The Visitor: Alien Hunger Special Edition

by Kaitlyn O'Connor

  “Don’t!” Garryk shouted.

  It took a moment for shock to give way to pain. When it did, Chelsey dropped the pan on the floor, waving her hands to cool them off, looking around frantically for the pot holder she’d dropped as the smell of melting floor vinyl joined the odors of charred rolls and burned lamb chops.

  The smoke detector went off with an ear piercing, endless scream that rattled her eardrums.

  Chelsey didn’t know if the tears streaming down her face were from the pain, the smoke burning her eyes, or despair, but at least she had an excuse.

  Garryk opened the window and patio doors and finally got the smoke detector to shut off. Chelsey plopped down on one of the kitchen chairs and stared at her blistered hands. In a moment, Garryk crouched in front of her. “Here, let me see your hands.”

  She curled her fingers toward her palms to hide the blisters. “They’re ok.”

  He flicked a look at her face and pulled her from the chair, dragging her to the sink and shoving her hands under the cold water. The relief was almost instantaneous. “Keep them under the water. I think I might have something to put on the blisters.”

  Chelsey stared bleakly at the water running over her fingers, her mind curiously blank. The water was soothing beyond the coolness, almost hypnotic as she watched it trickle over her hands. Garryk returned a few moments later and set something down on the counter. Taking her hands, he lifted first one and then the other to study her fingers. “It’s not as bad as it could’ve been.”

  “I burned the rolls,” Chelsey said pointedly.

  His lips twitched. “I’m more worried about the fingers.”

  Chelsey sighed. “I really can cook.”

  Garryk studied her face for a long moment and finally wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close. “Bad day, baby?”

  Chelsey nuzzled her face against his chest, wrapping her arms around him. “It’s better now.”

  He held her for a few moments, rocking her slightly and finally pulled away. “Let’s get something on these burns.” Guiding her back to the chair, he helped her sit and then grabbed what he’d brought. She stared at the assortment of bandages, tape, and the tube he opened curiously. “What’s that?”

  “A topical. It’s an antibiotic, too,” he responded absently, dabbing a dollop of the salve on each blister and even the lighter burns. For a moment, the burning intensified. He blew on her fingers gently until the burning stopped and then cleaned the salve from his own hand and tore open a box that had gauze pads in it.

  “Good thing you had a first aid kit handy,” she said wryly.

  He flicked a glance at her face and then focused on his task, frowning slightly. “I’ve always found it’s a good idea to be prepared.”

  “Next time I cook maybe we should call the paramedics and the fire department and have them on standby.”

  He chuckled, flicked a look at her face and wiped the smile off. “It isn’t that bad, baby.”

  “I feel like crying.”

  “Don’t! I’ll cry, too.”

  Chelsey stared at his profile a moment and chuckled.

  His lips curled at one corner. “You’d laugh at my misery, lady?”

  Chelsey leaned toward him impulsively and kissed his temple. “No, I wouldn’t.”

  He finished wrapping her hands and studied his handiwork.

  “A little higher and I could play the mummy.”

  He reached to settle his hands along her waist. “You making fun of my work?”

  Chelsey smiled at him and curled her arms around his neck. “It’s beautiful, Dr. Sinclair,” she murmured teasingly.

  He tensed, but before she could wonder at it, he straightened, pulling her to her feet and then swept an arm behind her thighs and lifted her against his chest. “Doctor, huh? That’s got a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”

  Chelsey smiled up at him. “It does, but I like Diablo just fine.”

  He paused in the doorway to her bedroom, searching her face. “Do you?”

  “Of course I do! You’re a wonderful dancer.”

  He made a derisive sound and moved to the bed, settling her and then fluffing the pillows behind her back. “I don’t know if many people would really call it dancing,” he retorted wryly.

  Chelsey shrugged. “I call it beautiful. I just wish I could do that sort of thing,” she said a little wistfully.

  His expression hardened. “Don’t even think about it! No way in hell I’d have my wi .. woman out on a stage like that with horny men pawing her and drooling all over her!”

