“Kind of you, trader.” Ro’s hand curls around shoulder, a possessive touch that sets my heart racing. “But the human is no longer for sale.”
We watch the lights of Xhav’s ship disappear into space.
Ro wraps an arm around me, holding me close, and I nuzzle my face against his shoulder, breathing in his nearness, the subtle scent of his prescence.
All I know is I want more.
I run a hand up his back, lingering over the bulge of his muscles. “What about the ship’s repairs?” I whisper, and he laughs.
“We’ll find a way to fix it. Together.” He leans down to kiss me with a passion that leaves me wild and breathless. Then, without warning, he pulls back, and my body is suddenly freezing. I curl my arms around me in an unexpected wave of shyness as he studies me, his gaze dark and heavy as a physical weight.
Almost like he too is wondering what will happen now that we decided not to let each other go.
His hand moves up to my shoulder, fingers exploring my skin, and I raise my gaze, slowly, oh so slowly, to his. A bewildered breath escapes him.
“Jiik. Why do you have to be so beautiful?” He growls the words like an experienced human and my mouth twitches in spite of myself. I smirk up at him, emotions juggling between elation and disbelief as I look up into his face.
The face of the alien I can’t get enough of.
By the smile in his eyes, he feels the same about me.
And this time, there’s no trader, no deal, to come between us.
We’re free to find out just how well we work together.
He tugs me closer until we’re hip to hip, his arms tight around me as our bodies intertwine. I trace a finger down the perfect green of his bicep, admiring the way his muscles flex against my touch. An already-familiar hunger is rising inside me.
“What’s next?” I tilt my head, challenging him, and the intensity in his gaze goes dark, impossible to read, before he leans forward and kisses me. His lips trace a path up my neck and to my ear.
“Time for us to find our own place in the galaxy.”
The End
Want more Ella and Ro? They make a sneak appearance in Her Alien Target, book 1 in the upcoming Intergalactic Bounty Hunters Series!
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About the Author
A former runaway and ever-hapless adventurer, Dany Stone learned early that words have the ability to cure any pain. Now a happily married mom, she loses herself in creating happy endings for characters who’ve been through hell.
She emerges from her book cave to chat with readers on Facebook and Instagram, conquer new realms with her son, husband, and sassy Yorkie, and, of course, find her next new read.
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Penitentiary for Paranormals Series
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Felmorax
Star Wing
Roxanne Rogers is tired of her normal life, and the advertisement requesting surrogates appeals to her more adventurous side. Felmorax needs a baby mama, but fate handed him a female worth mating. She’s never seen weird-ass alien dick, and he’s never seen breasts on a female. Can they find a way to make love work in outer space?
New Direction
Roxanne
Two-Circle, Texas
Whiskey burns so good.
I slam the empty shot glass down on the table beside the sweating wine glass. In the twilight, one star twinkles overhead. A long line streaks across the sky, near the horizon. It’s a shooting star or a spaceship.
Probably a spaceship on another surrogate-collecting run.
It’s hot-as-hell in Texas in late August, and my apartment air conditioner needs fixing. But the landlord is a cheapskate, so I’m spending the afternoon working on my tan and sweating it up with a purpose. My bikini-afternoon is nearly over.
I take a sip of my chilled Moscato, enjoying the pitifully small, concrete balcony that juts out from my apartment, and I consider my options. Condensation drips off the bottom of the wine glass and lands on my bare stomach.
To the east, vehicles blow by on the highway, spewing exhaust and noise. To the west, the ten-block downtown boasts a Mayberry gleam. My apartment complex is one of the nicer ones in my small town, but that’s not saying much for Two-Circle.
Shifting in my deck chair, I wish for somebody to fuck. It’s crass, sure, but it’s honest. It’s be a while since I had a romp, and sometimes sex makes the world rosy… takes the edge off normal.
One apartment over, the sliding glass door opens and a cloud of weed pours out. My neighbor steps out and lights an old-fashioned cigarette. He’s wearing boxers and a dirty t-shirt, and his long, stringy hair needs to be washed. His expression brightens when he sees me. I haven’t heard his wife or baby around this weekend.
“Roxy,” he says. He glances at the shot glass and then the wine goblet. “Mixing boozes again?”
Shrugging, I bite back a grimace. “Maybe I like to live dangerously.”
His mouth twists, and he takes a step toward me. A movie blares inside his apartment. “Same, same,” he murmurs. “What are you up to?”
“I’m enjoying my singleness.” Lies.
He takes a deep draw and then blows a stream of smoke out his nostrils. “I’m having a party tonight. You could swing by.”
It’s no secret my neighbor wants in my pants. But I’m not a homewrecker. I do a lot of questionable shit, but it’s honest. Above-board. Consenting adults. With no secrets.
“Oh, damn, I already have plans,” I say. More lies. Every word. Maybe I’m not really as truthful as I like to pretend.
He drops his cigarette on the balcony floor and then stomps it out. He turns to go back inside, but he glances over his shoulder. He looks me over, taking his time, and his dick gets hard, tenting his boxers.
