by Jade Allen
Giselle lost all track of time, lost all ability to do anything but respond to the sensations coursing through her body as Lenth began to move gradually faster inside of her. Her muffled moans were not quite loud enough for her to hear over the sound of the two aliens’ pleasure as they worked her mouth and pussy at the same time; Bronn’s hips began to move, though Giselle realized that he was holding back, that he was being careful—mindful even in his pleasure not to hurt her. She swayed and rocked between the two men’s bodies, sucking and licking, pushing her hips back as her body began to adjust to the size of Lenth’s cock filling her up over and over again.
Giselle felt Bronn tensing, felt his body coiling like a spring, and pulled back slightly—not sure of what to expect, but reading the symptoms of what was remarkably like a human orgasm. The first gush of his climax spurted into her mouth, coating her tongue with tingling, almost citrusy-tasting sweetness, nearly choking her. Giselle instinctively swallowed as more and more of the fluid poured into her mouth, the sweet taste making her eager for more. She moaned as Lenth began to thrust harder and faster inside of her, every movement of his hips driving him up against her g-spot; she cried out, the sound muffled by Bronn’s still-erect member between her lips, as she felt Lenth’s fingers rubbing against her clit even as his cock rubbed along her inner walls.
Bronn gently pushed her away, lifting her head from his lap, and Giselle arched and twisted as ripples of ecstasy coursed through her, so intense she could barely hold herself up even as Lenth continued to pound into her from behind. She moaned and cried out, animal sounds of pleasure filling her ears, and felt Lenth’s body tensing against hers as he reached his own orgasm. The alien shouted out in his strange language, and Giselle collapsed helplessly onto her elbows, her head falling forward as her orgasm intensified with the sensation of tingling, thick liquid gushing into her. The room spun around her until she closed her eyes, trembling as she blacked out.
****
Bronn watched the human woman closely as Lenth composed their initial report, murmuring softly into the speech pickups at his station. “She is as beautiful as any human woman could be,” Bronn remarked to his colleague, smiling slightly.
“Stop talking about me in your crazy alien language,” Giselle said, opening one dark eye to look up at him. Bronn laughed.
“How do you know we’re talking about you?” Lenth asked, turning away from the terminal to regard them on the bed. Bronn looked from Giselle to his colleague.
“She’s also extremely bright,” he remarked, in English for her benefit. “I believe we’ve found a wonderful recruit for our research.”
“Who else would you be talking about?” Giselle observed. Bronn smiled more broadly. He watched as Lenth finished the report, sending it to their superiors before standing up.
“We must develop a course of experimentation,” Lenth said, reaching the bed in a few steps. He sat down on the other side of the woman that they had selected, reaching out to touch her breast. “It will be very rigorous, indeed. We have much time to make up for.” Bronn brushed his lips against Giselle’s temple—something he had seen human men do. Their mating with her had already made it easier for him to detect her emotions with the latent empathy that all Khateen possessed.
“I believe she’s very willing,” Bronn told Lenth.
“Stop reading my mind,” Giselle said, glancing at them with an expression that spoke of suspicion—although minute shifts in her facial muscles betrayed her amusement. “I’m not going to let you do another thing to me until you answer about a dozen questions.”
“That wasn’t our agreement!” Lenth frowned at Giselle. Bronn chuckled.
“Considering how good it felt to experiment with her,” Bronn told his fellow researcher, “I’m willing to make a new deal.”
“So,” Giselle said, and Bronn watched her nimbly shift so that the best features of her body were in ready view to both men, “Tell me about where you come from. Your planet must be similar to ours, or you couldn’t live here.”
Bronn teased one of Giselle’s nipples, marveling at the way her breast responded. “Let us answer your questions while we prepare you for the next experiment,” he suggested. “After all, it is hardly fair that Lenth has felt your—is it ‘pussy?’ ”
Giselle burst out laughing, nodding, and Bronn smiled. “He has felt your pussy, but I haven’t. I must make my own examination.”
