Gyft (Rescued by the Alien)

Chapter Thirteen

OLIVIA:

MY SWEET ALIEN husband is jealous. There are no other words for it.

“You weren’t being very nice to the poor professor,” I chide, though it’s teasing.

Gyft gulps, obviously well aware of the fact and maybe feeling guilty. “Do you want me to get him back here? Apologize?”

I tap my chin as I pretend to think about it. “Maybe.”

He swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down, then nods his head as if resigned to making things right. He turns to go after them, but I wrap my hand around his lower arm. His ends of his freelig are standing up like he’s stressed.

“Actually, I don’t think that’s necessary, husband. I think I just want to spend some time with a gorgeous male.”

“Me?” He swallows again, this time a hopeful look on his handsome face.

“You.” I stand on tiptoe and kiss his pouty lips. And sure as shit, I don’t imagine that fang growth. They do grow.

“Gyft?” I ask.

“Ignore it,” he mumbles. “I shouldn’t want to taste you.”

Taste me? “Does that mean you want some naked time?”

Lust fills his face. “Would you be willing? Right here? Right now?”

I nod seriously. “Can’t really resist you. Been thinking about you all morning. ”

“You have?”

“Well, that’s probably a lie. More like I’ve been thinking about you since I first saw you in the forest. I just felt guilty because I’d gotten married and didn’t know you were him.”

“I’m glad I married you,” he whispers, nudging my nose with his. “You’re the perfect alien bride.”

That makes me giggle. “Anywhere a little quieter?”

“We can find a hidden moment in the wagon,” he reminds me.

I brighten. “You’re right. The flaps tie closed and we’ll be able to hear if anyone approaches. Let’s casually walk that way. Don’t make it obvious.” I let my hand brush across the front of his pants, feeling his cock harden.

“Well, how will I walk now?” he grumbles.

But we manage.

He takes my hand and we slowly–casually–wander toward the parking area, smiling at people who look like they want to talk but take one look at Gyft’s face and move onward.

As soon as the wagon’s in sight, I halt him with a palm to his ridged abdomen. Ooh, yes, I can feel the heat of his skin through the fabric of his uniform, can feel the taut pull of his muscles at the touch of my hand.

“Look, we can’t climb in together. People will know what we’re doing. I’ll slide in first and in a few minutes, you come in and everyone will just think you’re getting something, not that I’m in there waiting for you.”

He smiles, showing fang. “How long do I have to wait?”

I giggle and slide away from him, heading toward the other side of the wagon. “Long enough for these people out here to forget I went in.”

He gets the surprise of his life when he slips in behind me because I’m waiting completely naked. It’s hushed whispers and muted giggling as we get him undressed between kisses, his fangs elongating as he scrapes them over my neck .

His breath is heated against my throbbing pulse. There’s a new awareness, a tension so thick you can cut it with a knife. My hands are everywhere, his rounded shoulders, his bulging biceps, skittering across his tight back as he covers my body with his.

When his hand covers my mouth and his cock plunges inside me? Ecstasy.

Each time he pulls out of my heat, I feel him, slick with my wet, creating friction as he plunges back in. In and out, he builds rhythm, faster and faster.

When the tension builds so big that my orgasm is about to break, I can sense he’s at the same level. It’s like I feel him, we’re so connected in this moment. He’s wound so tight it’s like a rubber band about to snap.

His fangs scrape along the tendon in my neck, his tongue darts out to lick the sting and I’m pretty sure I know what he wants.

A bite.

I want it too.

“Do it,” I say, in the heat of the moment, with the feel of his hard-as-steel cock plunging in and out of my slick heat. With the tingling of my clit as his tail flicks against it, with our bare skin pressed together as one.

His fangs sink in, and offer pleasure-pain, and that increased tension flings me over the edge, my orgasm exploding inside me. His hand covers my mouth, muffling my cries, his tongue soothes the sting, his body quivers over mine as pulses of wet heat fill me up inside.

He removes his hand from my mouth and collapses onto me, his arms on either side of me supporting his weight. He presses kisses to the bite mark, over and over, almost reverently.

It’s warm and sweet and just where I want to be. I love being in this spot with him. We lay in languid silence for long minutes.

“I guess we should get back to the fair,” I finally say. I turn my head, feeling a bit of soreness where he bit.

