The Big Bang Alien Love Affair

by Olivia Myers

  When not all the children survive, she recalled. She said slowly, "So in order to stop a woman becoming pregnant, you just...retract the outermost tubes. Kind of a natural form of birth control?"

  "More or less."

  "But what about—well—interspecies sex?"

  "That's a little different," he admitted. "There's no problem if most of the tubes are retracted."

  "Like that?" She touched him again.

  "Yes."

  "And if they're not?"

  "Then it had better be in the ass," he said bluntly. "Because you would conceive."

  "Oh." She decided she did not want to go where those thoughts took her.

  He was showing his teeth. "It's time, Larissa. Last chance to run." Each of his hands slid a chunk of her long black hair through his. His hands...Larissa's eyes bulged.

  "You do have...."

  "I keep them filed. They're also retractable. Fully." He showed her.

  She remembered when his fingers were inside her sex. Had the flaj disguised those claws, or had they been the cause of those amazing sensations? She was suddenly eager to find out.

  Something impish made her tease him. "Maybe I should run. After all, well, claws. I don't think I can handle claws."

  The blues of his eyes darkened as the slits of his pupils widened. All desire to tease him fled at that look. Her mouth watered. Her breasts peaked. Her sex swelled.

  He sprang. One moment she was standing before him, the next she was on the floor. He was on her, pressing her down so she couldn't move one finger. The sensations swamped her—the almost velvety roughness and hardness of his torso scales, the slicker ones on the inside of his arms.

  And the heat. His body temperature had to be a good five degrees hotter than her own. She wanted to know if his scales had blood vessels or just transmitted the heat from his flesh. But the time for asking questions had passed.

  His cock was stabbing at her. Its warmth drove her crazy. She wanted closer to it. She wanted closer to everything. He had to know it, too, as they could both hear the whimpers coming from her throat.

  His mouth came open onto hers. Larissa felt the slick heat of his tongue, then probed tentatively into his mouth in return—and quickly retreated. His teeth were sharp.

  "Be careful," he gritted. "I tongue you. You don't tongue me. We're not equal in this."

  That made her shudder. They weren't equal in any of it, she thought.

  "I don't care. Just put your cock inside me," she breathed. "Don't wait. I've wanted you there since, stars, Vector, since I woke up to your bioplay. Please."

  He made a fierce sound against her breast. "Don't move," he said. His teeth came out and very, very carefully surrounded the nipple. Tiny needlepricks made tears spring to her eyes. It was on the edge of hurting. Abruptly her nipple was sucked into his mouth and the strong, soft suckling made her gasp.

  "Vector, didn't you hear me? I want—"

  His legs widened, forcing hers apart, and she breathed a sigh of relief. She felt herself drench with fluids, open, throb.

  But all he did was take her clit between his fingertips and squeeze. His fingers twisted and she felt the scrape of his claws.

  "No," she moaned and flung her head to the side.

  His mouth popped off the nipple. "Damn, you're soaking. Your clit is so hard. Larissa, does it hurt?"

  "No, yes. No. Just come inside me, please."

  But he just said, "Keep talking," and returned to suckling her breast. Soon she was yelling, demanding that he stop teasing her. Every time he lifted his head and looked at her, she felt his ferocious satisfaction. He was enjoying this, damn his scales.

  She could feel his cock rubbing against her vulva, sliding back and forth in a rhythm. Swiftly she reached down and tried to push it where she wanted it.

  "How many men have there really been, Larissa? Tell me the truth. I won't go nova on you, even if you've fucked the whole damn galaxy."

  "None, you stupid man." Her hips thrust, seeking his cock. There! She'd managed to capture—no. The tip wasn't pointed to probe. She'd have to wait for him to come around to lodging himself there. Unless...

  She reached down and grabbed his flesh. Squeezed and squeezed, for all the good it did—there was just no give. He lifted his head and looked down, obviously interested in what she was doing but nowhere near as wild as she'd expect a man to be. If pressure didn't do it for him, what would it take...?

