Page 20 of Invasive Species (Outcasts of Oloria #2)

FOURTEEN

GARA

Running my diagnostic down my body in the sheltered area Arra-bellah made for me in the lean-to, I know what I’ll find. My markers haven’t changed, they’re all stable as they have been for years, and I know because I smell them all the time.

So it both surprises and doesn’t surprise me to see nothing’s changed. Not physically. But mentally, emotionally, I feel something’s shifted. Something monumental.

“Hypothesis: the mate bond isn’t real,” I say.

“There’s no chemical component, no hormonal change; no physical adjustment such as changes in respiration or contraction rates; only scale pattern, which is under mostly subconscious control.

” I stare again at my scales; they stay bright healer green as I bend my mind to this problem.

Then I glance at the space Arra-bellah made for me, her empathy for us in this space, the thoughtfulness in how she considered an area suited for everyone, her kindness in doing it for us, and my scales flash yellow. Yellow as the golden yolks of the eggs she burns for me in the mornings.

“It’s not real,” I mutter, but it… it feels real enough. Even though that's not how science works .

“New hypothesis: I'm only reacting like this because… I've been programmed to.” That sends a sliver of sadness through my hearts, but I bare myself to the harsh truth. What if I'm gravitating toward her only because I've tripped certain prerequisites in my genetic code?

When confronted with a new problem, I need to do what I do best. Triage. Test. Trial.

And first, I need to understand what human females expect.

I run the quick program I made through Arra-bellah’s e-reader to get it to display symbols I can recognize. Now the whole wealth of human knowledge is at my fingertips, and I type into the request space, “What do human females want?”

It returns reams of titles: How to play the game and make her love you; Win her heart; Get Good and Make it Good; Get the girl you want.

As I flick through, my stomach sinks. I can't make money here, and I don't have possessions to show off as they recommend. I can't give a woman anything except my body.

Disappointment sends my mood crash landing back to Earth. She won’t want me. If she did, she’d have made it clear by now.

If it wasn’t Arra-bellah’s I’d toss the e-reader aside, but something stops me. This is a rare opportunity to have unfettered access to any type of learning, unfiltered by the females managing the Selthiastock programs. And perhaps there is a way to make Arra-bellah want me.

I type, “How to pleasure females.”

Oh, this is much better. Books with esoteric embracing couples whizz past my fingers. There's a vast treasure trove of techniques and tips that must number in the thousands. I bless each of these authors to the All Mother and try to figure out which one to devour first.

At the bottom of the page is another display, called Similar to books you've read before. Me? My hearts judder. It must be Arra-bellah’s reading history this thing is analyzing. My finger hesitates only briefly before I scroll through Ara’s personal library, a secret window to her thoughts.

My Alien and Me.

Big Alien on the Prairie.

Forbidden Flames on Fireoga.

Perhaps this planet does have knowledge of other cultures outside their solar system. Are these historical accounts?

Planet of the Pirate Prince: Claimed and Tamed. Claimed. The ultimate dream of a True Born is to be claimed as a mate one day, but I'm no True Born. A bitter smile twists my lips.

Still, there’s no harm in a thought experiment. What would I do if I were claimed by one person, and one person only? Arra-bellah’s wild laughter races through my veins, setting them alight. Her hair unfurling in the wind, wild. Free.

As I long to be.

I press download and I'm presented with a bright male torso bursting with muscle, his color the electric green of a moss fruit crossed with neon. I poke my own midsection. Yes, I have a form like that, and clearly it’s amenable to Arra-bellah's tastes.

I read the page presented to me:

The captive is brought before the captain. He eyes her up and down, eyes lingering on her full breasts heaving against the fabric of her Obaya robes as she breathes.

I write notes in my personal pad. Robes.

Arra-bellah might like to wear robes, and indeed she wore a thick scratchy fabric when she interrupted my punishment.

My heartbeats quicken. The females on our planet wear robes, and my imagination presents me a stark image of Arra-bellah in white sheer fabric, her hair a riot of red like the setting sun, her breasts hanging free.

The captain stretches his legs out, thrusting his hips a little before he settles back to lounging in his throne. His pants are tight showing every outline of his thick thigh muscles and growing, stiffening cock.

What, only one cock? I look down at my own pants, which are skintight but perhaps not tight enough if they’re supposed to show every dip and shadow of my muscles as well as betray my growing arousal.

My members harden even as the idea of constantly being exposed like that spools within me. I wouldn't like it. Would I?

The robes are parted by the guards, and she is bare before him. He reaches out languidly and skims the top of his smooth fingers over her puckering nipples.

I sit up. This is it, the good stuff. I have my pad open beside me ready to take notes.

“Leave us,” the captain says, and his guards turn to obey. As soon as they shut the door, the captain falls to his knees, gathering his captive up in his arms.

“Are you alright? I had no idea that was your skiff.”

“I'm fine,” the captive says. “Do your guards always strip prizes before you?”

