by Anna Carven
“I’ll leave you with these guys for a moment,” I tell Zyara as I head for the kitchen. “Make yourself at home.”
Zyara nods, depositing herself gracefully on the couch, the dogs curling up around her feet. She looks instantly at home, a serene goddess amidst the clutter and kitsch of Kenna’s living room.
It occurs to me that this is her first time visiting anywhere on Earth outside of Nova Terra. Most of the time, she’s been stuck on Silence. I have to admire the way she takes her responsibilities seriously, but a girl needs to let her hair down once in a while.
One of these days, a shopping trip to Teluria might be in order.
In the kitchen, Kenna is busy chopping carrots. The rich, meaty aroma of goat stew surrounds me as I sneak up on her. “I don’t understand why you don’t just get a kitchen-bot like everyone else,” I grumble, stealing a piece of carrot and popping it in my mouth.
It’s crisp and flavorsome, unlike the mass-produced recombinant chunks that so often pass for vegetables these days.
Kenna turns, grinning. “You kids and your automatic lives,” she says. “You forget that some of us grew up in a time of war, and we had to actually do things for ourselves.” She chops another carrot with a vengeance. “Manufactured things just don’t taste the same, and Jupiter knows what kinds of chemicals they put in them, getting you kids hooked for life.”
She slides the carrot pieces into a huge steel pot that’s bubbling away on an old-fashioned electric stove.
“Addictive chemicals?” Unable to help myself, I chomp on another bit of carrot. “You and your conspiracy theories. I eat that stuff all the time, and I’m fine, aren’t I?”
“You tell me.” Kenna stirs the pot, tendrils of steam rising from it. She’s wearing a faded blue apron, and her face is slick with a faint sheen of sweat. “So, my girl,” she says, changing the subject. “This boy of yours; what does he do for a living?”
“You haven’t been watching the Networks at all, have you, aunty?”
“I don’t have time for propaganda.”
“But you know about Kordolians, right?”
“Hm, what have I heard? That they’re predatory aliens, hell-bent on colonizing the Universe? You know, they said that about the Avein when they first came to Earth, and they turned out all right. From what I’ve seen so far, your boy treats you just fine.”
“And what makes you so sure about that?”
“Well, I was being downright offensive when we first met, and he didn’t lift a finger against me. And when you tipped my gun barrel down, he was ready to step between us. He respects you, but he’s protective. He’ll tolerate your Human eccentricities, but when you’re in real danger, he’ll ignore everything and follow his instinct to protect you. I like that.”
“You can tell all that just from a brief interaction?”
“I was testing him.” Kenna’s grin turns wolfish. “And I know that you’re smart enough, girl. You’re not going to bring just anybody home to meet me. Not after what happened last time.”
“That was fifteen years ago!” Exasperated, I munch on another bit of carrot. “I was a teenager! Questionable decision making skills were part of the territory back then.” I’m older now; I’ve been to space and back. I’ve been to hell and back. “You wouldn’t believe the things that have happened to me since then,” I add quietly.
“And now you’ve got a bun in the oven.”
“Damn right.” I pat my belly as Little Monster flutters about. She’s full of beans; she never stops moving. I can’t imagine what she’s going to be like when she’s a toddler.
Big Bad is going to have his hands full.
“And this boy; you’re sure he’s going to stick around?”
“He has a name, Kenna. It’s Tarak. And he sticks to his word.”
“He’s not going to drag you off to some distant planet, is he?”
I laugh. “Been there, done that. No, we’re not going back to Kythia in this lifetime.”
“Good.” Kenna grabs a spoon and tastes the stew. She makes a face and adds a sprinkling of salt. I look inside the pot and see a rich gravy with chunks of sweet potato, carrot and celery floating about.
“That looks and smells incredible,” I sigh, my stomach rumbling. “It’s too bad Kordolians don’t eat vegetables.”
Kenna stares at me in disbelief. “What do they eat, then?”
“They’re carnivores. Meat eaters.”
“With those fangs, it figures. I’ll have to go and get more meat from the deep-freeze,” Kenna grumbles. She starts to untie her apron. “Watch the stew.”
I put a hand on her shoulder. “Relax. Those boys are more than capable of looking after themselves. You’ve already done enough.”
“I can’t have guests trying to feed themselves,” she protests, clearly uncomfortable with the notion.
“I said, relax.” My tone becomes firmer. “I’ll handle it. You’re not going go to all the effort of making another dish. What about your arthritis?”
Kenna opens her mouth to protest. I hold up a hand. “You’re the most independent person I know, but I don’t expect you to look after a bunch of fully grown Kordolian males. I’ll handle them.”
Kenna scrutinizes me for a moment. Unexpectedly, she laughs.
“What?”
“Look at you, waddling around like a fat duck and still trying to be responsible for a pack of Kordolian warriors. I know how you get, girl.” Her harsh features soften. “Make sure you put your feet up for the next few weeks and rest. When the baby comes, you’ll be forgetting what the word ‘rest’ even means. Make sure that Kordolian of yours is at your beck and call and not making excuses to run off to some distant galaxy or spend long hours at work.”
