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Chapter Eight

A r’Tok

Star looks cute passed out on the bed, holding the chalice we won for our outstanding paintball expertise. I never dreamed our explorations would go on as long as they did, assuming we’d be hit within minimas . I knew neither of us had a great desire to shoot other people with paint, so I figured the reward of the experience far outweighed the cost of losing the game. But here we are—the big winners.

Padding to the other side of the bed, I dry my cirr as I look at her beautiful sleeping features. My cock is already hard as I imagine all the intimacies we’ll share tonight.

I hurry to the door as soon as I hear the muffled knock, then wheel in the cart laden with covered dishes. Other than our tasting game, I’m unfamiliar with anything on the hotel menu.

“Star? Sweet? Want to sleep? Want food?”

She startles, even though my voice was quiet. “I fell asleep?”

“Yes. Clutching our expensive trophy,” I tell her. “I ordered half the things on the menu, but it can wait if you want more sleep.”

“No.” She sits, wiping stray strands of long black hair off her face. “What’s on the menu?” She spears me with a pointed gaze, then focuses on the tent my cock is making under the towel slung around my hips.

“Here.” I hand her the menu. “Pretty much everything on the left column. When we’re done with that, you get what’s under my towel for dessert.” My smile disappears for a moment as I wonder if that was crude. It’s hard to know what’s acceptable after the males sang that bawdy song on the bus today.

“Hold that thought. Because our water synthesizer was on the fritz for the better part of a year when I was twelve, I’m the queen of the fastest shower in the Procul sector.”

She hurries into the bathroom, still clutching the trophy.

“Whoops!” She returns to set the silver cup on the dresser, then scurries to take a shower. Five minimas later, she emerges dwarfed in a fluffy purple robe.

She saunters to the wheeled cart laden with eight covered dishes, a bottle of blanquard , and an entire cake decorated with flowers so beautiful it should be a crime to eat them.

Lifting one cover at a time, she inspects the contents of each dish with intense scrutiny. The aromas filling the room rival those we smelled in Jorgan’s hangar.

“You chose well, Ar’Tok. They look and smell amazing. I’m afraid, though,” she strolls to stand in front of where I’m sitting on the bed, “there’s only one thing in this room I’m hungry for.”

She holds my gaze as if the planet will quit spinning on its axis if she lets go, then drops to her knees between my feet and undoes the towel tucked around my waist.

Her pretty lips pop open as she inspects my cock. Her eyes flick to mine, then resume their visual inventory.

“I’ve never seen one of these up close and personal, Ar’Tok. I’ll admit I perused things on the Intergalactic Database.” Her gaze still hasn’t ceased its intimate inspection. “You’re beautiful, but . . .” she finally breaks her focus and looks at me. “I don’t think this will work.”

I never thought the differences in our races might prevent our coupling. I take a hard glance at my cock, and remember the tight entrance I was toying with at the hiriashi arena. She’s right.

I slide my palms along her cheeks and urge her up with a gentle press of my fingers under her jaw.

“There are other ways two people who care about each other can be close, Star. I’ve given you pleasure several times before. I’ll teach you how to please me. I’ll never hurt you. Never.”

She pulls back. At first, my eyes flare wide in worry as I wonder if she’s going to throw her clothes on and bolt from the room. Instead, she sits back, her bottom on her heels, and surrounds my ankles with her grip.

“I’m going to explore,” she announces. Her fear has vanished, and she has an air of confidence. She slowly works her palms up over my calves, past my knees to the meat of my thighs. Her thumbs dig in as she glides upward, getting a sense of which parts of my body give no resistance, and which respond with a sensitive flinch.

Leaning forward now, her silky black hair tumbles onto my thighs as she inspects me more closely. Sniffing in as her lids shutter closed, a small, close-lipped smile graces her beautiful face. Her nostrils flare as if she’s trying to breathe in every molecule of my essence.

“You smell better than anything the Epicure cooked, Ar’Tok,” she says. After opening her eyes, she seems mesmerized by the hard cock straining at my hips, not taking her eyes from it for a modicum .

Dipping her head, she nips the sensitive spot on my inner knee, then progresses up. When her little pink tongue slips out to trace upward, I grunt in appreciation.

Her eager hand slides up my other leg, bypasses my cock, and presses against my stomach until I’m lying back.

“Better,” she says. “I don’t need an audience.”

One slim finger traces around the lip under the head of my cock. I groan and can’t contain my hips from thrusting into the air at just this slightest touch. A purr rumbles from my chest. Not only is it an announcement of my excitement, but the vibration takes my arousal up a notch.

I grind my teeth together as her deft touch explores my length. When I bring myself pleasure I touch myself hard, with disdain. I was always alone in a cell, knowing the cameras caught every movement. I suspected the guards watched my quiet fumbling for their amusement. At times, they mocked me about it.

