I close my eyes as his tongue trickles up my thigh. I need to touch him but I fight the urge as his tongue dances against my core. Reaching down, my fingers tangle in his mane, pushing his head further in and his response is a low rumbling that starts deep in his throat before erupting against the most sensitive part of me. Arching my back, my toes dig into the bedding below me. I can barely contain my orgasm after that.
“Please, I need you,” I grunt out and his tongue disappears and is replaced with the heat of his cock, eagerly probing my depths. I wrap my legs around him, forcing a rough entry, adoring the sudden deep thrust.
We both roar out our pleasure.
Our lovemaking is quick, raw. As his hot seed erupts inside of me, I feel complete, filled with love, unable to imagine a life without this alien.
I am surprised at how quickly I have fallen for Nuvul. Yet, I also feel as though I have finally been welcomed home.
No matter what happens next, I am sure that, between the pair of us, our love will be enough to conquer everything between Earth and the stars.
The End
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About the Author
Lucee Joie likes long walks on the beach after dark so that she can gaze at the stars and hope for her own alien abduction. She also likes reading and listening out for things that go bump in the night.
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Galactic Union Series
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My Area 51 Alien Prize (Galactic Union Universe)
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Bite Me
Mated to the Galactic Raiders
Emma Cole
About Mated to the Galactic Raiders
Chari has a rare debilitating disorder and has applied to the Raider Clinic for their exclusive treatment. Little does she know that her future has been planned since even before she was born. Soon, she’s finding out just what the alien raiders have in store for her.
**Warning for dub-con and explicit scenes
18+ due to mature content- This is a reverse harem title
Chari
This was it, my last chance at kicking the ass of some obscure, rare, and malignant illness that took twenty syllables to pronounce. My poor parents had been devastated when they found out the cause of the sudden decline of my health, a rare gene mutation that the screening of my egg and sperm donor missed. Outwardly, I looked mostly fine—other than a tendency to bruise from simple bumps against furniture and the dark circles under my eyes from the exhaustion that riddled my body as it tried to fight its own immune system. Today things seemed to be looking up with the news I'd just received.
My trek back into the house from the mailbox with the package that had just been delivered had excitement and trepidation warring through me. It contained a packet of instructions with supplies and other items that I'd need to complete my registration for a study. I’d been too antsy to wait and open it in front of my mom, so I'd already taken a peek at the mailbox. It seemed surreal that I was one of the chosen participants. The exclusive treatment and research facility didn’t use electronic or phone communications except for preliminary screenings, something about security and fake acceptance letters being forged in the past. This setup, with the ID being sent by mail and having to provide DNA samples to check against the ones obtained at the application interview, was to ensure that the proper patient showed up.
Mom waited inside the doorway to the kitchen, appearing to use the frame as support. “You got in?” She started to silently weep at the nervous jerk of my head.
“Oh, Mom. It’ll be okay. It’s my best chance to not only survive, but to live the life you and Dad want for me.” The pep talk was as much for me as it was for her. When they'd found out neither of their reproductive material was viable, they'd chosen donors. Now, they both carried unwarranted heavy guilt over unknowingly choosing the donors that genetically contributed to my anomaly. No one could blame someone for wanting a child—and certainly not two of the sweetest people I’d ever known.
“I know, baby. It’s just… I’m going to miss you so much. Why can’t they let you have outside contact? Or visitors? I don’t understand why you have to go into seclusion indefinitely.” She used a tissue to blot at the tears coursing down her pale face that was now marred by red blotches on her cheeks and nose from her upset.
With a sigh, I tried again to explain the facility’s reasoning. "They don't want any interference with the treatment. Inadvertent influences from family or friends could make me upset or want to leave—not to mention the possible contamination for me or other patients if they allow visitors. They follow a strict protocol, and either I agree to it, or I can't go."
The possibility of me not going had Mom shaking her head adamantly and taking a fortifying breath while she straightened up from her slump against the door frame. "No, you're going. I support your decision and want you well. I'll call your father and let him know; he'll want to come home early. When do you need to leave?"
The date on the front stated I had to report to the Raiter Center in two days. I hesitated, biting my lip at the short notice, and Mom picked up on my unease immediately.
"What's wrong?" she demanded.
"Nothing's wrong... I just don't have as long as I'd thought to get ready. I have to check in the afternoon the day after tomorrow."
Sorrow pulled down at the corners of my mother's full lips. It would take Dad a full day of travel to get home from his business trip. Her deep brown eyes suddenly filled with determination. "We'll just get everything squared away today. Get you packed up and a few meals cooked so we don't waste a moment together." Mom spun on her heels to head for the pantry immediately.
Leaving her to it, I went upstairs to my room. At least most of my belongings were still packed from moving back home. I'd barely made it through my first semester at college before my symptoms became worrisome enough to go to the doctor. Ironically, my major was pre-med. Becoming my own research project hadn't quite been what I had in mind when I decided to become a doctor.
