Chapter Five

 

 

It’s probably better he takes me this way. From behind. I can hide my face in the covers and pretend he’s a human man and I’m back on Earth finally losing my virginity. Maybe I met a man during my first semester at Harvard and we fell in love. Or lust. It doesn’t matter, as long as I’m willing.

The heat of his cock stuns me when it drags against my inner thigh. A little moan drifts from me as he trails his length over my wet folds, teasing me. But when he starts pushing inside my tight passage, I can’t cope with the thickness of his cock. I grab at the covers and frantically try to evade him.

“Please, no.” I crawl up on the bed and face him, hugging my knees to my chest as I lean on the pillows. Shaking my head, I give him my most pleading look. Then my gaze travels lower and I gasp at the immense size of his manhood.

He’s fucking huge.

“Please don’t do this.”

An ice cold look enters his eyes. “Get back in place, little human, or I will take the belt to your pussy before I fuck it.” He speaks so quietly he might have been telling me it was going to rain today, but instead he’s issuing a threat that makes my stomach roil. “I must claim you now. It’s imperative,” he then says, in a strangely encouraging tone, as if it’s a matter of life and death and what he’s about to do is for my own good. There’s an urgency about him that stretches beyond his primal lust.

“Why, Kenan?”

He sighs. “Trust me, it’s for the best.” His eyes gleam with compassion for several long breathless moments, and it’s as if he’s another man entirely. He swallows hard and then rearranges his face into a firm, indifferent expression. “If you don’t obey and get back into place, Laylah, I will whip your pussy.”

The angry welts on my breasts throb harder, and I scramble to obey, laying stomach down at the end of his colossal bed.

I believe him. I believe he’s that cruel and I don’t want to ever experience the lash of his belt again. But I don’t want him to fuck me, either, even if my pussy is incessantly throbbing for his touch.

I start crying, for the millionth time in his presence. I’ve never cried so much in my life, but then I’ve never been kidnapped by a huge scary alien either. Before this happened to me, I was always so stoic. I hurt and raged inside when my brother and grandmother died, but I fucking held it together and tried to be strong for my parents’ sake, especially for my mother. I wish I could be strong like that now, but I’m so fucking scared and still in disbelief that aliens exist that I can’t help falling apart.

“Hush,” he says gently, before urging my thighs apart. “This must be done.” He strokes two fingers over the slit of my opening before splaying my nether lips open to explore the wetness within. I whimper when he rubs my essence overtop my pulsing clit, and, to my mortification, my hips jerk of their own accord and I press myself against his hand.

A satisfied groan rumbles from him.

He abandons my clit to insert his thick digits into my channel, driving as deep as my virginal barrier only to withdraw slightly before pushing inside again. The shallow thrusts soon make my body hum with pleasure, and he gradually increases his pace until I’m panting and trying my best not to moan or whimper. But it’s difficult, because I’ve never experienced such an intense need to come.

I clutch the covers and take deep breaths in a futile attempt to quell my arousal, but it doesn’t work. With each thrust, the ache in my core deepens and my wetness grows.

At last, he withdraws from my center entirely, but he remains close, the heat of his body waving onto mine, a boundless sensual caress that promises more.

He’s not done with me yet.

“Spread those legs wider, human. I intend to impale you and make you mine.”

The moment I part my thighs to his liking, he grips my hips and drives his cock deep into my pussy. I gasp as he pounds into me with abandon. Each thrust is a blazing stab of agony. It hurts so bad, if he does this to me every day, I don’t know how I’ll cope.

“I own you and this hole of yours, Laylah. I’ll claim you whenever I want, and you’ll bend over and take it like a good little mate.” Though his tone is firm, underneath the steel there’s a hint of tender regard that clashes with his bold declaration.

Mate? My mind reels at this particular word. Does this act solidify something more in our roles than abductor and captive? Does it have something to do with his urgency to claim me?

He continues thrusting in and out, and at some point the blinding pain fades to a dull ache, and slowly, very slowly, the heat of my shameful arousal returns until it’s burning with a vengeance. I’d rather each thrust hurt like hell than experience any bit of pleasure from his touch.

