His Feisty Human

by Ivy Barrett

  “I’m your mate, Lorelle.” He sounded tired, resigned. “We can’t pretend otherwise.”

  She crawled forward, freeing her legs from his viselike knees. Then she rolled to her back and glared up at him. “I’m not pretending anything. I just don’t give a damn.” Amber fire flashed in his gaze, a silent warning she ignored. “Mate or not, I will escape you. You mean nothing to me.”

  With a feral growl, he spread her legs and grabbed her wrists, dragging her arms beneath her stinging bottom. The skillful maneuver left her utterly helpless. His broad shoulders forced her heels to her ass, painfully bending her knees. With a defiant kick, she draped her legs over his shoulders as she tugged against his hold.

  His tongue thrust deep into her cunt, staking his claim in no uncertain terms. She wiggled and cursed, but all she accomplished was to rub her folds against his mouth. In and out his tongue fucked her, yet he never touched her clit. Still restraining her wrists, he somehow pulled her ass cheeks apart so his hot breath and currents of air teased her anus.

  Mine. The familiar declaration echoed through her mind, but he didn’t stop there. Your pussy is mine. He shoved his tongue in as far as it would go. Your ass is mine. One of his long fingers pressed against her other opening until the stubborn ring of muscle surrendered. She gasped and wiggled trying to avoid the unwanted touch, but that only made him more determined.

  He released her wrists and caught one sore ass cheek while his finger pushed even deeper. His wicked tongue migrated to her clit, stoking passion’s flame as his finger began to slide. Her core ached, clenching in on itself while sensations coalesced beneath his mouth.

  Your pleasure is mine!

  His lips closed around her clit and sucked with skillful insistency. She came in shocking bursts of sensation that made her arch and moan. He licked her wet folds then sucked her essence directly from her core. She felt wild, exhilarated, and yet it wasn’t enough. She needed to be stretched and filled, overwhelmed and—claimed.

  Knowing it was irrational yet unable to resist the impulse, she began fighting all over again. She twisted and tugged, wrestling one leg down between them. He simply followed her for a while, savoring the proof of her release as she struggled to escape his hold.

  She didn’t want him to let go, so why the hell was she fighting? Fear surged through the lust, followed immediately by confusion. She sagged onto the bed with a frustrated sob. “What’s happening to me?”

  He raised his head and looked into her eyes. His gaze was warm and surprisingly tender, though a ring of mutant light glittered around the teal. “We’re feeding one of those mystical bonds you don’t believe exist.”

  His lips covered hers and his tongue filled her mouth with the proof of her surrender. Despite all her protests, she was his already. She’d sensed it the first time they touched. Ignoring her chaotic thoughts, she returned his kiss. He wasn’t even holding her anymore. She clung to him while he struggled out of his pants. He paused to tug her shirt off over her head then positioned himself between her legs.

  She shook, her senses stretched to the brink of insanity. He guided his cock toward her entrance and she twisted away. To her horror, he laughed, enjoying the challenge. He flipped her over and moved her thighs apart with his knees. Before she could crawl forward, he wrapped his arm around her hips and drove his full length into her pussy.

  Her body welcomed his with rhythmic pulses and a fresh rush of slickness. He controlled her with the weight of his body and the inescapable penetration of his cock. Slowly, ever so slowly he pulled back then thrust into her again. She trembled beneath him, savoring the fullness and the heat. He grasped her hips and began a slow, deep rhythm that detonated new sensations and made her moan. His pelvis slapped against her tender ass, making each thrust even more intense. She clawed the bedding and arched her back, taking all he had to give.

  She slapped back at him, knowing he’d grab her arms and complete the domination. His cock filled her, each individual thrust a separate claim on her body and mind. She surrendered to his aggression, secure within the shelter of his strength.

  His being pushed into her mind, the telepathic joining every bit as demanding as the motion of his hips. Desire inundated her being, scalding and explosive.

  Mine! Say it. You are mine.

  I am yours and you are mine. She tightened her inner muscles and blasted him with raw, possessive passion. If she was going to lose herself in this madness, she wasn’t going over alone.

  Yes, come for me. Scream my name as you come.

  Incendiary spasms of pleasure burst inside her. She cried out and buried her face in the bedding. He thrust deep and released his hot seed, a hoarse cry escaping from his throat. The ripples went on and on. He shuddered, his abdomen flexing against her back. Then he nipped her firmly on the shoulder.

  She yelped and shivered, a powerful aftershock making her moan. “What was that for?”

  “We’re going to have to do it all again.”

  “Not that I’m complaining, but did we do something wrong?”

  “You didn’t say my name. The bonding isn’t official until you scream my name.”

  Glancing over her shoulder, she saw mischief shimmering in his eyes.

  Chapter Seven

  Mal Ton pressed Lorelle against his chest and indulged in a contented smile. Warm water flowed over their naked bodies, easing sore muscles and helping them relax. Images of their first night together teased his memory and threatened to abolish their peaceful lethargy.

