by Alana Khan
Aliyah scrambles to my side and points at the warux, asking questions like a child who’s seen four winters. Perhaps that’s her age. Although I don’t understand her questions, I explain everything, giving her names for things and telling her what I’m doing as if she can understand.
Her wits are quick, she names things as I show them to her. Her eyes shine with pride as I smile and nod at her.
“Jax-Xon,” I point at my chest as I glance at her Momma.
“Tara.” She doesn’t attempt a smile.
“Tra,” I repeat.
“Tara,” she exaggerates, but still no smile.
My mind leaps ahead and I picture these females as my family, living with me. All I’ve ever wanted was a female to care for and protect. At night, when feeling bold, I’ve dreamt of younglings laughing and filling my hut with happiness.
Now, these two drop into my life, a gift from the Gods. I’ve won over half the pair. How hard could it be to coax a smile from the little momma?
Tara
I don’t think rape or murder are on the menu for tonight. Nope, Jax-Xon is being a perfect gentleman. Ally’s sitting on his knee as he perches on a stump next to the fire and feeds her the choicest morsels of warux.
I’ve never eaten a wild animal before, so I have nothing to compare this to. It’s gamey but edible. If I could get used to the bland nutrition bars the tusk-guys fed us, I can definitely tolerate this.
Jax-Xon sweeps through his hut, accumulating what appear to be all of his weapons. I see him collect bow, arrows, and knives of various sizes and shapes. He ducks through the doorway and returns a minute later empty-handed.
Did he confiscate the weapons to protect himself from me? That’s funny. I’m the one who’s been sitting here all evening wondering if he’s going to kill us.
Ally launches herself onto his lap as he sits by the fire. He cradles my four-year-old and sings to her, then rocks her to sleep in his arms.
He looks calm and caring and thrilled to be cuddling my kid. I need to overcome my fear he’ll kill us. Murderers don’t rock children to sleep.
I have a great view of his profile and notice that although his jaw is a bit too square—and green—for human standards, his profile is… handsome. He’s maybe eight feet tall and in perfect human proportion. And I do mean perfect. Broad shoulders, muscular arms, trim waist, thighs like tree trunks, and not an ounce of fat.
He sets Aliyah toward the wall of the bigger bed and motions for me to share it with her. He sits on the edge of the smaller one and talks to me. His voice is deep, reverberating, and mellifluous—like the galaxy’s sexiest radio announcer. It could lull you to sleep like a baby.
He’s talking slow and steady and gives the impression he wants me accustomed to having him around. Now and then a word translates into English. I don’t know what’s more shocking, that the translator can learn new languages, or that the rotten bastards who kidnapped me installed such advanced tech under my skin.
Wouldn’t it be amazing if I could understand half of what he’s saying?
I point to everything in the hut, have him tell me what it is, then repeat it. The device behind my right ear now understands every word he just taught me. I flap my arms like a bird and he says a word in his language and I say, “bird.” When I have him repeat the word, my translator says it in English.
By the time I’m too tired to learn one more syllable, I’ve got the beginnings of the People’s language—that’s what they call themselves.
The translator is like training wheels; it reminds me of a word when I forget it. Otherwise, I’m learning his language fast.
The whole time we’ve been learning each other’s vocabulary, he’s been smiling at me and giving me gentle encouragement. He doesn’t look odd or scary anymore. He just looks like Jax-Xon—the nice male who rescued my daughter and me.
If he and his tribe hadn’t come along, we’d be in the clutches of the tusk-guys. Instead, we’re safe around a fire and I’ll be snuggling in this soft bed with my daughter tonight.
Chapter Three
Tara
I think handsome Jax-Xon has a crush on me. That is if males of his species react at all like Earth males. There are a hundred little tells from the way he eyes me up and down when he thinks I’m not paying attention, to the way he tries to include me and make me feel comfortable when others are around.
But the biggest giveaway, and I do mean big, is that leaf loincloths don’t hide much. And they certainly aren’t capable of hiding giant penises. Or giant’s penises. Whatever the correct form of grammar, this man is a giant and his penis is of gigantic proportions. And when he’s erect—which is happening with increasing frequency—it’s not subtle.
Which is a bitch, because Aliyah and I have gotten comfortable in his cozy little hut. I was trying to be a glass-half-full kind of girl, and I’d concluded that if we had to be stranded a million miles from home on a strange planet with giant, green people, we lucked out being in Jax-Xon’s hut because he’s so darned nice.
But if he has desires for anything other than the kind-benefactor/nice-uncle variety we’re all out of luck. Because I don’t do men. Not human men or the People men. Not beige men or black men or yellow men or brown men or green men. No. Men. Been there, done that, got the t-shirt. Or rather, got Aliyah.