  Chelsey blinked in surprise, feeling a thrill rush through her. She smiled at him tentatively before it occurred to her that he was damned bossy for somebody that got on stage and waggled his … dong at a bunch of horny women! She glared at him. “Well! I don’t like that part either!”

  He studied her a long moment and abruptly grinned. “You don’t?”

  “I don’t!” she said emphatically.

  He settled on the bed next to her. “I thought you said it was beautiful?” he murmured, clearly amused.

  “Well, it is! All the leaping and twirling you do and the splits—it looks so effortless when I know it couldn’t possibly be! Like gymnastics. That’s what I was talking about, how it must feel to have that power, the control, the grace—that’s beautiful! You’re beautiful. I just don’t like the screaming, horny women … much.”

  He slipped down the bed and propped on one arm, lifting one of her hands. “I guess you wouldn’t mind if I quit that job, then?”

  Chelsey felt like her chest inflated with helium. He was asking her? Like it might be her business? The buoyant feeling deflated. “Can you … afford to?”

  He shrugged. “The money’s good but the hours suck ass. I’ve pretty well saved up what I figure I’m going to need. I’m thinking maybe another month to a month and half and I can hang up the thong.”

  “Seriously?” Chelsey gasped, struggling with the impulse to jump up and down and cheer.

  He grinned at her a little ruefully. “I guess you’d like that, huh?”

  Chelsey threw her arms around him, hugging him tightly. “I wouldn’t mind if you wore it for me,” she said tentatively.

  He chuckled. “You want a private lap dance, lady?”

  “Now?”

  He laughed at that and hugged her back. “I think my stomach’s going to cave in if I don’t get food pretty soon. What do you think? Check out the kitchen to see if anything’s salvageable? Or I should I pick something up and bring it back?”

  “I doubt anything’s salvageable,” she said with disgust.

  “I’ll hit the road then and be quick.” He kissed her and pulled away.

  “Be careful—don’t worry about quick,” she said when he reached the door.

  He threw a glance back at her and grinned. “Careful but quick.”

  Chelsey swallowed a little convulsively as an awful thought flickered through her mind. “Just be careful.”

  Nodding, he left. Struggling with the completely unfounded fear that he might have an accident, Chelsey settled back on the pillows, wondering uneasily where it had come from. She wasn’t inclined to believe in omens, though, and finally realized it had sprung solely from the sudden realization of just how important he was to her.

  It wasn’t something she wanted to dwell on, however, not when it seemed there were so many black clouds gathering on the horizon.

  It occurred to her to wonder after a few moments why Garryk had thought it necessary to carry her to the bed. Really! She was fine, maybe a little shook up and battered from her disaster of a day—tired, too.

  She must look like pure hell, she thought irritably just before she dozed off. Garryk woke her when he came in again. He paused in the doorway. “Kitchen? Couch? Or bed?” he asked, holding up a couple of white carryout bags.

  “What is it?”

  “Chinese.”

  “Table. I can’t get half of it in my mouth. We’ll be sleeping in rice.�
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  “I got lomien,” he said a little doubtfully.

  “Or noodles.” She looked down at her dress when she’d gotten out of bed and decided to change before it was a total loss. She discovered as she headed to the dresser that she actually felt a little woozy. Too much sun? She didn’t think she’d actually been at her sister’s house that long. Maybe it was just the overexcitement? Oh she had had a hell of a day!

  After a brief struggle with the mitten/bandages, she discarded the dress and her bra, pulled on an oversized t-shirt, and headed into the kitchen. The pan of blackened rolls was still in the floor and she paused, staring down at it.

  “It’s stuck,” Garryk volunteered. “I would’ve gotten it up otherwise. Just leave it. I’ll find something to pry it loose that, hopefully, won’t damage anything.”

  “More,” Chelsey amended. “If it’s stuck, I’m guessing the smell of melted plastic means it might be a permanent part of the floor. The landlord’s going to freak! I’ll have to replace the whole damned kitchen floor!”

