Toxic Desire Read online

Page 9


  The burn, the desire that’s been torturing me since landing in that escape pod—it’s back. It’s in my blood, my veins, and flowing toward my heart. Into my brain. I shake my limbs trying to get it to stop. To get it out of me. To stop it flowing.

  My head grows light, my pulse erratic.

  I’m going to pass out.

  I scramble for my water, spots coloring my vision. I can’t stand. I crawl across the ground. But more plants slice into me. And it’s too much.

  I collapse, unable to stand it.

  I cry out from the pain, the flames raging through my body, like a fire scorching my heart.

  Then everything goes dark.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Oten

  The traces of sunlight penetrate my eyes and wake me.

  My head feels like it’s been pounded with an anvil, but otherwise I am fine.

  Nem.

  I jerk to sitting, scanning for her, but I don’t see her. “Nem!” I cry.

  She moans, somewhere ahead of me.

  I go to her.

  She lies in the grass, her skin as pale as the day I met her. And covered in red gashes all over her body—cuts from the plants.

  Her eyes are barely open, but she sees me, reaches for me.

  Her voice is a whisper, but she manages. “Help…” Sweat shines on her forehead and drips between her breasts. Her legs shake, and her nipples are so hard, they look like they might break if I touch them.

  She lets out a cry so full of pain it reaches inside me and begs me to do something.

  “You’re burning? From the plants?” I want to help, but I have to know what kind of help she wants. If she wants an orgasm, I will give it to her. But there’s more I can offer her.

  “Yes.” Her tongue does not linger over the “s,” and I catch a glimpse of the tip, rounded and thick—human. She has turned back completely. Which is why she is so affected by her wounds.

  I need to address them. They have scabbed over. She’s not bleeding, but some look like they may fester without disinfectant. And I have something that can help more than any chemical she may have in the survival supplies.

  I grasp her hand and raise it to my mouth, giving her ample time to refuse. My fangs are retracted, thankfully, my head pounding with too much pain to think of biting anyone. Even her.

  I lick the nasty gash on the back of her hand. I slide my tongue over it from bottom to top. I press it closed, sealing the two sides of the cut back together, licking away the scab, too.

  I pull back and look at my work. There is but a thin line left, which will heal before the day is over.

  “Okay?” I hold her healed hand in front of her, so she sees what I’ve done.

  Her eyes widen in surprise, and she whispers, “Good.”

  “There is no venom in my mouth right now. It will not infect you.” She almost nods, but I need a full answer. “Will you let me close your wounds?”

  She breathes, “Yes.”

  I go as quickly as I can as thoroughly as I can, one cut at a time.

  I start at her chest and work my way down her front. Luckily, the center of her breasts was spared; she must have subconsciously protected them. But her legs, from her thighs down, are worst.

  I count thirty at least.

  Her breathing is heavy and audible, her eyes closed. I lift up to turn her over, knowing there must be more on her back.

  But she reaches for my head and pushes it down to the apex of her thighs. “Please,” she begs.

  I salivate with relief and have to stop myself from thanking her. She cannot know that every inch of her I taste makes me want to lick between her legs more.

  She helps me spread her thighs wide. I close a few cuts on the way I had missed, then lower my head between her legs.

  Her cunt is as lush and pink as I remember. I stroke her with my thumb, just glorying in the sight of her. I will not rush this, or hurry mindlessly like yesterday.

  I lift the hood over her clit with my thumb and stroke her beneath it.

  “Oten,” she moans and lifts her hips closer to my touch.

  I stare at her face a moment. Her head thrashing side to side, her eyes closed.

  She can barely utter a sentence, but she calls out my name.

  That more than even the sight of her ready and waiting sends a bolt of arousal to my cock. It hardens and thickens with the desire to be in her.

  But I ready my tongue instead.

  I hold her open with my hands and lick inside her. She tastes like female and sex, like the hottest sun and the sweetest honey, like power and strength. I feel it seeping into me as I lick between her wet folds, exploring and searching her.

  I dip my tongue inside her, circling her opening then stroking in as deep as I can go. I find the round bulb inside and flick my tongue across it.

  She writhes and presses harder against my face. The wetness of her covers my cheeks, my nose—the scent filling my lungs.

  I give her more, brushing my tongue around the spot inside her that she likes. Back and forth, circling and sliding. I press the tip of my nose to her clit, and it rubs back and forth in time with my tongue.

  Her cries are music, and she calls out my name. I give her everything she asks; the need to satisfy her—that she wants me to satisfy her—spurs me to make it as good for her as I can.

  She inhales hard and starts to tighten.

  I have given her a dozen orgasms in the last two days. I know she’s about to come.

  So I slow down; I tune my tongue to the gasps in her breathing, drawing out her climax for as long as I can. She keens in her throat, her back arches, her body strains.

  Then let’s go.

  She spasms around my tongue in tight clenches. I dip my fingers in, giving her something to squeeze and more relief. Her hips roll out the orgasm, and she goes limp. Her knees fall wide, and she lies replete on the ground.

  She opens her eyes, and her stare is full of gratitude. “Thank you.”

  I shift my hardened cock with my hand, attempting and failing to ease it. “It is my pleasure.”

  She gives a half smile. “If you say so.”

