by Gemma Voss
Kila observes the beat-up Navara quizzically. “This doesn’t really suit you,” he comments, before opening the passenger door.
I climb into the driver’s seat and start her up. “I know, but it works.”
As soon as the engine is going, Kila leans across the console to kiss me hard. He cradles the back of my head and devours my neck, sliding his tongue across the skin. It heats and tingles there, then he suckles me hard enough to leave a mark.
“You know, we have to leave here if you want to make it to my bed,” I remind him when we come up for air. We’ve learned that the tongue won’t make me insatiable until I ingest it, but I still don’t know if I could make the drive home if he keeps this act up.
“Start it driving and I’ll kiss you until we arrive,” he says, sliding his hand from my knee down to the apex of my thigh.
“I don’t think you get it,” I say, shaking with laughter again. “I have to operate the car myself.”
“That is ridiculous,” he complains. “This thing is massive and unwieldy, yet it does not bear the proper technology to auto-pilot?”
“No,” I say, picking his hand up off my leg and placing it back into his own lap. “Now keep those over there or you’ll get us both killed in a car wreck. This is from before the Occupation, when very few cars could drive themselves.”
Kila reluctantly obeys as I shift into gear and start pulling out of the lot.
“So… Love,” I say as calmly as possible. “You said you were studying it. Do you mean from watching the movies?”
He is fiddling with the air vents and examining the radio as he replies, “Yes. But I also found there was a wealth of information on the subject in many Earth databases. I’m embarrassed I wasn’t aware. Kiva spoke to me at length on the subject, having researched it prior to our arrival here. I confess… perhaps I didn’t prepare for our original research project as I should have.”
“You mean, since you now know that it’s very important to ‘mating practices’?” I question.
“Yes,” he agrees. “But there is no better way to understand than to experience it. And we are in love, are we not?”
He says this so confidently, so casually. My heart is melting and tightening all at once. My palms are sweaty on the steering wheel. I don’t know what to say. Am I in love? Is that what this is?
His fingers fall away from the dashboard. “Ella? Aren’t we?”
I can’t bear to look at him. “I don’t know,” I croak. “I… Maybe?”
Silence. Heavy silence follows. I sneak a look in his direction. He stares out the window, pensive.
“What does the word mean to you, Kila? How can you know for certain?” I say. “I want to tell you I’m in love with you, but I just haven’t ever said that after knowing someone for only a month.”
“I did not realize there was a time quotient,” he replies. “I have read about an idea called ‘love at first sight’ after all. It seems popular. It was my understanding that love is shared by two persons that wish to be together, in the realms of both sexual desire and daily pursuits of enjoyment, and that there is a level of need involved, similar to addiction.”
“When you put it like that,” I mutter, swinging the car into my apartment complex.
When we stop, he hurries out and hustles around to open my door and help me down. “Why is this vehicle so high from the ground?” he grumbles. “I think your tiny ankles could easily be injured.”
“I’m not a fragile bird,” I snort, flushing at his gentlemanly gesture.
“Birds are designed to land at flight speed,” he informs me. “Your ankles are more fragile than a bird’s.”
“Not really what I meant…”
“You are avoiding our earlier topic of conversation,” he points out. Aliens really don’t beat around the bush and they are goddamn allergic to subtlety.
“I know… I know,” I breathe out, feeling a spout of blabbery nonsense ready to pour out. “I probably do, you know, feel that for you. But I’m not sure I’m ready to admit that to myself, because it’s scary… And you’re wonderful, and this is happening so fast. But then there’s all the craziness of the war and your friends being against it and I just— There’s also this human ritual part of it, that I know you don’t necessarily get and it just surprised me that all this time you felt you loved me and you never said—”
“Ella,” he interrupts with firmness. We are stopped outside the entrance, flanked by the hedges that block the first-floor apartment windows from the street. “I will partake in whatever ritual you wish or wait as long as you need. What is this ritual? Do you refer to marriage? I have heard of it, but I am unclear on the details—”
“No! God, no, not marriage, not yet,” I gasp. “One step at a time. And I don’t mean a specific ritual. Just, taking a special moment to be romantic and confess to someone that you love them.”