Giselle chuckled, “Okay, okay. But you have to answer my questions.”
“Full disclosure,” Lenth said. “Yes, this agreement is going to work out well.”
Bronn let his hands trail all over Giselle’s body, watching in fascination as she shivered; he could feel her body temperature rising. “You are a very intriguing creature,” Bronn murmured lowly, one hand slipping down between Giselle’s legs.
“I would ask if you two had ever seen a woman naked before…” Giselle started to say with a chuckle. Lenth echoed her amusement, laughing in the Khateen way.
“We’ve seen films,” Lenth explained. Bronn brushed his lips against the woman’s neck, feeling the flutter of her pulse.
“I believe that in order to fully understand your body, we’ll need a great deal of time,” Bronn said. He grazed her sensitive skin with his teeth, and felt a thrill of heat work through his body at her response.
“What kind of time are we talking about?” Giselle asked, her breaths becoming rapid and sharp as she became more aroused. Lenth began to touch and tease her as well.
“Every night that you’re available, for at least the next six months. Can you commit to that?” Bronn watched Giselle consider the proposal, twisting and writhing under the combined attentions of the two aliens.
“I can do that,” Giselle said. “But only if you promise that every session is going to be as good as this one has.” Bronn glanced at Lenth, amused.
“We’ll make sure that every time is better than the last,” Bronn told her. He watched the play of emotions on her face.
“Then I absolutely accept. Now let’s get to work.”
Bronn chuckled, knowing that his and Lenth’s experiments with Giselle would be fruitful indeed.
THE END
Desire On The Run
PART ONE
Chelsea had finally managed to sink into the depths of the sleep she craved after spending an entire night tossing and turning, her mind going over the petty details and stresses of her week at work. Finally, as the sky had already begun to lighten, her mind had succumbed to the bone-deep exhaustion of her body, and given up the task of enumerating all of the things she needed to do. She was in the midst of a dream—a sweet, uncomplicated, comforting dream—when the siren-slide sound of Hot Hot Heat’s “Future Breeds” reached into her brain, splitting the air and cutting through the threads of her dream state. Chelsea groaned, the sound almost a sob of frustration, as she reached out and blindly grabbed for her phone where she kept it; not on her bedside table, which she knew from experience would make it easier to turn the alarm off altogether, but on the desk next to her bed. Fumbling, she closed her fingers around the slippery device and by memory thumbed the snooze feature.
Chelsea knew that the nine minutes’ silence would not actually help; it felt as if every joint in her body had been attacked by bat-wielding assailants, as if her eyelids had been replaced with sandpaper. The dull throb at her temples told her readily that nine minutes was simply not a replacement for the hours of sleep she had missed. But for a precious few moments, at least, she could pretend she didn’t have to get up and out of bed, that she didn’t have to go to work. Chelsea let the phone fall onto the blankets, curling in on herself tighter and burying her face against the pillows in denial of the idea that it was already morning.
She began to slip into a doze, her muscles relaxing one by one as the silence stretched out. Maybe—just maybe—she’d get a few minutes of quality sleep. Chelsea’s breathing evened and slowed, and she was on the edge of falling asleep once more when she
found herself once more pulled sharply into wakefulness by the sensation of her phone vibrating. Her sleep-fogged brain at first protested that it couldn’t possibly be nine minutes yet; but then, if it had been, she would be hearing her alarm tone—not feeling the buzzing vibration of her phone’s silent “ring.” Someone was calling her.
“It’s like no one in the entire world wants me to sleep today,” Chelsea muttered to herself, opening her eyes and scrubbing at her face in self-pity. Her phone continued to vibrate, and she ruefully gave up on the idea of getting any more sleep. The only people her exhausted mind could think of who would call her at such an early hour were her coworkers; her friends knew better, and the few members of her family still alive and speaking to her did as well. Chelsea yawned as her hand found the phone where it was buried in the blanket. She picked it up and squinted against the light in the room as she tried to force her dry, sleepy eyes to focus on the number flashing on the screen. It wasn’t a number she recognized. For a moment—a flicker of a thought—she considered throwing the phone across the room, curling up once more, and considering the day a complete failure to launch. But Chelsea realized that she was already fully awake; and if it was a telemarketer, she at least could get the lesser comfort of verbally tearing whoever it was into pieces.