Two years is all I made it before having to call a temporary halt to my studies. I just couldn't stay healthy enough to reliably make it to classes, my body picking up every little germ or cold and waylaying me in bed for days. I'd moved back home a month ago, a few days before finding out I was being considered for a new trial treatment. My immunologist had submitted my case for collaboration to find a way to help me. When I found out that the trial could take months, and in some cases years, I didn't bother unpacking more than necessary into my childhood room in case I was chosen to participate. The rest went to the basement.
Now the foresight seemed fortuitous, and with the short deadline I was glad that I wouldn’t have to spend it dealing with my belongings. I shut my bedroom door with an out of breath sigh, sat the box on the top of my dresser, and flopped face down onto my made bed, wincing as even that small amount of force hurt my bones. My stamina wasn’t what it had been, and even though my lungs struggled with the effort of taking the stairs, I’d refused to have a chair lift installed when Dad suggested it. I wasn’t incapable of walking up them yet.
After several minutes, my heart and respiration rates returned to a more sedate rhythm, allowing me to comfortably sit up and retrieve the box from my dresser. I should have put it on the bed to begin with, but my brain was a bit scattered at the moment. Flipping it open, I set out the little caddy with jars, baggies, and other collection supplies out on my duvet, along with the packet of instructions and forms I needed to fill out. A thorough read-through had my dark brows rising into equally dark bangs, headed for my hairline. The things th
at were needed were fairly simple, if not invasive, and I didn’t have much modesty left after all the testing, poking, and prodding that led to my diagnosis, nevermind the treatments that had been tried. Usually, something required body fluids or partial nudity.
This, however, required a whole gamut of samples, and I couldn’t do them until a few hours before I left the house. It would be a four-hour drive to the center, and the instructions stated to perform them no longer than eight hours before I was picked up by a specialized team. Now I had to tell my parents that I would be picked up, making them lose that much more time we could have spent together. It made me glad most of my friends had drifted away; it seemed that they couldn't deal with the fact that I was most likely going to die soon. So I really couldn’t blame them. I had a few that still asked how I was doing occasionally, but not anyone that I felt obligated to enlighten with current events.
Putting everything up and back on my dresser until it was needed, I pulled a suitcase out of my closet and started loading it with what I thought I’d need for an extended stay at the Raiter Center. As I went about filling it and choosing toiletries, I took in my childhood room. It was hard to believe that I might never walk back in here again. And what will Mom do with my room if I don’t make it? The dilemma ate at me as I stared at the mauve walls decorated with handpainted cherry blossom branches and blooms. It had been a project Mom and I had done one summer day before my junior year of high school, before everything went to shit. Dad had taught me how to pull up the baseboards and molding without cracking it and to install the deep-pile charcoal-colored carpet. He and I had refinished my four-post bed with its tall spiral spindles. With a heavy heart, I made more piles of clothes and shoes that I really didn’t wear anymore to donate before I left. I couldn’t leave my parents to deal with all of this if I didn’t come home.
The two days went by both excruciatingly slowly and too fast at the same time. Every bit of joy was bittersweet, a cloud of uncertainty and concern overlying it. It was like riding those aerial gondola things at zoos or amusement parks. The ones that gave you a birds-eye tour of the entire thing. Sure, they were cool and awesome, but neither that tiny piece of metal over your lap nor the open sides were conducive to relaxation. Not when your ass was puckered, trying to suction cup itself to the seat because the slightest movement or breeze made the bastard contraption sway on the braided metal cables that you could envision fraying apart and snapping at moment’s notice. Or you had a jackass that was also your one and only boyfriend—Bobby Finch, gondola rocker and cherry popper extraordinaire, deliberately rock the damn thing. I still kinda wanted to break his dick for scaring me on what he’d promised to be a ‘romantic ride’ over the San Diego Zoo.
At my shudder, Dad eyed me funnily. We were having lunch, possibly our last together, and there I was remembering my terrifying ride, followed by the let down of a dirtier ride. Even Dad’s side-eye couldn’t deter me from being bummed about my one unexceptional sexual encounter. Mom interrupted, drawing the attention to herself.
“Do you need anything else, Chari? I have time to run out and get it if you do.” My head was shaking before she even finished the offer.
“No, Mom. Just have to shower and finish up a few things in my room and then we can relax until the transport gets here.” Dad scowled at the reminder. He’d been adamant that he should have been able to drive me. “It’s to keep any extra contaminants from transferring with me. I even have a special soap they sent to disinfect with. I’ll make sure I call to let you know I’m there before I go in the building. Technically, the rules don’t start until I’m admitted.”
That seemed to partially appease my father, but from the tightness around his lips and eyes, I could tell he was most probably holding his tongue for my benefit. His hair had gone more salt than pepper in the last year, and I worried that it was from stress and worry over me rather than him getting on in years. Lately, his bright blue eyes seemed dimmer too. I crossed my fingers, sending a quick prayer up to any entity that would listen, that I would make it through this well and healthy.