“That is vague, but I will strategize on it,” he says, brows furrowing.
I open my mouth to reply, but the sound of snapping branches causes me to hesitate. Kila’s ears perk, and his head snaps in the direction of the hedges behind me.
Then, he launches himself into the greenery.
“Kila,” I hiss, quickly checking the area to make sure no neighbors are watching this odd behavior. “It was probably a rabbit. What the hell are you—”
The sound of growling and groaning follows, along with a thud and a sickening crunch that might be bone.
“AAannnh! Please, I’m sorry, I can explain!”
Oh, shit. That sounds suspiciously like—
“Vic?” I shout, incredulous at the sight of Kila dragging Vic by the ankles out of the brush. Mulch spills out of the garden bed as his wriggling body topples onto the concrete. “Holy shit. Kila, put him down.”
“He tried to run,” Kila says, keeping a tight grip on Vic’s ankle as the man rolls around on the sidewalk clutching his arm.
“He dislocated my shoulder,” whines Vic. I can tell from the way it dangles unnaturally that he must be correct. “Fuck, fuck, fuck…”
“Be still,” Kila growls, then reaches over and shoves the arm back into the socket. Vic lets out a shrill whimper. “There. Now, care to tell us why you are hiding in the bushes outside Ella’s apartment?”
“I came to warn her! I’m trying to help, okay? I was going to catch her after work, but when I saw you were with her, I panicked. And you can see why! I knew from the second I first saw you that you were a psycho,” Vic grits out, now lifting a hand to his nose.
“Warn her of what?” Kila asks, crouching over the man threateningly.
“I think he broke my nose, too,” he says, turning towards me and dragging himself into a seated position.
“The wall broke your nose,” Kila says, leaning back to cross his arms over his chest. “If you had turned to face me like a warrior then you would not have smashed into the wall when I caught you.”
“Oh, stop it. Kila, give him some space,” I say. “What are you warning me about, Vic? I’m getting death threats. What more can you have to say? That’s why he’s here. He’s protecting me.”
“Oh, that’s why he’s here?” Vic sends me a disgusted glance. “Just admit it, you’re an alien fucker. You know, I really shouldn’t have wasted my time, thinking I was doing the right thing.”
I roll my eyes. “Shit or get off the pot, okay? Tell me what you know or get out of here. I don’t need to listen to your bullshit.”
“The crowd I was hanging with, they’re getting a little radical. My friend started going to this compound with these guys that think this genocide is all a hoax. And now you’re the poster girl for it. Do the math. I’ve seen what they do. They know your name! Tell me the truth, Ella. Does the KaKa planet even exist?”
“Kar’Kal,” Kila corrects. “I can tell you many things about it. Would you like to hear the traditional Kar’Kali method of torture? All you need is a simple blade and a long, long, time alone with your victim. I don’t have a blade
with me this evening, so I’m disappointed I can’t provide a demonstration.”
Vic skitters all over and jumps to his feet. “Oh, so you’re one of the so-called survivors?”
“Are you going to tell me specifics?” I ask him. “So maybe we can do something about it?”
“Look, no one’s even seen these guys. Can’t you bring ‘em out in the world and have them talk about it? Do some public mourning? Make those people believe that it’s real,” he says.
“We do not mourn on Kar’Kal,” Kila tells him. “Death is inevitable. That is our way.”
“You know just as well as I do that seeing Kila and the other Kar’Kali is not going to convince crazy conspiracy theorists that what we say is true. If you tell me these people’s names or any information, then we can do something before they hurt people,” I try to reason with him.
Vic is shaking his head and backing away slowly.
“You think I cannot catch you?” Kila whispers with a mocking smirk.
“I shouldn’t even be here,” Vic says anxiously. “Just a warning. That’s all. They usually catch people at their own places.”
