questing mouth.

When two fingers speared inside her,
thrusting rhythmically as he continued to pull at her clit, she
collapsed onto the bed, gasping. Dragging a breath into her
scorched lungs, she pleaded with him. She wasn’t certain if she was
begging for him to stop or begging for him to continue. His other
hand moved beneath her bottom, lifting her more fully against his
mouth, deepening the penetration of his fingers inside her. He
didn’t withdraw that hand from beneath her, instead, he kneaded the
rounded globes of her bottom, and then gently separated them, the
tips of his fingers caressing the cleft between them. He wouldn’t,
she thought. Surely he did not mean to. But he did. Damp with the
cream of her desire, his fingers slid easily over the puckered
opening. He pressed, not penetrating, but caressing, fondling. He
swirled the callused pad of his thumb over that sensitive flesh,
while he pleasured her pussy with lips and fingers.

“Oh, God! Kyr!” she cried out, feeling the
tension coiling deep her belly. It was too powerful, too much. He
smiled against her, but did not relent. He pressed deeper into her
pussy, suckled harder at her clitoris, and pressed the tip of one
finger into the tight ring of muscles guarding the most taboo
entrance of her body. He felt the first spasm of her orgasm, her
clitoris pulsing against his tongue. “Please,” she gasped, “Please…
I need you inside me.”

“I am inside you,” he said, and moved his
fingers, pressing deeper, intensifying the orgasm that still quaked
inside her.

“No,” she said, “Not your fingers.”

“Tell me, Wren,” he said, “What part do you
want to feel inside you?”

Her face burned with embarrassment, but her
need was greater than her modesty, “I want your cock. I want you to
put your cock inside me.”

He rose up then, but rather than slide
between her welcoming thighs, he turned her over. He pulled her to
her knees and positioned her just so. Her breasts were pressed
against the mattress, the fabric of the sheets abrading her
sensitized nipples. His hands grasped her hips, lifting her
slightly. She could feel the press of his cock against her. She
spread her knees further apart, parting the damp lips of her pussy.
There could be no clearer invitation. She knew that she was
submitting to far more than sex, that by giving him entrance, by
welcoming him into her body this way, she was accepting his earlier
statement that she would belong to him.

Kyr took his cock in his hand and guided
himself into her. Inch by inch, he fed his cock into her wet,
welcoming heat. Her pussy was impossibly tight. He could feel the
walls of her sex clasping him, squeezing his cock like a fist.
Seated to the hilt inside her, his balls pressed against the
swollen lips of her cunt. He moved, flexing his hips, driving
deeper. She sobbed with pleasure. The sound spurred him on, and he
moved again, driving into her faster, more forcefully, spearing
deeply inside her. Her fingers twisted in the sheets and she
screamed. The sound of their flesh slapping together filled the
room as he drove into her, accompanied by her soft cries and the
harsh rasp of their breathing. It was an erotic symphony, and he
relished each note.

It wasn’t simply sex. It was a claiming; hot,
primitive and animalistic. His hands tightened on her hips, his
fingers digging into the soft flesh, pulling her tightly to him as
he rode her mercilessly. Deftly, he slipped one arm around her, his
hand moving to the thatch of fiery curls. He touched her where
their bodies joined, finding the sensitive protrusion of her
clitoris. He worked it skillfully, sliding his fingers over it,
around it, until with each thrust of his cock into her, she was
screaming. Each thrust intensified the contact of that furled bud
with his dew slicked fingers.

“Cum for me,” he said, his voice harsh and
rough.

Wren was sobbing, every erogenous zone in her
body stimulated by his primitive masculinity. There was something
more though. In her mind, she could feel his pleasure; she could
sense not only his physical pleasure, but his satisfaction in hers.
It wasn’t simply their bodies that were connected.

Kyr felt her then, felt the first conscious,
tentative touch of her mind to his. His pleasure swelled, as did
his pride in her. He unlocked the gates then, letting his thoughts
and feelings flood her. He poured his need into her, his desire for
her. He let it flow from his mind to hers. At the first spasm of
her pussy, the first hot clench as her orgasm rippled through her,
he was lost. He pumped harder and faster, until his body shuddered,
and his cum was pumping inside her, thick and hot. His, he thought.
She was his.

Chapter Four

Wren awoke slowly, blinking against the
light. She was aware of heat, the warmth of a hard, masculine body
curled about her. Stretching, she also became aware of the tiny
aches and twinges, a reminder of the passion that had flared
between them. He’d made love to her twice more through the night,
bringing her to rippling, shuddering climaxes again and again.
She’d never had a lover so attuned to her needs, so able to play
her body with such exquisite skill. But it wasn’t simply that he
was a skilled lover. It had happened again and again, stronger each
time he fucked her, that strange convergence of their minds. It
frightened her, but if the pleasure he had been able to give her
was the result, she would learn to live with it.

Rolling onto her side, she looked into his
sleeping face, marveling that even in repose, he looked fierce.
There was no boyish softness in his face, no slackening of his
chiseled jaw. Dark whiskers shadowed his jaw line, emphasizing the
sensual curve of his lips—lips that had touched her intimately,
that had wrung pleasure from her until she was weak from it.

His eyes opened. He was instantly, completely
awake. There was no confusion, no sleep induced fog clouding his
eyes. They were so dark that she had initially thought them brown,
but during the night, losing herself in his intense gaze, she had
discovered that they were the deepest shade of blue she had ever
seen. “We should reach the Outer Rim within the hour”, he said, his
voice sleep roughened.

Wren smiled, “Typically, you begin by saying
good morning.”

He kissed her, his mouth settling over hers.
The rush of sensation was becoming familiar, but was no less heady.
“Does a kiss constitute an acceptable greeting?” he asked, pulling
back.

