Wyst

by J. A. Hornbuckle

  Lost in a way he didn’t ever want to break free, not if it meant he’d never again be inside her, caught up in the blending of their spirits as her body squeezed the essence of him, coaxing his life-force to spill, to spurt with force as her channel squeezed and pulsed.

  Creating a release which was wrenched from him as a feral groan, some deep place inside him pulsed his life-force up through the throbbing head of his maleness. Almost in syncopated rhythm to the squeezing of her tyad.

  And the best (or the worst, depending on whether he was listening to his body or his cautionary thoughts) of it was that their Mycalyte Trivajni allowed his cataclysmic thoughts to join with hers. A swirling mass of sensations of both body and emotion which found him propped on straight arms, deeply panting against her hair as his softening tailpor slewed into her squeezing channel again and again..

  And as he slowly regained a sense of himself, came back into his own mind, remorse and regret crept in. He wasn’t supposed to want to join with her after the second time they’d come together, yet he had. Albeit he’d been mostly asleep during the largest portion at the start, a point where he would have been able to stop himself.

  But that couldn’t be an excuse.

  Both his heart and his mind had been firm about not allowing himself to want her again. But it seemed his tailpor couldn’t maintain his instructions. Especially not when he was unconscious. Or even fracking awake, because his baser desires had taken over every cognizant thought after he’d realized she was wet, willing and their bodies were bound to do the deed he’d sworn never to enact with her again.

  The fact that the outcome was so what he needed didn’t change the fact he’d done exactly what he hadn’t wanted didn’t escape him. But posket, what a joining!

  She’d dropped her knees into the mattress at some point and Wyst struggled to prevent his full weight from falling on her as he tried, and failed, to find the right words to end their impromptu, and unwanted sex-sharing session. When he could find none, he simply buried his face into her fragrant hair and sighed.

  His Pam-ah-lah felt none of his same compunction though. Get off me, big guy, before I suffocate, okay?

  The need to apologize reared sharp and large inside him, but what could he say to excuse himself in the whole of it?

  His need?

  The way she’d responded to him?

  The fact they’d both found their pleasure?

  What?

  Since he couldn’t answer, he simply did as she asked and pulled his length out of her as she twisted and shifted away from him, dragging the sheet with her until she’d yanked the scrap of lace up she called panties in order to cover herself again. Raising up from the mattress and squaring her shoulders, he heard her again along the mental link he both loved and hated by turns. Thanks for nothing, asshole.

  What’d I do? Frack, he didn’t wanted her to hear his thoughts, but they’d burst out before he was able to get a grip on them.

  Giving him a glare over her naked shoulder, combined with a view of her decidedly thinned and twisted mouth, he took her next thought as a snarl. Seriously? Are you that freaking clueless about fucking me while dreaming of another girl’s pussy? Shrugging off the sheet, she presented her back, her fulsome, rounded butt to him before strutting towards the cleansing unit, stopping herself from entering with a hand on the doorjamb, all the while without looking his way. Believe me, there ain’t no woman on the face of this Earth who’d put up with that sort of shit.

  The slam of the door between the bedroom and where she’d decided to make her stand echoed within the walls of the lowly place they’d taken up residence. And made his hearts race. Because causing her to feel as if she wasn’t the object of his desire was wrong on too many levels to count.

  Didn’t she know?

  To him it was glaringly obvious, but her zinging thoughts when combined with her hateful stare told a different story. And he wanted…no. Needed her to know…

  She was the female he wanted, but couldn’t ever claim. At least not until the end of his journey on her home world. Even though the idea seemed much like an impossible dream, especially after Bronsyn told him of the Writ of Treason against him and Rykhan, Wyst still had faith it wouldn’t be approved. That he would eventually claim his Pamela as his one true and legitimate mate.

  Eventually.

  That is, if she consented.

  But he didn’t know, absolutely wasn’t certain if she want him that way.

  She’d taken him into her body, true. Twice.

  Had pressed herself up and onto his tailpor over and over until he’d felt her explode all along his hard, erupting maleness.

  Yet what she’d said was untrue.

  He hadn’t anyone other than her in mind, no matter what she believed. When she’d been underneath him, her spine curved as she presented the slick pink parts of herself to the portion of him demanding her compliance, she’d been fully in the moment.

  Fully acquiescent. Fully into him and what was between them.

  Just as he had.

  So her denial had more to do with his rejecting words of the night before, especially in light of his sleepy response to her in the dim light of morning. A denial he’d regretted the moment it left his mouth, although he’d not known what else to say at the time. Not after spying his mark, the metal she tried so hard to hide.

  Another question intruded, one he hadn’t considered in the sheer shock of discovering her metal. When had she grown her warrior’s symbol? Was it before or after the incident with the Arlene?

  Slapping a hand over his face, Wyst dragged his fingers down to scrub at his cheeks, his mouth and chin.

  This was more convoluted than any mission he’d ever encountered.

  And in that moment, Wyst wanted it to be over as quickly as possible.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Leaning both palms on the edge of the sink I glared at my reflection. “What the hell did you just do?” I whispered. Last night I’d been hurt and embarrassed at being turned away.