“Open-ended offer,” he says. “Wife’s gone until Monday. Baby, too.”
“Fuck off, creep.” I turn to stare at my wine glass, refusing to move or cringe or cower. It’s a free country, and his hard-on is his problem. No doubt I’ll hear him jacking off later.
Finally, he grunts and goes inside, and my shoulders relax. At least he didn’t pull out his cock and wank off right there. I don’t want to call the cops today.
I rub my tongue piercing against my upper lip, tasting wine and sweat. I don’t have plans, but I need some. My ex, Billy Bob, always says yes to no-strings booty calls, but he is so vanilla. And not just a little. It’s missionary position with him always, and butt stuff frightens him. Like, legit.
I take a long drink. When Billy and I were a couple, I sat him down one night, told him I wanted to experiment, and then requested his participation. The guy spent twenty minutes in the bathroom, panicking that I was asking him to fuck me in ass. That’s when I knew our relationship was doomed. Any other guy would have been excited, right?
Maybe I’m a freak, but I like what I like. Or at least when I want it. I’m always experimenting. Monotony is soul-sucking.
I lift my glass to the highway. Staying in Two-Circle for the duration of my life isn’t an option. I just haven’t figured out how to get the hell out of here. Escape is expensive.
My doorbell chimes, and I carry my wine in one hand. Then I grab the empty shot glass in the other, depositing it on the counter on my way to the door. With the sun going down, the temperature in the apartment is diminishing. Better not be the neighbor. I can’t spare sugar… of any kind.
But it’s Zette Dee, my purple-haired best friend, on the other side of the peephole. Her eyebrow piercings glint in the fluorescent light, and she’s grinning like mad. She’s got a new tattoo on her shoulder. It almost looks tribal.
I throw open the door, and she jumps inside and throws her a
rms around me. Wine sloshes out of my glass and splashes on my foot.
“Roxy,” she yells. “I missed you. Three weeks is too long.” Her studded cuff scrapes my skin, but it doesn’t hurt. She drops a sloppy kiss on my cheek. When she steps back, she points to the shot glass on the counter, and raises an eyebrow.
I nod, closing the door behind her, glad for her unexpected visit. “Help yourself. I bought the good stuff last week.” It was an unjustifiable splurge, but I was feeling extra. I’d have bought it if I’d known Zette was inbound, so it worked out. Plus, catching up with her will be my plans for the night.
“When did you get back?” I ask.
“Monday.” She pours a whiskey shot and tosses it back. Her head has been freshly shaved on one side while the other side is a neon-purple pixie cut. She’s got a full-sleeve of colorful tropical flower tattoos on her left arm, but besides the new tattoo on her right shoulder, no new ink.. She’s in jeans and a tank top.
She doesn’t look pregnant with an alien…
With sunset, the air coming out of the vents is cold now, so I grab an old t-shirt from the back of the couch and pull it on. “It’s Saturday already. Where have you been?”
She shrugs. “Even with all the crazy tech, I had to do a five-day quarantine and five million scans before they would let me out into the population.”
“Really? What was it like up there?”
Zette pours another drink but holds it this time. “They don’t let surrogates drink on ships. Do you believe that? I told them we should throw a party for the ones that made it through the screening. I tried to talk them into it, but they’re hard-asses. I guess I wasn’t persuasive enough.” She winks. “Do you have any idea how awesome a sex party in the stars would be?”
I wrinkle my nose. “It took them two weeks to sort through their prospects?”
“I know more about my genes than I ever wanted to. They did some kind of weird cell-refresher thing, too. I’ve never felt so good. We all got that perk whether we were selected as a surrogate or not.”
I plop down on one end of the couch and prop my feet on the coffee table. Zette takes the other end. “Were you selected?” I ask.
She nods. “All our cross-fit paid off.” She winks. “When it’s all done, I’ll have more money than I’ve ever seen for thirty days of work.” Yet a shadow crosses her face. “My mom thinks I’m crazy. She’s a bit nuts that her first grandbaby will be part alien and be taken back to their world eventually.”
“Does it bother you?”
“Not really,” she answers. “I feel for them. I’ve been a surrogate for humans before. You know that. I’m good at that part. Feelings make it hard sometimes, but I’ve never regretted it. It’s my own egg this time, so that’s a consideration.” She pauses. “This time feels more like a business transaction. Maybe that makes me callous, but it’s something I’ve spent a lot of time sorting out. They say you can send you updates on your offspring, if you want. Holo-images and stuff.”
“Will you do that?”
“I figure I’ll decide later.”
“Do the Melaxians mate for life or anything?” I ask. My tongue piercing grazes my upper lip.
Her face puckers. “I’m not sure what they did when they had their own females, but I haven’t heard of anybody wanting to go back to their planet with them yet. They’ve only had about five hundred suitable women out of the ones that have responded to their advertisement, though. It’s not enough. They want double that. They need the genetic diversity, so I’m guessing they’ll be parked up there until they get it.”
“How many applicants?”