Don’t get me wrong. My daughter’s a blessing. I love her. I don’t regret one moment of having her. But her dad on the other hand? Daily regrets. Damn, I hate it when I slip and use the word ‘dad’. Sperm Donor is so much more accurate. He never met her. Never came to the hospital. Never bought a box of diapers. Never called to see if she’s dead or alive.
So… nice, handsome giant or not, there will be no dilly-dallying with Jax-Xon. None.
“Guess what, Momma?” Aliyah torpedoes into the hut and leaps onto my lap just like she does with Jax-Xon. It’s adorable when she does it to him, painful when she does it to me.
“Oof. What?”
“Sorry. Jax-Xon’s going to take us to see Loraxes.”
“Who is he, Dr. Seuss?”
“No. It’s something like that. It doesn’t translate. But he says it’s fun and we get to go on a trip one sleep each way. And he says I’ll love it. And he says you will, too. And he says they’re pretty. And he says he’ll keep us safe. And he said…” She cuts off, looking sheepish.
“What?”
“I wasn’t supposed to say the last part.”
“What did I tell you about keeping secrets? Surprises are good. Secrets are bad. Did Jax-Xon ask you to keep a secret?”
“Well... he really wants the three of us to go and he thought you’d wanna come if I told you how fun it will be.”
“We’ll see about that,” I snap.
A minute later I find him sitting outside his father’s hut efficiently chipping rocks into arrowheads.
“What’s a Lorax, and why are you…” I have no words in his language to ask why he’s manipulating my daughter.
“Lorinx. Water.” His hands mime a fish swimming and then darting above the surface. “Pretty. Fun.”
“You want to take us on a journey to see fish? What’s the catch?” I’m certain he has no idea what I’m asking.
“Fun. I’ll keep you safe.”
It sounds harmless. If he wanted to do something nefarious, he would have done it weeks ago.
I’m part of this tribe now. After being here several weeks neither I nor my daughter have done anything but suck up the tribe’s resources. I haven’t killed an animal or caught a fish or cooked a meal. It’s time to get off my ass and help. Nobody likes dead weight.
This weekend getaway will be fun, and will allow me a few more days to acclimate before I dive in and figure out how to become part of the tribe.
“Three days then come back to the village?”
“Three sleeps, then back. See pretty fish.”
“You’ll keep us safe?”
“Jax-Xon keep Tara and Liyah safe.” He holds up seve
ral of the arrows he’s making.
“Okay,” I say, surprising myself.
Jax-Xon
We leave the next morning. Over the last few days I’ve made them both suede clothes; what they were wearing won’t last a day on the trail. The two females carry small packs with provisions. I carry a large pack with everything else we’ll need. I also carry Liyah, who loves to ride on my shoulders. She points and asks questions and when she’s bored she commands me to sing the songs of my tribe. I’ve ever met a child who’s been through so much yet remains so happy.
I’m a cunning male. I’ve planned this out and it’s going according to strategy. Tara will see my strength and enjoy my company. I’ll prove I’m a good provider and ask her to be my mate. She’ll say yes, and I’ll perform the rockshun. This will be easy.
~.~
The trip to the big salt water took longer than I expected; Tara’s strides can’t keep up with mine. We didn’t arrive at my favorite tree near the water’s edge until almost dark. I killed and skinned two waruxes and helped the females up into the tree just as the last fingers of the sun faded.
Tara said trees where she comes from aren’t this tall or wide. They both seemed surprised at how comfortable it is up here.
Over the years, the People hollowed out a living space halfway up the trunk. The wooden floor is smooth from years of safely harboring so many of my tribe. It’s safe from predators, and we always leave provisions for the next travelers.
Animals rummaged here since last I visited, so I clean and sweep and neaten. It pleases me when Tara pitches in.
I often catch her staring into the distance, her shoulders slumped. I’ve heard her crying at night when she thinks Liyah and I are sleeping. It’s good to see her busy and productive; it lightens her mood.
Between the two of us, it isn’t long before the treehouse is neat, I’ve made a fire, and spitted the waruxes on a stick. Warm heat fills my chest when I glance up and catch the two females watching me.
In the last few days I’ve pictured this with increasing frequency—having a family. All I want is a mate who looks at me with affection, and a cheerful little girl who believes I filled the sky with stars.
My mate won’t have green, spotted skin like the others of my tribe. But I’d be ecstatic to have a family and the love of a good female. Especially one as beautiful as the dark-haired beauty sitting on my furs.
The hollowed-out tree has only one living area. The People stay here when we’re hunting or fishing nearby. It has no bedding platform, just a pile of furs on the wooden floor.
We’ll all lie together in the warmth of the pelts. Perhaps I can wrap my arm around Tara and feel her back mold to my front. I’ve yearned for that every night since she dropped into my life.
I’d never touch her without her permission, never do anything in front of Liyah. But to be close to her would make my heart sing.
Tara
Jax-Xon’s tenderness and patience surprise me. I’ve never received a great deal of kindness from any man, but to have it directed at me by this big guy is astonishing.
