Page 11 of Accidentally Abducted (Nereidan Compatibility Program #1)

Jake

I wake up alone, the empty space beside me still holding a faint warmth that suggests Zeph hasn't been gone long. For a moment, I stare at the ceiling, which has shifted to a soft morning blue, and try not to think about how quickly I've gotten used to alien technology that responds to my moods.

Or how quickly I've gotten used to Zeph.

I stretch, feeling surprisingly well-rested despite how late we stayed up talking.

After he returned from whatever "administrative tasks" kept him away, something had shifted between us.

The fact that he chose to stay, curled around me like he couldn't bear to let go even after he'd fallen asleep, that feels more significant than anything else we've done so far.

The smell of something cooking draws me out of my thoughts. I pull myself out of bed, realizing I'd gone to sleep completely naked. Looking around, I grab the sheet and wrap it around my waist before padding toward the kitchen area.

"Zeph?" I call out, following the surprisingly appetizing aroma.

When I reach the kitchen, I find not Zeph but the food synthesizer humming quietly, a plate of something that looks suspiciously like pancakes sitting on the counter beside it.

There's a glowing interface floating above the device with a message that reads: "Scheduled preparation complete.

Recipe: 'Human Breakfast - Pancakes (Revised). '"

"Huh," I say to the empty room, poking at the pancakes with a fork. They look... edible? Which is a significant improvement over yesterday's gray construction material.

I'm about to take a bite when I hear the whoosh of a door opening, and turn to see Zeph entering from what I'm pretty sure is the direction of the cleansing pools.

His hair is damp, his skin has that extra glow it gets after water immersion, and he's wearing a loose robe that clings to his still-wet skin in ways that make my mouth go dry.

"Good morning," he says, and there's a formality to his tone that wasn't there yesterday. "I see the automated preparation was successful."

"You programmed the synthesizer to make me breakfast?" I ask, oddly touched by the gesture despite the formal greeting.

"After our previous attempt, I spent some time refining the recipe parameters while you were sleeping. The synthesizer has been calibrated to produce what should be an acceptable approximation of pancakes." He pauses, then adds with a touch of uncertainty, "Are they... adequate?"

I take a bite, fully prepared to fake enthusiasm, but am surprised to find they're actually pretty good. "They're great," I tell him honestly. "Not as good as the ones we made together, but definitely not construction material this time."

That gets me a small smile, though it doesn't quite reach his eyes. "I am pleased they meet with your approval."

There's something off about his manner this morning, a careful distance that wasn't there yesterday. I wonder if it has something to do with whatever kept him up last night, those "administrative tasks" that had him looking so tense when he came back to the bedroom.

"You okay?" I ask, studying his face. "You seem... I don't know, formal. Like you're hosting a diplomatic dinner instead of having breakfast with the guy you spent half the night getting very informal with."

Zeph's skin flushes that lovely blue, and the glow beneath it brightens momentarily. "I apologize. I have been... preoccupied."

"With work stuff?" I guess, remembering the tension in his body when he crawled into bed beside me. "Those administrative tasks you mentioned?"

He looks surprised that I've picked up on it. "Yes. Among other things."

"Look, Zeph, I know our time is running out. I can do basic math, seventy-two hours means I'm going home today, right?"

He nods, looking uncomfortable. "The transportation cycle becomes reversible in approximately sixteen of your hours."

"Sixteen hours," I repeat, and the number settles in my stomach like a stone. "Well, that doesn't leave us much time for whatever else is on your alien assessment checklist, does it?"

"The remaining assessments are primarily administrative," Zeph says, his voice carefully neutral. "Documentation, final evaluations, recommendation protocols."

"Recommendation protocols," I echo. "And what exactly will you be recommending? That humans make good pets? That we're worth keeping around for our entertainment value and oral skills?"

It's a deflection, using humor to mask the sudden anxiety coiling in my gut, and from the way Zeph's expression softens, I think he knows it.

"Jake," he says, moving closer until he's standing directly in front of me.

"The recommendations are far more significant than that.

They will determine whether my people pursue further contact with humans, whether we seek formal diplomatic relations, whether we.

