by Mimi Riser
This place was neither. It looked clean at least, and smelled the same, nothing like the dusty, stinky bridge. It was almost too clean, all pristine white bulkheads and deck. There was a sterile, antiseptic quality to the cabin, sort of like a ... Her breath snagged in her throat. This looked like an operating room. There were no instruments in sight, but that chair thing had velvet straps dangling from it. Red velvet, the color of blood.
Oh, God, maybe sex wasn't the threat here after all. How did she know what “sex” meant to an alien? In those tabloid stories she'd scanned, the aliens abducted humans to ... to experiment on them.
Fear knifed down her spine, flooding her with adrenalin, giving her the strength to fight his hold. A hold that hardened into iron around her the second she started kicking to be free.
Right. Like she'd expected this to be easy? Fat chance. The guy was built like a brick wall. Switching tactics, she clawed at his face—a useless maneuver since she had a bad habit of biting her nails, and they were all gnawed to the nub.
He laughed at her struggles. “Spirited lass, aren't you?"
Sam glared. “Laugh this off, buster.” Grabbing two fistfuls of black hair, she yanked him forward, intent on chomping off his nose.
Her mouth connected with his lips instead.
Or his lips landed on hers.
Who knew how the kiss happened? Once it began, she couldn't stop it, didn't even think to try. How could she think at all with his mouth melded to hers, that hot tongue thrusting into her? Hot and wet ... Hungry ... Stealing her breath, rocketing her pulse, building a fire in her belly—
And leaving her panting for more when it broke off and she dropped out of his arms.
Like a hawk after prey, the chair swooped in under her, lengthening to a chaise-like recliner as she hit it, supporting her from head to heel. More than supporting. It conformed perfectly to her curves, warm and vibrating beneath her, almost purring.
Holy shit, the thing wasn't alive, was it? Were those straps hanging off it ... or tentacles?
As if in answer—though what kind of answer she wasn't sure—the velvety tendrils snaked up and around her, locking her in place, one at each of her ankles, two at her middle, and two more crisscrossing over her chest and shoulders like a cross-your-heart bra minus the cups, or a safety harness. Except she felt anything but safe.
In angry panic, her raised fists contracted into white-knuckled vises, eliciting a low grunt from the head hovering an arm's length above her. The head's owner had released her, but somehow, in the heat of the moment, she'd forgotten to reciprocate. Now her hands were frozen and she couldn't let go even if she'd wanted. Which she didn't.
Breathing hard, she dragged his head lower, till his nose nearly touched hers. “Make this ... this ... whatever the hell it is let go of me."
"Why? You're not comfortable? This is a class-A model form-chair—or ‘orm-chair as they're more popularly called. ‘Orms have a specialized electro-magnetic circuitry embedded throughout them and a chameleon factor that allows them to change shape. They're programmed to respond directly to their occupant's shape and condition. An ‘orm reads the body's overall electrical charge and automatically adjusts itself to the optimum ergonomic position. You should be very ... comfortable.” Warm breath feathered her face with his words. His eyes half closed and his head sank lower until his lips grazed hers.
The touch sizzled through her like a lightning strike. Choking, she jerked him back, her fingers digging into his scalp. “I'm also tied down, damn it!"
"That's your doing, love, not mine.” Pure danger gleamed down at her from those hooded dark eyes. “Some ‘orms are more finely tuned than others. This one reads brain waves as well as the kinesthetic charge. It senses you're feeling ... unsteady, shall we say, and is protecting you from falling out. Relax and it will let go.
"Speaking of which—” He braced his hands on the top edge of the ‘orm, leaning into her even as she struggled to hold him off. “I'm not sure what the proper protocol is in your society, but in mine, when a kiss has ended, the polite female lets go of the man's head. Unless, of course"—the gleam in his eyes heated—"she's hoping for another kiss?"
Without warning, the two straps at her middle unwound, rose, and curled around her wrists, breaking her hold on him, pulling her arms down and fastening them at her sides.
"Ah, you see that?” He smiled, pure devilment in the expression. “You do want me to kiss you again."
