Terran (Breeder) (12 page)

She trailed her mouth to his neck, and then moved lower to flick her tongue at one of his nipples. He flinched and groaned. She smiled and then sucked on the nub. His hips jerked.

“Monto! What are you doing?” He gasped, but he tangled his fingers in her hair and held her close.

She sought his eyes. “Nobody’s done that to you before?”

“Monto, no. Who would think of such a thing?” He rolled from his side to his back.

She focused on his other nipple, the one that usually bore his insignia, and drew it into her mouth. “I am not sure this is proper,” he growled but held her head against him.

“Sex shouldn’t be proper.” She sucked his nipple, then scooted lower, making sure to trail her hair over his body. His cock jutted out thick and strong against his abdomen. She grasped it with both hands, stroked from base to tip, around the ridge of the exposed glans. Then traced the same path with her lips. Teased.

His precum tasted almost sweet compared to Terran males, and she swirled her tongue around his head to capture every drop. Then, relaxing her jaw, she drew him in until he touched her throat. She had to concentrate on not scraping him with her teeth because his size gave her little room to work. She hovered, bobbing her head as she licked and sucked his considerable cock. Using her hands, she stroked the shaft for additional stimulation.

He produced a significant amount of preejaculate, a condition she relished with every swipe.

She didn’t need his hoarse admonition, “Do not stop,” to determine he verged on coming. His entire body stiffened, and he twisted his hands in her hair. Then his cock convulsed, and with a groan, he pumped into her mouth. She swallowed every drop and then swirled her tongue around his cockhead to capture what she’d missed.

His eyes were closed, his body so still he might have passed out. But then his fist clenched and unclenched, and she curled against him and wedged her leg between his. He draped his arm over her shoulders.

“I have not experienced anything quite like that,” he said.

Tara propped herself up on one elbow. In the darkness, she could make out his features by the moonlight filtering through gaps in the thatched roof. “You’re telling me your people don’t engage in oral sex either?”

He was silent for a long moment. “Not like that. Males take. Females do not have a choice.” Marlix pressed Tara against his chest. He was silent for a long moment, and then he sighed. “It is better when it is given and not taken,” he said.

Chapter Eleven

Marlix hacked through the thick brush, clearing a path for Tara to follow, but residual branches snapped at her bare legs, and she had to watch where she trod. She’d learned the leaves of the shrub with the pretty yellow flowers bore some nasty-ass nettles. Her fingertips still stung after picking a flower. Roots and vines twisted along the wooded glen, creating hazards with every step. She kept her hands in perpetual motion, swatting at flying insects, the size and persistence of which she’d never encountered.

Moisture beaded on large fronds, dampened the forest floor, and filled the air with the scent of fertile earth and decaying matter, of life and death. Tara exhaled, blowing at her bangs glued by perspiration to her forehead. She held her arms away from her body and grimaced. She imagined she reeked, but the fecundity of the wood masked any personal odor.

She shot darts at Marlix’s broad back. Where the hell was he taking her? And why?

He’d kept her under hut arrest for a week—six days—except for nighttime furloughs when he would accompany her outdoors. They would sit, talking sometimes, but often remaining quiet as Tara stared at the stars, pondering how her life had changed, wondering what direction it would take next. He carried in water, which she heated on the woodstove so she could bathe, and once, very late at night, he’d permitted her to go to the females’ bathhouse when it was unoccupied. He’d stood guard outside while inside she tarried in pique, drawing out her bath until her skin wrinkled, determined to wring every second out of the experience and force him to wait as payback for her captivity.

She’d known she was playing with fire, perhaps had even wanted to hold the match until she felt the breath of the flame on her fingertips. When she’d emerged from the bathhouse, he’d said not a word but had led the way to their small hut, and then, still in silence, he’d laid her over his knee and delivered a fusillade of hard openhanded smacks to her bottom as she gritted her teeth. Neither of them spoke; both understood why he’d punished her.

Tara had given up asking him any questions; he rarely provided answers, and she had begun to suspect he had none to offer.

He disappeared every day for long stretches, and she surmised he attended to business. She got the feeling the tram was close to the Enclave, that they had disembarked a distance from the settlement on purpose. Several times she peeked outside the hut to spy Urazi milling around. Marlix’s relief jailor.