  Suddenly she got a clue. He'd seemed to relish any contact with her wetness. So she lifted up and aided him. His eyes darkened and his lips opened. Then with her hands, she smeared her fluids all over every bit of him. "Larissa," he said hoarsely. He rose up on his arms and his hands pinned hers down. This was his mounting. Yes.

  His cock slowly entered her. Despite the care he'd taken to size down, she still felt stretched almost painfully. Almost. Just barely. Mostly it was all pleasure.

  "So wet," he rumbled. "That's good."

  Apparently, it was very good, because he wasn't a short fuck. They rolled together on the floor for almost an hour, while Larissa found herself pleasured out of her senses, in whatever way he felt like, always pounding inside her, frequently demanding she tell him if this hurt or that hurt.

  It was the first time she'd made love to a man while focusing more on her own sensations than his. By the time he came, she was feeling almost guilty. She'd lost count of the number of times she'd climaxed, each as powerful as the first. No tapering here. She had no idea what the previous human women he'd taken to bed were thinking; how could they have gotten more pain than pleasure from Vector? He was the antithesis of casual fuck.

  Only when she began to slow down herself, did Vector bring it to an end. That low sound she recognized rumbled from his throat, and his body began to tremble. His scales pricked her skin all down the front. Every nerve in her body focused on him. He was expanding inside her. Not just a little, but a scary lot. Heat and pressure burst inside her and a brand new sensation gripped her and then exploded. What the hell was that? Some kind of cervical orgasm?

  He shouted, shuddered, and kept thrusting—and thrusting—and she really could feel his ejaculate. The breath got knocked out of her a couple of times, but only for a few moments. She could live with it. “Will your…sprayseed…burn me?”

  “No,” he said. “Your vaginal walls are safe; it just hurts your outer skin.”

  When he finally slid out, he kept his softened flesh against hers and, turning his head, set in to a session of suckling her breasts that made her want to sob with happiness.

  Much, much later, she started feeling normal again. She found her breath was still a little short in supply, but that didn't bother her too much. What was somewhat worrisome was how wet she was all over, with her own sweat and who-knows-what else. Vector was dabbing her with her clothes, wiping her thighs, and licking her navel.

  He looked satisfied. "You're a wet pet, you know that? That's probably about the only thing saving you." He trailed one claw up her thigh, across her belly, up to her lips. She grabbed the tip instinctively with her teeth.

  "Wet pet?"

  "Just a figure of speech."

  "There's no saving me now," she said. "Not from you."

  His Resstessian eyes narrowed. "Good. I'm glad you see that. Then you'll come home with me tonight. And you might as well move your stuff to my place tomorrow."

  "Your unit?"

  "It's where I live."

  Move in with him. Give up her fancy penthouse. Become the woman of an alien.

  "If I do, will you finally admit that a human and a Resstessian can be in a relationship happily together?"

  "Maybe. If you're not too annoying."

  "Well, that's easy. Just keep your mouth shut, and we'll get along fine!"

  She was gratified to learn that he did know how to smile.

  The End

  Here is a FREE bonus romance story called “Trouble” by Olivia Myers.

  TROUBLE

  Duke knew the
girl was trouble the second she walked through the door. Not that Shotguns Bar was any stranger to trouble. Most of the men that came in to belly-up to the scarred walnut bar or play a borderline unfriendly game of pool were rough and tumble types, bikers and bad-asses, and Duke had to put his military training to use busting heads and rousting surly drunks pretty often.

  But she was a whole different kind of trouble.

  The late afternoon sunlight streaming through the dusty windows gleamed off her long, wavy blonde hair as she tossed it over her shoulder. She scanned the bar, slender, long-fingered hands propped on her hips, and her haughty little snub nose in the air.

  She’d made an attempt to dress down, but if her faded denim mini-skirt with its frayed hem wasn’t ‘designer distressed’ or whatever they called that shit, Duke would eat his own jeans — which were ragged and worn nearly white in places because he’d had them for over a decade, not because some he’d bought them that way.

  He didn’t smile as he took in the pink, glittery words on her tight black t-shirt — YOU SAY ‘BITCH’ LIKE IT’S A BAD THING — but his lips did twitch. He continued slicing limes, but kept half an eye on the new arrival as she sized up the few patrons scattered at the mismatched tables.

