Exposed by Moonbeam

by Cynthia Sax

  “Yes, I remember, you told me that.” She inhaled sharply as he cupped her breasts, lifting them, weighing them in his hands, his damaged left hand weaker than his right, yet no less commanding. “Was everything you told me true—the Sila-based training facilities with simulations of Earth life, your people’s abductions of single women, the mind-blowing space travel spanning multiple galaxies—all of it?”

  “It is the truth. I would not lie to you or to any other being, my druzka.” Ary pushed the lace aside and brushed his calloused thumbs over her nipples, leaving lines of red, his blood painting her skin. She shivered with bliss, his body heat engulfing her and his scent, a mixture of minerals and man, filling her nostrils.

  “You are my Storm.” He bent his head and licked her nipple with the flat of his tongue, sending waves of sensation over her curves.

  “Ary.” She clutched his shoulder ridges and arched into him, pressing her hips against him, his skin resembling soft velvet over hard metal.

  “Your Ary,” he corrected. He swirled his tongue around her pink flesh, escalating her excitement. “You will address me as your Ary and you are my Storm.”

  His Storm. Why do I like the sound of that? She pushed her breast against his lips, wanting, needing him to suck her nipple, all of her professional reasons for not fucking him evaporating under the heat of his mouth. Cold, calm and detached, be damned. I need his alien cock.

  A bright light flashed across the sky above them and Ary glanced upward. His lips flattened into a forbidding line. “We do not have time for tasting.”

  Ary clasped the waistband of her cargo pants and tore, shredding them with three hard yanks of his hands, his display of strength incredibly stimulating. “I must fuck you now.” He twisted the lace of her panties in his right fist, the fragile fabric giving way, offering no defense against his eagerness.

  So rough. Fear tempered Storm’s need, their difference in size monumental. “You won’t hurt me, will you?”

  “I will not damage you.” Ary laid his hands on her hips and lifted her easily, his breathing calm and level. She held on to his shoulders and wrapped her legs around his ridged torso. “We are compatible.” He lowered her onto him, his vibrating cock head gyrating upward, his massive girth stretching her to the point of pain, each ridge on his shaft a sexual test.

  “Barely compatible.” She sucked on his chest, tasting salt and minerals, his unique flavor bursting in her mouth. The long slide continued, Ary filling her as she’d never been filled before. “God, you’re huge.”

  “You can accommodate me.” Ary didn’t give her any other choice, pushing her down on him, ruthlessly invading her body.

  Her pussy lips touched his base and he groaned, his chest rumbling. “Lejno,” he murmured against her forehead. “You feel better than any simulator, so wet and tight and hot. I did not expect this, not from such a primitive species.”

  “Yes, we primitive humans are great lays,” Storm replied dryly, her irritation soothed by the inches of ridged cock pulsating inside her pussy. “Tell that to your superior alien buddies.” She tilted her head back to look into his swirling eyes. “Are all of the other Silans as big as you?”

  “There will be no other Silans. You are mine.” Ary growled, his possessiveness drawing moisture from her pussy. He captured her lips and surged into her mouth with a surprising ferocity, tasting of charred meat and man.

  As he ravished her, punishing her with his tongue, he grabbed her aching ass, lifted her, and slammed her back down upon him, bouncing her breasts against his chest and pushing the air from her lungs. Her alien fucked her with an awe-inspiring intensity, driving into her hard and fast, savaging her with his cock.

  Storm held on to him, panting into his mouth, riding his hard body. His vibrating shaft pressed against her clit, sending tremors of bliss throughout her pussy.

  Ary grunted and his ridges rattled, his animalistic sounds exciting her. She dug her fingernails into his shoulders, piercing his skin, marking him, wishing to claim him, her alien male.

  He saved me from certain death. Storm gazed into his intriguing eyes, seeing his intelligence and pride and loneliness, attributes she had sensed in his messages. And in return, I’ll save him from his solitude. She moaned as he thrust deep, owning her body with fierce, hard strokes.

  Storm’s pussy tightened around his shaft, increasing the delightful friction between them, her body awash in sensation, and he moved faster, his fucking wild and out of control. She gritted her teeth, her desire quickened by months of abstinence, Ary’s emails having obliterated her interest in other men.

