by Ruby Dixon
For a long moment, there is nothing but the sounds of our khuis humming together in the darkness, and the whistle of the wind as it ruffles my hair. A few seconds later, though, I hear a new sound.
Groaning.
A woman’s cries of need.
Someone is having sex up ahead.
Zennek realizes this at the same time I do and he halts in the snow, staring ahead with a frown.
“Is our cave occupied?” I ask, biting back my chuckle. He just looks so…stressed out. “Or shall we offer to join them?”
That gets a response out of him. He makes a hissing sound between his teeth and clenches me against his chest, tighter. “No. We do not join them. Not now. Not ever.”
Aw. Charmant. I like this one more and more. “No, of course not,” I soothe with a tiny pat on his possessive, possessive chest. “When you and I join together, it will be just us, non? Nice and private.”
His gaze slides down to where my hand rests on the hard plating over his heart. Then, he looks over at me. There is an expression of yearning, of hard, hungry need in those eyes that takes my breath away.
Suddenly, I am less playful and more needy than ever before.
“Oh god. Just like that!” cries the woman from the cave, interrupting our tender moment. “Just like that, Dash!”
“It is Da-yesh,” the man says, correcting her pronunciation.
“Daysh,” she says again, full of need. “Put your mouth on me—”
“Close enough,” the man says, but his words cut off and then the female cries out once more. It seems she is in no mood to be corrected and I bite back a giggle of amusement.
Zennek does not laugh. His breath comes quick through his nostrils, as if hearing the sounds of their lovemaking strains at his control. His hands tighten on me.
I tap a finger against his chest. “Is there another cave nearby?”
He blinks, then tears his gaze away from the distant cave and focuses on me. “No,” he says, thickly. “There is one in another direction, but it will be occupied, too.”
Ah. Two couples left before we did, and Georgie and her man as well. “I do not mind the snow,” I tell him, trailing my finger up his chest.
“Privacy,” is all he says, and then storms off in a new direction, and I bite back a sigh and hold onto his neck.
Luckily for me, he does not take me far. We half-skid down a slope into a rocky crevasse where the wind is less biting. Around us there are tumbled rocks, and in the distance, I hear water of some kind and then I pick up the faint smell of rotten eggs. A hot stream, then. I wrinkle my nose at the smell but do not complain, because at least now we no longer hear Dash or Dayesh or whatever his name is with his petit-amour. I can practically feel the tension in Zennek, though it has lessened now that we are farther away from them.
He sets me down gently into the snow and looks me over to make sure I am well. Then, he immediately gets to work, pushing and shoving at the snow near the base of one of the cliffs. It takes me a moment to realize what he is doing—he is making a wall of snow across from the cliff wall so we will be neatly enclosed and given a semblance of privacy. Clever.
“May I help?” I ask, getting to my knees as he digs handful after handful of snow in one direction, hollowing out a spot for our half-igloo.
“No,” he says bluntly.
I rock back on my knees. Well, then. I sit back in the snow, watching him, and as he continues to work and the minutes stretch on, I yawn and lie on my side, propping my head up on one hand. Is he going to create an entire home out of snow and ice? Just to avoid being with me? There is no wind down here in the canyon, and with my furs—and his body heat pressed against mine—I will be warm enough, thanks to my khui. I watch him work feverishly and suspect that this industriousness is another aspect of his shyness. If he has a task, something to do with his hands, he does not have to look at me, non?
That wicked streak rises within me and I think of something naughty, something that will get his attention. Do I dare? Will he be angry? I watch him work feverishly for a moment longer, and then decide I will need to do something or else he will waste all of the night digging a pit into the snow as if it will somehow make his khui go silent.
So I clutch my belly and groan low, closing my eyes and doing my best to look as if I am in pain.
There’s a mad scramble in the snow and then an impossibly warm hand touches my cheek. “Mar-lenn? Hoo-man? Are you well?”