The bed bounces with his rough movements as he pounds into me. Deep growls and moans emanate from his throat, noises that don’t sound even remotely human, making it impossible to pretend I’m back on Earth, losing my virginity on a college campus.

As he fucks me, I’m ever aware I’m on Tallia and a huge, fierce alien named Kenan is claiming me despite my protests.

Each time he enters me, his heavy balls impact upon my clit, causing everything below my waist to ache desperately and pulse harder with need. I’m close to coming apart, soaring high and shattering amidst the stars, but trying damn hard not to surrender to that first wave of pleasure.

I’m vaguely aware of the twin moons of Tallia rising outside the window, glowing bright orange against the backdrop of a brilliant starry night. The sound of the forest reaches me and keeps me grounded in reality. Insects buzz, screech, and sing in a chorus that doesn’t sound as chaotic as it should. The breeze picks up and cools my skin.

Breathless and sweating, I welcome the refreshing night air, for it briefly distracts me from the present circumstances I’m hopeless to escape.

The pace of his thrusts increase, and he releases one of my hips to grab my hair. He gives a harsh yank, and I gasp. My scalp still aches from his rough handling earlier.

“I can feel your muscles clenching around my cock and your little clit swelling larger and larger every time my balls hit it.” There’s a smirk in his voice, as well as a note of warning. “Stop holding back and come, Laylah. You have thirty fucking seconds to come or I’ll pull out of your pussy and fuck your ass instead.”

He hasn’t issued an idle threat yet, so I close my eyes and allow the pleasure to sweep me under. Sharp pulsing waves crash over me and I come longer and harder than I thought humanly possible. The whole while, he keeps fucking me in a rough manner, claiming my innocence because he’s big and strong and I can’t fight him off, and for whatever reason he has decided I’m to be his mate. I shudder as the last remnant of shameful ecstasy pulsates through me, making my toes curl and leaving me panting for air.

“Good girl.” He releases my hair and caresses my head for a moment, even pausing within my pussy as he comforts me.

It’s fucking perverse, but a sense of pride reverberates in my chest because he’s pleased I came on command. Endorphins rush my scalp, prickling and dancing along each strand of hair as he strokes my disheveled locks. I melt into his touch, a captive to the euphoric sensations I’m helpless to stop.

But he resumes pounding into me seconds later, breaking the spell and leaving me wishing I could build an impenetrable wall around my heart.

His cock stiffens and he groans louder than before. Then his hot seed spurts into me, filling me up. He hovers over me, breathing hard, until he finally withdraws from my pussy. I wince at the soreness, yet part of me savors the ache.

I can’t fathom why.

“Stay right here.”

I couldn’t have moved if I wanted to. When I hear running water, I realize he must be in the bathroom. He returns with a warm, wet cloth and dabs it tenderly between my legs. I want him to hold me again, but only because I need someone to hold me and he’s the only person around.

Tears prick at my eyes and I blink rapidly. He’s probably going to throw me into the cage and go to sleep now. My stomach suddenly growls and I wonder if I’ll have to beg for my food, beg for a blanket at night, and beg for every little comfort and kindness for the rest of my days.

An even darker thought strikes me. Will there come a point when I must beg for my life? He carried me off the Stargazer, but perhaps he only plans to keep me until he grows tired of me. Sure, he’d called me his mate, but I don’t know what being mated in his culture entails. What if the males of his kind discard one mate for a new one whenever they damn well please? What would happen to me then? I shudder, picturing all the horrific ways he could get rid of me, then blink hard and give my head a quick shake to dispel the sudden onslaught of violence images.

He leaves me and opens the top drawer of a nearby dresser. Pulling a thin black, oversized robe out, he tosses it next to my head. The warm cloth is still between my legs, and numbness begins to spread over my previously sore flesh. He must have applied an ointment or medicine of some kind to the cloth.

My thoughts race. How can he grab me, slap my face, whip my breasts, and force himself on me, only to tend to me so gently in the aftermath of his brutality?

It then occurs to me my lungs don’t sting with each breath and my throat doesn’t burn from the smoke anymore. Other than fatigue, I felt remarkably well when I awoke in the cage. He must have also tended to me after taking me from the Stargazer, after I passed out the last time. I’m no expert, but, even so, the amount of smoke I inhaled should’ve killed me.

