Alien Mine (18 page)

She couldn't lie to herself anymore. No matter how much she would prefer fear to be the cause of her trembling, she knew it was more than that. Oh, she felt fear. Any normal woman would have, but she was also trembling with the same strange tingly want that she experienced whenever he was around.

A part of her mind screamed in warning that he was an alien, but her body only recognised a male. A male pressed against her, his heavy erection impossible to miss as it pulsed against her stomach.

Don't look down. Don't look down,
she chanted in her head.

The fading steam sizzled with tension, wrapping itself around them, cocooning them in a hot sensual prison. Stepping back, never looking away from her, he slowly stripped off his shirt, his muscles rippling. He didn't undo buttons or zip it open. He simply pulled and the shirt came undone. Never breaking eye contact, he dropped the shirt outside the shower stall then stepped out of his shoes. Simply stepped out of them. No bending over awkwardly and fiddling with bootlaces. She was so envious of his clothes that he was almost naked before she realized it.

"Why are you undressing?" The question left her mouth before she could stop it and she wanted to smack herself on the forehead.
Brilliant, Natalie Hanson.

He didn't answer, but stepped out of his pants as easily as he stepped out of his boots.

At least, one of her questions had been answered. Aliens, Zyrgin aliens at least, didn't wear underwear.

His stomach and thighs appeared rock hard. Natalie knew from experience that if she touched him, she would barely make a dent in his skin. How she ever thought she could knock him out was still a mystery to her. His thighs, thick and muscled, tapered into human like knees, only with more defined bones and tendons. His well-toned calf muscles slotted into sturdy ankles.

For a moment, she was fascinated by the biggest feet she was ever likely to encounter in her lifetime. His toes were different from a human's. Each one was tipped with downright dangerous-looking claws that retracted under her gaze. The claws, more than his coppery color and size, shouted he wasn't from her world.

And still, her betraying body reacted to him. Her muscles tightening with need, while her legs trembled and her hands itched to touch him.

Carefully raising her eyes from his intriguing toes, she looked at what had held her curiosity ever since she'd whacked him. Apart from being a deeper copper color, he was built much the same as human men. Except that he lacked body hair. Didn't that mean he was from a warmer climate, or did it have something to do with evolving to withstand heat? When he'd warmed her with his body heat after she nearly froze to death she'd felt him, thick and hard, against her. But it hadn't prepared her for this.

Clearly, Andre hadn't been very blessed in that department. Her alien was big and erect. She gasped in what she insisted was horror, not awe. Then she spun around to leave.

He tightened his arms around her before she could move away from him.

"Let me go. You're not coming near me with that...thing."

"Thing fit," he said in a growly, overly intimate voice. He pressed her back against the wall of the shower stall until every ridge and bulge pressed against her from shoulder to ankle.

"It won't work. You're too large," she protested. "You said you wouldn't hurt me." But oh, if it worked, wouldn't it be wonderful to be that close to someone again? And with Zacar, she knew she would experience pleasure as well.

"We will fit perfect. Viglar measured."

What
? She moaned and hid her face in his chest, praying for the earth to open up and swallow her whole. Or sacrifice her to a volcano. How on earth could she ever look the doctor in the face again? "Please, Zacar, we need to know each other better before we become intimate," she said, trying to convince him as much as herself.

"I wash you now," he said.

He was talking the way he had before his language chip kicked in. Was she affecting him enough to interfere with his speech? It was a seductive thought. With her fiancé, she always had the sense that he was much less enthusiastic about her than she'd been toward him.

When he reached for the towel she'd wrapped around herself, she held it tight over her breasts and drew back against the silver wall.

"Zacar wash Natlia," he insisted in a thick, barely comprehensible voice. He snatched the towel away and threw it over the wall of the cubicle then growled something. The shower came on instantly, hot water pouring over them.

Briefly diverted from her body's clamouring needs, she frowned up at Zacar. "I had to touch it for the water to turn on. Can I make it work with only my voice, as well?"

"No." He didn't elaborate and instead picked up her bar of homemade soap.

As carefully as he'd fed her earlier, he washed every inch of her with the lightest of touches, his movements almost ritualistic. She shivered as those rough fingertips stroked over her sensitive flesh, leaving trails of fiery pleasure in their wake. Never had she been this intimate with anyone. She'd had sex before, but there was never this sense of being treasured.

His hands surprisingly gentle, nothing of her body was private or forbidden. His fingers moved over her ribs and she heard him count. Was he complaining about her being too thin, just like Andre had?

Lathering his hands, he used them instead of the washcloth and whenever she tried to move away or made sounds of passion she couldn't suppress, he would give her a little shake.

