Chosen by the Alien Above Part 4: A Sci-Fi Alien Romance Serial (2 page)

But his eyes.

They smoldered and warmed me. My heart throbbed in my throat. Electric tingles crawled across my scalp and dove down my spine. I yearned to be his. To be his in every possible way. To crush my flesh into his. To open my soul and be filled by him.

I needed him inside me.

That was the short of it. The need was deep and primal. It had no regard for the confusion of higher thinking.

What a bother!

I longed to surrender. The depth of my need was terrifying.

The air between us crackled with an almost visible energy. A fierce wormhole that threatened to suck us both into the oblivion of total ecstasy.

A sting in my chest reminded me I hadn't breathed in too long. I sucked in a choking gob of oxygen and the sting subsided.

I needed distance.

I needed half a minute to clear my head and fumble for coherent thinking. I tried to speak but the words came out garbled. I cleared my throat and tried again.

“Yes, you're right. I don't know what to think. About this. About us. I've never been so unsure of anything.”

He slid his hand around to the back of my neck. He leaned closer and his lips caressed mine.

OMG.

Raw, elemental energy detonated at his touch. My sexy factory downstairs kicked into production. It was already calling for night shifts and weekend work. Against my will, my arms reached for him.

His trunk-like arms surrounded and lifted me. Crushed me into him. His tongue brushed my lips and they parted before asking my permission. He plunged into my mouth and claimed my willing tongue. The hard plains of his body molded me like clay under the artist’s loving hand.

He swept my legs up and around his waist. His body bulged everywhere, but one bulge in particular had all of my attention.

He was big.

He was getting bigger.

I was about to tell myself that I’d regret this, but my hips were already moving. Against his hardness. The sheer fabric of our suits did little to dull the sensation of his cock between my legs.

My engorged petals parted for him.

His lips unlocked from mine and stole the breath from my lungs. He nipped my jaw and chin. His tongue traced down my neck leaving a cool trail of fire. His teeth sank into my flesh, the force just shy of breaking the skin.

Goosebumps broke out across my arms and the back of my neck. His strong clean scent, like the sea after a storm, enveloped me. He nipped my earlobe and blind need shivered through my chest and settled lower.

He pinned me to on the table, his weight bearing down on me. This was going too far, and
so
not far enough.
 

The smart skin on the table was smart enough to realize we were finished eating because it no longer resembled steel. It was the same soft, comforting warmth of the restoration pod. This stuff understood nuance. Cosmo could learn a from this stuff.

“I need you. I need to be one with you.”

I wasn't sure who spoke the words. I was sure we both felt them.

A flat, robotic voice echoed in the air.

“Noah, I do not wish to intrude, but you left ice cream out in the galley. Its core temperature is now at forty-seven point eight-three-six-two degrees and climbing. It is rapidly losing the optimal composition for enjoyment.”

Our bodies froze. The heat between us chilled for instant.
 

What a ridiculous interruption. Part of me cursed Cosmo for his well-meaning, ignorant intrusion. Another part couldn't have been more thankful. This was going too fast.

Noah looked up in no specific direction. “Thanks, Cos. Truly, thanks for that.” He regarded me with a questioning look. “Is there a chance we could pretend that didn’t happen?”

The breath gave me clarity. Enough to know I wasn't ready to go further. I needed time to think.

“So you're holding out on dessert, huh?”

It was the best I could do to get a few words between us. Some small barrier to make further separation possible. He pushed up on his hands.

My locked ankles around his waist suddenly felt horribly awkward.
 

“I had another treat in mind,” he said. The glowing embers in his eyes made it clear his treat would burn calories, not add them. His hips pushed forward, increasing the delicious pressure between my legs.

I scooted back on the table, knowing my control depended on it. “I hope it’s a root beer float.”
 

My talk of ice cream further cooled his intentions. I waited the instant required for him to slowly regain composure.

“Then this is the luckiest day of your life, Ms. Gabarro. Because I can make a root beer float that is out of this world.” His boyish grin nearly melted my resolve.

My heart wanted to break into a billion tiny pieces so there could be more of me to adore him.