He helps me sit on the bed, with the cloth still tucked between my legs, and then he wraps an arm around me, just as I’d secretly hoped he would. He urges my head against his chest, and I don’t resist his offered comfort. He strokes my hair, rekindling the euphoric sensations that had rushed my head earlier, and says, “Now you belong to me, Laylah. By the laws of my people, you are forever mine.”

I’m quiet.

What can I say to his pronouncement? I certainly can’t argue. Not only am I too frightened to refute his claim, but I’m weak in the aftermath of losing my virginity in the most brutal way imaginable.

You are forever mine. This part of his declaration calms my concerns that he’ll discard me, possibly by killing me, to take a new mate in the future. At least I don’t have to worry about staying in his favor simply to remain alive. How difficult will it be to adapt to his culture? Do I even want to try?

I don’t understand why his strong arms and the heat of his body feel like a refuge. How is that possible after the harshness he’s visited upon me?

“Laylah, I want you to use the bathroom, clean up, even take a shower if you wish, and then put the robe on. Come downstairs after you finish, and we’ll have dinner.”

He kisses my forehead then releases me and strides through the door without another word, leaving me alone with only my tormented thoughts as company.

In a trance, I rise from the bed. The light gray covers are stained red with my blood, and so is the cloth, but the pain is completely gone now. The medicine he applied to the rag worked wonders.

This is not how I’d envisioned losing my virginity. Not in a million years.

On shaky legs, I walk to the window and gaze into the night. There’s nothing but darkness, stars, and the two orange moons. I stand there for about five minutes, wondering how far the ground rests below. But I’m not like the kickass heroines in the movies and books from my childhood. I’m too chicken shit to attempt climbing down or jumping out the window, so I obey Kenan and take a shower.

It takes some time to figure out the controls and how to adjust the temperature to my liking, but I eventually get it working and help myself to the fragrant bottles of soap to wash every inch of my body, including my hair.

After I snatch one of the plush towels from a hook and dry off, I wipe the condensation from the mirror and gaze at my reflection. My eyes are bloodshot and red-rimmed from all my crying, and a faint pink mark tinges the left side of my face. My breasts look like hell, but I don’t think they appear as damaged as earlier. The welts are fading with no signs of bruising.

I sigh and towel dry my hair as best I can then venture back into the bedroom in search of the robe. The oversized garment drags on the ground with each step, but I’m grateful Kenan has permitted me clothing.

Grateful. I shake my head. Maybe the trip through the wormhole made me delusional or off-balance. I don’t understand my odd desire to please him, or my automatic gratitude for the smallest kindnesses he bestows on me. I try to summon blazing hatred for the monster who stole my innocence, but I’m not convinced my dislike for him burns hot enough. I tell myself I’m in shock and the hatred and repulsion will arrive later, after the initial disbelief over today’s events wears off.

I smooth my damp hair behind my ears and head for the door. As I descend the steps on the tall, wide staircase, I pray he leaves me untouched for the remainder of the night. And I pray he’s lying about the wormhole. I don’t want to believe I’ll never see my homeworld and my family and friends again.

His house is obscenely lavish, beset with sparkling chandeliers, awe-striking paintings and artwork, and extravagant moldings and arched ceilings with skylights. Coming from a lower middle-class family, I’m not used to luxuries of any kind. Dad’s a construction worker, and Mom’s a medical receptionist. Oftentimes, they survive paycheck to paycheck. I used to work weekends at a grocery store to help out. The only reason I got into Harvard is because of the recommendation of my father’s step uncle, who’s a tenured professor at the prestigious school. Oh, and one hell of a student loan with a few tiny scholarships sprinkled in.

I wonder what Kenan does for a living. His home screams wealth and sophistication. Given his barbaric treatment of me, I would expect him to live in a primitive cave in the side of a Tallian mountain.

“In here, Laylah. In the dining room!”

I smell something delicious that reminds me of lasagna and my stomach rumbles again.

Taking a deep breath, I amble toward the open doorway, praying I’m not the main course.