by Amanda Milo
CHAPTER 25
SANNA
“Don’t let the dessert go to waste, Sanna, I want you to have what makes you happy.”
He makes me happy. And I don’t want what we have between us to go to waste but I can’t tell him this because he’s not here.
Last night, as we digested our meal, Breslin took us to the town’s music hall. I couldn’t believe how skillfully the farmers assembled there played: I felt like I was sitting in the middle of an orchestra.
“They have a pretty salk to play for. It’s putting them in fine form,” Breslin had told me warmly.
What a sweet thing to say.
We couldn’t stay long though. Leaning into Breslin and reaching up for his ear, I found it folded tightly closed. It opened under my hand, feeling like living silk petals, and I tried not to shout into it even as I tried to be heard. “The music’s beautiful, but it’s louder than what I’d prefer to subject Kota to. I’m sorry—can we go?”
To my suprise, Breslin had almost gone slack—I hadn’t realized how tense his thigh had been against mine, or how his muscles had been strained—until they suddenly weren’t anymore. “I didn’t want to cut your enjoyment short, but I’m driven to attack every male here,” he admitted.
Without fuss, we exited, freed Meesahrah, and trotted home.
Back at the farm, Breslin commenced with the nightly routine of checking the animals, and he told me to go on to bed. He didn’t even step inside the house to retrieve his pillow and blanket. “I’ll use saddle blankets. Go inside, Sanna. Sleep well.”
I tried to hit the sack, but I couldn’t seem to get comfortable, and I wiggled all over, until finally I nodded off into a restless form of sleep.
I startled awake, feeling myself being dragged across the bed. Too shocked to even call out for Kota, I floundered only until my body met Breslin’s hard chest. And that. That was what I’d been missing.
Breslin’s big, soft ear crushed against mine as he smooshed our faces together. The furrows on his cheek added interesting texture, but overall they didn’t feel strange. They felt like Breslin. Relaxing against him, I’d whispered, “You okay?”
He’d inhaled at the top of my head, making my toes curl. “Better now,” he’d growled.
When I woke up, he was gone. Besides the nightime hugging, we did not act on any feelings. Not any. He claims he’s going into an oversexed alien rut and he still behaves? He’s got the Krav Maga blackbelt of abstinence skills.
I don’t. I mean, sure, I behaved last night but I was also half-waiting for him to be overcome with alien hormones and jump me. Instead, he was—yet again—the perfect gentleman.
Because he’s letting me choose: him or home.
Last night, as I struggled to fall asleep in an empty, cold bed, I didn’t like the trial run of No-Breslin. And I’ve been circling it for awhile, trying to come to terms with the fact that I want Breslin, and I want him even more than I want to go home.
I’ve accepted it. I’m going to stay.
I feel like I should go to Breslin with a proposal. Make it special. So I dig out that first outfit I wore that Breslin cursed Ekan for sending with me—the same one that made Breslin go momentarily speechless.
Before I slip into it—sans panties, because I’ve got plans—I keep my night clothes on. I want to keep them clean and looking nice so I go about starting meal prep in my night clothes. Cooking can always be a bit of a tricky adventure but this mixing bowl barely fits in my arms so it’s no easy thing to get ingredients stirred. It has one sturdy handle but because it was designed by giants for giants it takes both of my hands to heft it up by this and as I toss in ingredients it’s not like it’s getting any freaking lighter.
I sniff three jars before I find the last spice I want to add. Breslin mentioned that it works great as a garnish for this meat-and-root cold-salad type dish he’s taught me how to make. It feels like I’m making enough of it to satisfy the hunger of a thousand soup kitchen lines, but in reality Breslin can polish this much off by himself. If he didn’t stealth-pack a lunch this morning before he slipped away he’s got to be starving.
With no cell phone to call him, I leave the food and take a quick walk with Kota to determine where Breslin is at. As I suspected, he’s nowhere close by that I can tell, and the place he hangs the axe is empty.