  This morning?

  I was just pissed.

  More at myself than him, although he bore a huge portion of the blame.

  Turning on the water, I reached for my toothbrush calling myself every name in the book for allowing Wyst access to my body just hours after his little speech of maintaining our distance.

  Wait.

  ‘Allowing’ wasn’t the right word because that made it seemed like I’d just laid back and let him do his thing.

  Which wasn’t true (damn).

  I’d been an active participant and even used a couple of words to ask him for it (double damn).

  “What is wrong with you?” I demanded of the woman in the mirror with a foamy mouth. Reviewing how this latest go-round started, I pinpointed exactly when and how I should’ve shut our little scene down without losing face.

  Instead of just turning over, I, like, should’ve just gotten out of bed and began my day.

  Or I could’ve yelled loud enough to force him into wakefulness while shoving his hands and leg off of me.

  Oh shit.

  Shoulda, woulda, coulda was becoming the litany of our time together and I, for one, was getting goddamn tired of it.

  Rinsing my mouth before snagging the bottle of face wash, I determined the only way to handle this was simply to pretend it never happened. And then do everything in my power to ensure it, just as I had done with every unpleasant experience in my life, pretend it never happened.

  And wouldn’t ever happen again.

  Grabbing the hand towel, I dried my face and nodded firmly at my reflection. Yep, that was the best way to play it. I’d keep myself to myself and scream bloody murder if he tried that shit as a repeat performance. He may’ve be hot and cute with his combo of brains and innocence, but he wasn’t irresistible, that was for damn sure.

  And at that moment, the steel tattoo on my wrist decided to make its presence known with a deep throb that went from my wrist to my breasts before
shooting down to my clit as if to cancel out my words. Peeling back the bandage, I stared at my wahrom with a combo of misgiving and fascination.

  It didn’t hurt. Oh no.

  In fact, after it had appeared I’d basically forgotten about it except to cover it with a fresh bandage each morning. That was until that moment. When it throbbed after I’d made my vow to never have sex with Wyst again.

  But I didn’t give a shit what it or anyone else said.

  The piece of blue steel on my body did not, repeat, did not brand me as his or anyone else’s bride, mate, partner or whatever. I was an American, for god’s sake. Which made me free to pick the man I wanted to spend my life with—should I choose to go that whole, like, we’re-a-couple route.

  Not some ding-blasted goddess who obviously held a really warped sense of humor if she thought Wyst and I were a match!

  Taking a deep breath, I wrapped a towel around me as I continued with my morning routine steadfastly refusing to give the doings of the morning anymore head space. And it worked in re-convincing myself I was a strong, independent woman who was able to stand on her own two feet.

  That was until I opened the bathroom door and found the object of my avoidance filling the doorway wearing nothing more than half-buttoned jeans with his hands holding onto the upper portion of the door-jamb.

  It was a male centerfold pose, exposing his bulging arms and sculpted chest as well as his Adonis belt, that abdominal vee of muscle between his lower abs and hips. And if I wasn’t so pissed at the sonuvabitch, I probably would’ve enjoyed the view a lot more than just the thrilling zing that bolted through my body before settling between my legs. Which found me prissily shoving him aside with a little more force than was strictly necessary.

  “We need to talk, leca purvya,” he started after my partially covered boobs met his abs, and I smiled in satisfaction at not breaking the silence between us. That he’d been the first to speak.

  Yeah, it was a small win but it still counted.

  “There are things you are unaware of and must be discussed before…”

  His voice trailed off but I continued to move around the room, not sparing him even a glance as I dragged on some clothes.

  “What are you doing, mica pixie?”

  Did feeling pleased by the confusion in his voice make me a bad person? Maybe not on its own, but when combined with my lack of response while I carried on stripping off the bed sheets, might’ve.

  He cleared his throat and when he spoke again it was in a voice much deeper and a hell of a lot firmer. “As I was saying, there is much about Picari ways you do not know. And that lack of knowledge means you are not prepared for…why are you packing our bedding?”

  Technically I wasn’t, because after squashing the sheets and blankets into my large, empty suitcase, I quickly moved back to the bathroom to snag the towels and washcloths. Returning to the case, I saw his head turn as his eyes followed what I was doing.

  “Are we moving to different room? Or do you simply plan to get your own and take all of our linens with you?” His tone shifted again and with this outburst I heard the edge of warrior-pissed-off sneak in. “I absolutely forbid you from sleeping away from me, so you can stop packing now.”

  Oh really?

  I covered my unintentional snort with a cough as I went to his pile of clothes in the far corner. Which really seemed to set him alight.

  “So you are going to push me out of the room first?” I knew I was poking the bear in the cage but in all honesty, I thought he deserved it after his behavior of last night and this morning. “That will not happen, Pam-ah-lah Swain. Do you hear me? I will not allow this to happen.”

  Oh yeah.

  I heard.

  Probably most of Wayward as well, since he was bellowing. And I was sure was the reason behind the pounding on the flimsy door of our room, creating an immediate closed-mouthed, cease-fire to our overly loud fight.

