Page 17 of Alien Attachment (You’ve Got Alien Mail #2)

The question carries innocent curiosity, but through our bond I feel something else—a growing awareness of me not just as protector or unwanted passenger, but as a being with complex capabilities she doesn’t fully understand.

“More than you might expect,” I admit carefully. “And significantly more than I can currently control with you this close.”

She turns in her chair to face me fully, and the direct attention sends bioluminescent patterns rippling across my skin like aurora. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” I say, as several tendrils extend despite my best efforts, “that proximity to you appears to be causing what my creators would probably classify as ‘unexpected system behaviors.’”

She studies the gentle movement of my appendages with something that might be scientific interest. “They’re reaching for me.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

I consider how to explain this without terrifying her. “The bond creates... imperatives. Physical as well as emotional. Being near you without contact is...” I search for an appropriate comparison. “Uncomfortable.”

“Uncomfortable how?”

“Like hunger,” I say finally. “Or thirst. A growing need that becomes more difficult to ignore the longer it remains unsatisfied.”

Her eyes widen slightly. “And touching me would satisfy it?”

“Temporarily.” I meet her gaze honestly. “Though I suspect it would also create new... complications.”

“What kind of complications?”

The question hangs between us, loaded with possibilities neither of us is quite ready to name. Through our bond, I feel her curiosity warring with caution, her practical nature demanding information while her self-preservation instincts urge retreat.

“Perhaps,” I say carefully, “we should focus on more immediate concerns. Life support, radiation shielding, establishing a secure perimeter.”

But even as I speak, my tendrils continue their subtle movements, reaching toward her with minds of their own. She notices, of course. Her gaze tracks their motion with growing fascination.

“They really can’t help themselves, can they?” she observes.

“I am discovering that conscious control over involuntary responses is... limited,” I admit. “Particularly when the stimuli are both present and...” I pause, uncertain how to continue.

“And what?”

“Appealing,” I finish quietly.

The word settles between us like a charged particle, altering the very atmosphere of the small cockpit. Through our bond, I feel her pulse quicken, her breathing change subtly.

“Appealing,” she repeats, her voice carefully neutral.

“You are...” I struggle for words that won’t terrify her. “Your presence is pleasant. Calming yet stimulating. My sensory systems find you... compatible.”

“Compatible.” A flush creeps up her neck, visible even in the dim lighting. “That’s very... clinical.”

“I am attempting to be respectful,” I explain, wrestling with three particularly determined tendrils. “The alternative terminology might be... concerning.”

Despite everything—our situation, the danger, the impossibility of what’s happening between us—she laughs again. The sound goes straight through me like electricity, and this time I don’t even try to stop my tendrils from extending toward her.

“Show me,” she says suddenly.

“Show you what?”

“These alternative terminologies. These multiple sensory systems.” Her expression shifts, becoming more direct, more challenging. “You said I needed to know what I’m working with, right? Consider it a practical assessment.”

The request sends every one of my defense protocols into chaos. “Kaylee, I don’t think—”

“I’m a courier,” she interrupts. “I don’t carry cargo I don’t understand. And I don’t work with partners whose capabilities are mysteries.” She gestures at my still-extending tendrils. “So help me understand.”

The logic is sound, even if the request sends warning signals cascading through my higher reasoning centers. “Very well. But perhaps we should establish some... parameters.”

“Parameters?”

I allow one tendril to extend fully, giving her time to object. “For instance, my tactile sensitivity extends far beyond baseline norms. What feels like casual contact to you might be... intense for me.”

She watches the tendril’s approach with what appears to be scientific fascination. “Define intense.”

“Touch me and find out.”

The words escape before I can stop them, far more suggestive than I intended. Through our bond, I feel her pulse quicken, her pupils dilate slightly. But she doesn’t retreat.

Instead, after a moment’s hesitation, she reaches out and traces one finger along the length of my extended tendril.

The sensation explodes through me like lightning striking water.

Every bioluminescent marking on my skin flares to brilliant life, casting the cockpit in shifting patterns of blue and gold.

A low harmonic vibration resonates from my chest—part purr, part moan, entirely involuntary.

The feedback through our bond hits Kaylee like a physical force, her own gasp mixing with mine as she experiences an echo of what I feel.