She sighed, “It will do nicely.”

Kyr rose, naked and glorious from the bed. He
stepped into a corner of the small room, and immediately, walls
that appeared to be made of glass emerged, forming a cubicle around
him. Water began to cascade from the ceiling, sluicing over his
bronzed skin, beading on the hard muscles. He washed quickly, not
lingering, but did so with an economy of movement.

Wren marveled at the perfection of his body,
at the ripple and flex of powerful muscles as he moved. The doors
opened, and he stopped out. She watched a bead of water slide in a
meandering path from the hollow at the base of his throat, down his
chest. It disappeared into the nest of dark hair that framed his
massive cock. Under her gaze, he stirred, thickening and
lengthening.

“There is no time for what you are thinking
of,” he said, as he dried his body with a piece of cloth.

Wren sighed, and snuggled deeper into the
bed. She was envious of that piece of cloth as it moved over the
satin covered steel of his body. “Then you should put clothes
on.”

Kyr retrieved a pair of pants and pulled them
on. He adjusted his semi erect cock, biting back a curse as he
fastened the pants. The tight fabric was torture as it imprisoned
his sensitive flesh. “I have to man the ship. While it can pilot
itself through empty space, docking is another matter.”

“You’re very good at easing into tight
spaces,” she said.

The air seized in his lungs. He had never
experienced anything in his life like her gentle teasing. The
playful banter had been intended to stir his body, and it did, but
it stirred his emotions, as well. When he could speak, he said,
“There are more clothes in that locker. Take whatever you
need.”

Wren sat up in bed, the sheet falling to her
waist, baring her breasts to him. Her nipples peaked in the chilled
air of the cabin. On her breasts and her neck, he could see the
faint marks left by his whiskers, and darker marks left by his
mouth. She had called them love bites, and he knew that he carried
several of his own. Recalling the feel of her mouth on him, he knew
that he had to move away from her now, or he would not be able to.
“Stop,” he said.

“Tell me how to work the shower,” she said,
dutifully pulling the sheet up to cover herself.

“You simply step inside. It is set for one
hundred degrees Fahrenheit,” he said, walking way. The idea of her
showering, the warm water cascading over her soft skin, had him
aching for her. Ignoring the demands of his body, demands that
should have been more than adequately sated during the night, he
moved to the control deck of the shuttle. Disengaging the autopilot
function, he took over the steering, and initiated a docking
request. Within moments, he received a clearance response and
directions to the appropriate airlock.

Within a few minutes, Wren had joined him
again, taking the seat to his right. “So, do I need to buckle up
for this landing?”

He glanced over at her, noting that she had
somehow twisted her wet hair into a knot and secured it with
something. She wore another of the simple flight suits, with the
boots and jacket had given her yesterday. “It isn’t a landing. It’s
a docking, and I do not anticipate any difficulties.”

Wren drew her legs up into the seat, and
rested her knees on her chin. Through the windows she could see the
station they were approaching. It looked, to her mind at least, the
way she had always envisioned Atlantis. It was a large structure,
mostly metal, covered with interlocking panes of octagonal glass or
some other transparent material. Inside, she could see buildings
and streets and the hustle and bustle that made it look like any
other large city. Except, she reminded herself, it was in outer
space. “So what is this place going to be like?”

Kyr knew what she was asking. “It is a space
station built as a neutral zone intended for commerce and
negotiation. It is ruled by a man who used to the Commanding
Officer of the Sentinel Guards. There will be many different races
represented. Some of them may look quite frightening to you, as the
Aldacyians did, but you must remember we are in a Neutral Zone. No
one will harm you. Dressed as you are, if you do not speak, no one
will realize that you are from Earth.”

“Is it a bad thing to be from Earth?”

He could hear the fear in her voice. “No.” he
replied, gently. “But, we are attempting to hide from the
Aldacyians.”

“And Earthlings aren’t common,” she surmised,
in her best impersonation of Marvin the Martian. Her confusion from
the day before, her loss of identity was still there, still
plaguing her mind. Dwelling on it would do no good. It seemed to
Wren that her best option would be to simply shelve those things
until both she and Kyr were in a safer place.

Kyr was aware of her strange mood. He didn’t
understand it entirely. “We don’t really call you Earthlings.”

Wren chuckled, “I think we need pop culture
lessons for you or you’re never going to get my humor.”

“Genetically, I am not predisposed to
humor.”

Wren’s mouth gaped as she stared at him. Was
he serious? “What?”

Kyr didn’t laugh, but a cocky grin curved his
mouth and he winked at her. Wren started to giggle, unable to stop
herself. She realized that it had been a very long time since she
had actually laughed. “You’ll do,” she said finally.

“High praise,” he muttered, as he eased the
shuttle to the dock, and allowed the airlock to engage.

The rear doors of the shuttle opened and two
guards in armored uniforms stepped aboard, sporting strange looking
weapons. Panic seized her, filled her. She wanted to reach for Kyr,
to take his hand, to feel the comfort of his touch. That frightened
her almost as much as the guards did. He rose, and removed a small
object from his pocket. It was the size of a credit card, and
appeared to be nothing more than clear plastic. He passed it to the
first guard who then scanned it with a small apparatus at his
wrist. A series of characters that she did not recognize were
projected before them. Their pictures scrolled by with what she
assumed were identifying statistics about them. After a few
seconds, the guard passed the small card back to him and then spoke
in a low, guttural language. There was a raspiness to his voice, a
strange clumsiness in the speech, that made her glad she could not
see what was beneath the helmets they wore. Kyr responded in the
same language, but more fluidly, and the guards left.