  I looked at him in question but his eyes were on the door. I hadn’t had a good look at his impromptu contraption, but I did remember him saying something about concocting a way to keep our nosy landlord out of our room.

  The same one who was yelling at us. “Open up or I’m calling the cops.”

  I parted my lips to assure her everything was fine but before I’d uttered a sound, Wyst did the answering in a voice just as loud as before. “Go away and know that if you do contact the authorities, I will file charges against you for previously accessing our room without our approval.”

  “There are fire laws, you know! I gotta have access to the room in cases of emergency.” Ms. Myrtle’s voice was a very ugly, high-pitched screech that not only hurt the ears, but forced Wyst to press a couple of buttons on his tresl and open the door.

  Throwing it wide, Wyst stepped to one side and swept a hand around the room. “As you can see, there is no fire and no emergency. Therefore you have no reason to enter the room you rented to us.”

  Thinking to throw my two-cents in, I looked to Ms. Myrtle but she stood in slack-jawed wonder, her eyes roaming the naked expanse of Wyst’s chest as if she were starving. Watching a flash of fearful revulsion cross my roommate’s face, I snagged one of his t-shirts and tossed it his way. Settling it over his head in short order, then doing up the remaining buttons on his jeans, he moved to block the doorway again. Crossing his arms on his now covered chest, Wyst again took the bull by the horns. “You are not to enter these rooms without our express permission.”

  “I own this place! Which means I can do whatever the hell I want!” The older woman’s face and neck were splotchy as she screamed up at Wyst.

  Then she decided to take a different tactic. Using a talon to stroke at his forearm, a calculating gleam replaced her glare and she smiled, exposing the lipstick on her teeth. “Maybe we can come to some sort of agreement. Say over a drink at my place after your girl goes to work?”

  “How do you know anything about my job?” I don’t know when I’d copied Wyst’s stance but I found myself with crossed arms tucked underneath my boobs as I challenged her.

  “Small town. Big mouths,” she explained , her eyes still devouring my companion. “Especially because your buddies came around yesterday asking about the two of you.”

  Our buddies?

  I flicked a glance to Wyst and saw his body go into lockdown at the same words which send a shiver through me.

  “Which so-called buddies, Miss Myrtle?”

  She had the grace to pause, looking up into his face, her dratted finger still touching his forearm before she answered. “Three men who used their cellphone to ask me about you and…,” she took in a measure of air and shuddered before completing her sentence. “Her.”

  “And you told them, what?”

  “I didn’t tell them shit.” She smiled again, never once looking my way. “And I won’t, if you agree to join me later after she goes to work.”

  Wyst looked at me over his shoulder, his eyebrows so knitted and low it was hard to see his eyes. I knew he was trying to communicate with me but there was no way in hell I was gonna open my mind and accept his thoughts at the moment.

  “So what’ll it be, handsome?”

  I have to give it to Wyst because in my mind, he’d obviously learned a thing or two in his time on my fair planet. Twisting back to the other woman, he took a step back and very carefully did a slow but thorough eye-roam over Ms. Myrtle’s face, drifting downward over the wildly patterned caftan that covered her from mid-cleavage to toes before coming up again. “As…interesting as that sounds, I think I will stick with the female I am with.”

  I liked that he didn’t prevaricate or pretend he didn’t understand what she was really putting on offer, but simply told her, straight up he wasn’t interested.

  And without allowing her to reply, he closed the door in her startled face.

  I shot him a bug-eyed look and that was all it took to get the two of us chortling. Which soon changed to laughter, that soon morphed into us clutching onto one an
other in order to hold each other up.

  “She honestly thought…you’d…” I bleated when I could catch a breath.

  Using a hand to wipe at his streaming eyes, Wyst nodded and wheezed out, “There is no fracking way in posket I could ever bed her.” Gently guiding me from his side to his front, he looped his thumbs into the belt loops of my jeans and leaned down until his forehead touched mine. “Now when it comes to you…”

  And that’s all it took to suck the hilarity out of the room.

  Just one little reference to remind me of how he’d turned me down the night before and then rang my chimes when he was half-asleep and dreaming of screwing someone else. Trying not to be a bitch, I gently disengaged his hands and went back to my task of packing the suitcase. “Do you have anything else you need to have washed?”

  He didn’t answer right away so I glanced at him before going to the closet to retrieve my purse. His expression spoke of confusion and more than a little bit of hurt, but I didn’t address whatever he was feeling since I was working those same emotions (along with more than a few others) myself. “Let’s go grab breakfast and then hit the Laundromat.”

  “You were packing the suitcase so we could simply go cleanse our clothes?”

  “Well, yeah,” I answered with a shrug, pulling out my change purse and checking the situation for quarters. “I know you thought I was planning something else, but it’d be easier to roll the stuffed suitcase instead of us lugging our dirty stuff downstairs.”

  After giving me a baleful glance, he sat on the bed and pulled on his boots, sans socks. “So you were teasing me? Letting me get upset about something you never intended to do?”

  His words needled my conscious, but they were true nonetheless. “Yeah, babe. Sorry.”

  All Wyst did was nod and unlocked the door with his tresl again.