Alien, Mine Page 12

  She stared at it for a moment, considered the remote possibility it was a viper, then wrapped her hand around his forearm. The soldier gave her arm a gentle squeeze, then released his grip. “May I sit down?”

  “Please do.”

  “That really was a masterful performance today.” He grabbed a vacant seat from a nearby table and straddled it. “All of it.”

  “So you didn’t buy my bimbo act?”

  He gave a rueful nod. “Unfortunately I did, at least for the first two games. My fault. I should have known any . . . guest of General Mhartak’s would not be so shallow. I did recoup some of my losses in the last match. May I take up some of your time in a Cube discussion?”

  “I’d be delighted.”

  During their conversation, snatches of speech drifted to her as Ragnon fielded questions aimed at him from others in the bar.

  “Yes, they’re real,” he said, and then, “No, you can’t touch them.” A moment later, “No, not even for that much money.” A short while after that she heard Dovzshak growl, “She doesn’t need any more, we’re enough.”

  Eventually, Jaxzen stood and offered a hope that they would meet again. Sandrea proffered her hand and bid the man goodbye.

  “So, Shrenk’”—she turned to her friend—“are we having fun yet?”

  “I think the guys are.”

  She smiled. The guys did indeed seem to be enjoying themselves. By the time she and Kendril called it a night the effects of the so-called alcohol she’d consumed were still notably absent, her consorts, however, were three sheets to the wind.

  “Come on, my lovelies,” she encouraged them to their feet. “Let’s get you home.”

  She laced Kiresel and Ragnon’s arms together over her shoulders and directed their course out of the bar. With a hand in the middle of their backs she steered them away. Kendril lent aid to Dovzshak.

  She and the two privates wove their way down a corridor as she struggled to direct forward momentum in a more or less straight line. They’d already bounced off the walls more times than a ball at the mercy of a pinball champion. She didn’t know what was worse, their renditions of what she supposed were bawdy songs or the loquacious conversations they conducted with the walls.

  “This reminds me of the closing stages of a pub crawl back home,” she muttered. “Shrenk’, how many soldiers are we going to wake putting this lot to bed?”

  “Just the one.”

  Good.

  “Sergeant Kulluk.”

  Bad.

  “Maybe we should rethink this.”

  “I would not be averse to that.”

  “Our place?”

  “May as well. They are your Boy Toys.”

  She nudged the current swerve into a turn, and they’d managed two steps back down the corridor when a voice behind queried, “And just where are you going?”

  It seems we wouldn’t have woken the sergeant after all.

  She swung Kiresel and Ragnon back around.

  “You want ‘em, they’re yours,” she said.

  Kulluk eyed her. “You seem remarkably sober for someone who’s been out on the town.”

  “I tried, Serg’, honest I did, but the alcohol here just doesn’t seem to affect me.”

  Kulluk cast a glance over his juniors. “And they tried to keep up with you. I haven’t seen them this inebriated since celebrating survival from the Bluthen asteroid. Very well, bring them in.”

  She and Kendril manoeuvred the three men through the open doorway. Kulluk indicated they dump their burdens on any available furniture. Well, she aimed for the furniture, Kendril simply dropped Dovzshak.

  “Night, Serg’,” Sandrea said, and exited behind Kendril.

  They ambled towards their own quarters in a companionable silence then rode the lift to their floor.

  “So, the Vega arrives tomorrow,” Sandrea said and stepped into the corridor. “Or is that today?”

  “Today,” Kendril confirmed. “We will board her this afternoon.”

  Chapter 8

  “The Course of True Love . . .”

  Boarding of the Vega that afternoon took place in subdued quiet.

  Ragnon, Kiresel, and Dovzshak gave good impressions of death warmed up. Sandrea brooded over the complication of her and Eugen’s relationship. Should she adopt the direct approach? Nail him down somewhere and simply ask if he found her attractive? Did he find her company annoying, unpleasant, boorish? Or did he hunger to hold her, caress her, as she did him.