When your mate is in charge of half an army, that’s a bit much to demand, but Kenna has a point. “I’ll try,” I say unconvincingly. I’ve never been one to sit back and put my feet up, but maybe I need to. Over the past few weeks, I’ve started to get these terrible backaches when I stand for too long.
I blame the ever-growing little one inside me.
The sound of raised voices alerts me that Tarak and his crew have returned. I leave Kenna to the cooking. “I’m claiming that stew for myself,” I inform her. It’s been years since I’ve had wholesome, home-cooked food that hasn’t come from a kitchen-bot. “So don’t feed the rest to the dogs, because I’ll eat the leftovers.”
Kenna grunts, but a slight smile cracks her weathered features. I return to the living room to find four big Kordolians and one female medic lounging around on Kenna’s worn sofas. The dogs have hidden beneath the dining table. They’re cowering and whimpering.
Tarak is reclining in a floral winged armchair, his booted feet resting on a green velvet ottoman.
“There are strange creatures in your house,” he says flatly.
The dogs whimper again. They’re terrified of him.
“They’re pets. Stop scaring them.”
“The creatures just know their place,” he replies. “They are well trained.”
Nyx and Zeus look at me balefully, their ears flat agains their skulls, their tails tucked underneath their bodies.
“Poor babies.” I try to soothe them in my most placating voice. “Don’t be scared of the alien. He’s not as bad as he looks.”
Tarak glares at me. His subordinates are politely looking in the other direction. Zyara is trying to conceal a smirk.
Nyx and Zeus look as if they’re about to bolt out the back door at warp speed.
When I unconsciously put a hand to my stiff lower back and stretch, Tarak rises silently and fluidly from his seat to be by my side, his eyes full of concern. “You need to rest,” he says quietly, echoing my aunt.
The dogs fly out of the room, becoming twin black streaks as they disappear into the night.
CHAPTER SIX
Tarak
After Abbey has fed, I take her across the green lawns to one the twin houses out the back.
They
are sleek structures, relatively modern for Earth, and entirely different to the dilapidated collection of buildings at the front.
I offer to carry her, but she refuses, telling me not to be ridiculous.
“I don’t understand why I should not carry you,” I complain as we reach the first building. Abbey touches her palm to a panel and the doors slide open.
We step into a entrance hall lined with glass walls that glow softly against the darkness.
To my relief, they are opaque. We cannot be seen from the outside.
The entrance opens into a spacious living area divided by a central courtyard. A single twisted tree grows out of the ground, which is covered with small grey stones.
It is a strangely opulent space.
By the time we reach the second level, she is slightly bent over, clutching at her back. She’s in pain, but she tries to hide it with a smile. Unable to take it any longer, I scoop her up and lay her gently on the bed.
Her relieved sigh doesn’t escape my notice. I put some pillows behind her and she leans back, her brown hair fanning across the white fabric.
I inspect her carefully, noting that her ankles and feet are swollen.
“You’ve been on your feet for too long,” I growl, more annoyed with myself for not noticing earlier. “Why don’t you ever say anything when you’re uncomfortable?”
“It honestly didn’t occur to me to say anything,” she says, putting her hands behind her head. “I thought this stuff was normal in pregnancy. Besides, this is nothing compared to what I’m going to have to put up with during childbirth. And don’t forget that you’re going to be right next to me for every sweaty, painful, messy, profanity-laden minute of it.”
“I am?” I blink. On Kythia, birthing is a strictly female affair. The thought of witnessing such a thing seems more daunting than fighting a horde of vicious Xargek or battling fanatical soldiers from the old Kordolian Empire.
“Of course you are.” She unties the belt at her waist, allowing the folds of her grey garment to loosen.
Her body is swollen and ripe, tempting me even when she is supposed to rest. Her scent is all around me, her female essence mingling with the fragrant stuff she uses to wash her hair.
I sit down by her side and take a moment to watch her.
I watch the rise and fall of her chest, admiring her full breasts, which strain against the garment that holds them. I can see the twin points of her nipples through the fabric.
Her body is undergoing remarkable changes.
She closes her eyes for just a moment, and the weariness falls away from her features, leaving her with an innocent expression.
It is quieter here than on the island we left behind, where the rush of passing traffic and the roar of the ocean would reach my ears in the night.
I can hear her heartbeat. I can hear my child’s heartbeat.
Those twin sounds merge into a single sublime rhythm. It is a sound more precious to me than anything else in the entire universe.
As I watch her, the pounding of her strong, steady heart becomes faster, and she opens her eyes.
A flush has spread across her cheeks, and her dark pupils are dilated.
She’s aroused again; I can smell it on her.
But she’s supposed to be tired.
I am torn. Normally, I wouldn’t hesitate to respond and take what is mine. My cock is hard and my desire for her knows no bounds. And she knows very well that I’m not one to hold back, ever.
But she has been in discomfort all day, and she needs rest.
What am I supposed to do now?
This kind of indecision is completely new to me.
“You could start by giving me a massage,” she says, her voice low and sultry.
“A massage?”
“One of the quickest ways to a woman’s heart,” she quips.