  He’d never imagined life with a mate. Before last night there had been no reason. Genetics and nano-enhancements determined his course. He was a soldier, a shifter, and a Second. Any one of the three turned most women away, so how had—

  “What’s a Second?” Lorelle eased back and met his gaze as steam swirled around her lovely face.

  The question startled him. Was she already attuned to his feelings or had her musings simply been similar to his? Their expanding bond made it difficult for him to distinguish her feelings from his. He was accustomed to filtering people out. The inability to isolate himself from her felt odd yet comfortable.

  “Why do you ask?” He didn’t want to get into Stilox physiology right now. It felt wonderful just to hold her.

  “You were surprised that I had triggered this bond because I’m human and you’re a Second. What makes you a Second?”

  “It will be a long, boring conversation. Can’t you think of a more enjoyable way to spend our time?”

  She wiggled away from his wandering hands. “We spent most of the night enjoying each other. I need to understand what’s happening to me, what’s happening to us.”

  With a frustrated sigh, he turned off the water and pushed open the shower door. “Let’s find something to eat and I’ll answer your questions.”

  “Thank you.”

  They dressed and descended to the ramshackle kitchen. The remnants of the morning meal had been tucked away in one of the ancient ovens. An insulated container ensured the food remained hot.

  “The kitchen has no power source.” She lowered her voice to a conspirator’s whisper as she voiced her observation. “How was the food prepared?”

  “Fane’s people either replicated it on one of the lower levels or ‘borrowed’ it from a restaurant in Sanctum. Sean isn’t the only one who can move about undetected.” Mal Ton carried the thermo-hamper to the tiny table in the far corner of the spacious room. The dining room was in better shape, but the chances of being overheard were greater. He waited until they were seated and had begun eating before he spoke again. “How familiar are you with human physiology?”

  “I’m a soldier, not a scientist.” She raised her cup of steaming cirgra tea. “This is nice.”

  “It’s the only Stilox beverage Andrea will drink without protest. I suspected you and your friends might like it.”

  “Good call.” She took another sip. “Sorry for the distraction. I’m listening
.”

  It was hard to concentrate when everything she did fascinated him. Her hands were strong, the nails blunted, yet her long, tapered fingers were undeniably feminine. Much like her touch, her hands… He shook away the irrelevant tangent and focused on the information she’d requested.

  “The people of Stilox have evolved into a triploid species.”

  “I have no idea what that means.”

  “Our DNA has three strands instead of two.”

  “What are the advantages of having a third strand? And what does it have to do with this ‘Second’ business?”

  He rubbed his eyes with his fingertips. Perhaps he should have risked a trip to Stilox. Andrea could have explained this so much better. “I should probably take you to Ostan. I’m not a scientist either.”

  “I don’t want to talk to the doctor about what’s happening to us.”

  “He already knows.”

  “That doesn’t mean I want to talk to him about it. Give it your best shot and if I still don’t understand, you can take me to Ostan.”

  Opening his eyes, Mal Ton called upon every molecule of patience he possessed as he encapsulated the information. “Our third DNA strand makes us strong and resistant to disease. The Protarian’s lentavirus would have obliterated a less resilient species.”

  “I’m following you so far.”

  “Rather like humans have blood types, Stilox males have different types of sperm.” She folded her arms on the tabletop and stared into his eyes. He obviously had her undivided attention. “There are two classifications. We simply call them A and B. Within each classification, there are numerous variations, but it requires sperm from both classifications for a female to conceive.”

  “Any female or just Stilox females?”

  “As I understand it, the Stilox genome isn’t complete in either of the two classifications. It takes a combination of A and B to produce Stilox offspring.”

  Her brow furrowed and she pushed the food container aside. “Did that answer my question?”

  “Interspecies mating is always tricky. Protarian females are descended from the same original gene pool as Stilox, so it’s not surprising that we are compatible with them. However, there have been documented cases of offspring produced with five additional species.”

  “And in every case it took two Stilox males to produce the offspring?”

  “Yes.” He gave her a moment to absorb the facts. “Males with Type A sperm are considered better mates. They tend to be more caring, more patient and tolerant. Type B males are quick to anger and aggressive.”

  She chuckled. “I don’t have to guess which type you are.”

  “Long ago the ratio of men to women allowed each female to have a primary and secondary mate. Because of our basic personalities more Type B males became soldiers when the war began.”

  “Now there are more Type A men than Type B?”

  “By far. Seconds, as we’re called now, typically have more than one mate. Our purpose is to protect our females when their primary mate is not available and to provide the needed… biological contribution when the couple is ready to have a child.”

  “That seems so callous. These couples are using you when it’s necessary and ignoring you when—”

  “This isn’t Earth, Lorelle. Our cultures have been shaped by forces you’re just beginning to understand. And I don’t just mean the war. Seconds have always played a more peripheral role in our social structure.”

  “Doesn’t our bond make you my primary mate?”

  “Yes, and to my knowledge no female has ever triggered bonding fever in a Second before.”

  Wrapping both hands around her mug, she gazed into her cirgra tea as she asked, “How does it usually happen?”

  “Seconds are predatory, aggressive, and argumentative. So we leave the courting to Type A men.”