Star’s gentle touch is an awakening. She’s not touching me like I touch myself, in a hurry to take care of business and then move on. Her touch is . . . appreciative, almost reverent.

“Looking at you makes me wet, Ar’Tok.”

I’d always assumed if a female got this close to me I would repulse, not arouse her.

Her palm surrounds me, as much as she can reach around my girth. I feel her skin slide over each of the three thick ridges that surround me just under the head, then move farther down to caress the lines of bumps that trail up my shaft.

“There are things I want to do. Do I need to ask permission?” her voice is soft and nervous and virginal, even while her hand clutches me more tightly.

“Whatever you want,” I scratch out through tight lips.

And then her tongue, the very tip of her tongue by the feel of it, barely grazes my skin as she swipes a drop of my essence.

“Mmm, I never imagined you would taste like this. So good, Ar’Tok.”

This seems to unleash something inside her. Her tentative touches, her whispered questions, disappear. The soft silk of her hair slides along my sensitized skin as she tilts her head, then slides the flat of her tongue along one of the lines of bumps on my cock, from base to tip and back again.

For a moment, my hands move to lodge in her hair, to press her mouth against me harder. Instead, I grip the bedding, give up any need for control, and lie back to enjoy what this beautiful female is offering so freely.

Her soft touches transform into harder ones as she gets to know the feel of me. The pads of her fingers seem fascinated by the three ridges that ring the top of my shaft. Then they explore the pronounced bumps that march in lines up and down the rod.

Without warning, her mouth surrounds my head, then presses lower as she groans. The groan isn’t one of disgust or distaste or pain. Her noise is more of a moan, born of pleasure—arousal.

“Star,” I say on a soft, satisfied bark.

Her hands work my shaft as her little tongue runs rings around my head. One hand boldly explores my sac. I’m certain she didn’t miss my grunt of pleasure, because now she’s fondling my balls more firmly.

That telltale tingle tightens, signaling I’m about to come.

“Stop!” I order. I don’t want to defile her perfect mouth, but not only doesn’t she release me, she dips her head lower on my shaft, her hands and lip-covered teeth spurring my orgasm.

I spill into her, my hands lodging in her silky hair as I groan the announcement of my pleasure. She doesn’t pull away. No, she rides out my spasms with me, cupping my ballsac and coaxing every drop from my cock.

Reaching down, I catch her under her arms and scoop her up to lie on my stomach. Her oversized purple bathrobe has fallen off her shoulders, and we’re skin to skin.

She’s too sweet, too gentle, to tell me the truth—did what just happen revolt her? I’ll have to divine it from the look on her face. I inspect her closely, but she certainly doesn’t look disgusted. If I had to put a name on her expression, I’d have to say she’s pleased.

Opening her legs, she straddles me, pokes her face next to mine, and bestows on me one perfect kiss. “Did I make you feel good, Ar’Tok?”

“Silly Star. Does gravity keep us on the ground? Do our lungs need oxygen to breathe? Do the stars shine in the sky? That was a gift.” I kiss her back. My kisses may not be perfect like hers, but perhaps by their sheer number they make up for that fact.

She lazes a while in my arms. Neither of us can keep our hands off each other. Her palms move from clutching my cheeks to stroking my shoulders, to touching my cirr . My cirr , capable of being more demonstrative than the rest of me, stroke her as if she’s made of the finest clinadon and might break if not treated with the utmost care.

Star

I can’t count the number of times I’ve read about the act of taking a male’s member into your mouth. At first, I skipped those parts. Then I read them with a morbid fascination, like I read about the snake people of the Bremrin colony on Xenon’s third moon. It sounded repulsive.

Even over these last few days, as Ar’Tok and I began to explore each other’s bodies, I never allowed myself to imagine doing that to him.

But I feel so comfortable, I knew I could safely explore my urge with him. I knew he’d never pressure me if I wanted to stop in the middle. But the more I touched him, the more my mouth watered to taste him, to feel the intimacy of the caress, to both give and take pleasure from the experience.

“Tell me again,” I coax, wanting to hear one more time that I and I alone brought him pleasure.

“I never thought anything could feel that good, little Star. Your touch is magic.”

“So I could do that every day if I wanted?” I tease, knowing I’m giving him the opening to tease me right back.

“Oh, I don’t know if I could be so generous,” he says, his handsome face alight with a smile.

“I guess I’ll just have to learn how to beg.” I giggle, and his cirr fluff my hair in happy excitement.

After he exploded in my mouth—I can still taste the sweet spice of vanilla—his member became soft and disinterested. It’s poking my belly now though, definitely attentive.

“I want to try the other thing,” I say, hoping he has ESP and can read my mind.

“It would kill me to hurt you,” his voice is so sweet and earnest.