  Once she’d taken the lay of the land, her gaze zeroed in on him. Her eyes narrowed a little and her pointed chin went up another notch. Duke dumped the limes into a plastic bucket and stuck it in the chiller, wiped his hands, and tossed the bar rag over his shoulder. Then he crossed his arms over his chest and waited for her to come to him.

  Not many women came into Shotguns, and the ones who did were nothing like her. They were either as rough and hard as the men they were drinking with, or the kind of easy girls that hadn’t been pretty enough in high school and were used to getting attention on their back or their knees.

  Blondie looked like she’d probably been head cheerleader and Homecoming Queen. Duke doubted she’d ever spent a minute on her knees in her whole life. Which was a shame, because the thought of her looking up at him with those pouty pink lips made Duke’s blood hot. Hot enough that he had to reach down and make a bit of an adjustment as she sashayed across the bare wooden floor, the heels of her cowboy boots (Jesus, they were pink) clocking loudly over the faint strains of Waylon Jennings drifting from the ancient jukebox in the corner.

  When she reached the bar, she placed her hands on the edge and leaned in, one corner of her mouth curled up in a little smirk. The move drew his eyes immediately to the ample cleavage visible above the scooped neckline of her little black tee, which was no doubt exactly the response she was looking for. His suspicion was confirmed when he glanced back up and saw the triumphant glint in her blue eyes.

  She knew the effect she had on men and she enjoyed toying with them. Duke put on his best ‘Don’t fuck with me’ look, furrowing his heavy brows, mouth in a straight line, hard eyes and flexing biceps. It was an expression he’d seen on more than one CO’s face, and even used a time or two himself on some grunt fresh off the plane.

  Unlike them, Blondie didn’t even flinch. She cocked her head a little, sending all that blonde hair sliding down her arm, and her gaze crawled all over him. Sizing him up. When she got back to his face her little smile grew wider. Duke felt the skin on his forehead tighten as his scowl deepened.

  Christ, trouble was right! They hadn’t even spoken a word to each other and yet he could feel the heat crackle between them. The warm, leather- and alcohol-scented air of the bar seemed heavy and oppressive, like the atmosphere just before a hell of a storm.

  When his fierce expression didn’t relax, she rocked back on her heels, her smile fading a little. The challenge in her eyes didn’t, though.

  “Sign out front says you’re hiring.”

  She hooked a manicured thumb toward the door she’d come through, as if Duke was too stupid to remember where it was he’d put the sign. It had only been three days since he’d had to fire Barb. He’d hated to do it, because she’d been a hell of a server. None of the customers gave her shit because she was just as hard as they were. But he’d caught her with her hand in the till, and there wasn’t much Duke hated more than a thief. Except maybe a coward.

  When he didn’t respond, Blondie gave an exasperated little huff. She crossed her arms in a mockery of his posture, but it didn’t quite work since she had to do it under the full swell of her breasts, pushing them up as if offering them on a platter.

  “Are you or aren’t you?”

  Duke had to give her points for the hard edge to her voice. It sounded all business, even if she looked all pleasure. He shrugged one shoulder.

  “What’s it to you, Blondie?”

  He pressed his lips together to keep from smiling as her nostrils flared and a muscle in her jaw jumped. He could practically hear her grinding her teeth.

  “I want the job.”

  Duke couldn’t help it, he snorted laughter. Her spine snapped straight and a faint pink flush stained her cheeks. He turned away to grab a longneck from the cooler, ignoring her as he popped the cap and slid from behind the long bar.

  He felt her watching him, her gaze a hot press between his shoulder blades as he strode across the room to Buz’s table and set down the fresh beer. The bearded old biker gave him a brief nod and pushed his empty out of the way.

  Blondie was still staring at him when he turned back, hands on her hips like they’d been when she first walked in. Her eyes were glittering with anger… and maybe a hint of hurt. She covered it well, but he could see it in the set of her slender shoulders. Duke sighed as he reached her, setting Buz’s empty on the bar beside her and leaning one elbow on the scratched surface.

  “Look, no offense Blondie, but the kind of clientele we get in here… well, they’d eat you alive.”

