Captive Desire

by Robin Lovett

  “It is hard to believe that one of my kind would Attach to a human, but yes, it has happened.”

  She shakes her head, then grabs it like it hurts. “Am I your prisoner?”

  “I am in charge of you.”

  She gives a low growl. “No one is in charge of me.” She pushes back the sheet and is startled to find that underneath she is naked. “Where’s my uniform?”

  I mean to turn away, but the covering slides down to reveal her breasts. I glimpsed her body while the doctors treated her, but I forced myself not to look.

  I cannot now.

  Her skin looks soft as velvet, and her nipples are round and ripe. And the unabating lust steaming through my veins roars within me. I would take her in my mouth. I would see her beneath me. I would spread her legs and see what she looks like in the place where she is meant to take my cock into her.

  “Oh gods!” She is staring at me. Staring at my mouth.

  What is…

  Ah, fuck.

  I close my eyes. Cringing. She cannot be staring at what I think she is staring at.

  But I know she is. I can feel them, elongating in my mouth, the tips pressing into my lower lip. I touch them to make sure I’m not imagining this.

  I feel them, fully extended—my fangs. This cannot be happening. I race to the mirror by the door to make sure.

  There they are. Two inches of white tooth, twins. I have not seen them in a hundred years. That they have descended, biologically, means only one thing…

  A crash sounds behind me.

  I whirl, and Assura is stumbling from her bed toward the door. She’s naked and unstable on her feet.

  “Wait.” I reach for her, not wanting her to fall and hurt herself.

  “Don’t touch me.” She tries to push me away, but her legs give out, weaker than she expected. I catch her before she hits the floor.

  She is in my arms, pressed against my chest, her skin as smooth beneath my hands as it was before. More so. Like the texture and delicacy of moonlight.

  She fights against my hold but for only an instant.

  Her gaze, level with my shoulders, traces over my bare chest, and she stills. I have no need of a shirt. Ssedez do not wear them; our natural armor protects us from injury and weather.

  Her fingers press and feel my pecs, like she’s curious.

  She makes that sound…

  That moan filled with a longing so thick, it comes from deep within her. She molds her breasts to my chest, grabs my shoulders, and moves against me.

  I cannot help it. I slide my hand up her neck to her nape, sinking my fingers into her silken hair. It is as thrilling to touch as I imagined it would be. I cradle her head in my hand, and her name slides from my lips, “Assura,” laced with more longing than I should ever reveal.

  It is insanity to feel these things for her—to want to touch her. But I cannot stop my bodily desire any more than I can shut down my nervous system.

  She lifts her head, her gaze locked on my mouth. The long delicate column of her neck is exposed, and, unable to resist, I lower my nose to her throat. I inhale her scent—like sweet fruit and sensual heat. The need to penetrate her, to sink my fangs into her vein, aches in my gums. To bite her would enact a mating ritual that, among my people, is as ancient as the Ssedez.

  I graze her skin, scratching the tips of my fangs over her neck.

  She clings to my head, as though she wants me to bite her.

  She has no idea that the need in me is like a tidal force—a carnal instinct born of my body’s awakened desire to Attach to someone. It goes beyond desire. It is a primal craving, as though I will suffer and die if I do not give her what is dripping from my fangs. The venom is a rare gift. The pleasure it would inject her with, the ecstasy it would flow into every corner of her body… I want to share it with her.

  I shudder, banish the need.

  No matter how I want it, to give her the sacred venom would be a sacrilege to the traditions of my people. It is meant for only a lifelong mate.

  And she will never be that.

  No gods forsaken human ever could be.

  It is against everything I dedicated my life to.

  But the knowledge that I hate her and her kind does not penetrate my lust. Desire surges over my loathing, smothering it. The hatred is still there, underneath.

  But the desire to make her come eclipses it, for now.

  “Please,” she begs, pressing my head to her neck. Her leg climbs mine, and she undulates her hips against me.

