by Willow Danes
Unexpectedly his arms went around her, his big body warm against her back. He put his hands under the faucet with hers, spreading his fingers in the water.
Jenna hesitated, clutching the bar of honeysuckle soap. She glanced at him in the reflection as he took the soap from her, surprise showing on his face at the slipperiness of it. He rubbed it between his hands as she’d done, inhaling the scent, looking delighted at the resulting bubbles.
He met her gaze briefly in the mirror then put the soap down and caught her hands between his large, warm ones. Taking his time, his expression intent as if it were the most serious of things, he gently washed one of her hands then the other. He rinsed her hands with that same absorbed focus, the careful handling and utter tenderness of it making her throat tighten.
In her whole life no man had ever touched her like this—as if she were the most precious thing in the world and he was overwhelmed at simply being allowed to.
“Thank you,” she murmured thickly, surprised to find she had to blink tears away.
She grabbed the towel hung next to the sink and dried her hands. Her cheeks warmed under that vivid alien gaze as she dried both of his too.
He was standing very close, searching her face, looking as if he were trying to memorize every curve and line.
Jenna ventured a shy smile and with a glimmer of fangs he smiled back, not as broadly this time, like he was afraid of frightening her with his grin as he had before.
God, he smells amazing.
“Okay,” she muttered, twisting around to hang the towel up. “Maybe need to refocus here.”
When she turned back he was still regarding her with the same intent interest. It was so tempting to grab that big hand of his, pull him back into her bedroom, and find out just what she needed to do to get him rumbling again . . .
“I’m hungry,” she blurted. “What about you? You hungry?”
He didn’t answer, of course, and he didn’t move either. She had to shimmy past him to leave and he felt like solid warm muscle against her. He followed her into the kitchen, ducking his head through the doorway, his footsteps heavy on the wooden floor in those boots of his. She hadn’t even started packing in here, intending to do it last. The fridge and cabinets were still full.
She opened the fridge, leaning against the side of the door as she scanned the contents.
What do you serve a seven-foot-tall alien for dinner?
“Whatever the hell he wants,” she said under her breath.
Well, he’d fed her meat earlier so obviously he ate that.
“How about breakfast for dinner?” she asked, not expecting an answer, and grabbed a package of bacon and the carton of eggs from the fridge. “I make a great cheese omelet.”
Jenna pulled the rest of the ingredients and started the cast iron pan heating for the bacon. She’d cook that first, then do the omelets in the bacon grease, country-style. She got the bread loaded into the toaster so she could drop them when the omelets were almost done.
As soon as she started the bacon frying the alien’s sniffer went crazy.
He stood right beside her, his electric blue eyes dancing between her and the sizzling bacon with such hopeful eagerness that Jenna couldn’t help but smile.
“Don’t worry,” she assured as she turned the strips. “I’m making plenty for both of us.”
When the bacon was crisp she put the slices on paper towels to absorb the extra grease. As soon as it was cool enough to handle she gave him a slice.
He crushed the strip into his mouth in one bite, already reaching for the next. With four bites he finished off all the bacon she’d cooked.
“Wow,” she managed. “I guess it’s a good thing I have another whole package.”
Of the next twelve slices of bacon she fried up she managed to snag only one but the look on his face was such pure bliss it was hard to complain.
“I guess they don’t have cholesterol on your planet,” she said, watching him lick the bacon grease from his fingers, rumbling in satisfaction.
At his size, he dwarfed the kitchen’s battered old table and chairs and the fork looked almost comically small in his hand. He had some trouble copying how she cut her food with the edge of the fork so she grabbed a knife and cut his omelet into more manageable, bite-sized pieces for him. He wolfed down everything she’d given him with appreciative rumbles and she wound up giving him a third of her food to polish off as well.
Toast with butter and strawberry jam slathered on top brought him to a whole new level of happiness. Orange juice became a quick favorite too and he decimated half the Tropicana jug, pouring glass after glass for himself.
