Tchaikovsky: Stargazer Alien Barbarian Brides #3

by Black, Tasha

  By the time she came back, he was easing a blanket around the little one in his makeshift bed.

  “Wow, you are good at getting him to sleep,” she said.

  “Thank you,” he replied, feeling very gratified.

  He could hear the springs of the bed groan behind him as he bent to place the baby’s makeshift bed on the floor.

  Angel is sitting on the bed.

  When he straightened and turned around, he would see his mate in the intimate setting of this small bedchamber.

  The baby was sleeping, the drone was working, and they would be as alone as it was possible for them to be.

  He tarried a little with the child, stroked his downy head.

  It was easy with just us two, he thought to himself. But it was lonely, too.

  He stood, ready to face his destiny.

  11

  Peter

  Peter took a breath and steadied himself.

  He couldn’t afford to mess this up.

  Angel looked up at him, her eyes wide, as if she knew what was coming. She ran a hand through that curtain of dark hair. She was nervous too.

  She must have taken off her space suit in the bathroom. She only wore the light, unremarkable garments typically worn underneath. To him, it was as breathtaking as a sequined ballgown.

  He knelt before her.

  “We just met today,” he began. “But there is a connection between us.”

  “I feel it too,” she admitted. “It’s like I’ve always known you.”

  Happiness blossomed in his chest and he found it hard to speak again.

  “I know you are new to this world,” he said. “But there is something more you need to know about me, about my people.”

  He waited, giving her time to protest, watching her body language for some sign of discomfort. But Angel leaned forward slightly. She was ready to hear him. In some way, maybe she already knew.

  He cleared his throat, unsure of where to begin.

  “On Earth, you had marriage,” he said.

  She nodded.

  “What was its purpose?” he asked her.

  Her eyebrows lifted.

  “Well, it was for a lot of purposes,” she said. “Some would say it was for love, to have a partner. Others would say it was economical, to provide for a family. And of course raising babies is easier with two adults to protect and teach the child.”

  “This goal of partnership, both romantic and economical would be technically accurate among my people too,” Peter said carefully. “But our joining would never be described that way.”

  “What do you mean?” Angel asked.

  “I mean it would be like if I asked you what water was for,” he said. “And you might say it could be used to cool a reactor, or be bottled and traded for money. Those things would be true, but they would not touch the beauty of an ocean at sunset, the sparkle of a cold glass of water after an honest day’s work, or the magic of knowing that to nearly every being in the galaxy, water is life, and life without water is impossible.”

  Angel tilted her head slightly. She was listening.

  “For my people, for me, finding a mate is life,” he said. “And I have found my mate.”

  Her eyes sparkled with tears.

  “If you will accept me, Angel, I will be your family,” he told her. “I will give you all I have. I will die to protect you.”

  She held his gaze, so bravely in the face of so many new things. She was fierce, different from most of her kind.

  “But you must know that the boy, Tchaikovsky, is my family too,” he told her. “If you accept me then you accept us both. Forever.”

  She looked down at her hands.

  “If you need time, I will wait as long as you need,” he told her, fighting back a need so strong it was hard to breathe in order to say the words. “I have already waited centuries for you.”

  And it was true. He would fight anyone who ever dared to take the freedom of choice from the mate he adored, including himself.

  “Peter,” she said, her voice breaking. “I will always do what is right for you and for Tchai. I accept you as my mate.”

  And though he could hear the loophole in her phrasing, it faded in comparison to the thundering of blood in his ears at the words I accept you.

  He leaned forward slowly, so slowly. The anticipation of this kiss had been many lifetimes in the making, though he had only met her this morning.

  He tried to memorize the expression of wonder in her dark eyes, the curve of her lips, the shimmer of magic in the air between them.

  Angel closed her eyes and he kissed her, drinking her in with all his senses. Her hair had the delicious scent of the delicate spices in the Ebluvian bakers market. Her lips were incredibly soft. He reveled in the movement of her clever tongue when he thumbed open her jaw to taste her, and the exquisite sound of her light moan when he kissed her back in earnest.

  Peter knew how to kiss a woman, knew how to play on her senses like a violin. He had learned it all.

  But he had never wanted to use it before.

  Easy, he told himself.

  He had no wish to frighten her, no desire to push himself too far, too fast and risk reminding himself of what he had been.

  Angel wrapped a hand around his upper arm, tugged him up, urging him into the bed with her.

  He broke their kiss to crawl in and lie beside her.

  She lay back and studied him with those beautiful dark eyes.

  “Is this strange for you?” she asked him. “After… where you were before?”

  She was thinking about it too, thinking about what he had been through. Though her lust was plain from the ravishing color in her cheeks, she would restrain her own desire to honor his past.

  “Nothing about the two of us could ever be strange,” he told her. “It has been a long time for me, since I’ve lain with a woman because of my own desires.”

  She looked pleased. The expression made him want to annihilate her with pleasure.

  He fought for control.

  “If anything I do frightens you, tell me to stop,” he told her.