  “Some women like aggressive men.” She glanced into his eyes before hiding her expression with her cup.

  “Women enjoy fucking aggressive men, but in the long run Type A men are better able to make them happy.”

  “My happiness isn’t dependent on anyone but me. Besides, I can be aggressive and argumentative too.”

  “I noticed.” He chuckled. “We aren’t talking about us. We’re talking about the social norm.”

  “Sorry.” The sparkle in her eyes was anything but apologetic. “Go on.”

  “I might have given you the wrong impression with my description. Type A men aren’t spineless or malleable. Fane is a good example of a Type A male.”

  “But he’s a soldier.”

  “The war has been raging for generations. We all serve the resistance in one way or another.”

  “We’re way off course again. Please go back to the usual mating pattern for Stilox couples.”

  He inclined his head. “As with so many things, our courting practices have been streamlined and condensed. The Type A male tells the female he’s interested in her. They exchange DNA profiles, and if each is acceptable to the other, they spend time together.”

  “How romantic.” She shook her head and set down her cup.

  “Our planet was ravaged by a biological weapon. Fallout from the catastrophe is still being discovered. It’s a reasonable precaution.”

  “Let’s say their DNA profiles are acceptable and they go out on a few dates. What happens after that?”

  “The custom you’re referring to doesn’t exist on Stilox. When we’re interested in a female, we’re looking for a potential mate, not a casual amusement.”

  “Meaning?”

  “There has to be an immediate connection or the courtship is pointless. A Stilox ‘date’ consists of a meal, a time of conversation, and progressively more intimate exchanges. If the female’s body releases pheromones while the couple kisses, they continue. If they feel no significant rise in the level of their desire, they go their separate ways.”

  “Does the female have control over her pheromones?”

  “To some extent. The initial release is intentional, but a combination of factors determines the potency of the pheromones. If a female likes the way the male looks but is put off by his personality, she can pretend there was no chemical reaction. However, once the process begins, genetic compatibility has more to do with success than physical attraction.”

  “The female chooses whether or not to release the pheromones, but she can’t control how well they work?”

  “Exactly. The pheromones spike sexual desire in both the male and female, which in turn makes the next rush of pheromones all the more potent. If the couple isn’t genetically suited, the pheromones won’t incite their lust no matter how pleasing they find each other.”

  “Are they able to function sexually without the pheromones?”

  “Of course. We’re talking about mating, not fucking. The physical act might be more or less the same, but there is a significant difference.”

  “Then we are…”

  “Extremely compatible.”

  “Still, if we ever want to have a child, we’ll have to find a Type A… helper.”

  Her phrasing made him laugh. “Are children a priority with you?”

  “Not right now. I haven’t even decided if I’m willing to put up with you on a regular basis.” She smiled, assuring him she was kidding—more or less. “But if I don’t smother you in your sleep, eventually I’ll want children. Have you forgotten why Andrea Raynier transcribed my DNA?”

  “I haven’t forgotten.” Andrea’s process had still been experimental when Lorelle agreed to participate. Having children must be very important to her.

  “You said you’re older than you look. Do you have children?”

  “I had children and grandchildren. I’ve outlived them all.”

  * * *

  Unable to resist her need to touch him, Lorelle reached across the table and squeezed his hand. “I’m so sorry. I can’t even imagine how horrible that must have been.”
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  He caressed the top of her hand with his thumb, his gaze warm upon her face. “I’ve had many years to adjust to the loss.”

  “Are any of… the mothers still alive?”

  “It’s complicated.” He eased his hand out of her light grasp and pushed back from the table. “Before the war began, an average lifespan for both Stilox and Protarians was about five hundred years. The war itself cut that in half and the biological weapons decreased it even further.”

  She wasn’t sure what the statistics had to do with the mothers of his children, so she just nodded.

  “I was recruited for an experimental program not long after the war began. The Protarians kept building more destructive weapons, so we had no choice but to build tougher soldiers. At least that’s what we were told.”

  “How did they make you tougher?”

  “We were injected with a series of nanites.”

  “This is what you meant when you speculated about my language skills.”

  “Yes. The nanites made us stronger, faster, and healthier. They also allowed us to learn more rapidly and retain information indefinitely. We became extremely resistant to disease and were able to heal almost any injury.”

  “So you survived while others died?”

  He glanced away with a stiff nod. “I never realized how unpleasant longevity would become. Everyone I cared about died and still I lived on, healthy and basically unchanged. It was as if time flowed around me.”

  “I can’t pretend to understand all you’ve lived through, but I’m starting to understand what it feels like not to age.”

  “I suppose you are.” He crossed his arms over his chest and released a long, slow sigh. “It’s interesting that the woman fate chose to be my mate is struggling with a similar affliction.”

  How could he accept that they were mates without a second thought? Their physical attraction was undeniable, but it took more than biological compatibility to spend a lifetime with one person.

  Rather than starting another argument, she said, “I don’t consider an extended lifespan an affliction. But then time hasn’t been flowing around me nearly as long as it has you.”