When he’d finished everything he sat back, looking at her with warm eyes.
“You know what?” Jenna gave him a quick smile. “I have an idea.”
Her grandfather hadn’t had much appetite in his last days and she hadn’t had the heart for baking since, but she could still make Pap’s favorite double-fudge chocolate chip brownies in her sleep. She pulled the ingredients and had the mise en place put together in minutes. The alien watched as she cracked eggs and measured cocoa and sugar. He stood at her side as she mixed, watching as she smoothed the batter into the pan.
She slid the pan into the oven and he stuck his hand inside before she could shut the door.
“Oh, careful,” she cried, grabbing his wrist to pull his hand out. “You’ll hurt yourself.”
He watched her mouth as she spoke like he was trying to catch her words and gave a soft huff when she stopped.
The alien busied himself exploring the kitchen as she washed up. He opened and closed drawers, touching everything he could get his hands on, holding this or that up to the light to get a better look.
Glancing at him as she worked, she wondered if his vision was different than hers. Certainly he seemed to have a much better sense of smell; his eyes were alight with interest and he was sniffing at the oven long before she could smell the brownies at all. The timer went off just as she was finished wiping up the counter and he caught her wrist as she opened the oven door to take the pan out.
“It’s okay,” she assured, showing him she was going to use an oven mitt to protect her hand.
He hesitated then relaxed his grip, trailing his fingers along her palm as she pulled her hand away.
He inhaled deeply as she took the brownies out.
“We have to let them cool,” she warned, waving him back. Jenna wasn’t sure why she kept talking. It wasn’t like he could understand her. It just made her feel more comfortable around him.
I shouldn’t be comfortable. I shouldn’t be enjoying this. He shot me! He handcuffed me to the bed. He’s a fucking alien, for God’s sake!
But she was enjoying this. Enjoying watching his face light up with each new taste, seeing his intent interest in every little thing she did, touching and examining things with the openhearted curiosity of a child.
“I gotta throw another log on the fire,” she muttered, pushing past him into the living room.
She moved the fire gate aside, aware of how he tensed as she put the log on. She moved the gate back and straightened to find herself looking at one of the photos of her and Pap on the mantle.
It had been taken the summer before he’d gotten sick. Pap was smiling big, his rounded cheeks ruddy with good health. He was wearing his favorite battered fishing hat and vest, holding a catch the size of a goldfish. She was next to him, a couple inches taller than he, her cheeks and nose pink from the sun, a spray of freckles across her nose, her brown hair showing bits of gold, grinning too as she held up a ten-pound bass.
A lump formed in her throat. She reached for the bird charm at her throat, the one he’d given her when she’d first come to live with him, her tears blurring his smiling face.
I miss you so much . . .
She startled when the alien touched her, his hand light as he cradled the back of her head, stroking her hair. She met his eyes and he blinked, his gaze following the progress of
the tears on her face. He gently brushed away a tear from her face and rubbed the wetness between his fingers.
“That’s my Pap,” she said with a nod at the photo. “He . . . he died a little while ago. That’s why I’m sad.”
He glanced at the photo and back at her, his head tilted. She took the frame down and pointed at her grandfather. “Pap.”
“Pppaaapp,” he growled.
She gave a short laugh and wiped her nose with the back of her hand. “Hey, that was pretty good.”
He pointed to the image of her.
“Well, that’s me. I mean, obviously.”
He waited, searching her face. He tapped the image of her again, more insistently this time.
She passed her hand over her eyes. “Right. Sorry. I’m an idiot. You want my name. Jenna.”
He jerked his chin sharply at her.
“My name is Jenna,” she said, then more slowly and pointing to herself, “Jenna.”
“Jjjeennnnaaa,” he rumbled. He leaned closer, his callused hand cupping her face. “Jjjeeennnaaaa.”
She caught herself rubbing her cheek against the warmth of his rough palm.