Her emotions swung between fury, resignation, and lust. Or at least between resignation and fury. Lust had become a constant companion, lurking in the corners of her being in Marlix’s absence, then beating and throbbing in his presence.

He’d initiated no further sexual overtures since that one night. She counseled herself to be grateful for his lack of attention. What kind of woman desired sex with her kidnapper anyway? Women did not take shit from men, even if they were aliens who oozed sex appeal from every pore.

She wondered if perhaps Parseon males exuded a pheromone that aroused women. It didn’t seem to work on their females; everyone accepted as scientific fact breeders did not experience sexual pleasure. So maybe it only worked on Terrans for some incomprehensible, inconvenient reason. Or just on her.

Of course, a chance existed her appetite did not originate with Marlix at all. After Bobby, she’d entered a long period of abstinence that hadn’t been broken until Marlix arrived on the scene. Perhaps he had merely unleashed her pent-up libido.

And perhaps Parseon was an egalitarian utopia.

Desire drummed now, pulsing in her clit and pussy, despite the heat and humidity, the exertion of the hike, and her annoyance at Marlix’s supercilious behavior.

“Come.”
He had gestured with a jerk of his head after they’d breakfasted.
“Follow me.”
He’d flung open the hut door.

Morning sun sparkled with an invitation that could hardly be refused, but he’d ordered her around like a dog. She could not have been more annoyed if he’d barked
heel!
So she’d planted her hands on her hips and her feet inside the dirt floor of the hut.
“Where are we going?”

“You will find out when we get there. Now come.”

The cottage, though quaint and comfortable, was still her jail. She did want to leave it and did not want a repeat of the post bathhouse incident, so she obeyed, but grumbled the entire way. He’d skirted around huts, taverns, and shops to wend his way out a back gate. There they’d boarded a waiting conveyance—he permitted her to ride up front at the start this time—before he pulled off on a narrow lane in the trees, and the hike had begun.

Tara brushed back her limp hair and tromped behind Marlix.

“We are almost there,” he said, as if he was aware of her discomfort.

In another hundred meters or so, her ears detected a rushing noise. They broke through thick brush to a golden sandy beach fronting a clear, pristine river streaming over rounded amber stones woven with veins of silver.

Tara gasped. “It’s beautiful!”

“I thought you would like this. You have not been allowed out during the day all week, and I know how much you enjoy leisurely baths.” He grinned, enjoying a joke at her expense.

Though she tried, she could not maintain her annoyance, not when in his clueless, baboonish way he’d done something thoughtful, not when the beautiful creek beckoned and she couldn’t wait to submerge herself in its crystal waters, and not when his smile transformed austerity to such masculine beauty it stole the breath from her lungs.

Her heart seized up. “Thank you.”

His grin faded, and his eyes darkened. “You are welcome.”

Tara cleared her throat. “Uh, well. I’ll go in, then.” The intensity of his scrutiny made her self-conscious as she undressed, but she shrugged off her shyness, kicked off her heavy boots, the only remnants of her own clothing she had left, and removed the two shifts she’d adopted. She had donned one as it was supposed to be worn and added another on top of it, but backward so that it covered both arms and breasts. Nakedness did not embarrass her, and Marlix had seen her tits more times than she could count, but still it seemed odd to leave one of them to hang out there.

He slung the pack he’d been carrying onto a boulder and extracted a bar of soap. “Here,” he offered.

“Thanks.” She grabbed it and, with as much poise as she could fake, ambled to the river. She squealed as cold water lapped at her ankles. Behind her, Marlix chuckled. While wading in, she twisted to glare him, and then the bank dropped off, her feet fell out from under her, and she plunged into an icy bath. She came up shrieking and flailing. Marlix laughed. Tara secured her footing on the smooth riverbed, hip-deep in water. She had dropped the soap, but it floated, and she snatched it before the current could whisk it away.

Tara fought temptation to lob the soap at his smirking face. “You-you—” She squeezed the bar so tight, it shot out of her hand again. He threw back his head and roared. A flock of birds roosting in the trees took flight with a panicked
caw.