“They think my preference is for humans. They don't know I live for you, and only you.” The captain moves lower, nuzzling his lover. She stands legs apart to grant him access, and he inhales her sweet nectar.

I cannot make notes now, riveted to the page.

His tongue extends, the forks swirling in the air. He looks up at her, a lascivious grin on his face. He grasps his throbbing member as he tastes her, each fork probing and questing. The captive moans ? —

This is fascinating. What would Arra-bellah be like as my captive?

I replace this woman's described looks with Arra-bellah’s, her hair as red as a rocket's full thrust, her skin soft and pale under the pirate’s touch.

My touch. I might not have a forked tongue but I can probe, mapping these depths described as smooth, silky and, above all, warm.

I clasp my hand around my straining cock, the secondary one thickening out at the base.

Selthiastock class clones have a knotting cock template which fill the mates of True Born to bursting.

I don't know why we were given one, as no female ever chooses a lowly clone as a mate.

Yet another insult from the females of my planet.

I refocus on the historical account. This captive seems to like being filled, demanding the captain’s penis and screaming with pleasure when it goes anywhere near her.

My hand gets firm, unyielding, wrenching my fore cock in an up and down motion to simulate the thrusting in and out the captain does, crooning to his captive, “ Good girl,” and, “ Take it all . ”

“Good girl, Arra-bellah,” I grunt, hardly able to speak through the waves of pleasure riding me, spurring me higher and higher to my peak. A few hard jerks and my seed spurts, jetting into the air.

But then pain attacks. I curl into myself as my secondary cock demands pressure for release, aching fiercely. I grope and press it frantically. What’s happening? I suck in a breath and try to breathe through a fresh wave of agony.

Eventually the pain subsides and I settle back, panting hard, analyzing.

My knotting cock has never activated before, but now it throbs in response to carnal thoughts about Arra-bellah.

It definitely needed to be surrounded with something tight and warm.

I glance down at the text. The prisoner’s pleasure centers seem ideal.

As for why it hurts is an easy conclusion. My own body, including its sex organs, were designed and developed to serve the females of Oloria, even when they don’t want us.

“This is ridiculous,” I growl at myself. Why am I bothering to learn about pleasure?

Because Arra-bellah is different. Closing my eyes, I relive the moment she reached out for me in the water. How her hand closed around my wrist, solid, unwavering. As if it were normal and natural to help me.

I want that in my life. I want someone to care about me like that.

So I’ll have to work to secure it.

After cleaning myself and my surroundings, I read the rest of the text to learn what to do to satisfy the little human. The partners race toward mutual completion, and this pirate prince has no fear of an unsatisfactory knotting experience.

My lip curls at the character’s certainty that this female is his to use as he sees fit, tugging at her hair like reins as he, quote, ‘rides her.’ Even mated, I would never presume ownership of a female.

Certainly no one would ever be able to tame Arra-bellah, and I wouldn’t want her to be owned by anyone.

This male doesn't have a knot, but perhaps there are more who do, and I can learn how they pleasure their partners. I make a quick program to scour for evidence of a cock like mine in these novels. Does Arra-bellah find them interesting? That would also be an important datapoint.

There are few knotting cocks, and the program highlights them for me, but the passages also contain prose.

“I love you,” the pirate says as he thrusts again.

She is filled, stretched, her mouth dropping open as her walls are subjected to more than she ever could have imagined. He’s deep and tight within her, their bodies pressed as if they interlock and will never untangle again.

“I love you too,” she gasps.

I shut the e-reader, trembling.

Love. My hearts thump my chest, each beat like nails hammered into the thick oak beams of the barn. Love isn't for someone like me. I'm a mere clone, one of thousands of Selthias class copies. I've been banished, a criminal, and I've been rejected before.

I squeeze my eyes shut, shoving down memories as sharp as shards of glass.

My mother—no, the woman I thought was my mother—smiling at me.

Assessing my test scores with a happy laugh.

Running with me, playing with me, laying back onto the grass and looking at trails from short hoppers in the sky together to weave a story.

Leaving me at the gray door, turning around and walking away. She told me to stay and be quiet, and I did, so she would look back at me and say I'd passed some test .

But she never looked back.

The shards of memory work their way deeper, cutting as they go. I can’t go through that again. Arra-bellah’s a human with a completely different culture to mine, but she can still discard me. Look at how many times we’ve clashed, to Dom’s irritation.

My chest tightens, but I force myself to take a deep breath.

I have to hope. She's different. Unique.

Her mind works in incredible ways, a challenge to keep up with and always one step ahead of me.

The image of her saving me, holding me, pulling me up with her to the surface, fills my hearts with warmth.

I flip the reader open with renewed purpose. I have to learn all this so I'll impress her. I'm a fast learner, all Selthiastock are, and I'm no different.

It's a strength I intend to use.

Downloading a host of anatomy and sex guides as well as the novels, I get out my notes comp and study.