I feel bad for what I am about to do, but only for a moment. “I hurt, Zennek. I hurt so badly.” And I clutch at myself under my furs, curling my legs up as if protecting myself.
“How can I help?” His tone is worried but tender. He brushes my long hair off of my face and then touches one of my wrists, gently prying my hand away from my belly. “Show me where it hurts.”
Reluctantly, I unfold my body and let him pull up my tunic. I shiver as he exposes my stomach to the air. “Hurts,” is all I say, and I open my eyes to watch him.
He plasters one big blue hand against my bare skin and I moan at his touch, because it feels so very good. My sounds only worry him, though, because he gently kneads my belly. “Here?”
“Lower,” I murmur.
8
MARLENE
Zennek grabs at my leggings and rips the laces free, hauling them down my thighs. There’s a worried expression on his face and it would almost be funny if I wasn’t so damned…aroused.
He pauses at the sight of my mound and the dark curls there, and I can see his breathing quicken again. Can he see how wet I am?
“Where?” he asks, a gravelly tone in his voice, as if he is trying very hard to be good and pay attention even as my pussy is exposed before him.
“Inside,” I tell him.
“Inside?”
“Yes.” He leans closer as if to examine me, his breath practically on my skin, and I put a hand atop his head. “Now kiss it.”
He jerks away from me so quickly that I can feel the wind rush past as he hauls himself backward. The look he shoots me is downright betrayed.
“You said you hurt,” he accuses me.
“Oh, I do. I ache so badly.” And I cup my pussy and give a little groan. “Do you not ache, mon beau?”
He scowls at me. His scowl deepens when I laugh. “This is not funny, hoo-man.”
“Is it not? We should always be able to laugh at ourselves, mon beau.” I roll onto my back, gazing up at the stars. They’re particularly brilliant here. I thought the clouds would obscure all of them, but there’s no snow falling and the skies are littered with millions of stars and streaks of color. “You have to think this is a ridiculous situation, non?”
“How is it ridiculous?” I hear his voice from a short distance away, as if he’s afraid to get too close to me.
I put a hand behind my head, not hitching up my pants. I keep my other hand on my pussy, because, well, it feels good. “I am a human. You are a blue alien. We are here on a planet that is nothing but snow, and very soon we will be having magnificent sex because a bug in my chest says it is so. And then I will have your bébés.”
“All of this is true.”
I smile up at the stars, because just now I have noticed that one particular constellation looks like the shape of a heart. You are everywhere, Maman. “So. New planet. Bug. A mate. Babies. All because the bug says so. You do not think that is an odd situation?”
“Not to me.”
Now he sounds hurt. I roll onto my side and regard him. Just as I suspected, he crouches a short distance away, tail flicking warily. “I said it was odd. I did not say it was bad, mon beau.” I smile at him. “I like you. I am glad my khui chose you for me.”
He frowns in my direction and says nothing for a long moment. When he speaks, he says, “Why me?”
“Why do I like you?” When he nods, I shrug and trace a heart into the snow before me. “You are strong, and brave. You make me smile. You do your best to protect me. And you have very nice arms.”
That gets a reaction from him. The scowl leaves his face, replaced by a hint of a smile. “You would choose your mate based off of his arms?”
“Oui, especially when they are so nice.”
He chuckles. “Because there are two of them?”
“Two is a bonus,” I admit playfully. “You sound so skeptical that I can find you appealing. Why is that?”
Zennek sighs heavily, and for a moment I worry about his mood. His tail no longer flicks with agitation but is still. “I do not know what I am doing,” he admits. “I have never taken a pleasure mate.”
“Then it is a good thing you resonated to me, because I can show you what I like.” And I give him a brilliant smile.
He blushes so easily, this one. I can tell he is blushing even as he gives me a reluctant smile back. “You are not like the other hoo-mans.”
“Non?” I raise my arms up and study them. “Two of these.” I pat my legs. “Two of these.” I grab my breasts. “Two of these…a very nice pair, I admit,” I say playfully, and then reach between my thighs once more. “And one very soft, very wet pussy. I think I am much like the other humans, mon beau.”