She cleared her throat. “What’s your name? I mean, aliens must have names too, right?”
He was looking at her mouth again as if trying to decipher the stream of words.
She pointed at the photo. “Pap.” She pointed at herself. “Jenna.” Then she touched his chest, raising her eyebrows.
“Rrraaa’kkuurrr.”
“Ra’kur?” she repeated, trying to mimic his rolling growl.
A smile flittered across his face but whether he was amused by her pronunciation or happy that she’d even come close she couldn’t tell.
“Jjjeeennnaaaa. Rrraaa’kkuurrr.” He took her hand and placed her palm against his chest, his hand over hers. She could feel his heart thumping under her palm. He growled something but whether it was a bunch of words or one really long one she couldn’t even begin to say.
He seemed to be expecting something back so she offered a quick smile. “Jenna. Ra’kur.”
She eased her hand out from under his and placed the photo back on the mantle. She took a shaky breath; Pap grinned back at her.
“Come on, Ra’kur.” Jenna gave the alien a watery smile. “Let’s get you a brownie.”
Four
Maybe I should have gone with Parcheesi instead . . .
She got two tiny brownies and Ra’kur got the rest of the pan. By the time he’d polished off his stack of brownies, rumbling happily again, it wasn’t even ten o’clock. He wasn’t showing any signs of sleepiness for her to even think about snagging the car keys and this time of year the sun wouldn’t rise till half past seven.
Jenna wasn’t sure when he was going to fall asleep. Maybe he only slept once a week or something.
For all she knew, he never slept at all.
Being stuck without satellite left her with a bunch of musty-smelling board games and whatever old films were around to entertain her alien guest. Jenna unpacked some DVDs from the “donate” box trying to find something they could watch. Ra’kur examined the disks, turning them this way and that in the light, seeming just as fascinated by the mirror-like side as the printed one.
She flipped past Rocky and—oh-no-fucking-way—Predator and settled on The Gentleman Rogue.
Ra’kur sat beside her on the big plaid sofa—she had to move the coffee table to make room for his long legs—watching the costume romantic comedy with polite attention. Not being able to understand the Gentleman Rogue, Charles, and Lady Nell’s snappy, flirty dialogue while the pair ran around Restoration England would no doubt make this film really boring but Jenna wanted him calm, maybe even sleepy, which was why she’d picked it.
Well, that and she’d forgotten all about the scene when the Rogue and Lady Nell kiss.
As soon as Charles laid one on Nell, Ra’kur sat bolt upright, his attention riveted to the screen. He leaned forward, studying as Charles and Nell fell back on the bed to get hot and heavy, their lacy, anachronistic undies flying.
When the scene cut to the next morning with the still-naked Rogue jumping out the window to escape the Duke and his men, Ra’kur turned wide, glowing eyes on her.
Jenna cringed, remembering how she’d tried to kiss him earlier.
“Yeah, listen, I . . . Hey!” she exclaimed, pushing herself up from the sofa. “How’d you like to try popcorn?”
She headed toward the kitchen but quicker than she could have believed possible Ra’kur was in front of her, blocking her way.
He reached out, lightly touching her mouth with two fingers, then he touched his own mouth, his eyes questioning.
“Yeah, sorry about that earlier,” she said, ducking her head.
He repeated the action, touching her mouth, then his own.
“Nnnnammme,” he growled.
“Oh, yeah. Right.” Of course he just wanted the name for it. His earlier shocked reaction showed he wasn’t interested in doing it. There were even some human cultures that found mouth kissing to be disgusting.
“It’s called a kiss.” She pointed to her own mouth then his. “Kiss.”
“Ggggrrisss,” he rumbled.
“Close enough,” she allowed, trying to move past him.
He caught her and struck the exact pose the actor had, right down to Charles’ brief, dramatic pause as the music came up, then Ra’kur brought his mouth to hers.