How the hell did he figure that?
"No, I don't!” She twisted her face away as his mouth moved to capture hers.
The kiss struck steamy and sweet on the soft spot just below her ear. Seeming utterly unconcerned about missing his original target, Deuce took the opportunity to nuzzle her neck, instead, nipping and nibbling, licking ... sending fiery tingles into her groin.
"Yes, you do, and more than a kiss,” he whispered against her. “The ‘orm responds to your innermost thoughts. That's why it's secured your arms. It's protecting you—not just from falling, but also from yourself. It knows you don't really want to stop me. And so do you."
He lifted a hand to trace the velvet bonds crisscrossed over her chest, his fingers so close to her breasts ... almost touching.
Sam gritted her teeth to keep from groaning and strained against the straps—strained too against the desire welling up within her. “I don't know anything of the sort. Hell, I don't even know if you're really a man.” Her eyes blazed with the accusation. “You could have scales and a tail under that fairy suit!"
Deuce drew back, grinning. “Have a thing for lizards, do you, love?” He pulled off his boots, then began unlacing his doublet. “Sorry to disappoint you, but I'm as human as you are."
He was going to prove it, too. Her and her big mouth. Sam strained harder against her bonds as his doublet hit the deck with a soft swish and he started work on the fastenings of his shirt, talking to her all the while.
"Earth isn't the only planet that has spawned what your people term homo sapiens. Our species is found all over the galaxy. Quite a puzzle, that. Some scientists call it a ‘cosmic coincidence,’ just an accident of evolution that happens independently wherever certain conditions occur. Others speculate we all originated from a common source and spread outward from there. No one knows for sure.” He paused a moment, a wistful look clouding his eyes. “It's a mystery some have spent their whole lives trying to solve, part of man's ongoing quest to find himself and his place in the universe. It's not my purpose to unravel it, I'm afraid, but if things were different, if I had the means and the chance, I'd dearly like to try."
Suddenly blushing—and Sam doubted it was over the act of undressing—he grabbed the hem of his tunic-style shirt, yanked it up and over his head.
Her breath hitched at the sight of him standing there half-naked, the muscles in his chest and arms rippling like molten copper in the glow from the hovering globes, and a too-obvious bulge tenting the front of his tights. A big bulge. Very big and very distracting. Her body responded to it with a throbbing deep inside, an empty ache demanding to be filled. But another ache gripped her, too, a pressure like a fist squeezing her heart.
He was an alien, all right. A man, yes—almost too much of a man from what she could see—and she could see a lot—but not like any man she'd ever met before. This one had some brains in his handsome head, and he was treating her as though she had brains, too, as though she was more than tits and ass. How many other men had done that? None. They told dumb blonde jokes and assumed she could barely tie her shoelaces.
Deuce bothered to explain weird things like ‘orm chairs and offered up cosmic riddles and philosophy, and he did it easily, without talking down to her. He'd just given her the gift of a confession, she was pretty sure—a little glimpse inside himself to a secret longing he didn't share with many people. Damn him. How could she not be touched by something like that? For God's sake, the guy's physical appeal was difficult enough to fight. How could she resist a man who was willing
to talk to her, even when she was spread out butt naked in front of him?
His thumbs slipped under the waistband of his tights and, in a few sinuous moves, like a snake shedding its skin, he was naked, too, the bottom half of him as deadly delicious as the top. Sam's mouth dropped open at the size of the erection jutting toward her.
That wasn't a cock. It was a battering ram. Her muscles tensed, all her nerve endings humming. Liquid heat rolled through her, pooling in a surge of creamy moisture between her thighs. Deuce's gaze struck her like a laser beam, frying her where she lay.
And—damn it—the ‘orm was moving, floating straight toward him!
He stared at her open mouth. “Is that an invitation?"
Sam snapped her jaw shut. If only she could do the same with her legs. What the hell was happening? This damn thing she was strapped to was changing shape again, its lower portion splitting down the middle like the parting of the Red Sea. Her legs, anchored in place at the ankles, parted with it.