His gaze drops to where my hand rests over my mound, and there is a hot, hungry look in his eyes that makes me shiver with need. “Your tongue is different,” he murmurs. “You told me yourself.”
“Ahhh. I am French. They are American. That is the difference. My world is full of so many people you cannot count them all. Sometimes they come from very different places and it makes them speak differently.”
“Like different caves?”
So sweetly innocent for such a beautiful man. I do not think he can comprehend how many humans there are, since his tribe is not very big. “Oui, something like that.” He nods, ducking his head, and the sight of that makes me tsk. “Why do you always look away from me? Do you not like the way I look? Am I ugly to you?”
“Never,” he breathes, and looks at me again. I can tell it’s an effort for him, because the look on his face is painfully shy.
“You can look at me,” I tell him. “I will not embarrass you again, I promise.” I smile at him and then carefully stroke a finger down the cleft of my pussy.
His gaze immediately goes there.
“You see? It is not so hard to look at me, is it?” I tease, sliding my finger through my wet folds. “Look at how wet I am for you. Have you ever seen such a thing, mon beau?”
He licks his lips, and it makes me even wetter. “No,” he manages. “I have never seen such a thing.”
I lift my hand and show him how wet my fingers are. The cold air makes them ice up almost immediately, ruining the fun. “If I come over to where you are, will you run away from me?”
Zennek stiffens. “I do not run from you.”
“Bon, then we have no problem.” I get to my feet, hitching my now-torn pants to my hips. I move to his side and sit down next to him. His nostrils flare, as if he is trying to discern my scent. I’m sitting incredibly close, testing him, I suppose. I want to see if he moves away again, my shy gentleman. When he does not, I touch a finger to his chin and lift his head so he cannot duck it.
I lean in and kiss each cheek in greeting. “That is how we say hello amongst my people.”
He touches his cheek, surprised. “You put your mouths on each other?”
“Just a friendly kiss on the cheek,” I reassure him. “No more than that.”
Zennek watches me for a moment and then leans in. I remain perfectly still as he brushes his lips over my cheek and then the other. His skin against mine is all velvety warmth, and when he moves close I want to just pull him close and bury my face against him, he’s so damned delicious.
“There,” I whisper when he leans back slightly. “Now we are friends.”
“Should we be friends…or should we be mates?” He moves in close again, and for a moment I think he’s going to kiss me, but he only rubs his nose lightly against my cold one.
It’s such a sweet, tender gesture that I ache all over. “We should be mates,” I tell him, and cannot resist more teasing. “But you will have to kiss me in other places for that.”
“Will you show me where you like it?” He lifts his hand and lightly rubs his knuckles over my cheek, and I lean in to the caress.
“Of course.”
He nuzzles my nose again, caressing my face. “Mar-lenn. I want to claim you as my mate…”
“But you do not know how to start?” I ask, breathless. “Shall I show you?”
Blue eyes full of scorching need meet mine. “Show me, yes. I want to learn how to please you.”
How can a woman resist such a command?
9
ZENNEK
Mar-lenn is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.
My mouth waters and I stare at her in hunger as she gazes up at me. Did I think her pale skin ugly a short time ago? Now it takes everything I have not to touch it, to feel her softness. Her boldness and playful attitude make me shy, but I also like it. I like that she is fierce about what she wants, and that she laughs often. I like that her eyes are merry as she smiles up at me, her khui singing with enthusiasm.
Truly, I am the luckiest hunter of all. My mate does not mind that I am shy as long as I look at her. She will teach me how to please her.
So I look. And I look. I will watch Mar-lenn until the suns rise and set once more if she will let me. I think I could watch her for days on end and never grow tired of her. I am fascinated with her tiny nose, the point of her small chin, the smoothness of her brow and how it moves with her expressions. And her mouth.