  A dejected smile almost kicked up one corner of her mouth.

  Double entendre intended.

  “This is you.” Kendril’s voice disturbed her musings.

  “Me?”

  “Your quarters. All yours.”

  Oh.

  “Thanks, guys,” she murmured in deference to aching heads. “Who’s on guard duty?”

  “No one,” Kendril said. “General Mhartak has rescinded those orders.”

  Her heart dropped with a sickening thump to slosh about her stomach. Had she lost her value to Eugen now Drengel had his olfactory data? A forlorn cloud darkened her already downcast spirit. She thumbed her access to the cabin and moped into the solitary accommodation.

  Mhartak prowled the confines of his cabin on the Vega. A cocktail of fierce emotions seethed through his soul. The glimpse he’d caught last night of Sandrea, carefree and happy, in the bar with the three privates from Alpha inflamed a jealousy that astonished him with its strength.

  The memory of the way the Magran had eyed her with lustful covetousness aroused such possessive fury that the thought of breaking the interloper’s neck shocked him with the depth of its need. Jaxzen Sarens’ easy repartee with her did nothing to soothe his ferocious temper.

  Sandrea was his!

  He had so much to offer her. His home in the mountains, far from the city, would provide an excellent site for her interest in astronomy. His military and social standing assured she would never lack for anything his society could provide.

  His attempt to intercept her this morning had been foiled by an urgent call to engineering regarding the Bluthen technology they analysed. Frustration blazed through his equilibrium and burned it to ashes.

  Enough! This will be settled now.

  Sandrea flopped into a comfortable chair and gazed at the display of colour sparking and flowing outside her porthole. The dimly lit cabin accentuated the vibrant phenomenon that had fired up when the Vega accelerated to whatever unthinkable speed she maintained through the vastness of space. Trekkies would probably call it warp speed.

  It must be almost time for dinner.

  The thought of food did little to inspire her. Her and Eugen’s time together was running out. Would he be glad to get her off his hands? After he delivered her to Mrilala, chances were they wouldn’t encounter each other again. He’d be on the frontlines somewhere, placing life and limb in danger. She’d be . . . trying to adjust to a new life—without him.

  She needed to do something now to secure a future she wanted.

  What she wanted was a bath, somewhere conducive to thinking. A nice, long, hot bath with bubbles and Tchaikovsky—and chocolate, lots and lots of chocolate. She twisted her bottom lip in a rueful pout.

  Well, that’s not going to happen.

  She hauled herself to her feet and plodded into the ablutions chamber. A lavatory perched in one corner and the bath existed only in her wishful imagination. On a narrow ledge a box of unopened scented wipes rested. She glared at it.

  “Fat lot of good you’ll do me.”

  With a capitulating sigh, she accepted the inevitable and stripped off. Ten minutes later, and feeling only slightly more clean, she gathered her dirty laundry to her breast and stepped into the main part of her quarters.<
br />
  Before she was quite halfway to her duffle bag in the middle of the room, the door to her cabin swished open. She leapt behind the minimal cover afforded by a chair and glared at her intruder, a mouthful of abuse on her lips.

  Eugen stormed in. No, not Eugen, this was General Mhartak, a soldier ready for a fight and Lord help her if his forceful demeanour didn’t turn her anger to quivering exhilaration.

  She clutched her clothes more firmly to her chest. Her skin tingled and gloried in its naked vulnerability to his nearness. Desire pumped erotic need through her blood, eroding her self-control.

  Does he have any idea of the danger he’s in?

  “General, I suggest you leave.”

  “We need to talk.”

  Determination seemed to have blinded him to all but his purpose.

  Eugen, if you don’t want a lustful human to lip-crawl her way over your stripped, bare body, get out now!

  He stared at her in unyielding resolve, his strong jaw clenched as though locked in some internal battle.

