Bound: Nomadican Mates Series 2: Alien Reverse Harem Romance Read online

  Dragging me closer by the bend of one knee, Xuel slides his hand between my thighs. I swivel my hips into the probe of his finger. Moaning, I arch into the pleasure of the friction he’s creating. Before I know it, a flood breaks within me, and I ride out the waves of heat as he fingers me to completion.

  “She has healed completely inside and out.” Xuel’s voice is thick—heavy.

  “I said as much,” Natu answers.

  Xuel grunts a response and leisurely pumps through the slick of my climax before pulling away. Turning away from me, I want to scream at his back for leaving me wanting. I saw the need in his eyes, the same as if I’d seen his erection. Confused, the hurt I feel at his dismissal is irritating.

  Natu’s eyes scan me with a new hunger. His musk mingles with Xuel’s, and I feel myself grow wetter.

  I was never this in tune with my own sexuality as I am now. I blame it partly on that pearly jelly, and mostly on the males’ intoxicating pheromones. As if my flesh has been awakened, all this sexual neediness has to be a direct side effect of both.

  I’d already planned to use my mind and body as a weapon, so I use my current arousal to my advantage. Teasingly, I slip my own hand between my legs and play in my mess while Natu watches. Pumping myself, I revel in how every nerve ending inside my sheath has become electrifyingly alive.

  Natu is drawn to me, but Xuel grabs his biceps, stopping him before he reaches the bed. I use my other hand to fondle my breast, which makes him try to shake off Xuel’s hold.

  “No, Natu. Have Nulis finish what I started. It is his turn at the slave’s cunt.”

  To my complete dismay, they both leave me alone. Soaking wet and aching, I’m tempted to bring myself to orgasm. Now that my mission has left, and the veil of musk lifted, I don’t really see the point. Ignoring the tightness coiled low in my belly, I sit up to find the material Xuel tore from my body and wrap it around myself.

  I’d nearly forgotten the tray that was left for me by the creepy shark children. Hopping down, I pad over and swipe the wall panel to reveal the bench. Taking a seat, I lift the lid to find an assortment of foreign foods.

  Smiling at the familiar fruit, I practice the new word I learned. “Plurius.”

  Breaking it open, I use my teeth to scrape the delicious flesh from the skin the way Natu showed me. Finished with that, I push away a pile of meat with my fingers as there’s no cutlery. Eating with your hands seems to be the Nomadica custom, so when in Rome, or wherever the hell this place is.

  There are several drinks to choose from, so I go for the one that’s a pale brown that makes me think of coffee. What I wouldn’t give for a Starbucks French Roast. The cup is warm against my fingers as I lift it to my nose for a sniff.

  Chai tea!

  No fucking way.

  Sniffing again, I take a tentative sip off the edge of the cup.

  Rich and creamy, the warm concoction is a taste of home. Nearly identical in flavor to Chai if it was mixed with heavy cream instead of milk, it’s definitely reminiscent of a morning drink. I want to guzzle it down, but if the pearly jelly has taught me anything, it’s to remain cautious of everything until I know for sure things are safe. If this drink is caffeinated, it could be overly so and prove dangerous to my human constitution.

  I try not to pout when I set the cup aside and pick at the food on the tray, trying to decide what I want to try next. Sniffing at a dish of thinly sliced yellow sticks, I brave to crunch down on one and am pleasantly surprised to find it tastes like a raw potato. Polishing off the bowl, I don’t feel any adverse effects from the Chai tea, so I treat myself to a few more sips.

  My eyes continue to stray to the meat. Disgusting as it is to me, I have to find a protein substitute. Since I have no idea what I’m consuming, crossing this language barrier is going to be as crucial to maintaining my health as it is in aiding me in finding a way home.

  Staring down at all the unfamiliar on my tray, reaching my ultimate goal seems that much more overwhelming. If I can’t even identify the food going in my mouth, how in the hell am I supposed to find a way back to my home planet?

  I wonder if my parents have noticed that I’m missing. My mom wasn’t thrilled about me moving back home, but I can’t imagine she wouldn’t be worried when they figure out I’ve vanished.