  She is mindless for me. This lust that pours through me in this place, she feels it, too.

  I may not be able to give her my venom, but I can give her the pleasures her own body is capable of.

  She presses the apex of her thighs where my cock is as hard and erect as a metal blade. That’s where she wants it. I do not know the anatomy of the human female.

  But I will learn hers.

  I back her into the bed behind us. She leans against it, and I trail my fingers down her hip, treasuring the feel of her skin. I reach a patch of hair, and it surprises me.

  I cannot help it. I have to look down. This is something new to me. The Ssedez do not have hair, except on our heads. But the sight of it—the springy dark curls—incurs a growl from my chest. It makes me want to part it, to delve beneath it and discover what it hides from my view.

  She clings to my arms and spreads her legs around my hips. “Don’t stop.”

  I thread my fingers beneath the curls and press her—in the same place where she rubbed against me.

  She groans and thrusts her hips against my hand.

  I follow her rhythm, testing for what she likes, sensing what she needs. Soon, her mouth is open, and she’s panting. “More.”

  She arches her hips and widens her thighs, exposing what lies beneath the curls.

  Folds of wet and swollen flesh—a cunt of such erotic beauty, I go still, staring.

  I have missed the female body. I did not know how much. I grow so hard, my cock painfully rubs against the fly of my leather uniform pants.

  She does not have time for my reverence, though. She moves my hand for me, snaking my fingertips beneath the hood of curls to a thickened nub—small but tender. She circles my fingers around it, the flesh moving and swelling at the pressure.

  Her hand falls limp on my wrist, and she cries out an almost painful sound.

  I worry a moment I have hurt her, but then she murmurs, “Yes.”

  Encouraged, I press harder and move my fingers in a fluid, circular pattern. Her breathing speeds, and I time my circles to her inhales, matching the waves of pleasure that seem to be flowing through her.

  But it’s not enough. There must be more to her, a place within her for my cock. But I don’t want to stop doing what she likes.

  With her holding herself up against me, I take my other hand and slide it through her folds, lower, searching, feeling.

  The softness of her is almost more than I can bear. The wetness seething from within her is something I could bathe in. I cannot not imagine what it would feel like to bury myself in the warm slickness of her, how she would let me thrust within her, how the exquisite feel of her would let me move—fast, hard.

  With my probing fingers, I stroke into an opening. The one hand still circling over the spot she likes, I sink a finger of my other hand within her. And reach no ending.

  The limitless depth of her—it is unfathomable. It blows my thoughts and my imagination of what it would be like to fit inside her. She could take all of me.

  That I have not been inside a female since she died at the hands of humans is not something I have time to contemplate. I shove the knowledge into a dark hole and pretend it isn’t there.

  I spread her with a second finger, testing her. It slides in with ease, her dampness increasing the farther into her depths I go. Her cunt squeezes my fingers but relaxes, as though greedy for more. I sink another finger, then another, matching the size of my cock within her—to see if she c
an take it.

  She throws her head back and whimpers. Her hips pump harder into my hands, and I am helpless not to imitate my cock with my fingers. I thrust my hand inside her—in and out, in time to my other circling hand.

  Her body tenses; her hands go lax. She falls back on the bed, unable to hold onto me anymore.

  She grips the bed covering. Her whole body thrusts into my hands, an instinct driven by a primitive need to climax.

  Her breasts move as she does, and watching her face contort with bliss has me wishing I could fuck her. I’m hard and throbbing, but I want to watch her more than I want to take her that way—at least for now.

  If I were to join her, I would miss the beauty of this. Of watching her orgasm. Of seeing her soak in and be overtaken by the satisfaction I’m giving her.

  It begins within her, the climax. I feel it bunching inside her with the tensing of her around my fingers. I slow my movements, gradually, drawing it out. I do not want it to end. I do not want this to be over.