He turns and sprints across the parking lot. I tug on Kila’s sleeve. “Let him go,” I sigh.
“Why? I was not kidding about the torture technique. It is rather effective, and we could bring him up to your apartment and show him your big knives.”
“That’s not how we do things here on Earth,” I tell him.
He takes my hand and places an affectionate kiss on my palm. “Ah, disappointing. At least we can be assured, these people cannot catch you here without catching me as well.”
Chapter 19
KILA
The smell of Ella’s apartment is just as I remember it. I take a seat on her couch and simply bask in it, my head cushioned by a pile of her clothing that she must have left here. This time, she does not rush to remove her stray items from my sight. I hope this means that she feels more comfortable in my presence now. With her in my line of sight, safe and sound, I can relax if only for a moment. She is preparing a meal, which I know enjoys. She once told me it is her favorite part of the day. I watch her little ritual from my position in the seating area.
Her shoes were discarded by the door. Her sweater is next to go, and she flings it onto one of her stools. I see now why articles might begin to accumulate in her living area. The sight of her in her undershirt is much more appealing. She starts by opening a bottle of wine— her preferred drink, which she insists I partake in this evening. She lines up two glasses and fills them with a dark red liquid. Then, she ducks and bobs around, pulling out ingredients and items and her big chopping knife. I told her I don’t care what she makes, and that made her smile. I think she likes to surprise me.
The time that has passed since I’ve known her is beginning to feel like the only time in my lifespan that matters. Pakka might say that it is the hormones causing such a thought, but I have decided that I do not care.
After all, are we not a composite of inherited rituals and biological needs? How much of who I am have I truly chosen? The Kar’Kal Birth Center made me from seed and egg, gave me to a training unit, and taught me to kill Azza troops. Some unseen member of my genetic predecessors happened to possess a strong mind for calculations and gifted this trait to me. For that reason, they plucked me from the Domestics and shipped me to the research force. The luck of the draw put me in Pakka’s path. Then I ended up here, and the sights, sounds, and thoughts of this human female have changed me forever.
“Penny for your thoughts?” Ella calls across the room.
“Is this not the smallest United States coinage?” I ask. “Are my thoughts worth so little?”
“Wow, that Kar’Kali sense of humor… never gets old,” she snorts. “You’re not worried over what Vic said, are you? Drink a glass of wine and you’ll feel much better.”
As she tells me this, she is already pouring herself a second glass. The one intended for me sits on the bar top. I walk over and inspect it, giving it a sniff.
“It smells like the rotting bark of a thatha tree,” I say.
“Is that… good?”
I take a tentative sip, expecting it to taste like earth. It blooms on my tongue like a mixture of metal and berries, warming the inside of my mouth. “Strange,” is all I can think to say.
“Just wait until you taste it with the steak. It’s going to be amazing,” she promises.
I have learned not to doubt her in the realm of food and beverage.
***
When we are well and truly stuffed, and lying down hugging, or ‘cuddling’ as she calls it, I wonder which moments are deemed special enough to ritualistically confess my love to her. It feels special to be like this, but is that only because I have been kept from her side for so long? I decide the best course of action is to bring her to a dizzying climax just beforehand. After she reaches her pleasure, it will be a very special moment, and she’ll feel entirely relaxed.
“It’s been too long since we did this last,” she sighs against my chest. She is molded atop me like a blanket. Right now, all she wears are her thin fitted pants and a tiny undershirt, which clings to her breasts so closely I can feel her hardened nipples. She had removed her supportive undergarment after dinner because it was ‘bothering her.’ I admitted to her that its very existence bothered me too, and that made her laugh. “But I’ve thought about it so many times.”
“I’ve just been thinking very similar thoughts,” I admit to her.
Her hum of interest vibrates over my skin. “How could you stand it? Because I couldn’t.”