After dinner, he showed us the basics of arrow-making, then gave us a quick demo of how to shoot.
“You’re smart,” he tells us both. “You’ll learn how to live with the People. I’ll keep you safe. You’ll learn to hunt and cook and sew. I know…” He’s looking for words. “Everything is new here. Scary. But Liyah and Tara will be fine.” He nods.
In the matter of these few short weeks, the translator has created a dictionary of his words and I can understand most of what he’s saying. Somehow I believe him when he says it will all be fine.
It’s a little alarming when he lies down behind me and doesn’t face the other way. His hot breath caresses my neck.
He reaches around me to grab Aliyah, then hitches her toward me, dragging me next to him. We’re a green giant sandwich. Aliyah giggled at first, now she’s jabbering away about seeing the Loraxes tomorrow.
I’m still as a statue because Jax-Xon sleeps nude. Well, I knew that from the hut, but it never mattered when he was under the furs across the room. Now? With his cock pressed against the small of my back? Yeah. It matters.
Aliyah talked herself to sleep, and now it’s just Jax-Xon and me pressed against each other in this snug, safe treehouse. He’s definitely not asleep—can guys even get hard-ons in their sleep? His breathing’s raspy.
“You awake, Tara?” he rumbles.
Okay, no doubt about it; he’s awake.
“Almost asleep,” I lie.
“Can we talk?”
No, no, no, no. Shit. “Sure.”
“Turn? So I see your face?’
Double shit. How do I squirm out of this? Maybe he has a simple question like...I don’t know, why is the sky blue? All I can think about is his gigantic cock pulsing against my back.
“You’re naked,” I state the obvious.
“Yes.”
I forget this is a different culture. Half the people in the village walk around wearing nothing but leaves.
I grab the extra pelt I was using as a pillow and flip toward him at the same time I smash the pelt between me and his man-bits. In my haste, the back of my hand grazes the length of Mr. Happy. For a moment I hoped I was wrong, but his sharp intake of breath confirms the fact.
Now we’re face-to-face, and my genitals are separated from his. Let’s get this conversation over with so I can turn over and forget this ever happened.
My mind may not be a willing participant, but my body is responding to every inch of his warm, green flesh. It’s been a long time since I’ve been with a man, but it’s like riding a bicycle--my nipples are beaded into hard points, and my mouth is dry with desire.
He’s staring at me. I’ve never been on the receiving end of a look like this before. It’s appreciation and longing and expectation. It makes my belly do a happy little somersault even though my belly and I have had long conversations about how I don’t do men.
I want to snap, “what” and have him say whatever inane or insane or inappropriate thing is on his mind. But his gorgeous jade eyes are roaming over my face as if he’s watching the most beautiful sunset he’s ever seen.
He wants to kiss me. I’ve seen this look before on other men. But this is different somehow. As if he wants it so much it hurts and yet he could wait a hundred years for it if I just asked.
Since when did magenta lips and strong, square jaws become handsome? Because they are. His face is so gorgeous I want to drown in its strong cheekbones and deep green eyes.
Breathe, I tell myself. I don’t know when it happened, but somewhere along the way, I forgot how to suck air in and blow it out.
His Adam’s Apple bobs, and I realize everything is moving in slow motion. His pink tongue slips between luscious, burgundy lips. Without conscious thought, my tongue mimics his.
Lifting his hand to my shoulder-length hair, he twirls a strand around his finger then leans toward me so slowly I wonder if time is standing still. He sniffs, closing his eyes halfway through as if my hair smells like the galaxy’s finest perfume.
He says nothing. Smart. Words would break the spell. He just keeps his gaze glued to mine—that’s conversation enough.
My heart pounds, my lips are parched, and liquid arousal flows through me for the first time in a long while.
He reaches under my curtain of hair, lodging his palm on the back of my neck. What is it about this spot that makes it so sensitive? My breath catches in my throat.
He breaches the space between us in tiny increments. I could stop him at any moment. I should stop him at any moment. But I don’t.
My breath comes in soft, little pants. My stomach—and below—clenches in need. I want this kiss even though I don’t do men. I want this kiss even though my daughter is sleeping and cuddled against my back. I want this kiss even though Jax-Xon is green and huge and alien.
But I’m not going to get this kiss—at least right now. His massive hand lifts and his palm
lands gentle as a butterfly wing upon my cheek. His fingers trace every millimeter of my skin as if he’s memorizing each hill and valley. As if he’s going to render a topographic map of my skin in the future just from memory.
Then thumb and forefinger slide against the bone of my jaw. They follow the column of my throat. He breathes in through his nose as if he’s memorizing my scent.
Sliding his thumb along the seam of my lips, he wills me to open to him.
A tiny voice in the back of my mind screams at me to stop this right now. It admonishes me about the faithlessness of men. It begins a litany of reminders of why I don’t do males.