  But she is too far gone, and the cries begin in her throat, ceaseless and primal. Her breathing stops, and she squeezes around me until it almost hurts my fingers. I love it, the eroticism of it stunning me.

  Her climax peaks, and she lets go.

  The ecstasy that storms over her face, followed by the release and total letting go of her body…it soothes something in me. It feeds a need, a desire to satisfy her.

  And it exposes a crater inside me—an emptiness that I have been avoiding in my century of loneliness. I will not think of the wretched irony that is me finding this pleasure in a human female. I did not realize, though, how much I missed this—a female becoming mindless for what I make her feel.

  I ease her through the aftershocks of the climax.

  Her breasts pump up and down with rapid breaths, and her head and hands lie limp. Her knees collapse wide, and she does not open her eyes.

  I may have taken too much out of her. She is still recovering from infection. The scar of her wound is still visible on her abdomen, a pinkened, jagged line. Perhaps I should not have given this to her.

  But her breathing calms, and a blessedly blissful expression falls over her mouth. The worry and pain eases from her face in a way I have not seen from her yet.

  I lift her and settle her head onto her pillow. I cover her with the sheet, and I am unable to resist caressing her cheek, her hands.

  “Thank you,” she whispers, just as I imagined she would yesterday. My breath stops. I made it come true. Her breath slows into an even, restful sleep—leaving me in shock.

  I turn away from her, and my eyes stray to the glass wall—where anyone walking by in the hallway could have seen us. Hopefully, no one did.

  I am…seething, no, overflowing with confusion and rife with horror at myself.

  My fangs have not retracted. Which means only one thing.

  My body thinks this human—one of the same kind who killed my first mate, the kind I have hated with everything in me for over a century—is my new mate.

  Chapter Three

  Assura

  I sleep better than I have since I landed on this shit planet…thanks to him.

  My dreams are relaxing, easy. No more wandering through the jungle afraid I’ll never see anyone again. No more dreams of where I came from or the horrific crimes I was forced to commit under the orders of the Ten Systems. Those days are over. I never have to obey that sickening psychopath, General Dargule, again.

  I dream of longing physically for satisfaction and of my gold alien giving me everything I need. But even in my dreams, I’m still tormented by the truth: if he knew what you’d done, he would kill you instead.

  It jerks me awake, and I see his chair is empty for the first time.

  It’s good he’s gone, so I’m not tempted to fuck him. I never should’ve begged him to touch me. I’ve committed such heinous crimes against one of his species—the unforgivable type of crimes. It’s wrong for me to be touching him, letting him help me, let alone heal me. Let alone give me orgasms!

  And whether he finds out what I did or not, the Ten Systems humans waged a brutal war and attempted genocide against his people. It was a century ago, but they won’t have forgotten how humans slaughtered their kind. Their lifespan is long, a thousand years or more. He may have even been alive when the war happened, unlike me at my twenty-eight years.

  Humans and Ssedez are supposed to be enemies, despite the new truce between our two crews. I don’t know why he chose to touch me. Or why I begged him to. It won’t happen again.

  Not because I didn’t like it or want it because, well, shamelessly, obviously, I did. But it’s an impossibility that never should’ve been possible. I’ve no idea what his motives are. He said he’s in charge of me. He thinks I’m his prisoner. One of his warriors stabbed me.

  I look down at the wound in my side—only a pink scar line remains. The Fellamana doctors removed the infection, and my body’s bio-enhanced healing took over. Good. My bioengineering should have restored my depleted strength as well.

  I have to get out of here and back to searching for my friends in the rebellion who may have survived the crash. If General Nem, who I still can’t believe is female, survived, others did. These aliens may have helped me, but I have no idea what their further intentions are. I’ve got no desire to find out what the Ssedez plan for me.

  But there’s an ache low in my body that…

  I groan and cover my face with my hands.

  For real?

  I cannot still be horny. That orgasm he gave me yesterday was—I don’t know how to describe it but…really good doesn’t cover it.

