Barbarian Alien(13)

I can’t deny that the thought of us fucking gets me wet as hell, though. I slip a finger into myself and whimper because it’s not enough. I need more. I need him. But for now, fingering will do. I position my thumb over my clit and begin to rub, and arch off the furs.

“Raahosh,” I moan, sliding my thumb over my clit.

And wouldn’t you know it, the bastard appears in the doorway of the cave as if I called his name.

Which I had.

I’m caught, my hand in my pants.

Moaning his name.

I’m never going to live this one down.





Part Two




RAAHOSH



It’s late at night when I hear noises outside of the cave, off in the distance. I head out to investigate, spear in hand, ready to protect my human as she slumbers. Being on your own in the hunting lands is always dangerous and a good hunter is always at the ready. It was a herd of dvisti passing nearby. I watch them for a bit, studying the mares. A few do not have young, and it might be a good idea to hunt one when the suns return so that I might fill my small cave with ample food for my mate. The thought is a pleasing one, and I return to the cave in high spirits despite the late hour…

Only to find it filled with the musk of sex and my mate touching her strange third nipple between her legs as she moans my name.

The sight fills me with elation, and my cock grows hard with need. My khui sings in my breast. She’s ready to mate. She…she…

I must remember her name.

I stride forward, watching as she pulls her hands from under her skirt with a small cry. She shuffles backwards on the furs, but the evidence of what she has been doing scents the air. It calls to me so strongly I can practically taste it with my tongue, and my cock surges and throbs in response.

Her khui resonates in her chest, and I watch as one of her hands goes to her breasts, as if trying to silence it. My own khui sings a response. It feels good. Right. I don’t even care that she is small and fragile and not sa-khui. I don’t care that her face is flat and smooth. I don’t care that she doesn’t even like me.

She’s mine. My body and hers both know it.

“No,” she hisses the moment I step forward, and she puts her hand up and gives a shake of her head. “You don’t get to touch me. You can’t have this.”

Again she refuses me? I snort, incredulous. This human is not to be believed. But I stop in my tracks, watching her. Waiting to see what she does. She is unpredictable.

I…am amused by that.

Her fingers stroke over her sex again, and the smell of arousal fills the air. “I hate this,” she says as she strokes that strange nipple between her legs and shudders at the touch. “No woman in her right mind would be turned on in this situation. But can I stop touching myself? No! Because the thought of sex makes me ache in ways I can’t imagine.” Her fingers glide through her juices, rubbing them up and down.

I groan at the delicious sight, and my hands flex. The need to touch her is a palpable thing…but so is the scowl on her face. So I clench my fists and hold back, waiting to see what she does. Surely Georgie did not fight Vektal when he claimed her?

But…she’s clearly thinking of me. She moans my name as she touches herself. The memory of my name on her lips appeases my frustration and I narrow my eyes, watching.

The breath hisses from her lungs again and she continues to touch herself. “I’m not doing this because I want to,” she says. “I’m doing this because I have to. Because this thing humming in my chest won’t let me stop.” She touches herself again, stroking over that nipple, and then gives me a look so frustrated and angry that I feel a twinge of pity for her. Vektal said the human customs about mating are different. She must feel powerless.

Her head lolls and she bites her small, pink lip. Her fingers work on her cunt and the nipple there even faster. It’s clear she’s heading towards release, and she has no intention of letting me touch her.

Anger flares in me. Does she think this is fun for me? That I enjoy a mate that rejects my touch? Does she think I do not suffer from the same khui-madness she does? That I don’t burn for her touch? To bury my cock in her wet warmth? Does she think she is alone in this?

Or do I not matter to her?

If she insists on taking her own pleasure before my eyes and holding me at length, then I shall do the same thing. I undo the fastenings of my leggings and free my aching cock. It juts out from my leathers, proud and long.

She gasps at the sight, momentarily pausing in her frantic rubbing. “Oh my fucking God.”

Her words are nonsense. Something about coitus and spirits, but her expression tells me everything I need to know, as do her parted lips.