I fit the lid on the food and direct Kota to lead me to the handcart Breslin made for me. It’s like a four-wheeled wheelbarrow with two shorter wheels in rear to allow me to lift it up and push it—or if whatever I’m carting around is super heavy, I can shove it along on all four wheels.
Breslin made it so that I can keep my balance and carry things at the same time.
Gosh he’s nice.
I opt to push the cart and I keep Kota’s handle gripped in my hand along with the cart’s handle as we set out for the far pasture.
Kota grumbles anxiously about our mode of transport at first, just in case I forgot that we’re walking a cart with us, but when I tell her we’re looking for Breslin she focuses on it like it’s her job and encourages me with yips and whines and leads me forward, guiding me around trees and keeping us walking on a nice pasture path.
When I hear the sounds of wood being chopped, I know we’ve made it.
But now that we’re here, despite the extra slow walk thanks to lugging the food, I still don’t know what to say to Breslin.
Turns out, I don’t have to say much.
Hearing the axe sink into a log, I barely get the bowl moved onto the flatbed’s wagon bench when arms circle me and tug me right off of my feet.
Kota gives a confused growl of protest.
“She’s fine, Kota,” Breslin assures her—but if I were Kota, I’m not sure I’d believe him.
He does not sound like himself.
His voice is rougher, his arms are like steel bands around me, and with his erection digging into my lower back? I’m in danger of grinning like an idiot. Breslin is huge.
I suck in a fluttery breath. “Kota, let me take off your harness and you can play.”
Breslin sets me down to free Kota, and I hear something zip through the air—a stick I’ll bet, she loves chewing up sticks and her happy bark tells me I’m right.
Breslin likes to toss them for her when she’s not working and when his workday is done but he only gives her one throw—then I’m dragged backward into Breslin. Teeth nip my shoulder and I gasp. I don’t want Kota to get upset, so I turn around and cover my mouth against his shirt and sink into his embrace as he nibbles and licks. He eagerly grinds his hips into my chest. He’s tall enough he could get himself off between my boobs if I we were naked and I leaned over a little.
“What are you doing here?” he growls into my neck.
I shiver happily in his arms. “I’ve decided I don’t like being apart from you. We shouldn’t separate anymore. It’s only been part of a day but I’ve missed you.”
The spikes along his jaw drag over my cheek, my ear. “I’m afraid I can’t let you go now.”
So far, this rut sounds terrible.
I sigh contentedly. It’s my turn to nuzzle against his face. My fingers seek out his temples—
The fleshy ridged growths on either side of his head are swollen up, and he shudders as my fingers make contact.
His teeth catch one of my ears, his touch light but he inflicts a nipping sting that makes me throb. “It always breaks me a little to say goodbye. But you, Sanna,” he nips me again, and my knees go weak, “to say goodbye to you would be my undoing. So tell me I don’t have to say it. Tell me you’ll stay.”
My insides basically do the muppet dance.
Breslin rests his forehead on top of mine. “I NEED you, Sanna. Please be ready,” he breathes.
“For what?” I choke out, dying for the wildness I hear in his voice.
“For me to claim you. I need to. I can’t go slow. Not this first time.”
I find his wrist cuff, and squeeze his hand. “I want you too Breslin. And
I want to stay wherever you are.”
Kota barks, the sound sharp and loud. Breslin disappears from me and from the sounds of it, hurls another stick and Kota thunders after it, panting happily.
Hard muscle and rough, heated skin suddenly presses against me—not pulling me into him, but backing me up, crowding me, and I’m curious and I’m about to ask what he’s doing when my back connects with a tree, and Breslin’s arms block me in, one on either side of my head.
As I latch onto his wrists, he growls into my throat, his nose running up and down slowly, “Be certain, salk.” He nips my chin and I gasp.
Kota whines and I whimper, “Shhh,”
“Don’t shush me,” he growls and bites at my lips.
My knees buckle.
Breslin catches me up, one hand imprisoning my wrists and one arm snaking behind my back to yank me forward and bring me flush against him. It feels so good. It feels like Finally!
“San San,” he groans into my hair and the heat of his body is perfect and I want to press my hips to his. I follow through with the desire, letting his grip on my wrists take my weight as I latch him with my legs and half climb him.
