Page 15 of Caveman Alien’s Horn (Caveman Aliens #26)

15

- Cora -

I grab his head and greedily pull him to me. My core is seething with need, my legs spreading all by themselves as I accept his tongue into my mouth, wanting him to invade all of me.

“Fuck me,” I plead again. I’ve never wanted anything more. Sprisk melted the fear and the loneliness in me. He gave me warmth and room to breathe. He made me come for the first time on Xren. He made me laugh.

But I’m greedy. Now I want more from him. I want all of him. And if I can only get that by giving him all of me, then he’s earned that many times over. Even after abducting me. Because maybe the only way to help me out of my mental cage was to break me out.

He kisses my neck, just as needy as I am. I arch my back, presenting my bare throat to him in some primitive surrender that adds to the heat that’s quickly gathering.

He growls as he kisses me there, making sure I feel the touch of his spikes. He could do terrible things to me if he wanted, this half-tamed half dinosaur. But I know he won’t. I’m safe from him. The dangers of the jungle aren’t.

He’s as needy as me. He licks long stripes of heat, then coldness down my bare body, aiming for the place where I really need him. I’m at his mercy, and right now I don’t want it any other way.

I glance down. His cock is standing up along his stomach, hard and thick and dangerous, unspeakably alien. I can barely see the other one, smaller and softer, just under it. For a split second I wonder what its function might be, but then Sprisk places a kiss right at my sex, flicking with his tongue, and I buck my hips. “Ohh! Come on…”

Because this isn’t all I need. I need more, I want him inside me.

He’s kneeling on the net below me, positioning him perfectly with the head of his cock at my entrance. He slowly runs the tip up and down my wetness, creating a slithering sound that’s all me.

“Yes,” I groan in his language, making sure he knows I want this. “Now.”

I grab onto the net with both hands and lie back, more ready than I’ve ever been.

He sinks his cock an inch into me, sliding easily on my own treasonous juices. He’s big, but he also takes it slow until there’s resistance.

I open my legs more to help him overcome it, and he pushes past the narrow point. There’s a slight burning sensation as my tunnel has to stretch to accommodate him. That soon fades into a growing delight as he touches new places in there.

“My woman,” Sprisk growls as he pulls out and pushes back in, sliding even easier.

I can only groan in response. Right now, he’s not wrong. I’m all his.

I’m starting to realize why he has those features on his rod. Because they caress and stroke and soothe every part of my sex, making sure they all know something great is going on. It makes me feel incredible, so cared for and also so absolutely taken. It’s just like Sprisk himself. He’ll put himself into your life like a sudden wrecking ball through the bedroom wall, but then he’ll make sure you have the best possible time, too.

His cock churns up my insides, increasing the liquid heat in my whole pelvis in a way that I’ve never had before. His eyes pierce me like green lasers, his horn standing out from his head.

My whimpers increase in pitch as he drives me closer to the eruption. I know that because the inside of the hollow tree is like a resonance box that amplifies my voice to an almost embarrassing degree. But this is Mating, and there’s no room for embarrassment in that.

When his small cock starts to stroke my clit, I’m just gone. I hold my breath while the wave gathers speed, then whimper loudly as it starts to wash through me. My noises are amplified, and the sound of my own total surrender sends me into a blissful orbit.

I’m distantly aware that Sprisk keeps fucking me, and that his thrusts go irregular as he tenses up, before he releases a thundering war cry that makes the whole wooden cylinder shake. I add a thin scream of full climax. The sound must be startling dinosaurs for miles around.

Sprisk collapses on top of me, somehow making sure none of his weight is on me, but still making a great deal of skin-to-skin contact.

“I love you,” he groans.

“I love you too,” I reply hoarsely. I’m not quite done with my orbit, so I just cling to him and enjoy the moment a great deal.

After a long while Sprisk stirs beside me. “I think that was a success.”

“It was,” I sigh comfortably, my center still buzzing a little. “A wonderful success.”

“We must do the ritual,” he rumbles.

“What?” I open one eye.

He’s holding up one palm. “The success ritual.”