He raises his head and looks worried .

“Are you sure it’s okay?” he asks, looking at my neck, needing reassurance that we both lost control in the heat of passion and he didn’t hurt me.

“So worth the orgasm, vampy,” I assure him. Because he still looks so worried, I lean up to kiss him. “It’s okay, big guy. I loved it. I love–” I freeze, wondering if it’s okay to say. It’s early, for sure. But I know in my heart that he’s the one.

He wipes that worry right away. “I love you too, Bride. My bride.” He punctuates his speech with kisses. “My beautiful Olivia.”

I relax. “You do?”

He kisses the tip of my nose. “So much.”

“I love you, husband.” I pepper his beautiful, silvery face with kisses. “Now, we have to sneak out one by one or people are going to know what we were doing.”

He gives me a cocky grin, then looks at my fresh fang marks.

Oh. So, they’re going to know. But with a smile, I shoo him out and after waiting a few minutes, I whisper loudly to see if he’s still out there.

“Gyyyft?”

“Briiide?”

“Is the coast clear?”

“Umm... yes?”

Slowly I slide out of the back of the wagon to find him waiting with open arms.

Along with a crowd of smiling people looking at my neck and clapping, mimicking the way the children and I greeted him just this morning.

“Omigosh! Husband!” My smile feels like a snarl as I hiss through clenched teeth. “I asked you if no one was around so I could slip out quietly.”

“To be fair, you asked about a coast and I figured that meant a crowd of well-wishers. ”

Sure enough, his well-muscled chest is puffed out, looking even better than usual.

“Congratulations!” calls out several voices.

“Thanks,” I mutter, cheeks burning.

Gyft huffs a laugh and with his arm raised like a champ who won round one, leads me away.

Craziest freaking planet.

As we head back through the city, stopping at the stands, picking up the supplies for the M’irshlak’s, more people smile at us, staring at my neck in a knowing way.

I don’t even mind. I feel a little proud over my alien version of a hickey.

Before we head out to pick up the twins, Gyft steers me into the building where an older man sits behind a desk. His freelig is also white, and sparse, his scales dull, but his smile intact. “Bride, this is Minstrel Nykerian K’lide, manager of the indoor mall that is used during the cold season. Rian, this is Olivia.”

“Nice to meet you.”

“Welcome, bride of the High Commander. It’s a pleasure to meet you. Welcome to our city.” He turns his attention back to Gyft. “What can I do for you both?”

“Olivia has an Earth tradition she’d like to share with the community, primarily the seedlings. It’s about fictional characters that seedlings think are real; an elderly, heavyset male dressed in a costume and alien helpers with pointed ears who build toys for little ones to play with. He brings them presents.”

“This sounds interesting,” Rian says, looking at me. “What costumes do they wear?”

“Santa wears a thick red velvet—that’s a kind of plush fabric—coat and pants with a matching hat. Fur lines the collar and cuffs, then we add a black belt and boots.” I’m barely aware of the two growing still. “The elves can wear green to contrast the red. ”

Both males are silent for a moment before Rian clears his throat. “There isn’t a male on the planet who would be willing to play the part. Not dressed in red. That’s the color linked to blood suckers.”

By Gyft’s tight nod, I’m pretty sure it’s the royal guard who are called that. “Wait. You don’t wear red here?”

Gyft shakes his head.

“But that’s a big part of who Santa is. Our major Christmas colors are red and green.”

“No male would be willing to dress as this person. Not in those colors.”

Rian starts to chuckle. “Especially not a male in the royal guard. And you sort of need these white freeligs, don’t you?” He shakes his freelig, making the ends rattle.

“Not even for the children?” I look at Gyft when I ask that and he shakes his head.

“Not even then, my bride.”

A serious look passes between Gyft and Rian. It seems to be pretty important to them so it looks as if I’ll have to make do with a mystery Santa. One who never really shows up. I’ll tell the kids he’s shy?

“What else will you need?” Rian asks.

“A chair, highbacked, in green. Maybe a sleigh where we can let the kids sit. And of course, someplace for all the presents. Maybe a Christmas tree?” I look toward Gyft because he understands what I mean.

He nods. “It’s a lighted, decorated tree. I’ll email you images.”