  She flashed him perfect, straight, white teeth in something halfway between a grin and a snarl. Her eyes snapped with blue electricity.

  “Perfect,” she purred. “I love getting eaten.”

  Lust hit Duke like a flash grenade, every drop of blood heading straight to his groin. He swallowed, shifting as his previously comfortable jeans suddenly constricted his half hard cock.

  Her gaze dropped to his waist, took in the outline of his erection. The flush on her cheeks grew deeper and the glistening tip of her tongue poked out to slide along her lips. Duke stepped into her personal space, resting his right hand on the back of the bar stool behind her, caging her in with his arms.

  She had to look up at him. She was tall for a woman, nearly 5’11 with the heels on her boots, but he had her beat by a good six inches still. He stared down into her wide eyes, taking in the dilated pupils. Her breath was a warm, mint scented puff against his chin.

  “If you’re looking for a little rough trade, you don’t have to work here for that. Have a seat. I’ll get you a drink. If you hang out, I’m sure you can find someone who’ll punch your ticket.” Duke gave her cleavage a lingering look and then shrugged. “Hell, if you’re still here at closing maybe I’ll give you a go.”

  He’d meant to piss her off, because in his experience princesses like her liked to play bad girl but they stormed off in a snit when things didn’t go their way. Once she did that, he could get back to doing inventory.

  But he’d underestimated Blondie badly. For one thing, she moved quicker than he would have thought. Her left hand came up between them to shove at his chest with surprising force. It didn’t shift him, but it rocked him back a bit and gave her a moment of advantage while he gaped in shock.

  The sound of breaking glass coincided almost exactly with the movement of her right arm. If he’d been another man, she might have managed to get the broken beer bottle to his throat before he could take action… But Duke wasn’t other men. His left hand shot out without him even having to think about it, the response smooth and automatic. He caught her slender wrist in his thick fingers.

  She panted lightly, but her arm didn’t tremble. Duke was impressed. And hard as a railroad spike. His hear
t hammered in his chest and he tasted bright metallic adrenaline on the back of his tongue.

  “What the fuck is wrong with you, you crazy bitch?!”

  He squeezed her wrist hard enough to make her flinch but she didn’t let go of the bottle. Instead, she pushed against him, her breasts brushing against his own plain black tee.

  “What’s the matter, sweetheart? I thought you wanted to ‘give me a go’!” She fluttered her long lashes at him, her voice sickly sweet.

  He narrowed his eyes, relaxing his hold on her wrist just enough to let the edge of the jagged glass touch his jaw. He felt the sharp sting and watched her eyes widen slightly. Her arm stopped straining. Duke was careful, he didn’t want to really hurt her, but he needed to prove a point. Because if she pulled that shit on some of the bikers who frequented Shotguns, they wouldn’t care about hurting her.

  The bones of her wrist felt fine and light beneath his fingers as he twisted her arm, making her gasp and drop the bottle. It shattered on the floor, but neither of them looked away from each other.

  She tried to pull away, but he stepped in even closer, pressing them chest to chest as he drew the arm up behind her. He put just enough pressure on the joints to make his case. She sucked a breath in through her teeth.

  “Get the fuck off me, you Neanderthal!”

  Somewhere behind him, Buz snickered. Duke ignored him, concentrating on her. Each uneven breath she took pressed her breasts against his chest. He thought he felt the stiff peaks of her nipples but he couldn’t be sure without looking, and he didn’t take his eyes off her flushed face and glittering eyes. He wasn’t going to underestimate her again.

  Duke leaned down until they were nose to nose. He resisted the urge to crush her against the bar and ravage that pouty mouth with his tongue. Just barely. Only years of intense training in controlling his body allowed him to keep the reins on his raging lust.

  “Make me.” He growled it, unable to suppress a feral grin when he saw her shudder. She licked her lips again, parting them on a shivering breath.

  “I would,” she whispered, a sudden sideways smile baring a dimple in her cheek just as Duke felt her knee press up into his balls. Gently, thank Christ. “But I’d hate to ruin what feels like a rather impressive package by crushing it up into your diaphragm.”