  Then again, when have they ever been concerned? That one time I spent the night in Mr. Sutton’s massive cornfield after I got lost taking a shortcut to my friend, Linda’s, house, they made little effort to find me. After I found my way out, I remember my dad saying he figured I’d eventually turn up.

  Not born the son my father always wanted; my parents have never shown much affinity toward me. Right out of the womb, I was a disappointment, and never have I done or said anything to earn their affections, no matter how hard I tried. My only crime? I was born a girl. Despite their constant criticisms, I weathered their abuse, and I grew an iron skin. Just as soon as my eighteenth birthday rolled around, I was packed and headed to California armed with a dream and a worn-out suitcase.

  Once there, I thought my career had begun on the right foot when I landed my first job with a major department store. Thinking I’d proven my parents wrong, that I was actually going to become a supermodel, all I’d ended up doing was solidifying my father’s low opinion of me by showing my body in those “filthy catalogs” as he called them. If my father was disappointed, that meant my mother was too. Thankfully, neither one of my parents has ever brought up the adult magazine fiasco, so as far as I know, they remain ignorant of it.

  I can’t help but chuckle over an imagine taking shape in my mind of a huge crop circle etched out in the center of my father’s precious cornfield, left by the aliens who abducted me. It’s mean of me, but I would pay good money to see him go batshit crazy over some geometric design flattening the crops he cares more about than his own daughter.

  On the heels of that ridiculous thought, a melancholy haze obscures my moment of absurdity, and I prop my elbow on the table, wondering if I’ll ever see my parents again. Aside from my shitty childhood, I still love them. They’re my parents. Even if they may not feel the same about me.

  I straighten my spine—this isn’t the time to sit here feeling sorry for myself. No. This is the time to figure a way out of this mess, and the first thing I need to do is get out of this room.

  I haven’t wanted to admit to myself what is so blatantly obvious—this glowing white room with the bizarre sparkling floor is a cage. A tech-savvy enclosure and I’m going to find a way out of it.

  Renewed determination gets me up and moving around my prison. Running my hands over every bit of the wall within my reach, I find a panel that accesses another bedlike platform. The same as the one I’ve slept on, but don’t find anything I haven’t already seen before.

  When I don’t find anything new, I try the only panel that could gain my freedom, but it still refuses my touch. Running my palm all over the rectangular section of the screen, it doesn’t so much as light up.

  Using my fingernails, I pry at the slight indentation that delineates it from the wall; maybe it’s a cover, and I can get inside the inner workings. Has to be a programming thing. Not that I’m computer savvy or anything, but it’s the only thing that would make sense why the males can open the door and I can’t.

  If I’m able to remove the cover, then what?

  Making no progress beyond chipping the polish off my last manicure, frustration simmers low in my gut. A slow boil that will keep me focused on this puzzle until I figure it out.

  I need a tool like a knife or something.

  Looking around the room, my eyes swing to the cabinet with all the jars and bottles. Crossing the room, I access the cabinet and grab the first jar my hand touches. Tossing it to the floor, it doesn’t shatter as I expected but bounces a few times before coming to rest against the curve of where the wall meets the floor.

  “Damn it!”

  Choosing a tall, slender bottle this time, I hold it by the bottom
and smack the top against the edge of the sex table. That does the trick. The lid cracks off, leaving a jagged edge.

  Rushing over to the door panel with my handcrafted tool, I wedge the sharp edge of the broken bottle into the thin crevice and use it to pry as I would a knife.

  The bottle breaks. My hand slides on the jars slippery contents leaving a long, painful slash across my palm.

  “Oh, shit.”

  The sight of my own blood makes me woozy. There’s no time for fainting. Whatever was in that jar is searing my cut flesh as if I’d dipped my hand in battery acid.

  Running to the pop-out sink, the running water is an instant balm, cooling and soothing. As my blood is washed away, I get a look at the damage. The cut is deep.

  Fear crawls over me. If I were seriously injured, I wouldn’t know how to call for help.