With an alien snarl, Breslin drags my arms around his neck, lifts my butt, and tosses up my skirt.
He grabs my knee, brings my thigh higher over his hip and I squeal when I feel hardness the temperature of a steel forge bumping against my entrance. I feel a spurt against me, and I’m confused: did he just come on me?
“What?” Breslin asks, panting.
I bite my lip, suddenly having so many questions pop up. “When did you get your pants down?”
His breath steams over my cheek. “Really?”
The tension and amusement straining his voice makes my scalp tingle and my insides clamp down on nothing. The empty flutter makes me moan, and the desperate sound seems to break Breslin. I feel him go tense everywhere under my touch.
I don’t know what I thought would happen when I went in search of an alien who warned me he was in the grip of rut, but I don’t expect him to ram himself into me like a wild creature. There’s another burst of jelly-like liquid from him that helps him gain entry, but he’s so much bigger than I’m used to. His immense thickness fills my belly with what feels like a white-hot branding rod and he groans as I shriek.
Kota barks.
“NOT. NOW,” Breslin grits out in the sternest voice I’ve ever heard him use.
With a sad whine, Kota goes quiet.
His ferocity is shocking, but I’ve had foreplay for what feels like weeks. My system responds as each and every dirty fantasy I’ve entertained since I met him becomes my wild reality. My insides sing—and get wetter. I wriggle as slickness gathers, the hardness stuffed inside me softening my muscles, my innermost flesh melting in response to his hunger.
I feel a hot jet hit my insides like a happy punch. Again, I pause.
Breslin doesn’t.
It’s like he’s busting even as he surges into me with primal hunger, our skin slapping obscenely loud. I can feel myself dripping around his base. Pinned on him like I am, my head comes to about the middle of his chest. I’m surrounded by him, enveloped by his broad body and impaled on his hardness. Bark digs into my back, and I’m limited with how much I can move against him in this position so I end up taking his battering more than riding him until his hands close around my feet.
He grabs my heels and warns me, “Hold on.”
He starts rocking into me—not bouncing me up and down, but working into me in a back and forth motion that’s stimulating the front wall of my vagina in a way I’ve never experienced before.
Then again, I’ve never been railed by an alien against a tree before, so that might be why this feels completely new and so brain-meltingly dirty.
Bracing more of my weight in his palms, and letting my butt beat a rhythm on the tree behind me, I feel a thrill as an orgasm with the strength of a tsunami gathers inside me, heat and light and desperate hunger filling my pelvis and making me whimper as I work myself in time with his rocking.
When it breaks my mind goes white.
I can actually see the color. I’ve always heard it described as an absence, but this is a blinding shock of spotlight, highlighting everything in my entire world: the mammoth proportions of Breslin cradling me, inhaling his musk as he works himself in a way that’s teasing out my pleasure, his heart slamming fast and powerful as it beats under my ear.
Leaning back, he crowds over me. My skin flutters as—is he licking my shoulder?
He nudges my head to the side using his cheek and those spikes at his jaw poke and scrape against my skin. My thigh muscles tighten and another shock of ripples happen in my stomach as more spurts bathe my insides.
But he’s still hard. Stunned, I don’t react when he carries me away from our tree. When he sets me down I feel the slats of the wagon seat under my butt, hear the creak of it as he tugs and slides me where he wants me—which does all sorts of interesting things with him still inside me.
“Lie back,” he orders.
When his tongue laps at my throat, I tilt my head back, giving him more access. Letting him taste me. I’m still overwhelmed that this is really happening.
I’m loving every second of it.
And with every pass of his rough textured tongue against my skin, I squirm.
His hips flick in response, and the wagon creaks.
He does it again.
And again. I’m panting. The smell of varnished wood under me, the salty chips-and-Island fruit rinds sweat-tanged man over me, the creak of the wagon joints as Breslin’s thrusts rock us: I revel as he bangs me.