  “Naw—well, maybe not. I’ll check it out tomorrow. If we can find some tiles that match, we’ll only need to replace a couple—four at the most. If not—well, we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”

  Collecting the tea pitcher from the refrigerator, Chelsey moved to the chair opposite Garryk and opened the box. Her stomach growled in anticipation. She sent Garryk a quick look.

  His lips twitched but he pretended deafness. She cleared her throat. “I skipped lunch,” she murmured, trying to figure out how to get the plastic fork out of the wrapper when both hands were bandaged.

  Garryk took it from her and opened it. “Why?”

  “Why what?” Chelsey responded absently, trying to curl her hands around the fork Garryk was holding out.

  He uttered a sound of impatience and set the fork down. “Come here.”

  She glanced at him questioningly.

  He scooted out from the table and patted his leg in invitation.

  “You’re going to feed me?” Chelsey asked with a mixture of amusement and indignation.

  He grinned at her. “It doesn’t look like you’re going to be feeding yourself tonight. I don’t want you getting anything on the bandages anyway. You can take them off tomorrow and I’ll have a look at the burns.”

  Chelsey shook her head at him, but she got up and perched on one thigh, curling her arm around his shoulders. “I see you’re in doctor mode again,” she said teasingly. “This is going to be weird!”

  Garryk scanned her face, looked like he might say something, and then leaned over and dragged her plate next to his. Twirling a wad of noodles on the fork big enough to choke a horse, he held it up. “Open wide.”

  “I can’t get that in my mouth!”

  His eyes gleamed with amusement. “I’m bigger than that and you got me in your mouth.”

  Amusement joined her irritation. “You may need glasses.”

  “Wanna compare?”

  She chuckled. “No, no! I’ll take your word for it,” she responded, opening her mouth. She managed to corral about half the noodles. The other half landed on her lap, part of which slid onto the floor. She gave Garryk an ‘I told you so’ look, but her mouth was too full to comment.

  He grinned at her. “You look like a chipmunk.”

  She frowned at him, but she was too busy trying to chew and swallow to do anything else. Garryk picked up the noodles in her lap and put them back in her box. Picking up a teriyaki wing, he tried to eat it one handed.

  “Takes two,” Chelsey commented around the wad of noodles she was still chewing, reaching for the other end of the bone.

  He growled at her, holding it out of reach. “Bandages!”

  “Thit!”

  He grinned. “You are such a lady, Chelsey Ledger! Don’t you know ladies aren’t supposed to say thit?”

  She held up one hand, trying to form a bird.

  He watched with interest. “More noodles?” he asked innocently, rolling another wad around the fork just as she managed to swallow the last of the ‘first bite’. “Don’t you dare stuff my mouth with noodles again!” she said with mock anger. “Is that sweet and sour chicken?”

  He picked up a piece. “You want the sauce?” Without waiting for a yea or nay, he took the sauce out of the bag, flicked the lid off with one nail and dunked the piece of chicken.

  “Open wide!”

  Chelsey stared at the steadily dripping piece, lifting her hands to try to catch the drips. Garryk snatched her hands out of the way. It left a trail of drips all the way up her t-shirt. “Garryk!”

  He stuck the piece of meat in her mouth. “Bite!”

  She bit, tucked the piece in her cheek and tried to lick the sauce off her chin.

  Garryk’s eyes narrowed on it. “Nice tongue.”

  She stuck it at him. “I’ve got sweet and sour chin!”

  “Hold on.” Instead reaching for a napkin, he leaned toward her and sucked her chin. It felt oddly erotic to feel the heated suction of his mouth on her chin—or maybe just weird? It made her nipples pucker, though.

  “Give me the tongue. I’ll clean that, too.”

  She clamped her lips together. “I’ve got meat in my mouth,” she muttered between her lips.

  “I’ve got some meat you can put in your mouth.”

  She waggled her brows at him. “Sausage?”

  He studied her face a moment and leaned toward her again, lapping at the drops of sauce on her shirt. He paused when he reached her breasts and then very deliberately moved to one of the tips tenting her shirt and sucked it through her shirt.