  I need to somehow ignore how swollen I am with craving more, and not just an orgasm this time, but hot, sheet-clawing sex. I mentally sever my mind from physical sensation, a battle technique from my military training. It’s possible to fight through most injuries as long as you can’t feel the pain.

  I have to focus. I need to get out of here and back to our ship. I saw the Origin crash-land; there have to be other survivors from the escape pods, like the one I landed in alone. The crash site is where they’ll have gathered. Helping them, doing good deeds to try to make up for all the gruesome things I did to other species with the Ten Systems, is all that matters now. Getting back to my dearest friend Jenie is all I care about. If she survived.

  Fear twists my stomach. She can’t be dead. I refuse to entertain the possibility.

  My training kicks in—awareness of the place, my surroundings.

  The building is minimalist. There is no furniture in my room except for Gahnin’s chair and my bed. All the walls are glass; everything is visible here. There is nowhere to hide.

  Sneaking out is going to be a bitch, but I have to.

  I don’t even have time to get out of bed, to test how weak I still am. Gahnin walks in, and my heart starts racing like a speeder engaging its hyperdrive. The sight of him…gods, he is built for temptation. His eyes, those ethereally blue eyes, are hypnotizing in their clarity. He wears no shirt, his bulging chest and arms on display for everyone. I want to bite him, to dig my nails into that hard muscle. I can’t help glancing lower on his body, following the trail of his tapered waist to his hips—and what hangs between them, behind the leather.

  I am wet between my legs, and I have never had such an immediate response to someone, ever. The shock must be present on my face, the way I’m staring at him too obvious.

  “It is the desidre,” he rasps, his breath elevated, his eyes staring at my nakedness that I’d forgotten to cover up. “It is what causes this…reaction.” He says the last word with a sickened disdain. He hates this as much as I do.

  “But…I don’t get it.” I glance down at myself, disbelieving I can still be having these erotic responses. I can barely look at him without picturing his bare ass clenching as he thrusts into me with what is no doubt an enormous cock. “They gave me something to cure it.”

  “They tell me it relieves the fever that could kill
you but not the whole lustful part of desidre. It’s lessened, but it must still be fed.”

  I let out a heavy, frustrated breath. “So, going without sex isn’t an option?”

  “It appears not.” He’s rigid, every muscle bunched and strained. Gods, he’s so fuckable, this is a crime. Why couldn’t he have been any other species? Then this would not be a problem. It would be a pleasure.

  I have to get out of here. But he’s blocking the door. “Out of my way.”

  His shoulders stiffen. “You go nowhere. The Fellamana medics say you must feed the desidre before you are well enough to leave the hospital.”

  “To hell with that.” I stand up, naked, but I don’t care. I wobble a little, appalled that I have to brace my hand on the bed for balance.

  His gaze wanders over my bare breasts before he forces his eyes to stay on my face. “We cannot continue our mission and leave for the Origin’s crash site until you are well enough to accompany us.”

  I gape at him. “Who says I’m going with you?” I want to get back to my crew, but I don’t want him with me.

  “I say. My commander says. Your general says.” He steps closer, attempting to intimidate me with his size, which is formidable. But I am not intimidated.

  A snarl breaks from my teeth. “I’m going back, but I’m going alone.”

  His brows scrunch in confusion, as though my statement makes no sense to him. “You have to take orders from someone. It is the foundation of military structure.”

  The more I talk to him, the faster I want to get away from him. “I’m not a Ten Systems soldier anymore. I’m in rebellion.” I feel the strength returning to my muscles. I will it so. “I’m leaving. Move aside so I don’t have to hurt you.” He may be big, but I am quick and have outmaneuvered beings larger than him many times.

  He almost laughs, crosses his arms, and blocks my view of the door. “No.”

  “No?” I step closer to him now, steadying myself for an attack.

  He lowers his chin, his expression condescending. “I will not fight you. But I will keep you from hurting yourself.”