“Oh.” I wave my hand limply in the air and give him the laziest high five ever. “There. Yay.”

“And the rest,” he insists as he blows on his hand, squeezes it between his thighs, and then shakes it.

“The rest is not part of ritual,” I explain, having to strain my mind in the most unpleasant way to form a coherent sentence. “Only the… this.” I slap his thigh lightly.

“That is a short ritual,” Sprisk says and stretches in the net. “But thankfully it involves no blood. I think that’s a good thing.”

“Do your rituals involve blood?” I ask, just enjoying the moment.

“Some do. Of course, we Foundlings don’t have that many rituals. The tribes do, though.”

“Okay.” I don’t want to think about anything other than relaxing here.

“We didn’t finish the loom,” Sprisk points out and gets out of the net, making it bounce and wave in a way that I could get used to. “And I’m not even sure if we finished getting clean.”

“I’m clean,” I assure him. “Well, some of me,” I add as I open my eyes fully. Some parts of me definitely need to be washed again.

“Stay here,” Sprisk says, hanging from a net and looking out a round window. “I will gather some ropes and you can get some rest.”

I yawn and stretch. “I’ll help.”

“No need,” he says and climbs into my net, just to place a big kiss on my mouth. “I want you here. I’ll cook something, too.”

He drops down to the bottom of the tree so fast it looks like he barely touches the nets.

I put both arms under my head and grin. This was incredible. We both needed it, me especially. And it was every bit as great as I thought it would be. Also, the chances that it will have any results are tiny, because of my conditions.

“Take that, planet Xren,” I mumble. “You never thought I could feel this good in your damn jungle, huh?”

All right, now I know how the other girls felt with their cavemen and Foundlings. And I can’t really blame them that much anymore for falling for them, if they’re all like this. But they can’t be. Not like Sprisk. He’s special, I feel that with every fiber of my being.

“But we’re not falling for him,” I assure myself as I slowly get out of the net. “He’s too different, too strange. He’s a dinosaur, for crying out loud. A unicorn!”

But of course, a small voice inside me says, a ‘unicorn’ also means someone who’s very rare, someone unique, someone you’ll never find again…

I make my way down the inside of the tree and find a convenient bush, then saunter back to the creek. I never knew how pleasant it can be to be naked in the sun, in the open air. It makes me feel free and unencumbered. Of course it helps that the only person who can see me like this also happens to really, really like what he sees.

“Still working?” I ask as I spot Sprisk down in the creek. He’s put his loincloth back on, I notice. Probably just as well — the sight of his hard cock would only get me to beg him to fuck me again.

“No,” he replies. “This is just play.” He cuts the end of a long root and brings it back, throwing it up to me. “But it’s useful play.”

I make my way down the side of the deep channel to the bank. I put on my panties and the skirt, but I decide to not subject my skin to the rough texture of the woven straw that makes up the tunic. If Sprisk can be topless, then maybe I can too. It’s more comfortable in this heat, and the alien sun doesn’t seem to cause nearly as much sunburn as Earth’s Sun would.

Wanting to help, I carry the rolls of roots over to the site for the loom and start peeling the outer skin off them. Some we’ll use the way they are, I think, for the various crossbars and such that need the firmest connection to the posts.

Sprisk comes over, carrying more mushroom roots. “What do we need now?” His gaze rests on my bare chest, and I arch my back a little, wanting to look as sexy as possible. Those were never my best features, so I’m glad he seems to like them. “Thinner trees and branches. Half as thick only.”

He takes out the machete and examines it. “I’ll sharpen it and get those. This time, you stay here. Scream if anything at all happens.”

“Anything? What if feel thirsty? Or hungry? Or a leaf falls next to me?” I’m in such a good mood that my old contrarian nature has returned.

“Then scream,” Sprisk instructs, calling my bluff. “I welcome any excuse to run back here.”

I put a hand on his forearm. “Sorry. I give you some excuses later.”

His eyes bore into me. “Good excuses?”

I innocently brush a breast up against him. “The best.”

He saunters off, and I enjoy watching the way his muscles flex all over him as he walks.