I am constantly fascinated by her pink, pink mouth. I do wonder about her tongue, though, and how it is different from the others. It makes no difference to me, of course. I do not care that it makes her speak hoo-man strangely. She is my mate and I will cherish her and all her differences.
She smiles at me and reaches for my braid. “Before we begin, may I loosen this?”
It is an odd request, but I nod. “Why?”
“Because your hair is very sexy and I wish to see it loose.” Her newly blue eyes are full of eagerness, so I cannot see what this will harm. Sexy? Me? I am just Zennek, another hunter, quieter than most. But she smiles and reaches for the tie at the base of my braid and then tugs at the loops of my mane until it is loose and falling down my back. Mar-lenn tilts her head and studies me, and then pulls my mane forward, dragging it over one shoulder and my arm. “Là,” she murmurs. “So thick and lovely. I like this long hair. Promise me you will never cut it short.”
Like Aehako, who is too impatient to bother with a braid? I have contemplated it in the past, but now I am glad I did not. “If you like it, I will leave it long.”
“I like it,” she murmurs, dragging her fingers through it. She reaches up and runs her small hands over my scalp, shaking my mane free, and her touch sends a shiver down my spine and makes my cock grow impossibly harder. Even the smallest of touches have that effect on me, and I bite back my groan. I want her to feel free to touch me however—and whenever—she pleases.
So I remain very still, saying nothing.
Mar-lenn rubs a lock of my mane between two fingers—she has five of them, it seems—and then looks at me. “Yours feels very different from mine, for all that they are the same color. Do you want to touch mine?”
My hand flexes automatically. Touch her? I want to grab her and thrust my aching cock into her so hard that she screams with pleasure…I swallow hard at the mental image and reach one hand out to her mane hesitantly. I touch it gently, and when she takes my wrist and pushes my hand down on her head, I caress her with more boldness.
She is right; she is much softer than me. Her mane feels like the softest, longest fur I have ever touched. The strands are thin and fine and cling to my fingers, and I am fascinated. It smells good, too. All of her smells good. Beyond the strange scent of the pod she was in, there is a Mar-lenn scent, and I am growing quickly addicted to it. She watches me curiously, and
I think she wants words. “Soft,” I manage to tell her.
“Oui,” she says with her strange tongue. “Soft.” Then she wiggles her mobile brows at me. “I am soft all over. I will show you.”
And she gestures at the neck of her heavy tunic.
My tongue immediately sticks to the roof of my mouth. She wants me to take it off of her? Or does she simply want me to caress her neck? I do not want her to be cold if I strip her leathers off, and I hesitate.
She puts her hand on mine, then guides my hand to her neck and the collar of her thick tunic. “Undress me, mon amour.”
Her soft, sultry voice makes my sac draw up tight. My seed threatens to spill already, but I want to do as she asks. I want to please her. Eagerly, I tear at her tunic, ripping stitches as I pull the leather off of her.
Mar-lenn looks startled, but she chuckles. “That is one way to do it. Next time perhaps we use the ties so I have clothes to wear back to camp, mon cher.”
“I will fix it for you,” I tell her, panting. I will. I will not let her shiver in the cold. I cannot stop staring at her body, though. Now that I have torn her leathers off her, they hang from her shoulders and pool at her waist, but there is a long expanse of torso that is completely bare to my eyes. And I devour the sight of her.
Her teats are…magnificent. I have seen teats before, of course. Our females only cover them if they choose to, and a teat is exposed when a kit is hungry. But our people’s are flat, only rounded with a bit of softness when engorged with milk. Mar-lenn has big, rounded teats that jut out from her torso. They look soft and bouncy and are tipped with pink nipples the same delicate color as her lips. As I stare at her teats, I see the tips harden, exposed to the cold. “Why are your teats so large?” I ask. “Is this normal?”
She chuckles, looking down at her chest. “Are they large to you?” She leans back and gives them a little shake. “It is pleasing to hear you say such a thing. They are just breasts, mon amour. Do you like them?”