Holy shit...
It jolted to a stop with him standing between her knees, her nether regions splayed wide open to his view. He took full advantage of the situation, studying the exposed area like a shark eyeing bait.
"Ah, now that is an invitation,” he said. In the visual equivalent of a lava flow, his gaze slid up over her torso to her breasts—
Which thrust out in response, the ‘orm curving beneath her, arching her spine.
Deuce licked his lips and her nipples hardened.
"A veritable feast.” He glanced from her chest to her crotch and back again, like a little boy at a candy counter trying to decide which delicacy to sample first. “One hardly knows where to begin."
He brushed his hands up the inside of her thighs—a gentle touch, testing the waters. Finding it warm, apparently, he broadened the field of exploration, drawing lazy circles over her abdomen and stomach, his fingers licking her like flames, and his deep purr of a voice an added audio caress.
"Sex is simply a form of communication, a process of listening and response. It's the language of the flesh,” he explained, like a schoolmaster beginning a lecture. “To achieve fluency in it requires the ability to both give and take. But from what I've seen of your society, it seems that too many women end up giving more than they get. So your first lesson, love, is to learn how to receive pleasure."
And he was the one spooning it out. Or should that be laying it on with a trowel?
Sam's protest strangled in her throat as electric shivers shook her. This was going from bad to worse. The man was concerned about her pleasure? Cripes, he was more dangerous than she'd thought.
I'm doomed...
The ‘orm—damn it to hell—floated toward him a few more inches, sliding her breasts right under his palms. Not one to miss an opportunity, Deuce squeezed and rubbed what he'd been given, making her toes curl. Then he narrowed the focus to her nipples, rolling the hard nubs between thumb and forefinger.
Fire flooded her veins. He knew what he was doing, didn't he? She wriggled and bucked against her bonds, hating the fact she wanted him to do more.
"Clever contraption, this ‘orm, isn't it?” he remarked.
"I think it sucks,” she panted out.
"Sorry, love, that's one thing it can't do. Not to worry, though.” He winked. “I can."
Yeah, that's what she was afraid of.
"Never mind. You don't have to demonstrate!” Frantically, she pushed backward, breaking into a sweat with the effort. The uncooperative ‘orm just tilted forward and levitated until her breasts were on level with Deuce's face.
He stared at them, his eyes glowing like embers ready to ignite whatever he touched. And what he touched was Sam. Gripping her ribcage, he leaned forward, whispering. “You see? The ‘orm knows what you want."
So did he. His lips closed around her left nipple and the air steamed straight out of her lungs. Her hands, trapped at her sides, balled into fists as he teased with tongue and teeth, then settled into a long suckling, hot and sweet. She fought to hang onto her wits. Maybe the ‘orm was reading her correctly, maybe she did want this. But she shouldn't. And she sure as hell didn't need it.
He switched to the right nipple, giving it equal attention, then slid his grip to her hips and kissed a sultry line down the center of her belly to the triangle of fluffy curls at its base. The hated ‘orm dipped backward into horizontal position again and pulled her legs farther apart, allowing his mouth full access to her pussy, which almost exploded as he licked her from stem to stern. Groan. She didn't need that either.
His tongue probed deep, exploring every creamy crevice before zeroing in on her clit and flicking it into a tiny, pulsing erection. Such a small spot to be so loaded with feeling, so connected to every nerve in her body. Sam shuddered under the onslaught of sensation. She didn't need sex training, especially not from some overly endowed alien who was taking her to her ... Destiny? Is that what he'd said?
Good God, the whole thing was insane.
The more so because what he stirred in her was beginning to feel like something pre-destined, something bigger than herself. It felt like Fate, overpowering and inescapable. She might have been born for this very moment, might have been created just for him. Or had he been created for her?
Did it matter?
Suddenly she wanted them to belong to each other, wanted the union to be complete, flesh joining to flesh as her heart merged with his.
Her mind said what a bad, stupid idea, even as the rest of her cried out to be filled. She wanted a cock in her! His cock. No, needed it—now—and damn the consequences.