  “Okay,” she said, looking a little nervous. “You too, Peter. We don’t have to do this. We have forever, right?”

  It was as if her words were the key that unlocked the supreme confidence that had been there all along. The soaring feeling in his heart told him their union was anointed and he could do no wrong tonight.

  He bent to kiss her again, brushing her lips lightly with his, teasing her with a feather-light touch.

  Her intake of breath told him his magic was already working on her.

  He smiled and ran a hand through her hair. It was as smooth and soft as it looked.

  Angel looked up at him, her eyes already hazy.

  He bent to caress her swollen lips with his again.

  She whimpered and he rewarded her by deepening the kiss.

  Her tongue met his and he saw stars behind his eyes.

  He kissed her for an eternity - long, slow kisses that had her whimpering, soft, light teasing kisses that sent his heart racing.

  Only when Angel was trembling in his arms did he pull back to look at her.

  Her hair was spread out on the pillow, her lips parted slightly, and swollen from his attentions. He could see her excitement from the quick rise and fall of her chest, the way her nipples pebbled against the thin fabric of her shirt.

  “Beautiful,” he praised her, running his hand down her side, palming her curves, trying to learn them.

  She bit her lip and he felt it in his groin.

  Gods, give me patience.

  Without breaking eye contact, he slid a finger into the top slide of her shirt.

  She shivered as the tip of his finger made contact with her tender skin, slid down between her breasts to the next slide.

  It gave way and then he was extending his light touch downward until the shirt fell open entirely.

  Peter drank her in for a moment.

  Her bra wa
s a silly thing, it would do her no good if she wished to block bullets or laser drills.

  But it served her very well if her goal was to agitate her mate.

  He lost himself in the lacy swirls that hid very little of her generous breasts and their delicate brown nipples.

  Angel was perfectly still, waiting, her entire focus trained on him.

  Peter bent and placed a gentle kiss on her collarbone. Her skin was so warm and soft. He kissed her again and again, nibbling and tickling her with his hot breath.

  Angel laughed and arched her back, and he kissed between her breasts, mouthing the sheer lace until her nipples threatened to break through it.

  He slid his finger against the slide that held it in place, releasing her beautiful breasts.

  “Oh, Angel,” he breathed, bending his head to lavish them with kisses.

  She gasped and he stroked her hips as he licked and ravished her breasts, calming her and exciting her at once.

  When she sank her nails into the sheets and tossed her head, he stroked her thighs, and eased his hand between them.

  Angel froze.

  He stopped instantly, waiting for her, waiting to see what she wanted.

  Please, please, please…

  He could feel her raw need, pulsing in the air, pulling at him. But he would not touch her until she showed him what she wanted.

  He flicked the nipple that was in his mouth and sucked gently.

  Angel parted her thighs and tilted her hips up slightly.

  Pride washed over him. She wanted him. His mate needed him.

  He palmed her hot little sex and lapped at her breast.

  Angel whimpered and then thrashed against him, stiffening for a moment and then shivering all over.

  “Oh, oh, my god,” she moaned.

  He crushed his palm down on her clitoris, extending her pleasure for as long as he could.

  Then he resumed his attentions to her breasts.

  “Peter,” she murmured.

  “Relax,” he told her. “Just enjoy it.”

  For a breathless instant he waited.

  Then her head fell back on the pillow.

  Peter trailed kisses down her soft belly, sliding the clasp of her pants open.

  She lifted her hips and he slid off her pants and underthings with one movement.

  He resumed nuzzling her curves, trying not to let the scent of her sex push him over the edge as he nibbled the tender inside of her thigh and then kissed the inside of the other.

  She was breathing faster again, her hands involuntarily clenching the sheets.

  He pressed a kiss to her sex.

  “Oh,” she sighed.

  Gods, her sounds made him wild.

  He licked her once, slowly.

  She tasted like warmed honey.

  Overcome, he licked her again and again, forgetting his past and his future, knowing only the taste of her, the heat against his tongue, her helpless sounds, the feel of her thighs stiffening around his shoulders.

  When she lifted her hips to meet his tongue, he knew it was time.

  He slid a finger against her opening and fed on her with abandon.

  Angel’s whole body seemed to tense.

  He pressed his finger in slowly, bending it to find the place inside her that would drive her over the edge.

  Angel howled.

  Peter massaged her interior and lavished her clit with lightning fast motions of his mouth and tongue.

  Her ecstasy was so intense he could feel it himself. She carried him with her as she flew on the wings of impossible pleasure.

  12

  Angel

  Angel forgot her sounds as she shamelessly climaxed for the second time.

  Peter continued with his tongue and fingers until she could bear no more.

  “Stop,” she sighed.

  Instantly, he pulled away.

  She closed her eyes, feeling the bliss fade.

  “Are you okay?” he asked her, concern on his face.

  “Of course I’m okay,” she said, smiling. “I’m amazed and happy, and… wow.”

  He smiled, pure sunlight.

  “I’m glad,” he said gruffly as he stretched out by her side.