  There was no doubt in her mind that time that it was erotic. The pull of his mouth set her heart to racing and made heat coil low in her belly. “There wasn’t any sauce there,” she murmured.

  “No? Tastes sweet to me. Let me try the other one.” She gasped when he jerked her shirt up and burrowed his head under it, curling her other arm around his shoulders as a heated lethargy invaded her.

  “Did you get it?” she asked huskily when he finally released her nipple.

  “Hmm. I see a few spots here I missed,” he murmured, lathing his tongue over her stomach.

  His hair was standing on end when he emerged from beneath the T-shirt. Chelsey smiled, smoothing it down with her hand. She thought they got more food on themselves, the table, and the floor than they actually ate, but she’d never had a picnic that was more fun.

  “I’m going to need a shower,” she said ruefully.

  “Not with the bandages—you’ll have to settle for a tongue bath.”

  Chelsey felt butterflies take flight in her belly. “I thought they called those sponge baths.”

  He sent her a heated look. “Not when they use the tongue.”

  Chapter Ten

  Despite the ‘wounds’, which were actually minor even though she thought it was really sweet that Garryk had been so concerned about them, Chelsey was glad she’d managed to convince Garryk to stay in rather than go out—until the she woke the following morning. She wasn’t nearly as happy about it then, because she felt vaguely nauseated as soon as she woke. Breathing slowly and shallowly, she tried to subdue the queasiness by force of will. She’d just decided that she had conquered it when Garryk rolled over. As faint as the shift was, it was enough to overset her attempt to calm her stomach.

  Leaping from the bed, she raced to the bathroom. She barely managed to make it to the toilet, drop to her knees, and get the seat up.

  She didn’t have time to lock the damned door! She’d slammed it, though, and if Garryk had had any damned consideration for her feelings, he wouldn’t have followed her to watch while she puked her guts out. He caught her hair and held it back, which she was mildly grateful for, but it didn’t make up for her humiliation!

  “You alright?” he asked, concern in his voice when she finally stopped gagging and sat back, heaving for breath and trying to decide if she was done or she was going to start puking again.

&
nbsp; “Go away!” she said miserably.

  He closed the toilet lid and flushed, but he didn’t leave.

  “I mean it, Garryk! Let me die in peace.”

  He made a sound that could’ve been amusement or disgust. “For god’s sake, baby! You’re sick.”

  “You think?” she asked weakly, fighting tears as she struggled to her feet.

  He caught her around the waist, trying to lead her back to the bedroom.

  “No! I need to brush my teeth and get this taste out of my mouth!”

  “Don’t use the toothpaste. It might make you gag again,” he advised.

  “Are you going to go away?”

  “No,” he said grimly. “You might faint.”

  She wanted to argue with him, but she just wasn’t up to it. Deciding to ignore him, she put a tiny bit of toothpaste on the brush and carefully cleaned her mouth. He was right, damn him! The toothpaste made her queasy all over again but water wasn’t enough!

  “You going to be alright now or do you need to throw up again?”

  Chelsey thought about it, mentally evaluating the state of her stomach. “I think so.” He braced her when she headed back to the bed. She was sort of grateful for it since she felt weak all over from her bout, but she still felt like crying from embarrassment. Thank god she hadn’t had diarrhea to go with it!

  “How about your bowels?” Garryk asked when he’d helped her into the bed.

  Chelsey squeezed her eyes closed. “I am not going to discuss … that with you!”

  “You think I don’t know you’re human?” Garryk growled testily.

  “I think I’m going to brain you with something if you don’t shut up!”

  “Diarrhea?” he demanded.

  “No!” she snarled at him instead of demanding to know how he could possibly have missed it if she had when he had his nose up her ass the entire time she was puking her guts out!

  He lifted her arm and pressed his fingertips to her wrist. Confusion flickered through her but she still felt too bad to pursue it. He lowered her arm after a minute and pried her eyelids up. She glared at him, but he seemed oblivious.