  Now’s your chance, Sandrea. Show him just what he does to you. If he runs screaming from the room . . . Well, you’ll have your answer as to whether he finds you desirable or not.

  She hesitated, then grabbed her courage, dropped the clothes, and stepped out from behind the chair.

  All thought fled Mhartak. His heart exploded with a burst of hot, sensual craving as he stared at the vision of Sandrea’s naked body glowing translucently in the low light. A rush of possessive hunger blew his mind. The hardened skin of his chest and stomach softened into aroused sensitivity while his sex flooded with strength to the same call.

  He stared at the perfection of Sandrea’s nude body. He had never seen anything so beautiful or enchanting in his life. Passion drove him forward. He beheld the joy of her smile and revelled at the response of her body to his ardour. He instinctively recognized its call and could not but answer.

  Her breasts seemed to reach out to him, their hardening nipples begging his touch and exploration. He lifted a hand to cup a swollen mound and caressed a gentle thumb over the siren nipple. Sandrea’s gasp told him that, without a doubt, he should not stop. He moved closer and smoothed his other hand over the curve of her hip and onto the small of her back. The trust she gave overwhelmed him completely and an anticipatory rush of what lay before them burned like wildfire through his veins.

  He applied pressure to her back and moved her into his body. Her hands rose to his chest and kneaded. A responsive quiver burned through his muscles at her touch. His arms tightened around her. One of her hands ran up behind his neck and brought his willing lips to hers. Erogenous warmth throbbed along his cranial ridges. Her tongue flicked into his mouth and her hunger encouraged him to devour her. He met her challenge then dominated her tongue with hard, ravenous strokes of his own.

  Her smile stretched across his lips and her hips caressed his. Fire burned deep within him and he thrust into her mouth with predatory penetration. Her hips danced a slow rotation against his. Stinging pleasure rasped along his thighs and arrowed straight to his thickening sex. Her determined hands found their way inside his uniform.

  He stroked his palms down the smooth, silkiness of her skin onto her rump. His fingers sank into her lush, giving curves and urged her into him, encouraged the swirling motion she initiated. Red-hot waves of passion stormed through his lower abdomen. His mouth left hers to explore her face and she exposed her neck for his questing tongue. Her fragrance of soft-scented spice and flowers went straight to his libido and fuelled his volatile need. She arched back over his supporting arms and beguiled his lips and tongue to continue further down. They found her waiting breasts.

  “Take me into your mouth,” she whispered. “Please!”

  Carnal spears punched deep into the heart of him at the thought of filling his mouth with her flesh. Blood pumped hot, fast, and intensely pleasurable into his arousal. He closed his lips over one hard nipple and slid his tongue sinuously around it. Her pleasure-loaded groan inflamed the raging burn in him.

  “Draw me in,” she begged and demanded.

  He suckled. Hunger tore through him. Molten desire swelled his cranial ridges and heat flickered over the seed pouches between his legs. The feel of her full and wanting in his mouth thrust sharp craving through him. He drew her nipple further in and his desire heightened as his muscles contracted to support her weight as her knees buckled.

  Sandrea tore at Eugen’s garments. The savage need to hold him skin-to-skin stripped her of any restraint. The softness of her bed against her back yielded as her General lowered her. She revelled in his weight. The touch of his chest and abdomen ignited waves of sharp, erotic pleasure. She ran her hands over the hard muscles of his back, then raked her nails across his skin as he licked and nipped her neck. Her hands slid to either side of his head, gentled over his ear-ridges and guided him back to her breasts where he tongued the proud crown of her nipples then drew her into his mouth. She arched into him, the heavy length of his arousal nuzzled between her legs. Sensual delight and anticipation shortened her breath. She reached for him and spread her thighs in hungry welcome.