“You talk a big game, Mr. Sinclair. But I have elevated tastes when it comes to ice cream.”

“Careful, Ms. Gabarro. A single taste can get you hooked.”

“As much as I love dessert, I know when to say enough.”

“Just one mouthful, Ms. Gabarro, and I guarantee you'll beg for more.”

“I’ll start with what can fit on a spoon, thank you.” I pushed his chest and finally felt firm in my conviction to detangle us. For now.

“Noah,” Cosmos said, “the core temperature has now risen to fifty-three point—“

“Yes! Thank you Cosmo Spacely!”

That cleared up the story of his naming.

“You’re welcome, Noah. I’m pleased to have assisted you.”

Noah glared up at the ceiling. I wondered if glaring upward made it more obvious to the station’s AI.

Noah stepped back from the table and I closed my legs with more regret than was entirely ladylike. I took his hand and he pulled me up. My boots touched the floor before I was ready to stand on my own.

“Come with me,” Noah said. “You haven't had a root beer float until you've had one in microgravity.”

Noah and I trailed Astro through endless corridors and bulkheads. This place was designed to be locked down tight.

Made sense.

If something happened and the frozen vacuum of space reached for you, I’d sure as hell want a pressurized pocket of air close by.

Astro looked back to see if her master was still following. I assumed she didn’t give two steel shits about me. She hopped through a bulkhead and clattered into a sit. Her ghostly red eyes dilated as her gaze shifted to me.

“Thank you, Astro,” Noah said as he knelt to pet her. I didn’t know how anyone pulled off scratching bits and pieces of metal, tubes, and circuitboards, but Astro’s low purr proved it could be done.

I stepped through the bulkhead and immediately recognized the ladder running up the wall. Only there was a number two next to it. I’d come in the first service corridor. This was two. My approach to the station showed there were four corridors, like spokes in a wheel.

“This one doesn’t go all the way through to the pressurized docking bay, so it’s less cluttered.”

He glanced up, looked back and then grinned.

“Wanna go for a ride?”

Yes. Yes more than anything.

And No. No I wasn’t going to go there just yet.

“I will agree to you carrying me up the ladder, Mr. Sinclair,” I said. “To that, and nothing more.”

Noah clipped the bag that I assumed was our dessert to his waist. There were no loops in the natural-looking fabric. Yet, I clearly saw that it held the bag. His suit was odd in a way that mine wasn’t. Mine felt manufactured. His felt grown.

“Climb aboard,” he said with an arched brow.

“Behave yourself, Mr. Sinclair. Remember the original purpose of my visit. Don’t let bigger dreams confuse you.”

“Big dreams are the only ones that interest me.”

He wrapped an arm around my waist and, for a split second, the icky, insecure weeds in my mental garden wondered if that was
a comment
.
 

Big.

Me.

Whatever. He was clearly into me. Right?

We started up, toward the center of the station, away from the centrifugal force exerted at the rim. He carried me with ease.

After a time, my weight diminished. Not like inches came off. That’d be a miracle cure indeed. The feeling of my weight diminished. Then again, all my problems seemed to fade in Noah’s embrace.

“I have a strictly professional question for you, Mr. Sinclair.”

“I have a strictly unprofessional answer for you, Ms. Gabarro.”

“I want you to know that this really was on my list. Before I got here.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

“This was a question passed to me by a subscriber of my website. That’s the only reason I’m going to ask it, just so you know.”

“Can we agree to all your conditions and get to the question?”

“Of course. I wanted you to be clear.”

He paused mid-stride and held me out over the open air of the vertical shaft. Which was also horizontal, viewing the station edge-on. Directions were confusing in space.

My heart jumped out of my throat. I clawed for the safety of his embrace.

“Your question?”

“Not funny, Mr. Sinclair.”

“I’m not joking. I’ll drop you if you don’t get on with it.”

“I won’t be threatened into cooperation.”

“I don’t make threats, Ms. Gabarro.”

What a pretentious ass!

“I’d sooner spatter my guts on the floor than give in to blackmail.”