My head bumps something—the bowl of food, I realize—and I want to bring a hand up to slide it away but I can’t because I’m caught, muscles so tense they’re shuddering, the pressure inside me building, building.
Bresin spurts inside me again and I come so hard I nearly scream.
He pulls out, still hard.
Panting, shuddering, I can’t close my legs because I don’t have the strength. His big hands haven’t left me so I don’t feel an overwhelming need yet—and when Breslin drags my hips closer, I realize he’s not done.
My butt cushioned only by a little fabric, my skirt rumpled beyond saving, I’m sure, as he drags me to the edge of the wagon.
“Perfect,” he breathes—and I’d ask him “Perfect for what?” but he’s breathing on my pussy and my mouth falls open in a silent cry as his tongue drags over my swollen flesh. His strange ears have flattened, smoothing along my skin like crushed flower petals. When the ridges on the side of his head bump my inner thigh he full-body twitches.
Groaning, Breslin digs his head harder into my leg, his temple dijjü feeling puffed and hot. He’s rocking a little against me, and operating on instinct, I close my thighs around his head.
It turns him savage.
Apparently, dijjü are a bit like clits. Weird but cool. A little gentle friction against the insides of my legs and he’s bucking his mouth on me and pinning my lower half in place with one of his big arms thrown over my stomach.
He eats me out with abandon. His enthusiasm might end me but I’ll die happy and I know it. My thighs shaking, I come again and again, and by the time he tones down to slow sucks and gentle licks I’m incoherently whimpering, begging, twitching, shuddering.
Breathless, dazed, I can’t do anything but lie back as he grasps me by the hips and feeds his cock into me again. His thrusts nudge me along until he has to chase me, closing his hands over my shoulders to keep me in place until he ruts another wet climax, his seed pooling under me when he unplugs us and pulls out.
As I struggle to remain conscious, he rips open my blouse so he can take hold of my breasts, kneading them, tweaking my nipples, tasting them. Then he clambers up, positions me on the bench where he wants me, and finishes fucking me like he’s taking ownership of everything I have left.
When he comes this time, it’s with a long, loud roar that has me quaking�
��especially on the inside as heat fills me and floods out as he softens.
Kota leaps up on the wagon and with a disgusted sounding huff, I hear her settle herself on the floor area like she feels we’ve just defiled the bench.
We did. And it was awesome. I grin like a loon.
Breslin pets along my stomach, teasing my skin and making it flutter and jump under his divinely rough fingers. He’s seems very content. “This was a claiming. “Do you live?”
I can’t move. “Barely.”
His chuckle is wicked.
“How are you feeling?” I pant.
“Infinitely improved,” he says, sounding delightfully vainglorious.
I smile. I might never be able to walk again but this. Was. Worth. It.
I pet his strange bumps for hair and he hums. I play with his dijjü and he stiffens inside me again.
He grunts and hugs me tight.
I fit my fingers to his cheek grooves and guide him for a kiss, tasting myself on him.
With the fingers of my other hand, I continue to tease and trace his inflamed temples, and I feel his jaw tighten, the muscles under my hand jumping.
“Mmm,” I purr. “Someone feels ready for round two.”
Meesahrah honks and the wagon rolls forward a hair, just enough for me to squeak and Breslin to groan.
I imagine her gaping at us this whole time, head turned with one eye trained on all the action. Now that her shock has worn off I guess she deems our interlude over.
Breslin pulls out of me, and my eyes cross. I’m so swollen, I feel everything.
“Do I smell food?” he asks, pressing a kiss to my forehead.
I wave in the bowl’s general direction. “Mmmhmm.”
He nudges my thigh with his ever ready-to-go-again and again penis. “Rouse yourself and eat. You’ll need your strength if I’m going to take you from now and all night.”
CHAPTER 26
SANNA
By the time Breslin’s rut ends, my lazy concern was not unfounded: I can barely walk. But I can sure ride—and when he lets me emerge from the bed, I feel qualified to tackle a ride of a whole different sort—because while the prospect of taking a tumble off an alien may not be an appealing one, I now have confidence that I can hold my own when it comes to sitting astride one.