  Mhartak inhaled sharply as Sandrea’s soft hand closed around him. The entire universe contracted to her and where she held him. A hot surge of desire hardened him to the point of exquisite pain. His cranial ridges blazed with sensual rapture. A moan of sheer carnal delight melded with a growl as she guided him to the warm, damp haven of her sex. And he let her, wouldn’t have been able to stop her if his life depended on it. His breath came in sharp gasps and his fists clenched into the softness of the bed as he laboured to control the passion battling to burst from him.

  With a slow and deliberate slide, he probed into her clenching heat. Her slender hands grasped his buttocks and drove him, a willing supplicant, into her. She received him wholly, and a wave of intense, deep emotion rolled him. He tried to withdraw, to sustain this lovemaking, but Sandrea wrapped her legs around his back and refused to release him. She surged up again and again, impaling herself on him as her inner core devoured him with hot, demanding clenches. Exquisite, biting sensations condensed in his engorged sex. Her body tightened and arched beneath him. She screamed his name as her core clenched his arousal with spasms of savage splendour.

  For the first time in his life, Mhartak surrendered to something and gloried in the beautiful, sensual tide that flooded his body and shot him into an explosive climax.

  Long, heavenly moments later, Mhartak’s breathing slowed. He raised his head from Sandrea’s shoulder and gazed down at the woman who had gifted him such bliss.

  Damn, it had not been his intention to go that fast.

  But the temptation of her, seductive and willing, had been far too great for him to deny. She ignited his passion to such an extent, a cascade failure in his control centre turned him into an eager slave to her will and his hungers. She lay cradled in his arms, quiet beneath him, eyes closed, an almost shocked expression sculpting the loveliness of her features.

  He levered up and let his eyes roam the beauty of her body. A myriad bleeding scratches and cuts, unwittingly inflicted by his passion, stunned him. He stared at the red blood in stark contrast to her soft, white skin. His glance shot to the thick, bloodied nails of his hands.

  A wash of self-loathing pierced him with such strength it left him nauseous. Concern widened his eyes and his gaze flew back to her face. He rolled to his feet and stared down at her, horrified at the damage he had caused. He backed away. Doubt broke the ranks of his self-assuredness.

  Is that what caused her silent stillness, that shattered air?

  She’d given him utter bliss and he’d left her a bleeding mess. Surely such harm could not be commonplace for her species? The nails of her fingers in no way compared to the strength of his. Would that hold true for human males? Was she now so appalled at the t
hought that she may have to endure his advances in order to be accepted by his society that she could not stomach the sight of him? He had to reassure her, make her understand she would not be abandoned.

  “You need not worry that your position with us will be affected,” he said.

  Sandrea’s eyes snapped open from revelling in the aftermath of divine bliss.

  “What?” She sprang from the couch to confront him.

  She glared at him, affronted and confused. The klaxon of general alarm damn near gave her a seizure.

  Eugen dived for his scattered uniform. “Get some clothes on, Sandrea,” he ordered. “If we aren’t under attack, we soon will be.”

  I feel like I already am.

  In dazed and shocked silence, she watched Eugen, dressed, head out the door. Despite the very loud and insistent evidence that something was dangerously wrong, her thoughts whirled and centred on his actions as she hauled on clothing.

  What had his sudden withdrawal been about?

  Had he found their intimacy distasteful and now found no great desire to repeat the performance? Surely not. He’d seemed as lost in the pleasure as she. Maybe he’d imagined she was someone else. Eugen? Never! But she’d seen the contempt in his eyes. Damn, her forehead was fast heading for a brick wall with this thinking. The blare of the siren continued to pound into her brain, screeching across her nerves.

  “Will somebody please shut that the fuck up?” she screamed at the ceiling.

  The alarm silenced.

  “It doesn’t usually work like that,” Kendril remarked, entering her chamber.

  “What’s going on?” she asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  “So we just sit tight and wait?”

  “Yes.”

  She eyed the military pack secured to Kendril’s back, the communications plug peeking from her ear, and the rifle slung by her side.