“Last time I told you of taking myself in my own hand, I was ashamed,” I muse. “Now it seems a painfully regular occurrence. I can’t bring myself to feel guilty.”
“I know how you feel,” she says.
My interest is piqued.
“You had not told me of this,” I say, running a finger down the side of her flushing cheek. “Now, how often do you touch yourself and think of me?”
“Why should I tell you?” She pokes me in the side and I flinch from the tickling feeling.
“I am conducting a study,” I begin to tease her.
She sits back, escaping the circle of my arms, and grabs one of the colorful pillows from the couch. “Oh?” she asks. She swats at my face with her pillow-weapon. Her jiggling breasts draw my attention and make me harden immediately. “What kind of study?”
It’s amusing to see her engage me in play-fighting like a child of few passings. She moves to swat again and I lazily reach for her fluffy weapon. The squirming as she dodges me causes her crotch to rub against my cock in the most pleasant of ways.
“The study will investigate the frequency of female masturbation, as it relates to the number of days since mating her male,” I say.
“You pervert,” she laughs. She stills and reaches her arms up over her head to stretch and yawn.
Disappointed that she is no longer rubbing against me, I snake my hand up her thighs and caress her. I trace my thumb along the seam of her pants. They are so thin that I can feel the heat of her through the fabric. A soft sigh of approval comes from her as I press into her folds. I slide my thumb up, seeking the apex of her slit and that little sensitive spot— the one that makes her wriggle and buck her hips. When she drops the pillow and quietly says, “Oh,” I know I’ve found it. I knead over the area, making slow circles. My palm is braced over her hot center. It begins to dampen, and her breathing rattles.
“I thought you were going to assault me for being a pervert,” I remind her. “Or did you forget what we were talking about?”
With my free hand I grasp her by the ass. Her body jumps to attention, always so responsive to my touch. I pull her forward, positioning her thighs against the sides of my chest. My face is level with her crotch, but when I glance up, I can see her breasts heaving. Perfect.
“Mmm, Kila… you know I forgot,” she says while I tug down the waist band of her bottoms. Unlike those
mind-boggling see-through ‘tights’, it seems strong enough that I will not tear them. She isn’t wearing the extra undergarments beneath, which pleases me. As soon as her wet pink slit is visible, I caress it and run my finger through the slippery folds. She shivers and looks down at me, eyes lidded and lusty.
“You’re teasing me,” she accuses, as I slowly play with her. I am enjoying the heat of her, and the way her juice smells and feels.
“I did ask you a question,” I say, poising my thumb over her hooded little flesh button. What did she call it? “Don’t you want me to touch you here?”
“Yes,” she groans. Her entire cunt twitches. Great Ka, I have her right where I want her. “Yes, touch my clit… Please, baby.”
Ah yes, she calls it her clit. A strange word, but I like it nevertheless. I also like to hear her pleas. It’s making my hard cock ache for her when she whines like that, so needful.
“No,” I say, slowly running my thumb over her clit. “That’s not the question I need an answer for. I asked you how often you touch yourself and think of me.”
“You psycho,” she laughs, but it cuts off as a choking noise when I slip my finger inside her. I had hoped only to coat my finger in her wetness to drag over the rest of her, but I feel her cunt clench. Does she like this too, I wonder? I thrust her experimentally, leaning back to watch her face for her response. She grinds against me and moans.
“Tell me,” I urge her, pulling my finger out and teasing her clit once again.
“Oh, God,” she sighs. “Almost every day, okay? What do you think? You just kiss me and dry hump me in a stairwell every day… A girl’s gonna get horny.”
This thought thrills me. I now press two fingers inside and thrust her. The position makes it easy for me to press against her clit with my thumb at the same time. Once I begin this combination, she shrieks in approval, throwing her head back and clutching the couch back for support. I can’t help but picture her on this very couch, all alone, fingering herself until she comes. I flicker my thumb even faster over her. The sound of my fingers thrusting her becomes a delicious squelching noise. It makes me want to sit her over my lips and suck out the juices.
