Aliens Love Curves

Chapter 11 - Casey

M y muscles ache as I push through another simulation run, sweat beading on my forehead despite the climate-controlled cockpit. I've been at this for hours, learning every nuance of the SkyDancer X1's handling, every quirk in its responses.

"Excellent form on that inverse roll," Harlan's voice purrs through the comm. "Your instincts are remarkable, Casey."

I switch on the simulator's viewport, so I can see both Harlan and Stryker and Harlan. They stand shoulder-to-shoulder, each in their physical prime. Harlan is standing erect on the observation deck, his cerise skin gleaming under the artificial lights. Beside him, Stryker stands rigid, his tail twitching in that way I've learned means he's agitated.

"You're a natural in the X1, darling," Harlan's voice purrs through the comm. I swear he’s being deliberately intimate. "The way you handle her... absolutely magnificent."

I catch Stryker's reflection in the simulator's viewport, see his fists ball at the endearment. Harlan's timing is too perfect – he always seems to know exactly when Stryker is watching.

"Just doing my job," I reply neutrally, executing another complex manoeuvre.

"Mmm, but you do it so... beautifully," Harlan continues, his voice like silk. "The way you anticipate every movement, how you respond to each touch of the controls. It's almost... sensual."

A low growl escapes Stryker, and I can see Harlan's smile widens. I should be paying more attention to my training and not have to police the two alien men who are fighting for my affections. Watching them is almost as exhausting as flying this simulation flight.

"Problems with the comm system, Stryker?" Harlan asks innocently. "You seem... distressed."

"The frequencies are clear," Stryker grits out, professional mask slipping. "Though there appears to be some unnecessary chatter. Casey needs to focus."

Harlan chuckles, the sound deliberately provocative. "Casey doesn't mind our little chats, do you, dear? After all, a pilot and her sponsor should be... close."

I watch Stryker's claws flex against the control panel. Harlan is baiting him, and we all know it.

"Focus on the inverse roll," Stryker cuts in, his voice clipped. "The gravitational stabilizers need—"

"Casey knows exactly what she's doing," Harlan interrupts smoothly. "Don't you, my star? The way you handle pressure... it's intoxicating to watch."

The tension in the observation deck is palpable. I execute the roll perfectly, trying to keep my voice steady as I respond. "The stabilizers do need adjustment. Perhaps we should focus on the technical aspects."

"Always so professional," Harlan sighs dramatically. "Though I prefer our... private discussions. Speaking of which, I'm looking forward to our dinner tomorrow. Just the two of us, away from any... interference."

Stryker's tail lashes violently, and I hear something crack under his grip. Harlan's smile turns predatory – he's achieving exactly what he wanted.

"But before we finish for the day, try it again," Harlan continues, "but this time, push the gravitational drift to maximum."

I notice Stryker's shoulders tense at the suggestion. The manoeuvre is risky – potentially lethal if miscalculated. But that's exactly why I need to master it.

As I execute the roll, Harlan approaches the simulator, his hand trailing along its surface almost... possessively. "Beautiful," he murmurs, close enough now that I can see his golden eyes watching my every move. "You were born for this, Casey."

A flash of pink in my peripheral vision tells me Stryker has moved closer too, his protective instincts clearly warring with his need to maintain our cover.

The simulation ends, and I emerge from the cockpit on shaky legs – fatigue from the intense training finally catching up with me. Harlan is there immediately, his one hand at my elbow, steadying me, the other wrapped around my waist.

"Careful now," he says softly, his touch lingering longer than necessary. "We can't have our star pilot injuring herself before the big race."

"I can handle it," I assure him, though I notice how his other hand has also slipped to my waist. His long fingers circle it and almost meet. Through my sweat-dampened flight suit, his touch feels cool, almost predatory.

“Wow. How small your waist is compared to Equanox females.”

Stryker’s growl is barely audible. I hear it and I wonder if Harlan does too. It quickly changes to a noise clearing his throat. "Perhaps we should call it a day. Casey needs rest to maintain peak performance."

"Nonsense," Harlan dismisses. "She's just getting warmed up. Aren't you, my star?"

The endearment makes Stryker's tail lash once, hard. I catch his eye, trying to convey reassurance. We need Harlan to trust us, to let us deeper into Quickening Gliders' operation. Even if it means enduring his increasingly intimate attention.

"Actually," I say, forcing a smile, "I'd like to run through the emergency protocols one more time. Stryker, would you mind assisting?"

Harlan's expression flickers with something—annoyance? Suspicion? Before his smooth mask returns. "Of course. Safety first. I have some business to attend to anyway." His hand trails down my arm as he steps back. "Dinner tomorrow? To discuss your progress?"

I feel rather than see Stryker's tension. "I'd like that," I reply, hating how the words taste like betrayal, even though I genuinely look forward to it.

After Harlan leaves, Stryker and I work in tense silence, running through emergency scenarios in the simulator. The space feels smaller somehow, more intimate, with just the two of us.

"You don't have to have dinner with him," Stryker says suddenly, his voice tight.

"It's part of the mission," I remind him, though my heart races at the possessive undertone in his voice.