  Reaching for a small square of clean material, I wrapped my wound tight but not enough to cut off the circulation. Lightheaded from the injury, I stumble toward my bed. Lying down seems like a good plan.

  On my way, I catch sight of the jakato that’s rolled under the bed. I’d forgotten all about it with Natu and Xuel’s unexpected visit. Hidden in the folds of my makeshift toga, the squat jar must have dropped to the floor and rolled under the bed when Xuel stripped me.

  I saw it knit together Natu’s flesh when he’d added a piece of Agris’s decorated flesh to his own. This stuff also healed me after being applied by the royal blue alien after those two males took advantage of me. If it healed me once; it can again.

  On wobbly legs, I scramble for the forgotten jar. Popping the lid, I loosen my bandage and dip my fingers inside. Applying the ointment to my cut palm, I can already see the edges of my wound beginning to seal themselves like magic. By the time I swipe my finger over the cut a second, then a third time, it’s as if the injury had never happened.

  I laugh out loud with relief. Relaxing against the wall, I welcome the radiant warmth that seeps into my body. Closing my eyes, I take a moment to rest, but the feel of a hand on my cheek has me slapping the touch away with a strangled scream.

  Damn this sound-absorbing floor. I need to put bells around these male’s necks if they insist on coming and going without so much as a knock.

  The male with the bad breath is crouched before me, his eyes a mixture of confusion and lust as he takes me in. Pulling me to my feet, he alters my bed into a chair with a few quick movements of his hand.

  Shoving me down to sit, I watch as the child-sized aliens move quickly to remove my tray and stow everything to its rightful place inside the walls. The mess I made trying to pry off the door’s panel is cleared away with skillful efficiency.

  Reaching above my head, the male pulls a crisscrossed strap across my body and clips it into place between my thighs. Next to me, he frees the other platform bed from the wall and does the same switch-a-roo, fashioning what was once flat into a chair. Strapping himself in, he touches what looks like jewelry hugging the shell of his ear and speaks a few words in his alien tongue.

  A disembodied voice I recognize as the boisterous one, Orius, fills the room. I jerk back, tugging on the strap that has me trapped in place.

  The one with bad breath lays a giant hand on my shoulder as my eyes bounce around the room in a panic. His reassuring cadence does nothing to still my hands as I tear at the straps. Only when I’m sure Orius isn’t with us inside the room, do I calm.

  Looking to the male seated next to me, he offers a lopsided grimace that I take as his version of a grin. I return the smile as my body slumps in relief. On a deep inhale, I sample his musk. The rich flavor I recall from when I was first brought here. Intermingled with the others, it’s more potent on its own. An exhilarating undercurrent of zest that excites whereas Natu’s was more soothing.

  I find myself leaning toward him, but the strap holds me fast. My curiosity muses over this whole strapped-in-a-seat—

  A low humming is the only precursor to the full-bodied acceleration. Similar to the take-off of an airplane, my assumption becomes fact—I’m actually aboard a spaceship.

  And holy shit, I’ve just become party to a UFO!

  Going at a heart-pounding velocity for what feels like forever, we finally level off. The low hum fades to something close to silence until all that remains is the harsh rasping of my breaths.

  I tense and yelp at the disembodied voice that sounds out again. Apparently, that’s the alien’s version of a flight attendant announcing everyone is free to move about the cabin.

  Unclipping himself first, I watch every deft move as he releases the straps that kept me in my seat. Before I can make the slightest movement, I’m thrown over his broad shoulder like a sack of dog food. Palming my ass, he squeezes and carries me to the sex table.

  My question why Xuel or Natu didn’t take me when they had the chance is answered—it was someone else’s turn.

  Chapter 2

  There’s no reason to fight as the one with bad breath lays me down. The sex is inevitable. It’s going to happen whether I want it to or not.

  Tugging off my toga, he flips me onto my belly and groans while squeezing my ass in his large hands. Given the fact I’ve got a rounded rump, his enormous hands are covering a lot of ground at once.

  I try to relax and catch his musk. More heavy-handed than Natu, my current partner isn’t hurting me. As his scent fills my lungs, trails of tingles spark over my skin. What he’s doing feels more like a deep muscle massage than anything leading to sex—until he gives me a slap.