“This position is perfect.” I’m dripping wet, my thighs slick with arousal from the act of giving him so much pleasure. I rearrange myself, my knees next to his hips, and nestle my slit on his hardness. Beginning a rhythm, I experience the immense pleasure of feeling the ultimate expression of his manhood touching my femininity.

“Let me be in charge, Ar’Tok. I’ll go at my own pace, stop if I need to. I know you, you won’t be angry if this doesn’t work. Right?”

He leans up to kiss my lips, then lies back with a groan of pleasure. My movements, as inexpert as they are, are driving us both to the brink of rapture.

“I could never be angry at you, Star.”

My juices have coated him, I’m desperate to feel him inside me. There will never be a better moment for this to happen. His hands are at my breasts, my nipples spearing his palms. The look in his eyes is so bright it’s as if he’s high on drugs, but he’s not. This is passion.

Sliding up, I try to align myself on him, but it’s only after his hands move to my hips, tipping me to the correct angle, that he breaches me.

A long, low moan escapes me. It’s animalistic. Almost a growl. Looking down, I see he’s barely inside me, less than his finger was earlier today, not even an inch. It’s beautiful, though. Primal. Having another person inside me like this—how two become one. The thought spurs me on and I slide lower.

As amazing as we look, coupling together, my lids slam closed so I can pay better attention to the feelings coursing and swirling inside me. It’s not pain, but there’s a delicious stretch and burn. I want more of it, so I lift up and slide down again, welcoming more of him inside me.

“Ar’Tok,” my voice is deep, raspy, almost masculine. I steal one more glance at us, where we’re connected. He’s almost half-buried inside me. Leaning forward, the tips of my breasts grazing his muscular chest, I find this angle works even better.

Working myself on him, I reach bottom. Overcome with emotion, I lean up to catch one last glance at his body and mine—joined. Then I still for a moment, noticing everything about this moment—our perfect union.

The sweet and spicy smell of him, his hard shoulders underneath my hands, the pleasant pain of him inside me, reminding me I’m all female and he’s all male. The way my body’s opened to him puts pressure on my clit, ramping up my arousal.

I finally get the courage to drag my eyes up so I can glimpse his face. His muscles are tight. I know it’s taking great effort to hold himself back from pounding into me. The invisible cords that connect us pull even tighter on my heart. This male is a gift.

I roll slowly to the side, making sure he follows with me. He’s on top of me now, his weight on his forearms so he doesn’t hurt me. But even with almost no pressure on me, there’s something about this position that makes me feel possessed, even more feminine.

Ensuring our gazes are connected, I tell him, “Love me.”

Something unleashes within him. I feel every one of his muscles spark to life. No longer willing to sit by and let me have control, he takes over. Still, his movements are slow, almost tentative. His gaze doesn’t leave mine as if he’s inspecting my expression for any discomfort.

Assured that all is well, his thrusts become more forceful. He’s fully in control, as if he owns me.

The feelings swirling through me are nothing like the build-up I experienced under my covers on the Misfit . Nor are they close to the explosions I felt when he brought me to completion on the Fool’s Errand by rubbing up against me. Those were like the drip of a faucet compared to a rushing waterfall. This is a pounding, whirling roiling tsunami of desperate desire.

The feelings are so strong, so powerful, I feel fearful for a moment. Wondering if I can control them. Then I lie back, grab his rock-hard shoulders, allow the center of my consciousness to focus on the territory between my legs, and let the arousal build. It folds in on itself, doubling, then doubling again until the need for release pounds through me with the force of a hurricane.

My orgasm whips through me, contracting deep in my belly and reverberating through every cell in my body. I feel my channel grip Ar’Tok’s thick cock. This reminds me how we’re joined, united, and connected in so many more ways than this—this physical union.

Looking into his face, a beautiful mask of pleasure, I grip his horns near his skull, hear his hiss of pleasure, then feel his body buck as he spills into me.

“Star,” he says during his bark of pleasure. “Star,” he repeats a moment later when his cirr reach for me, caressing my cheeks.

He tumbles next to me, surrounds me with a vise-like grip, and clutches me to him closely as if he’ll never let me get away. His purr is louder than I’ve ever heard it. I can feel the rumble through his chest announcing his happy contentment.

Noticing he’s still inside me, I marvel at our connection.

“How is my North Star?” he asks. “Does she ever get tired of leading the way in the entirely perfect direction?”

“Star is fine. Happy. Tired. Boneless. How’s my Ar’Tok?”

“Lucky.” His cirr are stroking me gently. “So lucky. The day I stumbled onto your signal on comms should be declared a galaxy-wide holiday.”

“Yes. They’ll celebrate Lucky Day far and wide. It will be second in importance only to Blessed Peace Day,” I joke.