Even though he clearly had no idea what to do, just having his lips pressed to hers, breathing in his wonderful cinnamon scent, sent every nerve of her body alight.
She blinked up at him as he drew away.
He jerked his chin at her a little, his growl very soft. “Ggggrrisss.”
Jenna searched his vivid blue eyes then, wetting her lips, took his face in her hands and he willingly bent down. Tilting her head, she brought her mouth to his. His breath drew in sharply when she flicked her tongue at the seam between his lips.
Her tongue touched the inner part of his lip, then she deepened the kiss. His mouth had more of that sweet spice taste to it and her arms wound around his neck to bring him closer. His hands went to her waist, resting there lightly, and when she drew back to meet his gaze, his eyes were wide and stunned.
Jenna’s brow creased. He looked like he’d just been hit with a brick.
“You okay?” she asked, not surprised to find her own voice breathless.
He blinked a few times and she saw him swallow. Then he caught her face gently between his hands. “Ggggrrisss.”
He lightly rubbed his nose up one side of hers and down the other again.
That’s what he was doing earlier? Alien-style kissing me?
Any other questions, and the power to form them, fled as he rubbed his nose against hers again and made the growling-purring rumble that went right through her breasts and down her belly to tingle between her legs.
This time, when he brought his nose down the other side, he caught her in a kiss and his purr-growl against her mouth set her on fire.
He took his time kissing her, his mouth sliding over hers, taking his time as his tongue explored, the cinnamon-sweet taste of him luscious. His hands traced her body, lingering for a moment on her buttocks to press her closer, and she felt him hard against her belly.
The thought that this was crazy, that they might not even have sex the same way, flittered through her mind then stumbling, clumsy with wanting, she pulled him into her bedroom.
He never stopped kissing her and the rumbling had her ready to go right then. She was already so aroused, so wet, if he’d been human she would be riding him already.
In moments he had her sweater over her head and her jeans off, leaving her clad now only in bra and panties. They were nothing special, both just plain black cotton, but his gaze was hot as it ran over her. His fingers traced over her skin beside the bra straps, then cupped her breasts in his large hands. Her nipples hardened, her breath quickening as his thumbs flicked across the pe
aks.
He slid the straps over her shoulders, pulling the bra down to uncover her, and his gaze softened as he regarded her bare breasts. Gently he cupped one, seeming fascinated by the pale globe cradled in his palm.
His hands dipped to her ribs and waist and he tugged on the bra, looking frustrated that it didn’t simply come away. Jenna’s hands came up to unfasten it and felt a tug as he impatiently tore the fabric.
He sat on the bed to look at her breasts, his hands still at her waist. He gave her a hot, questioning look.
Jenna gave a quick, breathless nod. “Kiss.”
His eyes darkened and he pulled her toward him. For a moment he leaned his face in the valley between her breasts, inhaling deeply. For an instant the thought of those fangs crossed her mind then he gently caught her nipple in his mouth. Jenna caught herself against his shoulders to keep herself upright as his tongue teased, the tone of his rumbling going deeper. He traced his tongue over to her other breast and kissed there too and Jenna’s hands threaded through his hair to press him closer.
His hands were at her panties now, sliding them down, and he drew back to look at her dark thatch of hair. He caught her around the waist and swung her onto the bed, then positioned himself over her and spread her legs wider.
Jenna felt herself blush at the absorbed way he looked at her pussy. His fingers traced her slit and he glanced at her.
“Here,” she said, using her fingers to spread her folds. She wet her finger with her mouth and traced her clit with small circles while he watched and then, after a few moments, rested his forefinger over hers to learn the rhythm. Jenna slid her finger from under his and very gently he stroked her with the same circular motion. Her eyes fell shut and her mouth parted as his fingers moved against her.
She caught his hand and he blinked at her, clearly worried he had done something wrong.
“Now here.” She took his finger and pressed it to her opening, and catching hold of his hand, she helped him slide his finger inside.