She stood there, shivering with cold, outrage coursing through her until epiphany struck. She had never heard him laugh with such abandon, as if he’d thrown off all fetters. He had needed this outing as much as she, Tara realized. In that moment, he was no longer Alpha, no longer Parseon, no longer a kidnapper, but a man. A dangerously sexy man.

When his revelry dissipated, Marlix swiped at his eyes, then yanked off his shirt, toed off his boots, and stripped away his pants, transforming before her eyes once again into Alpha. Naked, standing on golden sand against a wooded backdrop, his essence was revealed. Masculine. Primitive. Predatory.

Tara’s mouth dried. Marlix did not lumber as many large men did, but he padded to the water, the personification of grace and power. Muscles contracted and released as he moved. His shoulders spanned a wide breadth; his swinging arms bulged with muscles. A mat of hair covered his chest and arrowed down to his cock, nestled between lean, sinewy thighs.

He waded into the river with minimum splash and no fanfare, uttering not so much as a hiss as he submerged. He arose with his dark hair plastered and gleaming against his scalp. Eyes as golden as the sand glowed and sparked with vestiges of mirth.

Abruptly he presented his back. “Wash me,” he commanded.

“I thought this was supposed to be
my
bath,” she said but lathered her trembling hands.

“But you are not bathing,” he pointed out.

She set the soap on the top of a boulder. Taking a deep breath, she flattened her palms against Marlix’s broad back. Water had cooled the top layer of his skin, but from underneath he radiated a fierce heat. She glided her palms over his expansive shoulders, noting how his torso tapered to a perfect vee. In circles, she spread lather over his skin. Down, down she followed his spine.

The water lapped at her abdomen but only reached to his thighs, exposing his ass. She resoaped, and then washed his buttocks, relishing the firmness of his high, tight cheeks. Oh, the sweet temptation of retaliation. To slap him just once.
Just once
. Who was she kidding? She wanted to
scorch
his ass, but one strike would be all she’d get before he would upend her and set hers afire.

Would once be worth it?

She scooped water into her cupped palms and dribbled it over his shoulders, back, and buttocks, watching as the soap trickled over his skin.

Marlix spun around. “Do my front,” he ordered.

Between his height and the width of his shoulders, he seemed to block out the sky, and she stood on trembling legs in his shadow. Water had curled the hair on his chest and abdomen into whorls. His cock, erect now, grazed his abdomen. She gulped and raised her gaze from his erection to his face. Twin suns blazed.

As if she bathed an Alpha warrior every day, she soaped his shoulders. Gone was the layer of chill; his skin radiated pure heat. She lathered the mat of chest hair, and could not resist curling her fingers in the whorls. Her thumb grazed a nipple, and Marlix hissed.

She glanced at his face and then, with mischief tickling her mouth, circled the nipple. Marlix’s growl shot straight to her sex. Her pussy and clit contracted.

Her stomach fluttered with nerves and desire as she resoaped and wrapped her hands around his cock. Satisfaction coursed through her with his sharp inhalation. Captured in her palm, his erection throbbed. Maintaining a tight grip, she stroked his length from tip to root, noting with awe her fingers did not meet around his girth. She should have known. He’d been inside her. Filled and stretched her.

Capped by a bulbous smooth mushroom head, his erection jutted straight without curving.

A soldier at attention. A warrior in manner and form. She smirked inwardly, unaware her face reflected her thoughts until he growled.

“Something about my manhood amuses you?”

Oh, the temptations he presented her with today! But a hint of vulnerability within the glowering depths of his eyes tamed her sense of mischief.

“I’m enjoying touching you,” she responded honestly. “You have an awesome cock.”

A hint of pink tinted his cheekbones, and he averted his gaze. Just when she thought she had him figured out. Her heart softened at his embarrassment.

“I did not expect a Parseon male to be circumcised,” she commented, striving to control her breathing.

His gaze collided with hers. “They are not. Only Alphas.”

Another mark setting him apart from other males.

She continued to stroke his erection, sneaking glimpses of his face. He appeared stoic, almost stony except for the small muscle that twitched in his cheek. She swirled her thumb over his cockhead and teased the meatus, imagining the slipperiness was caused by precum and not soap. She recalled the taste and texture of his cum, close enough to Terran to be identifiable, yet different. Sweeter. Like nectar. Without warning, she scooped a cascade of water over his cock to rinse away the soap.