Then I take a step back and look at what we have so far. Two sturdy upright posts and roots enough to make many strings both for tying the loom together with and for using as heddle wire. That gave me all kinds of issues with the old loom in the tree, and they really should be made of metal. But that’s not an option here, so I’ll try to make some from the root threads and then make some small rings from wood, like I did for the tree loom. That took months back then, but now I have more experience and maybe Sprisk has some ideas.

“It looks like this could actually happen,” I say to myself despite my vow to stop it. “A big loom for making actual fabric.”

I sit down to separate fibers. It’s boring work, but someone has to do it. As a break in the monotonous work, I braid a bra for myself, using the fibers. There’s just enough friction between them to make it work, but the bra turns out smaller than I had intended. But it gives some coverage, and the smooth fibers make it comfortable and as light as air.

Encouraged that these threads might actually work the way I want, I quickly separate eight more roots into thousands of threads.

Spotting movement at the edge of the clearing, I freeze, ready to scream for Sprisk.

But it’s only Eric.

I get up and walk over to him, putting on the Stone Age bra-slash-bandeau. “Hi!” I sign. “Nice to see you again.”

He bounces over the thick row of big mushrooms and waddles towards me. “You look different,” he gestures.

So he does notice, at least. “I’m not wearing all my clothes.” Of course the vismonks don’t have a word for ‘clothes’, because they don’t use those, but I’ve made up a sign that Eric knows.

“Why not?”

“They’re unpleasant and itchy.”

“Why?”

Ah. He’s at that age, I suppose. Even vismonk kids have a ‘why’ stage.

“They’re made from dry grass.”

“Why?”

“It’s the only thing I had to make clothes from. I had nothing else.”

He loses interest, but stays beside me, reaches out, and touches the nearest mushroom.

“That’s a mushroom, ” I tell him, making up a sign for it with one flat hand on top of one vertical finger, almost like a ‘timeout’ gesture.

He repeats it effortlessly, making it look natural and better than I could. “Mushroom.”

“I don’t know what they really are,” I confess. “But they grow fast.”

“Mushrooms grow fast,” he signs, repeating after me.

“These are roots,” I tell him and point to my bra. “We use them for many things. Now I worry that the mushrooms won’t like that we take their roots. Do you think they will die?”

Eric is growing up in the jungle, and he has an opinion. “Trees need roots,” he signs. “Can’t live without roots.”

“That’s the worry. But so far, they look fine. We took many roots, but none of them are dead, and they are all bigger than yesterday.”

Eric picks a rock from the ground and tosses it at the mushroom. It bounces harmlessly off the round cap. “Mushroom,” he repeats the sign.

“How is your tribe?” I ask. “How is Diana?”

“Afraid,” Eric signs absentmindedly as he retrieves the rock. “Afraid of the cavemen.”

“Because of the trap?”

“The trap,” he confirms. Then he signs a name that I remember seeing once before. “Is dead now.”

A coldness goes down my back. “He’s dead? One of those who were trapped?”

Eric gives me a flurry of signs with all his hands, but I can’t follow the full story. Though it looks like the vismonk who was trapped in that nasty snare died from infection. Despite my efforts with the anti-infection medicine Astrid gave me. But those cuts were deep.

“I’m sorry about him,” I sign. “What did Diana say?”

“Diana is angry at the cavemen,” Eric says. “They should not set traps and hunt us.”

“Have they set more traps?”

“I don’t know,” he replies. “Nobody else has been caught. Everyone is very careful now.”

His head snaps around as Sprisk comes out of the jungle a hundred yards away and noisily dumps a heap of wood on the ground. The little vismonk follows him with his eyes. “Caveman.”

“Sprisk is nice,” I tell him. “He helps me here. And he made a house out of that tree.”

Eric touches the mushroom again. “Mushroom,” he signs.

I step back as he makes a move I recognize, squatting deep in preparation to leave.

He jumps high and bounces off into the jungle without any more signs.

“Bye,” I call after him in English. “See you.”

Sprisk is approaching, not looking too happy.