Before he can respond, the lights flicker and die. The simulator's emergency systems kick in, bathing us in a soft red glow.

"Power outage?" I wonder aloud, reaching for the exit handle. It doesn't budge. "We're locked in."

Stryker moves closer, his body radiating heat in the confined space. "Emergency override should—" He stops as voices drift through the ventilation system.

"...next shipment tonight..."

"...human cargo requires special handling..."

We freeze, barely breathing, straining to hear more.

"...medical supplies ready in hangar six..."

"...Mertok wants no evidence..."

The red emergency lighting casts strange shadows in the confined space, making Stryker's pink skin appear almost luminescent. My hand finds Stryker's arm in the dim light, squeezing. His tail wraps around my waist instinctively, pulling me closer. The gesture feels protective, possessive, the contact sending electricity through my body even through my flight suit, and something else that makes my pulse quicken.

"Casey," he breathes, my name a rough whisper in the darkness. In the red emergency lighting, his silver eyes seem to glow, pupils dilated as he looks down at me.

I'm suddenly acutely aware of every point of contact between us – my hand on his arm, his tail around my waist, our bodies close in the cramped simulator. The air feels charged, electric.

He raises a hand to my face, his thumb brushing my cheek. I lean into the touch without thinking, drawn by some force I can't – or won't – resist.

I should move away. Should focus on the voices we just heard, the implications of "human cargo." But my body has other ideas, leaning into his warmth, my hands sliding up his chest of their own accord.

"This is dangerous," I whisper, even as my fingers trace the strong line of his jaw.

"Everything about you is dangerous," he replies, one hand cupping my face while the other pulls me closer. His tail tightens around my waist possessively.

The air between us feels charged, electric. My heart pounds so loud I'm sure he must hear it. When his thumb brushes across my lower lip, I can't suppress a small gasp.

"We shouldn't," I whisper, even as I tilt my face up toward his.

"I know," he agrees, but he's leaning down, his breath mingling with mine.

"Tell me to stop," he murmurs, his face inches from mine. "Tell me this isn't worth the risk.

Instead of answering, I rise on my tiptoes, eliminating the last distance between us. The first brush of his lips against mine is gentle, questioning. Then something breaks loose in both of us.

His mouth claims mine with a hunger that steals my breath. I respond with equal fervour, my fingers tangling in his hair as his arms tighten around me. He tastes like starlight and danger, his tongue sliding against mine in a way that makes me whimper.

Stryker growls low in his throat at the sound, backing me against the simulator wall. His tail unwraps from my waist only to slide lower, pulling my hips against his. The kiss deepens, becomes desperate, months of suppressed desire exploding in a moment of shared madness.

My flight suit suddenly feels too tight, too restrictive. One of Stryker's hands finds its way under the fabric at my neck, his touch burning against my bare skin. I arch into him, wanting more, needing—

The voices fade, replaced by the sound of my thundering heart. Stryker's lips leave mine but our hot rapid breathing still mingles, and I want – oh, how I want—

The lights blast back on without warning, the sudden brightness like a bucket of cold water. We spring apart, breathing hard, momentarily blinding us, just as the simulator door slides open with a hydraulic hiss.

Stryker looks thoroughly dishevelled, his hair mussed where my fingers ran through it, his eyes wild. I probably don't look any more composed – my lips feel swollen, and my flight suit is definitely askew.

For a moment, we just stare at each other, the reality of what just happened sinking in. That wasn't just a kiss – it was a declaration, a point of no return.

"Casey," he starts, his voice still rough with desire, "I—"

Reality crashes back. The mission. The voices. Human cargo.

"Hangar six," I cut him off, though my voice trembles. "We need to investigate. The voices..."

"I know." Stryker's voice is still rough, his pupils dilated. "Right," he agrees, running a hand through his hair in a futile attempt to smooth it. Tonight. We'll investigate tonight."

As we exit the simulator, trying to maintain professional distance, every nerve in my body screams to pull him back, my skin still tingles where he touched me and my mind races with darker thoughts—to finish what we started when the mission is over. But the mission has to come first. Human lives could be at stake.Human cargo. Medical supplies. What exactly is Harlan Mertok hiding behind his charming smile and gentle touches?

The answer, I suspect, will test not only our skills as enforcers but also this growing thing between Stryker and me – this dangerous, wonderful, impossible attraction that threatens to complicate everything.

As we head back to the apartment in silence, the feeling remains. My lips tingle with the memory of Stryker's kiss. I touch them gently, remembering the feel of him so close to me, the taste, the way his tail pulled me closer...

But I can't help but wonder: how long can we maintain this delicate balance before something breaks?

How am I supposed to sit across from Harlan tomorrow, playing my part, when all I can think about is Stryker's hands on my skin? How can I focus on investigating criminal activities when my body still hums with unfulfilled desire?

One thing's becoming devastatingly clear – this mission isn't just about uncovering Harlan's secrets anymore. It's about navigating the dangerous waters between duty and desire, between what we want and what we must do. It's about hearts and loyalties, truth and deception, duty and desire.

And I'm no longer sure which is more dangerous – Harlan's criminal enterprise, or the way Stryker makes me forget everything except the feel of his lips on mine.