Ice Planet Barbarians (Ice Planet Barbarians, #1)(49)

“Wait,” she murmurs softly, and I hear her shift on the bedding. Then the scent of her arousal perfumes the air, and I hear the sound of wet flesh slicking. She moans. “Oh yeah, I’m wet.”

It’s too much. I groan again and push her back on the bed. I fumble at her clothing—it’s all different. Why is it different?—until I find her slick, inviting core. I drag my fingers over her sex, and she’s right, she’s wet and ready for me. I grip her hips, push my cock against her entrance, and then surge into her.

She squeals, and I feel her cunt grip me, hard. “Oh,” she moans. “Oh, Vektal. Again!”

My mate is loud, and others will hear her. I don’t care. I pull back and thrust into her again, my cock pushing deep, the spur above sliding through her wet folds.

She cries out again, and I feel her clench around me. “Imcomingllredee,” she breathes in her own language. “Gahdalmitee!” I pause, worried, and her good hand slams down on my arm. “Again,” she demands in my language. “Just like that!”

With a chuckle, I give my sweet, demanding mate what she wants. I pump into her, over and over, and my khui vibrates with intensity, so strong that I feel it in my jaw and in my cock. Georgie must feel it, too, because she’s squirming underneath me, making aroused noises and panting. Her hands claw at my shoulders, and she chants “Again” over and over. I do as she commands, thrusting over and over again until she cries out with her pleasure. Her cunt clenches around me hard, and then I finally spill into her, releasing so hard that stars dance before my eyes. I weave for a moment, and when Georgie tugs me down on the bed next to her, I gratefully follow.

Cock still buried inside her, I turn and cup her body against mine, her back pressed to my chest. She squirms a little at this position. “I feel you pressing into my . . . backside,” she says, struggling with the right word.

“My spur?” I ask, chuckling. I’m aroused by the thought of taking her from this way. It’s not done with my people. Not when we have tails that get in the way. “Is it uncomfortable?”

She squirms again. “It’s just . . . weird.”

I run a pleased hand over her still-flat belly. “We will have time to discover our likes and dislikes together, my Georgie. Do not worry.” Then my heart seems to still in my chest.

If she stays with me. If.

“Mm,” she says, her voice sleepy. Then she makes a huh noise in the dark. “Your khui stopped.”

“It silences for a time after a mating,” I tell her. “It will not go away even when the kit arrives.”

“Kit?” she asks, and I can hear the frown on her face. “What is this word? The mental picture I am getting with the word is a child.”

“That is correct,” I tell her and stroke my hand down her stomach again. “A kit is a child.”

“Why . . . how can I have your baby?” she asks, her body utterly still against me. “I’m an alien. Actually, you are, but for the argument, let us say it’s me.”

Have I not explained this to her? “That is how the khui chooses,” I tell her. “It determines offspring. A resonance mate is the only one who can bear children. Offspring only come through a khui-mating.”

“Wait. Wait, wait, wait. Wait,” Georgie moans, and then she’s climbing out of bed. I feel a sense of loss as my body slides from hers. Already my cock longs to return to her wet warmth. But she’s making anguished sounds. “Waiiiiiiit. Vektal, be straight with me.”

“Straight,” I repeat, confused by her use of the word. “You wish me to form a line?”

“No! Tell me the truth!”

“I am telling you the truth,” I say, baffled.

“You . . . you vibrated—resonated—because your khui decided you could make me pregnant?” she asks, her voice raising in volume.

“Yes,” I say, not sure where this is heading. “A khui always responds to a fertile female.”

She moans again. “No. You can’t make me pregnant. I’m not due for my period . . . oh fuck,” she says in her own language. “Fuck! FUCK!! I’m never late! FUCK!!!”

“Fuhk?” I echo. “I do not know this word.”

Georgie descends back to the bed, only to smack a fist against my arm. “It means I’m late! It means you could have gotten me pregnant, you asshole!”

“Asshole?” I do not know this word either.

“Fuck!” is all she says.





PART SIX


GEORGIE


It’s hard to stay mad at a guy who doesn’t know why you’re so upset.

No, scratch that. It’s easy to stay mad at a guy like that. It’s really, really hard to stay mad at a guy who acts like you’re the best thing since sliced bread, pampers you at every turn, and acts like the baby you’re carrying in your belly is the only thing he’s ever wanted in his life. Especially hard to stay mad as he and nine of his strongest hunters trek through thick snowdrifts in the bitter cold, carrying supplies for what they think are five more human women (and are actually eleven).

I haven’t told them that part yet. One bombshell at a time. And if we decide to take our chances with the little green men, there would be no reason to wake them up and subject them to new and scary things. Like, big blue horned guys who want to potentially mate them and give them a bun in the oven.