"Why do you keep shaking me? At this rate, I'm going to end up with permanent damage in my neck."

He stopped washing her, one hand heavy on her breast and the other on her shoulder. His thumb massaged her shoulder almost absently. She shook, but not with nerves. Everything he did, every touched affected her on a level so deep it felt as if he was trying to own her very essence. She flinched with pleasure when he pumped her breast with his hand, his palm grazing over her nipple.

"To soothe my breeder."

"It's not soothing. It hurts. Your women might like being shaken but Earth women get hurt when you do it."

She'd never get used to this, having these strange conversations about different species. Her body urged her to use her time in the shower with a hot naked guy more constructively. But instead, she was complaining about him shaking her.

"How do Earth men sooth their breeders?"

That dangerous thumb lazily moved over her collarbone. Her collarbone was an erogenous zone, too? Apparently, when he did the touching, her whole body was one.

"Um...with a hug, I guess, and don't call me that." It made a lot more sense than shaking a person's brains out to comfort them.

"Hug?"

"Yes. When humans want to comfort each other, they hug...or kiss."

How could he still talk? She was barely able to focus on anything but his hands.

"Show me hug," he insisted.

"Huh?" Hugging him while naked, wet, and soapy was dangerous. "Why don't we get out of the shower and get dressed first?" She wanted to hug him, but she was desperate to preserve what little dignity she had left.

"Show me."

Stubborn...

She quickly put her arms around him and gave him a quick squeeze before moving back. In that moment, with his body pressed against every aroused inch of hers, she reached the point of no return. He had her plastered against him before she could blink.

"Like this," he said, his voice husky.

She dipped her head, shy of him when he was like this. Who would've believed this fierce alien could be this gentle? Even when he fed her every day, she always had the feeling he was grimly determined to do it for more practical reasons. This was different, more intimate. Almost as if he wooed her.

She thought he would grab her and kiss the life out of her then take her right there in the shower. But instead he stepped back, soaped up his hands again, and started over, not missing an inch on her body.

He spent an excessive amount of time stroking her breasts with his fingers. She stood absolutely still, tempted to touch the copper beauty so invitingly close to her hands, but determined not to give in.

Her willpower lost. Her body, as if it had a will of its own, rubbed against his while she put her hands on his biceps. She shivered, despite the hot water cascading over her. He started to give her a little shake again and, when she moaned in protest, drew her into a hug instead.

He really was uncomfortably large. She was used to towering over most men, or being the same height, and it was strange to feel small and delicate next to him. She wanted to explore his body, as well, but was too shy. Andre had always accused her of destroying the mood when she would start taking over. Determinedly, she pushed away thoughts of her ex-fiancé. Maybe Zacar would enjoy her touching him.

"Zacar? Can I wash you?" She thought he wouldn't answer her, as he seemed to ignore her question for the longest time. Then, at last, he grated, "Yes."

His hand smoothed down the curve of her stomach and, very carefully, very softly cupped her. She dazedly wondered if the women of his species had hair between their legs and what he thought of the fact that she did.

For a long moment, he simply stood, staring down into her dazed eyes. Then his hand moved. With lazy, swirling movements, he combed through the crisp hairs then parted her flesh. His finger traced every hidden curve carefully. Steam swirled around them and she vaguely wondered how the water could stay hot for so long. It had to run out sometime. He slowly stroked and fondled her until her muscles clenched, as if preparing for a long fall. The knowledge of what he was doing to her amazed her and, somehow, his red eyes didn't seem ugly to her anymore.

Red? Those weren't only battle eyes, but eyes of passion, as well.

He was relentless, stroking and petting her until she came with a soft moan. The shower, the steam, everything disappeared until only Zacar, and pleasure so intense it was almost pain, remained.

When she came to her senses, she was still in the shower, leaning limply against Zacar. He rubbed her back with a gentle hand, and she half expected him to press her to her knees to return the favor. When he didn't, she took the bar of soap and lathered her hands.

"Do you mind smelling like roses?" she asked. Did he even know what roses were?

His gaze was glued to her hands, and it was only when her soaped hands hovered over his chest that he answered, by pressing her palms to his skin. His body firmed and tightened until she could have been touching a boulder from the mountain if his flesh wasn't warm and rippled under her hands. The moment her hands moved lower he picked her up and lifted her out of the shower, drying her with the same intensity he fed her with. As if nothing more important existed in the universe. Once again, his movements were almost ritualistic. Starting at her feet, he dried each toe individually.

She giggled and jerked her foot back. "That tickles."