“Who the hell is this?” she asked as soon as she had tapped the “accept” icon on her screen and saw that the call had connected.
“Chelsea Davies, good morning. You are in a great deal of danger, and I strongly advise you to call into work sick today. In fact, it would be best if you remained exactly where you are in your apartment for the next thirty minutes.” Chelsea took the phone away from her ear and stared at the screen for a long moment, confused and irritated.
“What are you talking about? And just how do you know my name?”
“You have plenty of sick time. You should take some of it today, and stay right where you are until you hear a knock like this.” Chelsea’s frowned deepened as she heard a tapping pattern over the phone line: tock-tock-tock-ti-tock. “Did you get that, Chelsea?”
“I’m not going to agree to anything until you give me some answers,” she said irritably.
“We don’t really have time for this; I need to be off of the phone in the next thirty seconds. Be a good girl and listen to that knock one more time, and tell me clearly whether or not you understand what I’ve told you.” Once more she heard the tapping pattern. Curiosity overwhelming her irritation at the mystery caller and the interruption of her sleep, Chelsea listened to the pattern carefully.
“Okay, fine, I heard it,” she said sulkily.
“Good girl. You’ll hear it again in about thirty minutes. Call your office and tell them you’ll be sick for a couple of days and stay exactly where you are.” Chelsea opened her mouth to protest the peremptory command when she heard the low-toned beep-beep-beep that signaled that the call was disconnected. She let the phone slip from her fingers and sank down against the pillows, puzzling over the mysterious call and the equally strange caller. Chelsea frowned, her eyelids descending over her eyes as her deep fatigue settled over her once more. He had known that she had plenty of sick time—that much was true; she had banked almost a full week of sick time. You’re not calling in sick because some mystery asshole told you to, Chelsea told herself as she forced her eyes open and reached for her phone once more.
“I’m calling in sick because I am exhausted and I’d be useless at work anyway. It’s a mental health day.” Chelsea opened up her contacts list and found the number to the office, coughing a few times experimentally to roughen her voice. She waited for the automatic prompt to come on—the office didn’t officially open for business for another hour and a half—and put in the number for her manager’s extension. Elise wouldn’t be at her desk either; Chelsea knew that she’d go straight to voicemail, which was for the best. When she heard the tone, she coughed again. “Hey, Elise,” Chelsea said, pitching her voice low and giving into the fatigue she felt in every bone of her body without any pretense. “I’m not going to be able to come in today. I feel like I just got ran over with a Mack truck.” She coughed again for effect and sniffled harshly. “I may check my email just to keep on top of things and send a message to HR, but I’ve gotta stay in bed today. I’ll give you an update later.” She ended the call and let her head fall back against the pillows, yawning again.
Chelsea’s irritation rose as minutes passed; she felt vaguely silly about responding to the call, even if she knew that she was too exhausted to be of use in the office that day anyway. Her bladder gave a spasm, informing her that it was uncomfortably full—and that she should take care of that issue. Her mystery caller had told her to stay exactly where she was; but surely he just meant in the apartment. Chelsea grappled with the idea before deciding that literal adherence to an order from someone who hadn’t even been courteous enough to introduce himself was ridiculous. It’s not like he’s going to know, anyway.
She picked up her phone absently as she climbed out of bed and padded towards the bathroom, yawning a few more times as she made the short trek. She felt faintly ridiculous that she was waiting in her apartment for the mystery caller—or at least, she assumed that the coded knock would be coming from him—when she had no idea of who he was, what he wanted, why he had called her. Wasn’t there some kind of urban legend with this set up? This is the way that women get abducted, isn’t it? Chelsea washed her hands and splashed water on her face when she finished taking care of her needs, and went back into the bedroom, resenting the intrusion on her sleep, her routine.