Like magic, the straps holding her fell away and she slipped to her feet. How ‘bout that? He'd told the truth about the chair. It let go the moment she stopped struggling.
Deuce stumbled back a pace, the look in his eyes similar to the one Dr. Frankenstein must have displayed when he realized he'd created a monster.
He held up his hands. “Wait, I wasn't finished!"
"Damn straight you're not.” Breathing out steam, she advanced. “This is just beginning. It's time for the student to give the trainer a lesson."
Before he knew what hit him, she attacked, pressing in full-length, winding her arms around his neck and straining up on tiptoe to plunder his mouth. She kissed like a wild woman, drinking him in—rubbed against him like a cat, reveling in the warm feel of his skin, the solid steel of his muscles, and his rock-hard erection grinding into her abdomen. His scent surrounded her, musky and male and mixed with the tang of her own arousal. A potent perfume.
The smell of sex.
The taste of sex, salty and rich, intoxicating as a drug.
Deuce moaned against her mouth, trying to extricate himself from her hold. But not with much conviction, Sam noted. With her lips locked to his, she swiveled them about a hundred and eighty degrees and shoved forward with all her strength. He toppled straight into the waiting ‘orm, which instantly expanded to accommodate his size and weight.
And Sam's, too.
She landed flat on top of him, chest-to-chest, belly-to-belly, thigh-to-thigh. A good start, but only a start. Her legs fell open, bringing his shaft in direct contact with her slit. Much better. She braced her hands on his shoulders and pushed upright to straddle him, then slid back and forth over the length of his erection, making him slick with her juices.
A low, guttural noise sounded from deep in his throat, something between a growl and a groan. He shuddered and struggled to sit up, grabbing for her arms to swing her off. The ‘orm grabbed him faster, its straps raising to pull him back and trap him in place under her.
Sam grinned—a woman without mercy. “You're right. This thing is clever.” She was beginning to like it immensely. “But don't stop struggling just yet, okay? I wouldn't want it to release you too soon. It's kind of fun seeing you tied down so I can have my way with you."
Her eyes half-closed and she ran the tip of her tongue over her lips, giving him a vixen of a look, smoking him down to his to
es. Pure temptress. Marilyn Monroe couldn't have done any better.
Deuce groaned again, like a man in pain, but it was obvious he fought himself more than her. “This shouldn't be happening. I was only supposed to tantalize ... to seduce you, but not take things all the way. It's part of your ... your sexual awakening ... your purpose..."
She heard him through a red hot haze, his words scarcely registering, drowned out by the drumbeat of her pulse in her ears and the throb of his pulse pounding equally hard under her hands. Awakening? Hah. In case he hadn't noticed, she was already as awake as she was going to get. More awake than she'd ever felt in her life.
"Fuck ‘purpose.'” She angled her hips so the head of his shaft nudged her opening. “Better yet, fuck me."
With a heavy thrust, she drove down, taking him in halfway to the hilt—gasping as the force of the entry arched her spine like an electrical charge ripped through her. Her muscles contracted around him and Deuce's gasp echoed hers.
So tight he fit, such a blistering big organ. For a second she thought she'd split at the seams if she took any more. Then the ‘orm bucked upward beneath them, cramming every last inch of him into her, locking them together in a coital embrace that somehow transcended simple sex.
There was nothing simple about this. Blood boiled and flesh fried. That electrical charge thrummed through her again, setting off a buzzing in her brain, coiling energy within her almost like the onset of an orgasm but more so—something mystical added to the mix, something magical. She could feel his desire as well as her own, sense the racing of his heart and the fire in his loins as though they shared the same body. Sultry sizzle rocking her from head to toe.
"The ‘orm...” Deuce panted out. “It's programmed to read one entity at a time ... whoever is in contact with it. Holding two has confused the damn thing. It can't separate you from me, so it's reading us as if we're a single unit, blending our brain waves and auras together..."
"Linking us body, mind, and soul,” Sam finished for him.
"You're very astute,” he rasped.