.." He hesitates. "Whether we offer partnership opportunities to your species. "

"Partnership opportunities," I repeat, trying to parse what that might mean. "Like... more abductions? Because I have to tell you, the selection process could use some work."

That gets me a genuine smile, brief but real. "The selection process will indeed require refinement."

I study his face, searching for clues about what he's not saying. "This is really important to you, isn't it? Not just as a job, but... personally."

Zeph is quiet for a moment, and I can see him weighing how much to tell me. "My people are... few," he says finally. "Our population has been declining for generations. The compatibility program represents our best hope for a future that includes more than mere survival."

The admission stuns me into momentary silence. Suddenly Zeph's dedication to his "job" takes on a whole new meaning. This isn't just some alien research project, it's about the survival of his entire species.

"Jesus, Zeph," I say softly. "That's... that's a hell of a burden to carry. Especially when things went sideways with the whole 'wrong human' situation."

"It was not your error," Zeph says immediately, protective even now. "The research team provided incorrect coordinates."

"Still." I reach out, resting my hand on his arm and feeling the warmth of his skin through the thin fabric. "No wonder you've been stressed about this whole thing. You're basically responsible for deciding if humans are worth... what, an alliance? Integration? Interspecies dating?"

"All of those," he confirms, and I can feel through our strengthening empathic connection that the weight of responsibility is exactly as heavy as I've imagined. "The Council will make the final determinations, but my recommendations will carry significant influence."

"And what will you recommend?" I ask, not sure if I want to know the answer. "About humans, I mean."

Zeph meets my eyes directly. "That remains to be determined."

It's not the answer I was hoping for, but it's honest. I can feel the conflict in him, the duty to his people warring with whatever this is between us.

"Well," I say, letting my sheet slip a little lower on my hips in a deliberate tease, "maybe I can help influence your recommendation. I still have sixteen hours to make a good impression, right?"

The glow under Zeph's skin brightens at the suggestion, and I can feel the shift in his attention, from distant and formal to intensely focused.

"You have already made quite an impression," he says, his voice dropping to that lower register that sends heat straight to my groin.

"Hmm, but first impressions can be misleading." I move closer, letting the sheet fall away completely. "Maybe you need more... data."

Zeph's eyes darken to molten gold, and the glow beneath his skin spreads down his neck and chest. "Additional research would be... thorough."

"Very thorough," I agree, stepping into his space until we're almost touching. "And I believe there was a specific area of inquiry we hadn't fully explored yet."

"There was?" Zeph's voice is rough now, his formality crumbling under the weight of desire that's flowing through our empathic connection.

"Mmmm," I murmur, reaching up to trace the line of his jaw. "I've been thinking about something. About us. About what it might feel like to have you inside me. Fully."

The sound Zeph makes is closer to a growl than anything human, and the next thing I know, I'm being lifted off my feet and carried back toward the bedroom with a strength that makes my breath catch.

"Data collection begins now," Zeph says against my ear, and despite everything, the countdown, the uncertainty, the knowledge that in sixteen hours I'll be back on Earth and all of this will be over, I find myself laughing.

Because if these are our last hours together, I'm damn well going to make them count.

Zeph lays me down on the bed with a gentleness that contrasts with the hunger I can feel radiating through our empathic connection. He follows me down, his larger body covering mine as he captures my mouth in a kiss that starts gentle but quickly turns desperate.

"I want to memorize you," he murmurs against my lips, his hands sliding down my sides. "Every inch, every response, every sound you make."

"You could just take notes," I tease, but my breath catches as his fingers find sensitive spots I didn't even know I had.

"This kind of research requires a more... hands-on approach."

And hands-on he is. Zeph seems determined to touch every part of me, his large hands warm and increasingly slick as that natural lubricant begins to seep from his skin.

It glistens on his fingers, slightly iridescent and smelling faintly sweet, as he traces patterns down my chest, my stomach, between my thighs.

"That's so convenient," I breathe as I watch the slickness spread across his fingertips. "Do all Nereidans come with built-in lube dispensers, or are you just happy to see me?"