“Stars above,” she breathes, her hand still resting against my tendril. “I felt that. How did I feel that?”

“The bond,” I manage, my voice rougher than intended. “It transmits... sensory data. When I experience something intensely, you receive echoes of the sensation.”

“That was just from touching you?” Her eyes are wide, dark with something that sends heat cascading through my system.

“Yes.”

“What else can it transmit?”

The question dangles between us like bait, and I know I should resist, should maintain appropriate boundaries, should remember that she is vulnerable and confused and deserves better than an alien whose control systems are apparently made of tissue paper.

Instead, I hear myself saying, “Many things. Emotions. Physical sensations. Even...” I hesitate.

“Even what?”

“Pleasure,” I admit quietly. “ApexCorp designed me to share pleasure as well as receive it. Through the bond, through direct contact, through bio-electric stimulation. It was considered... a valuable feature.”

Her face flushes deeper, but she doesn’t pull away. If anything, she leans slightly closer. “Bio-electric stimulation?”

Rather than explain, I allow a gentle current to pulse through the tendril she’s touching—not enough to harm, barely enough to register as more than a warm tingle.

Her reaction is immediate and profound: her back arches slightly, her lips part, and a soft sound escapes her that sends heat racing through my entire system.

“Oh,” she whispers, and through our bond I feel her surprise, her arousal, her confusion at the intensity of her own response. “That’s... that’s not possible.”

“I assure you, it is entirely possible,” I say, though maintaining control grows more difficult with each passing second.

Several more tendrils have extended without my permission, drawn by her reaction like moths to flame.

“Your nervous system is remarkably receptive. The bio-electric current stimulates nerve clusters in ways that enhance natural pleasure responses.”

“Stop.” She pulls her hand back, breaking the contact, though I notice she doesn’t move far from my still-extended tendrils. “This is insane. You’re telling me you’re basically a walking... pleasure device?”

“Among other things, yes.” I retract the tendril she was touching, though several others seem determined to extend in its place. “Though I prefer to think of myself as more well-rounded than that.”

She laughs shakily, running a hand through her hair. “Well-rounded. Right.” Through our bond, I feel her emotions—a chaotic mix of arousal, fear, curiosity, and disbelief. “This is what ApexCorp created you for? To be someone’s... personal entertainment?”

“Partially,” I confirm, noting how her breathing hasn’t quite returned to normal. “Though my primary function was bonding and protection. The pleasure capabilities were... supplementary features.”

“Supplementary features,” she repeats, and I catch the note of hysteria creeping into her voice. “Of course they were. Because why create a simple bodyguard when you can create a bodyguard who can also...”

She trails off, unable or unwilling to finish the sentence.

“Bring you to climax with minimal physical contact?” I supply helpfully.

The words hit her like she has been struck by lightning. She stares at me, mouth slightly open, and through our bond I feel the wave of heat that crashes through her at the suggestion.

“You can’t just... say things like that,” she finally manages, her voice strangled.

“My apologies. I am still learning appropriate conversational boundaries.” I pause, then add with complete sincerity, “Though I should note that your physical response suggests the concept is not entirely unwelcome.”

She makes a choking sound that might be laughter or might be panic. “My physical response is irrelevant. We’re stuck in a debris field, being hunted by a mega-corporation, and you’re telling me you’re genetically engineered for... for...”

“Intimate companionship,” I finish gently. “Yes. Though I should clarify—my capabilities require consent. Enthusiastic consent. They cannot be used against an unwilling partner.”

Something in my tone must reassure her, because her panic recedes slightly. “Built-in safety protocols?”

“Of a sort. I am incapable of causing unwanted pleasure, just as I am incapable of causing unnecessary harm to my bonded partner.” I meet her gaze steadily. “I could not hurt you, Kaylee. Not physically, not emotionally, not in any way that matters. It is literally impossible for me.”

She studies my face, searching for deception and finding none. Through our bond, she feels the absolute truth of my words, the bedrock certainty that underlies everything I am.

“That’s... actually kind of terrifying in a completely different way,” she admits. “Knowing that you physically cannot harm me.”

“Why terrifying?”

“Because it means the only thing stopping us from...” She trails off, gesturing vaguely between us.