I try to recall the training I received on Kythia as a youth. The time I spent under the tuition of a Sendar, a scholar of female pleasure, was brief compared to the extensive training undertaken by some Kordolian males, especially those who wished to be taken into a Noble House.
But I did receive basic lessons on how to manipulate flesh for pleasure and the relief of aches.
“Undress and sit before me,” I tell her.
“I do like it when you order me around like that, General,” she says teasingly. She sits forward and slips the dress over her shoulders and tosses it aside, leaving her clad in only her undergarments.
I lay my hands on her stomach, feeling the life within as it moves about. Soon, we will have to discuss names.
I maneuver so that she’s sitting in front of me with her legs crossed. I run my fingers over the notches of her spine, unclasping her bra.
“Oh, you have no idea how good it feels to get rid of that,” she sighs, as she throws the offending garment across the floor.
“Yes,” I whisper in her ear. “Beautiful things should not be restrained.” I trace down the curve of her spine, appreciating the smoothness of her golden flesh. Her skin is lighter in the places where the sun hasn’t kissed it; the rest is a darker shade of pale.
I press my palms against the small of her back. “Is this where it hurts?”
She grabs my hand and guides it lower. “Here.”
I knead her skin gently with both of my thumbs. “Here?”
“Oh yeah, that’s the spot.” She groans with pleasure.
“Also here?” I go a little lower, pressing over her sacral area, massaging her soft skin. Her warmth radiates through to my fingers.
“Yes,” she moans.
“And here?” I move my fingers up again, pressing the muscles on either side of her spine.
“Especially there,” she sighs.
“You are tense,” I inform her, applying gentle pressure over her stiff points, working at the knots in her muscles.
“You seem to be solving that problem pretty quickly,” she mumbles, throwing her head back and closing her eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me you had such talented hands, General?”
“Did you not know that already, female?” My voice is a low rumble, thick and heavy with lust. Her pleasurable moans are driving me to the edge of control.
“O-oh,” she moans, arcing her back. “That feels good.”
I lean in and inhale her complex scent, planting my lips on the soft skin at the base of her neck. Her scent is earthy and warm and undeniably female. I taste her slowly, tracing my tongue over her skin as I knead the soft flesh of her lower back with both hands.
Her stiff muscles are starting to yield to my touch, loosening under my fingers. “Is that better?” I trail soft kisses up her neck, sucking on her skin, moving over the angle of her jaw to her earlobe, which I take between my lips.
She shudders. “A hundred times better.”
“You should have told me sooner,” I chide gently, rubbing her back as she leans against me. I’m rather pleased with my efforts, but I’m finding it harder to concentrate on the task.
Her pleasurable moans are driving me to distraction. My erection strains against the fabric of my trousers.
I don’t know if I can stay in control for much longer.
I pause, trailing kisses back down her neck, resting my lips at the point where that large artery pulses, feeling and listening to her hammering heart.
I inhale deeply, tasting her sweet, salty skin, smelling her, feeling her, my hands caressing her back, my lips pressed against her wildly beating pulse.
All of this is mine.
“You, my silver menace, are dangerous,” she rasps, her voice high-pitched and breathless. “I thought this was going to be a simple therapeutic massage.”
“What did you think was going to happen?” As I pull her closer to me, my cock brushes against her, letting her know in no uncertain terms what I want. “You knew from the start that I was dangerous.”
She laughs, a low, sexy sound. “Yeah, I knew that.” She wiggles her ass, moving even closer, brushing against my erection
. “You’re so dangerous you can give me a back massage that almost makes me orgasm.”
“Oh?”
“You know I’m horny as hell these days.”
“I’ve noticed,” I say dryly, although the way she says it, in that mesmerizing, throaty voice, makes me hunger for her even more. “Would you like me to help you finish?”
“You know what? Keep your hands down there, on my back. They’re doing wonders.”
“Are you sure?” I’m mildly surprised that she would refuse such an offer.
“Just keep doing what you’re doing with that massage. It’s exactly what I need.”
“Hm.” I press my thumbs into her back, rubbing against her tender muscles. I’m not entirely satisfied with her response to my offer.
Did I not please her enough last time?
She starts to moan, tipping her head back onto my shoulder. Her eyes are closed, her lips slightly slightly parted.
She’s doing something down there, with her hand.
I look over her shoulder, but I can’t see past the swell of her belly.
“Are you pleasuring yourself, my love?”
“You silver devil. Your massage is so good that all I needed was a little extra touch,” she manages to say, between deep, gasping breaths. “O-oh,” she pants, her back becoming slick with sweat.
The thought of Abbey touching herself makes me tremble with need. I’m on the verge of turning her over and claiming her for myself.
“A-ah,” she cries, her voice rising an octave. Her entire body sways as she nears her climax.
I reach around and cup my hands over her breasts, caressing her hard, engorged nipples. My touch tips her over the edge, and she comes in my arms, digging her heels into the bed and pressing her body against mine.
“Oh, Tarak,” she gasps, voicing her pleasure as her body writhes.
There is nothing quite as arousing as having your female pleasure herself to the point of climax, right in your very arms.
The orgasm runs its course, leaving her breathless. She collapses against me with a contented sigh.