He released his hold around my waist.

Frozen fear dropped my belly a few stories in less than a second flat. My stomach plummeted but my body didn’t. I gently floated down, slower than an Autumn leaf.

He laughed and took my hand like a belle at the ball.

I smacked his shoulder as hard as I could. My balled fist hit a slab of unforgiving muscle. He was distractingly chiseled.

“Not funny, asshole!”

“Come on, a little funny?”

“Zero funny. Less than zero. An infinity of negative below zero funnies.”

“Mathematically, that comes back around to funny at some point.”

He chuckled like he expected I’d do the same.

I didn’t. He was a little too self-assured. A little too in control. There was no chance in hell I was going to ask the question now.

“Is someone acting a little passive aggressive because they got thrown a stop sign?”

I didn’t just say that!

His lips tightened and he shook his head.

“Not funny, Ms. Gabarro.”

“Come on, a little funny?” I asked.

“I see you’re a smart ass.”

“I see you’re a Judgy McJudges Alot.”

He gestured to the bag at his waist.

“This ice cream isn’t getting colder.”

“I accept your surrender.”

He cocked his head to the side and stabbed me with a smoldering look.

“It is you who will surrender to me, Ms. Gabarro.”

The words and the meaning behind them left me breathless. It was a long minute before I could speak again.

“Dessert, Mr. Sinclair?”

“My thoughts exactly,” his eyes devoured my curves.

“Ice cream, Mr. Sinclair. Remember the melting ice cream?”

The storm in his eyes cleared and he nodded.

“Yes, exactly,” he said. He looked up. “It’s not much farther. Do you want to try it alone?”

That was the thing I wanted least in the world.

“I’m still a little unsure. I’ll trust your guidance for now.”

“Stick with that perspective.”

“Don’t make me change my mind.”

“Only if it’s best for you, Ms. Gabarro.” He pulled me close and wrapped me in a firm embrace. “What about your question?”

“I’ll save it for later.”

“I’m waiting,” he replied.

“You can wait a little longer.”

He squeezed me tight.
 

I was butter on fresh pancakes. An ice cube on a frying pan. I melted and sizzled at once. I rested my head on his chest, closed my eyes… and resolved to enjoy it.

To avoid judgement. Guilt. Insecurity.

To simply be.

For one minute. For as long as it lasted.

We climbed higher until the feeling of weight disappeared. We emerged in a large room with smooth walls and more space than anywhere I’d seen in service corridor one. A rack of space suits hung lifelessly on the far wall. A thick, bolted doorway with a tiny window in the center indicated an airlock of some kind.

“This room provides access to the unpressurized docking bay. It’s used for routine shipment of goods. In an emergency, you could EVA with one of those suits on.”

The idea of floating outside the marginally comforting confines of Orbital One was horrifying. The deep cold. The endless expanse. The beautiful mother below, dragging you down.

“You stay here,” Noah said.
 

“What am I, Astro?”

“I’m just saying so my target isn’t moving around.”

“You like easy targets, huh?”

“Could we keep this about the ice cream, Ms. Gabarro?”

“When were we not, Mr. Sinclair?”

“You just earned yourself less than an equal share,” he said.

“Don’t you dare.”

I was serious. Root beer floats were my favorite dessert. He probably hacked that info out of my life too. I couldn’t muster the necessary outrage to care.

He released my hand and I didn’t fall. I didn’t move. I simply floated. My stomach wanted to fall through the floor, or wall, or ceiling, whatever the part that was below. But it wanted a bite of root beer float first.

Noah flicked off the wall and spun mid-air. Another flick and he glided away several feet. A quick tuck and twist and he was somehow turned and facing me again. He tapped the wall and came to a halt. He moved like a native. With unearthly natural grace.

And by the sound of his cure, some unnatural grace as well.

He unpacked the bag and set its contents floating around him. He dug out a spoonful of vanilla ice cream. It was reassuring to see he chose a classic. Some people put mint chocolate chip and other monstrosities in their root beer floats. Like my roommate Roberto. He was the champion of the Rocky Road root beer float.