I excused myself to finish up my preparations, my explanation vague so as not to worry my parents any more than they already were. First, I showered, shaving everything, arms included, before scrubbing every inch of myself with the scratchy brush and disinfectant provided. I had to rest for a bit afterward; showering sapped my energy something fierce.
Then the fun part began—collecting their samples. A few hairs from my head, the roots attached, went into a baggie, toe and fingernail clippings into their respective ones, urine into a cup, and then a dropper to put it in a vial, a prick of the finger to put drops of blood into another, and finally the swabs. Throat, nose, vaginal, and rectal. I had no idea why I was doing it all, but I can say it was definitely one of the weirder things I’d had to do since getting ill.
When I finished, I tied up all the trash in the liner from my bathroom can to put in the bin outside, then stored everything else back in the caddy. I read the instructions to roll and crack the contents of a pouch that had been included, activating the instant cold action, before sealing the whole thing in an insulated black baggie. Storing it, and all my papers, in the front pouch of my suitcase, I gathered up my bag of trash and wheeled my luggage down the hall and to the landing.
Dad rushed up when I called to take it for me, and I followed him down to where he deposited it by the door. I continued on out to the trashcan parked just outside the garage and tossed my bag in it. Both Mom and Dad waited in the living room when I came back in, coming up to hug me together.
“I’m going to miss you guys. I’ll come home as soon as I can... if I can.” My throat clogged as I struggled to hold on to my composure. “Just in case…”
Dad stepped back to look me in the eye; Mom just held on tighter. “We’re not going to consider that. We’ll wait for word, no matter how long it takes. We love you, Chari.” I nodded, feeling out of breath and weak again, and let Mom lead me to a recliner. It was easier to sit in and get out of than the plush couch.
I must have dozed for a bit because the chiming of the doorbell roused me followed by Dad calling my name. It was time. Last hugs and then I went out to the driveway, Dad rolling my suitcase behind me. Two men and one woman waited, the men with black hair and clean-shaven faces, the woman with red locks twisted up into a smart bun, all wearing white utilitarian scrubs. They didn’t introduce themselves or offer to shake hands, much to Dad’s consternation, but directed me into the back of the transport van and onto a gurney. With a hard swallow and a worried gaze, I looked back at my parents one last time before the doors closed on me and the woman.
She finally spoke when it was just the two of us, and I could see the two guys through the metal grate separating the cab from the back, climbing into their seats. “I’m going to start an IV just to make sure you’re hydrated for the upcoming intake test, and you’ll be secured to the bed for safety purposes.” I didn’t argue; it wasn’t unreasonable, and I’d had them done many times for the same reasons. My poor arms, wrists, and tops of my hands had tiny scars clustered together, becoming more noticeable by the month. “Where are the samples you collected?” she asked as she tightened the last strap.
I indicated the front pocket of my suitcase that was under the bench bolted to the floor, and she reached out to pull it to her as the van began to move. I wanted to ask questions about the center and how things went but soon discovered there was more than just saline in my drip bag. My eyes narrowed accusingly on the woman, but my mouth wouldn’t work to demand she tell me why I was being sedated. A scant few seconds later, my eyes fluttered shut, and then... oblivion.
Torbus
Torbus
“Has the subject been acquired?” I awaited the answer from my second in command, Melior. We were all eager to finally have our own mate. Melior, Driat, Torin, and myself. It was a process we’d completed hundreds of times, but never for ourselves, and finally, our subject had come of age to harvest.
Now came the tedious but rewarding part—transforming and indoctrinating the female to accept us. As a human, the female had no rights on our home planet, but after her transformation, she’d have the same rights as native and other altered females. One of those being the right to choose her mates and path. The process was to fix the results in a way that were favorable to the males who procured or bought the human before entering Helion's atmosphere.
"Yes, but the Mimics want to know if they should take her to the Raiter Center for processing or take her up to the transport gate." Mimics were a changeling race with higher reasoning capabilities used to infiltrate worlds as they could take on the characteristics of nearly any race. They were perfect lackeys: just intelligent enough to make use of while lacking the ambition to conquer any other beings.
"Is there a reason they want to deviate from protocol?" My nostrils flared with irritation at the possibility of a complication with our cultivated human.
"I believe it's resulting from a comment that Torin made about the samples that were entered into the database." My ruby eyes narrowed, boring into my brother Torin's back across the ship’s deck where he studied data on a screen. His large frame sat ramrod straight in his seat, but that wasn't unusual.
"Torin, what concerns you regarding the female?" I demanded, wanting an immediate answer and solution.
He swiveled his chair to face me, his gaze meeting mine with its matching shade. "Something has changed since the last samples we acquired. Unless they were contaminated... but the materials that she would have had to come into contact with would be unlikely."
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