  Lights flashed around them and strange male voices spoke in a guttural language she didn’t understand, but all Storm knew was Ary, his cock pounding her pussy, his big hands clenching her hips and his hot breath on her neck.

  “Please, Ary,” Storm begged, needing to come and come hard, the waiting unbearable, her pussy humming with the impact of his thrusts.

  “Not Ary. My Ary.” He thrust deep and slapped her ass, his rough palm landing on her chafed skin, the delectable pain breaking her.

  “My Ary,” Storm screamed, bowing her spine. She grasped his shoulder ridges frantically and squeezed down on his shaft with her pussy muscles, holding on to him as the stars streamed around her, her world spinning madly out of control.

  “My Storm!” Ary tossed back his head and roared her name to the night sky, the sound deafening and dominant, a primitive creature’s declaration of ownership. Hot spurts of cum shot from his vibrating cock, bathing her in warmth, setting off another round of tremors.

  She quivered and shook in his arms as he held her, his arms unyielding bands of muscle around her waist, his heart beating against his chest ridges. His cock gyrations slowed as her breathing leveled.

  “Whoa,” Storm murmured, light-headed with bliss. “You weren’t kidding about being skilled.” She rested her forehead against Ary’s skin, his body remaining joined with hers, alien and human, the experience beyond her comprehension.

  Chapter Two

  “My little human.” Ary ran his hands over her damaged ass, flicking blades of grass away from her white skin, his chest filled with a warmth he had never before experienced. “We have fucked.” He composed his countenance into stern, hard lines, masking his unexpected new tenderness toward his mate, the softer emotion unworthy of an impartial ruler.

  “We certainly did.” His Storm tilted her head back, her wondrous flame-colored curls bouncing, her hair as alive as she was. “My big alien.” She gazed at him as though he was a warrior, her unmoving, pale-green eyes filled with admiration.

  “I am Silan, not an alien,” Ary corrected. Lejno, if my people heard my mate’s mistake, their discontentment would grow. He frowned. “When we are with others, you will be silent. I will talk for you.”

  “In your dreams, my Ary. I can talk for myself.” Lines etched between her finely arched eyebrows. “And we’re not with others…” She glanced around them and squeaked, pressing her delightful curves into his ridges. His spicka vibrated faster, rubbing against her inner walls. “I’m naked and there are…there are other aliens looking at us. Oh my God.” Her body shook against his as she craned her neck, taking another look. “That’s an alien spaceship.”

  The transport ship’s ramp lowered, light from the interior flooding the surroundings. Smaller fixers, clad in blue, waited to tend to their damage, their blue-and-green eyes swirling with interest. Warrior Krol Nowak glared down at the terminated Mravenec warrior, daggers in his black-and-green hands, his forehead ridges condensed.

  “It is a Silan ship, not an alien ship,” Ary explained coldly, his patience strained by the fierce battle and their wild fucking. “And we will be watched always.” He tugged a covering blanket from a fixer’s grip and wrapped it around his little mate. “We will be studied by all Silans to improve future mating.”

  “You’re not my mate.” His Storm slid down his body, branding his skin with her womanly musk. “You’re my so
urce. This was…” She waved her fragile hand toward his attentive spicka, her fingers painfully delicate, and an intriguing red pigment spread over her cheeks. “Well, it wasn’t a mistake, I won’t call it that, but we shouldn’t repeat it.” She straightened her shoulders. “While I’m covering this story, I have to be neutral, cold, calm and detached. The other journalists will discredit me if I’m not.”

  “Ahhh…” Ary nodded, knowing all about being discredited. “While covering this story, you must be my mate. You requested exclusivity.” He utilized his knowledge of her journalism speak, his strengths languages and what the humans called politics. “This is the only way.”

  “Oh.” She stared at him, the intriguing white around her green eyes expanding. “That’s the only way?”

  “Ruler Arystokrata Nazwisko.” A fixer approached him, his head bowed. “May I fix your damage?”

  He turned his bloody arm toward the fixer. “My mate requires fixing also.” The fixer placed his healing hands on his wound, and a blinding pain shot over Ary’s shoulder. Rulers do not show emotion. He struggled to maintain his blank expression.