  Flipping over, I point my finger at him and scold, “No! No smacking. I don’t like that.”

  The male’s eyebrows shoot straight to his hairline. For a heartbeat of breathtaking uncertainty, I think I’ve crossed a line—until he barks out a laugh. At first, I don’t know what to make of the guttural bellow until his face stretches into a wide smile.

  Cocking a brow, he nudges me back to my belly.

  Rubbing the place, where he no doubt left a handprint, he murmurs, “Such a bounty of sweetmeat you possess, slave. I have never seen such a succulent landing pad as yours.”

  I remain turned enough to maintain a visual on him. It’s obvious he’s an ass man… or male. Whatever. I just pray he doesn’t have any bright ideas about anal sex.

  No, I’m not good with being shared by a bunch of males even if it is my only way home, but that ticket is only going to be stamped without a fight through the use of my vagina.

  That essence of his grows in intensity, thickening the air into something you could wade through. All other thoughts vanish as one meaty hand delves between my legs, finding my clit. With a circular motion, he expertly manipulates my flesh until I’m flushed with heat and writhing in seconds.

  Still working one ass cheek, the probe of his finger slipping past my swollen labia sends me into a spiraling orgasm that explodes from the inside out.

  So caught up in the moment of my heady climax, I don’t notice him access the cabinet and remove one of the tall, cylindrical bottles. There’s no time for panic when something slippery is introduced to my flesh. I never saw any pearly jelly shelved inside, but whatever he’s slathered on me doesn’t increase my level of desire.

  “You are so tight. There is need to loosen you up before I can fuck you without tearing you in half,” he mutters while continuing to work me with his hand.

  The male is really, really good at playing my clit. I relax, stretching out flat on the table and give myself over to his masterful touches. It’s shocking how fast he’s able to rekindle that potent burn after such an all-consuming release.

  I feel another of his fat fingers slide in to join the first. The added pressure sends me into a tailspin I don’t have any intention of stopping. Moaning, I lift myself up on my elbows and push back against what’s filling me, breathing deeply of his invigorating musk.

  “Such a slippery cunt, but you still need more stretching,” he utters.

  His words hold no meaning, but his tone reeks of dirty talk
.

  My hands clutch at the sides of the table for added traction when more lubricant is added, making it easy for him to introduce the third finger, and I swear a fourth as I feel the hard knobs of his knuckles knocking against my entrance.

  His rhythm is smooth and unhurried. Before I can contemplate how he knows how I like to be touched, I crest on a wave of pleasure so euphoric, my vision dims.

  “Your cunt will fit around me tighter than a profuvian constrictor,” he praises in that strange tongue.

  My sex is a slippery mess, and he is a selfless lover, serving up one cresting wave of pleasure after another.

  “Don’t you dare stop. Holy shit, I’ve never felt this good.”

  I growl when he pulls free and drags me to the end of the table, my feet touching down on the warm floor. I’m about to cry out the injustice when the hot prod of his cock takes the place of his meaty fingers and fills me so full, I stop breathing.

  Gasping for air, he begins a gentle rocking. Allowing me to get used to his size? I’d have to say, yes since all the foreplay was meant to pave the way for something much larger.

  By the feel of what’s bottoming out, I would venture to guess he’s larger than any of the rest who have taken me. I’m grateful he’s doing me from behind; I don’t think I would be this receptive to something so huge if I’d seen it first.

  Picking up his pace, he murmurs while fervently squeezing my ass. The male is enjoying the use of my body as much as I am his.

  Forced into sex slavery or not, I can make this just as much about me as I want. The sex is going to happen whether I want it to or not. Might as well find enjoyment where I can because fighting against males this big will get me nowhere.

  Reaching around, he strums my clit in his special way, and I fuck him back. Popping up on my tiptoes, I push back on the edge of the table and rock myself into him, meeting him thrust for thrust.

  Unladylike grunts are wrung from me with every inward push—the weight of his ball’s a hot pendulum between my thighs that smack against my labia.