****
Chelsea had once more fallen into a doze, with nothing better to do to pass the time waiting—she had told herself that the caller was probably a prank in the first place—when she heard, at her door, the knocking pattern that the man on the phone had performed for her. Opening her eyes, Chelsea groaned, sitting up in her bed. “No one wants me to get any sleep today, that has to be it. The whole world is in on it.” She flung the covers aside and swung her legs over the edge of the bed, getting to her feet unsteadily. How do you even know you can trust this guy? He’s probably here to abduct you, and you’re playing right into his game plan. Chelsea frowned and grabbed at her phone. She heard her mystery guest repeat the coded knock at her door and stirred herself to pad out of the bedroom.
Considering, she opened up her recent calls and checked for the unfamiliar number; she didn’t know for certain if the caller and the person on her doorstep were the same individual, but it was worth making the phone call anyway, wasn’t it? She hit ‘recall’ and stood, a few yards away from her door, waiting as it rang. “I’m here,” the voice said the moment the call connected.
“I assumed as much from the knock-knock-knocking at my door,” Chelsea said wryly. “What I don’t know is whether I should let you in.”
“You should,” the man said. Now that she was more awake, she could detect a faint accent in the man’s deep, almost rasping voice, though she couldn’t identify where the accent came from. “I promise you, Chelsea, that I’m not here to abduct you. You are actually in some danger right now. If you let me in I can explain it to you.” Chelsea glided her tongue along the front of her teeth, hesitating only a moment longer.
She took the last few steps to the door and unlocked first the deadbolt, then the chain, and finally the twist lock on the knob, before opening the door. For a long moment, Chelsea stared. The man on the other side of the door was more than tall; he dwarfed her, easily a foot taller than she was, over six feet. He had dark blond hair, cut short with razor-precision, parted to the side, and bright blue-green eyes that shone intently as he looked down at her. Chelsea’s gaze took in the slightly darker stubble that roughened the man’s cheeks and jawline, contrasting sharply with the soft look of his Cupid’s bow mouth. He wasn’t just tall; the man filled up the frame of her door: broad shoulders and chest, tapering to a narrow waist and hips, and long legs. He wore fitted jeans, and a black tee shirt that cl
ung to the lines and ridges of his torso, with a dark leather jacket over it. “Are you going to let me in?” He asked her, raising one wheat-colored eyebrow. Chelsea took a step backwards, blinking and shaking off her confusion; she felt disastrously underdressed in her pajamas, next to the man who strode quickly through her door, closing and locking it behind him.
“This is the part where you explain what the hell is going on, right?” Chelsea threw herself onto the couch, feeling irritated at her own reaction to the man.
“We have some time now, but not very much,” the mystery guest said, sitting down in the wingback chair nearest to her. Chelsea frowned.
“I don’t even know what you’re talking about,” she told him, crossing her arms over her chest. She was acutely aware of the effect of the slight chill in the air when her guest had come in, of the fact that underneath the thin fabric of her top and the pajama bottoms she’d managed to pull on before she’d gone to bed the night before, she was bare.
“Someone wants to kill you.” Chelsea stared at the man in disbelief. “They think you know something that they’d rather keep hidden.”
“But that doesn’t make any sense,” Chelsea protested. “I don’t know anything—I can’t even think of something I know that might make someone want me dead.” The man shrugged.
“It doesn’t matter at the end of the day whether you know it or not—the person after you thinks that you do, because you have the information.”
“What are you talking about? I’m nobody. No one’s handed me some mysterious parcel or anything, I haven’t even gotten anything in the mail.” The man’s lips twitched in a smile. “And who the hell are you, anyway?” The man’s smile deepened.
“My name is Johan Lindstrom,” he said. “Tell me, Chelsea; what comes to mind when I say the name Aaron Rosen?” Chelsea stared at the man blankly.