“Seventy-five thousand.”
My eyes bulge. “A little more than half-a-percent?”
“Yeah,” she says. “For one reason or another. The physical requirements weed out a lot of candidates.”
“Do the rejected women make anything for their time?”
“Hundred thou.”
The sum is higher than I expected. I can’t stop the laughter than escapes, and Zette scowls at me.
“That’s funny?” she asks.
“No, no, it’s not that. But if you had told me ten years ago that some brave new alien race named the Melaxians would show up to our planet and offer two million dollars for women to make and carry their babies for ninety days… Who would have fucking guessed?”
Zette chuckles. “I guess that’s right.” She drinks her shot. “Though, there was the year that shall not be named. Maybe that should have tipped us off. Unexpected shit is the new normal.”
I chuckle at that. “2020 was hell.” Then I follow suit, finishing my wine in a gulp. “So, did you see one?”
Zette’s eyes sparkle. “See one what?”
“You know.”
She gives me a look. “You mean an alien dick?”
I scoot closer, gesturing awkwardly. “Yeah, are they…” I didn’t know what word to use.
“Different?” she prompts.
“Yeah.”
She nods emphatically. “Definitely.”
“Did you have sex with them?”
She sighs, wistful almost. “Definitely.”
“What was it like?”
She leans forward. “They are all shaped differently. The dicks, I mean.”
“No shit?” I ask.
“Like a fucking fingerprint. Each one is unique. It’s the weirdest fucking thing.”
“Literally.” I giggle. I can’t help it. I feel like I’m hearing about sex for the first time.
“Apparently their sperm only does what it’s supposed to do when it detects an orgasm in the recipient. It doesn’t deploy unless it senses a significant spike in dopamine and oxytocin.”
I gasp and shiver all at once. “What does that even mean?”
She frowns. “It’s something like that anyway. They explained it, and it’s in the paperwork, but you know science isn’t my thing.”
I chew on my bottom lip. “Go on.”
“After they explain everything, give you all the paperwork and contracts, run you through about a hundred scans, they break out the sex toys.”
I froze. “What? Sex toys?” It comes out like a squeak. I’m not a prude, but it’s not what I expected to hear. “Why would they do that?”
“They hook you up to all kinds of sensors, then they have you orgasm on your own so they have a baseline comparison. Then they figure out which kind of dick you like best and then go to town. The more mind-blowing the orgasm, the better chances that their species won’t die out.” She pauses. “It’s not what I expected when I signed up.”
“So…” I literally can’t even. Their procreation depends on the orgasm of their partner. The fuck. That’s some serious motivation to get to know your partner. To experiment.
“It means they make you orgasm a lot and then test your hormone levels. Lots of earth-shattering orgasms means lots of alien babies. At least to their way of thinking.”
I don’t know what to say to that.
“I mean, sex isn’t everything,” Zette says with a dreamy look on her face. “But it’s a hella way to spend ten days of your life. I couldn’t walk straight for the first couple of days in quarantine.”
“You died and went to fuck-heaven,” I murmur.
“Yeah, basically,” she says.
“Will you go back?”
“I already signed the paperwork. I get a couple weeks at home and then I go back to their space station for four months. They’ll refresh my cells again and then I’ll be impregnated.”
“Like… with twins?”
She shakes her head. “Na. More like octuplets.”
“Eight?” I squeak.
“Their gestation is only ninety days. They are only a few inches long by that point, and they go into an artificial womb.”
“Have you met your mate?”
She shook her head. “Their candidates pick from the approved women. I don’t think I’d been chosen yet. I’m sure I will meet him when I get back.”
>
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Are there flowers? It’s crazy.”
“Don’t think so. But they give the women the option to try the old-fashioned skin-on-skin way first.”
I gasp. “Is that what you’re doing?”
Zette looks past me. “Mmmm. That’s what I requested.”
The quiet stretches between us.
Zette startles. “Oh. I forgot.” She dug in her pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. “This is the name of the liaison agency that gets everything going. It takes a little while for them to process the apps. The approvals get sent on to the Melaxians. After that point, you get paid the hundred thou, no matter when they decline your application.” She tipped her head to the side. “I thought you might like to try.”
“Me?” More squeaking. I’m squeaking again.
“Could be your ticket out of here,” she says. “A hundred thou would set you up in a lot of places outside of Two-Circle.”
I take the paper but place it on the coffee table. “Curiosity killed the cat,” I whisper, shaking my head.
Zette elbows my side. “But satisfaction bought her back.”
I need time to think, so I ask about her mom.
Then we talk for hours, and Zette falls dozes on my couch. Long after her breathing turns deep, I stare at the paper.
It’s just like the old mail-order bride advertisements from the wild west days. I loved reading about those and dreaming about the adventure of it. It had been something I fantasized about.
But that was farmers and cowboys… and humans.
This is aliens.
With weird-ass dicks.
And life-changing orgasms.
It’s too out there, right?
New Volunteer
Felmorax
Three Weeks Later
Stolen and Seduced Page 100