  She couldn’t help but notice that he was stroking her again, from her rib cage down to her hips, long, slow strokes that felt soothing, yet somehow hypnotic.

  Impossibly, desire licked at her insides again.

  She leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss on his muscular chest.

  He stilled, waiting.

  This was dangerous territory. At any moment she knew she might awaken something in him, a memory of what he had suffered at another woman’s hands.

  She kissed him again, softly grazing his skin.

  Peter relaxed, and she felt his big hand stroking her hair again.

  Emboldened, she moved lower, nuzzling the shadows of his muscular abs, licking the line of his hip.

  Peter’s breathing deepened and she felt his hand tangle in her hair.

  She could see the outline of his pulsing cock through his sweats.

  She traced its shape with a fingertip.

  “Angel,” he whispered.

  She pressed her lips to the fabric, and he groaned.

  She slid her hands under the waistband, and he lifted his hips to help her remove the last barrier between them.

  He was enormous, intimidatingly so.

  This is my mate, nothing we do can hurt me…

  She didn’t know where her instincts about him were coming from, but trusting them was the most natural thing in the world.

  She leaned forward and extended her tongue to caress the swollen tip.

  “Gods, Angel,” Peter whispered, falling back against the pillow.

  She licked him again, reveling in the salty taste, and the plush feel of him.

  Peter’s hand tightened in her hair, but he didn’t push her, didn’t beg.

  She drew him into her mouth, exploring him with her tongue.

  His hips bucked slightly, and she took him in deeper, swallowing him down until she could contain no more and then sliding her mouth off to lap at the velvety head again.

  “Angel,” he moaned.

  He had longed for satisfaction, craved it and found no help for so long.

  Something inside her broke and she fell on him, sucking him deep into her throat and sliding her hand along his length following her mouth.

  He grew stiff and tight in her mouth, his need communicated directly to her own body until she ached and pulsed along with him.

  She followed the rhythm of her own desire, stoking and sucking him deeper and harder, drunk on the taste of him.

  Suddenly he cried out.

  He tried to lift her off, but she moaned around his rigid organ, desperate to taste his release.

  She felt him swell impossibly and then jets of hot liquid anointed her throat as she squeezed his thigh between her own legs, and she went off like fireworks for the third time.

  The ecstasy seemed to go on forever and she clung to him, afraid she might fly off the bed, out of the room, into the stars.

  At length, the last of their shivers were spent and she crawled up to rest her head on his chest, exhausted but happy.

  13

  Peter

  Peter awoke to the sound of a mechanical throat being cleared.

  Angel was still wrapped around him, her silken hair spread across his chest, her thigh thrown over his. If there was a heaven, this was it.

  He blinked and saw the owner of the cough, her little drone, hovering in the air just over the bed.

  “Angel,” Peter whispered.

  She muttered something incomprehensible and burrowed her face in the crook of his neck.

  “Ahem,” BFF21 said again.

  Angel startled.

  Peter watched and tried not to chuckle as she blinked up at the little drone, yelped, and scrambled to cover herself.

  “I am an origami drone,” BFF21 said. “I am neither titil
lated nor repulsed by your nudity.”

  “Thanks a lot,” Peter joked.

  “It is my pleasure to serve without judgement,” the little bot replied courteously. “The lock on the archives room has been released.”

  “Great, BFF21,” Angel said. “Do you want to wait in the hallway, and we’ll be right out to take a look?”

  “Certainly,” BFF21 said.

  A mewling cry announced that Tchai had awoken.

  “Oh no,” Angel said.

  “Never fear,” BFF21 announced. “I shall entertain him.”

  Peter watched the little bot flutter over to Tchai’s makeshift cradle. She hovered just above him, the fiberoptic colors on her corners shimmering and changing.

  Tchai stopped crying and reached for her with a chubby fist, mouth open. BFF21 whistled and made a loop in the air and Tchai chuckled.

  By the time Peter turned around, Angel was dressed.

  “That was quick,” he said.

  She grinned at him, her gaze traveling down his body and then back up to his eyes.

  “Behave yourself, little mate,” he warned her.

  Her laughter was like a waterfall as she danced off to the bathroom.

  Peter pulled on his sweats, wondering if he should try to find more clothing in the cook’s closet.

  He thought about the way Angel had just admired him and decided against it.

  “Thank you, BFF21,” he told the little drone.

  “He is a charming infant,” she said, fluttering away, but not too far, as if she wanted to keep amusing the baby.

  Tchai squealed with delight when Peter picked him up.

  “You are charming,” Peter told him. “But you are also very stinky.”

  He cradled the baby in one arm and rummaged around in the cook’s other dresser drawer.

  “Excellent,” he said to himself, pulling out a thin cotton under shirt. “This will make a fine nappy.”

  He removed Tchai’s blankets and stripped off the piece of sodden fabric that had reached the end of its usefulness.

  After a few minutes of clean-up, the little one was swaddled cozily again.

  “Bah,” Tchai told Peter, as he tried to grab his nose.