  “You’re not touching my ass.” His Storm backed away from the other fixers, tucking the covering blanket tighter around her curves. “If I need medical help, which I don’t, I’ll go to a regular human hospital, thank you very much.”

  “Is a regular human hospital newsworthy?” Ary asked coolly, aware of their audience, the Fixers, listening to every word they shared.

  “You’d allow me on the spaceship? I have to get that on video.” She wiggled to her storage pack, her legs restrained by the covering blanket, and she heaved the pack over one of her shoulders, the straps digging into her soft skin, the bulky design almost larger than she was. Ary curled his fingers into fists, resisting the urge to help her. A fixer hovered by her side, his gaze on her damaged ass.

  “Oh shit.” His Storm stared down at the fragments of a primitive machine. “It’s broken. All of that glorious, award-winning coverage is gone.” Her voice thinned. She turned away from them, her shoulders slumped, appearing small and alone.

  “Talker Storm Nazwisko.” The fixer stepped forward. “May I fix that damage?”

  His Storm’s head rose. “Can you fix it?” She gazed at the fixer as though he had offered her all of Sila, a wet sheen covering her eyes.

  She should only look at me that way. A surge of blazing hot jealousy rushed through Ary.

  The fixer’s blue-and-green skull bobbed. “It would be my great honor to fix your primitive image capturing machine.”

  “Oh thank you, thank you.” His Storm grabbed the fixer’s hand and Ary growled, his patience at an end. All of the Silans, including Warrior Krol, turned to stare at him, his disgraceful display of emotion unprecedented. “What is your name?” his mate babbled, seemingly oblivious to Ary’s inner turmoil.

  The fixer stepped prudently away from Ary’s female. “My name is Fixer Vern Zajac.” His face flooded with blue color. “But mates of rulers do not utilize fixer’s names. It is not required.”

  “It is required if you fix my handheld, Fixer Vern.” She beamed at the fixer, her smile lighting up her beautiful face.

  My smile. Mine. Ary clenched his hands into fists, jealousy raging inside his chest, a beast even more primitive than the unworthy human males.

  “Can you fix my handheld before you fix my ass?” She bounced closer to the fixer, her breasts straining against the covering blanket. “Because I’d like to get that on video Ohhh…” Her mouth rounded. “Can I do a piece on you? Fixers of the Sila? I can interview you and Ary and maybe that mean looking Silan over there.” She gestured at Warrior Krol.

  “Warrior Krol Nowak is the best Silan warrior.” Fixer Vern lowered his voice and leaned into Ary’s Storm. “He is mated to Warrior Danielle Nowak, the best human warrior. She—”

  “My Storm, come here,” Ary demanded, his tone frosty. She gazed at him, her eyebrows arched. He gazed unblinkingly back, showing no weakness.

  “All right.” She returned to his side, her feet light on the grass, her covering blanket loosening with each enticing wiggle of her hips. “What’s up, my Ary?”

  He glowered, hearing the disrespect in her tone, disrespect toward him, a ruler. “There is no need for you to talk excessively.”

  Her eyebrows lowered, her face darkening ominously and her eyes sparking fire, her fury rising as quickly as a burza. “You are the most arrogant—”

  “Enough.” Ary raised his hand, silencing her words, fearlessly facing her fury. “We will talk of this in private.”

  “Oh, we will talk of this in private, trust me.” She jammed her little fists on her hips and glared up at him, heat radiating from her body. “We will talk at great, great length, because if you think I’ll be your mute love slave for the entire duration of this assignment, you’ve contacted the wrong investigative reporter. I—”

  “In private,” Ary barked, squelching the impulse to silence her constantly moving lips with his own, tasting more of her sweet mouth.

  His Storm narrowed her eyes. He leaned forward, looming over her, his face unyielding.

  “Come on, Fixer Vern.” She turned with a flounce and hooked arms with the fixer. “Show me your Silan hospital.” She stomped up the ship’s ramp. “Maybe while we’re there, we can figure out a way to remove the stick from Ary’s ass.”

  Sladky matka. Ary inwardly fumed, staring up at the Earth’s single moon, concealing his anger from the curious Silans. He waited, allowing the fixer to attend to him, showing all of them he didn’t care about his mate’s rebellious actions.

  “Fierce words are followed by fierce fucking.” Warrior Krol grinned at him, his black-and-green eyes swirling with mirth. “Your mate is requesting that you tie her to a sleeping support and subdue her with your spicka. You will be envied by every Silan this night, Ruler Arystokrata Nazwisko.”

  “I excelled at mate training. I do not require your input.” Ary informed him, irked that the warrior would dare to extend such disrespectful familiarity to him, a ruler.

  Warrior Krol extracted two daggers from his black garment. Light reflected off the razor-sharp blades. “I would not have offered my input had I not studied with my own eyes the bloody remains of your battle and seen you fuck your mate as though you were a warrior.” The Silan shrugged, his grin spreading. “You may be the sole ruler I have met worth following.” He stalked away, spinning the blades in his hands, the metal blurring with an impressive speed.

  I am not a warrior. I am a ruler. And I cannot tolerate disrespect. Ary prowled after his Storm, the fixers hurrying behind him, struggling to continue with their ministering. “Leave me,” he ordered. Although his shoulder throbbed with pain, the bleeding had stopped. He would not be terminated and only a termination could divide him from his druzka.

  Ary maneuvered through the narrow corridors, his booted heels thudding on the metal mesh floor. Silans ducked their heads as he passed, none of them looking him in the eyes, their tokens of respect merely that—empty tokens with no emotion and no loyalty behind them.

  Rulers are respected, not liked. His sire’s guiding words held merely half the truth, as some rulers were offered false respect, that respect dissipating once an unpopular decision was made.

  His mate’s laughter echoed down the corridor. During her newscasts, she had displayed a dizzying range of emotion, laughing and crying, hugging humans of all ages, strangers responding to her with a warmth they showed no other reporter. This night, his Storm’s laughter eased Ary’s loneliness, filling his chest with heat, and he lengthened his stride, wishing to bask in her joy.

  He turned the corner and silently, stealthily entered the medical chamber. His Storm’s primitive machine, now repaired, was positioned near a monitoring machine. Silans crowded around his druzka as she told them of the battle with the dreaded Mravenec, her hands flying and her face fascinatingly expressive.

  She spoke of him, her mate, as though he were a warrior, exagge
rating his fighting prowess, emphasizing his bravery and ridiculing her fear. Ary hid in the shadows, a shameful act for a ruler, and he listened, enjoying the camaraderie of his people and envying their openness.

  As though sensing his presence, his Storm turned her head. Her gaze searched out his, and she smiled, a breathtaking defiance reflecting in her eyes. “My Ary.” She held out her small hand as though she, a talker, were granting him, a ruler, a favor.

  Silans gasped and scattered, the laughter stopping and the smiles vanishing from their faces. Ary concealed the pain of their silent rejection behind an uncaring mask and he surged forward. “My Storm.” He clasped her hand, her fingers small and soft.

  “I’m talking excessively again,” she mimicked his crisp tones, her insolent declaration a dare. “What are you going to do about it?” She shifted her weight from her left foot to her right, wincing as she moved.

  He ignored her question. “Has your damage been fixed?”

  Color flooded her cheeks. “No.” Her hand trembled in his. “Fixer Vern wanted to.” She looked over her shoulder at the sleeping support. “But…”

  Ary felt her fear as though it were his own, its presence banishing his lingering coolness. “I will stay with you while your damage is fixed. Lay down upon your chest.” He sat in a single-ass support and held on to her hand as she settled upon the sleeping support, her breasts flattening against the surface.

  “Fixer Vern Zajac,” Ary barked. The fixer stepped forward, his gaze not meeting Ary’s. “You will fix my druzka’s damage.” He peeled away the covering blanket, revealing gorgeous white skin marred by dark ugly bruises.

  His Storm stiffened, her fingers curling around his. “Do we need him?” she whispered. “Can’t you tend to my wounds?”

  “I am a ruler,” Ary explained, wishing he could fix her and protect her, fill every Silan status, be the only male she ever needed. “Rulers do not fix. Only fixers have that honor.” Fixer Vern stood taller, his spine straight and proud and his gaze met Ary’s. “You will not cause her additional damage,” Ary commanded.