  I stroke her cheek, tracing the splashes of red blooming in her complexion. “I do say.” There is no small amount of surprise at myself and how much I mean that. I want to give her everything. To satisfy her every need, to heal her and protect her and take care of her.

  I am losing the fight against myself.

  She is courageous and has done nothing but work with me since we were marooned here yesterday. The teamwork we used to get rid of the beast last night was seamless. I’m forced to admit, we work well together.

  My ability to hate her is waning beneath the strength of my body’s unwavering Attachment to her.

  She searches my face with confusion but doesn’t say anything. She does not pull away or grab my hand from her face. Her lips part like she means to ask a question but changes her mind.

  “You have more cuts on your back,” I say.

  She squirms in discomfort and makes to roll over. “Yeah.”

  “Wait.” I grab the pack and spread out the ground cloth. “Lie on this.” I’d rather her not be entirely covered in dirt.

  She does as I say and rests on her stomach on the tarp without complaint.

  Her back is a mess of cuts and dirt. I have to clean it before I can heal anything.

  I filter water and clean a rag from the survival supplies. It takes multiple rinsings of the rag and refills to the water bottle, but I get her clean. She’s asleep by the time I’m done, and I start closing the myriad cuts with my tongue.

  I have to find some way to keep her skin protected from the undergrowth while we travel to her fallen ship. Her white skin suit, which never helped at all, is in a heap of rags on the ground.

  There is extra clothing in the survival pack, but it’s thick and insulated. Meant for an emergency on an arctic planet. Even if I cut out the insulation, the material won’t breathe.

  My leather pants are more breathable, and they are resistant to the leaves. They are covered in scratches but have no holes.

  I take off my pants and clean them, wiping them down on the inside and outside, then fashion myself a breech cloth out of her torn skin suit. I use string from the survival pack to make a belt for myself.

  I’ve managed to only bring myself to orgasm twice in the hours of the morning. I had to relieve the pressure. Without it, my mind fogs, and my reason fades.

  It gives me an idea. The last two days, we have tried to avoid having sex and ended up losing our sanity, only to have massive amounts of sex anyway. I wonder if every few hours we stopped to satisfy the burn and gave into having sex, maybe we could avoid going insane by the end of the day.

  Nem wakes, her eyes opening as she sits in one motion. She glances at the sky, sees the twin sun almost overhead, and shakes her head. “We have to move.”

  “I agree.”

  She glances over at me finally and gapes. “Why aren’t you wearing pants?”

  “These are for you.” I hand her my leather ones.

  She looks at them skeptically. “Why?”

  “We do not want this happening again. If I had a shirt, I would give it to you, too.”

  “Why do you care?” She does not cower from me, she’s not afraid, but she looks at the leather as though it may bite her if she touches it. “Why are you helping me?”

  “Because I am.”

  “There’s a reason. What is it?”

  “It is not what you thought before. It is not about the sex.”

  “I noticed. You could’ve fucked me multiple times in the last few hours because I would have let you.”

  I am burning already. The flames licking through my veins. The desire to touch her, to sink my
cock into her, is there. But what is more present is this protective urge that I cannot ignore.

  I have to give her an answer. Explaining the Attachment, which I hardly want to admit to myself is happening, is not an option. “I am not a barbarian. I would not force myself on someone when they are unconscious.”

  She grasps the leather and inspects it. “And these?”

  “I do not want you to hurt either. Not when I can help.”

  “You could’ve just bitten me again.”

  I stiffen. There is no disdain in her tone. “Is that what you want?”

  She meets my eyes, and her expression is unreadable. She is masking her emotions, hiding something from me.

  I almost reach for her hand. I cannot help leaning toward her. She glances at my mouth. To kiss her, to meet her mouth with mine…I want it. To stroke her jaw, to feel her tender human skin and its precious softness.

  Her eyes linger over my mouth, too, and her tongue licks her lower lip.

  “I don’t want you to bite me,” she whispers.

  “I will not.” I have a newfound self-control when it comes to her. My fangs are retracted, and they will not come down—no matter how badly it hurts.

  She leans forward and kisses me.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Nem

  I have no idea why I’m kissing him. All I know is I want to.

  His lips are smooth and unhurried. I feel the tension in him. I see it in his hardened cock, but he sheathes it. It’s just a kiss; it’s not a desperation for sex.

  I don’t think.

  I’m trying to understand. He has every reason to hate me, to kill me, or at least take advantage of me. Humans butchered his kind in an aggressive war. He attacked my ship. He’s supposed to want me dead.

  Except he’s taking care of me. And I don’t understand why.

  But I like it.

  The way he kissed my wounds closed, the way he made me come with his mouth, it was almost like he cared for me. I can’t explain it. But his kisses feel like more of the same.

  He strokes my tongue with his like he’s savoring me. Like he doesn’t want to take from me. Like he only wants to accept what I give him.

  I grab him to me and rise on my knees. I sink my fingers in soft, gold hair, and press him closer. His arms come around me.

  His tongue reaches into my mouth and wraps around mine and tugs. I crush my mouth hard against his, begging him deeper.

  He gives me what I want and presses his bare chest to mine, sealing us together.

  I never thought I could want a kiss to go on forever. But I do.

  I want him, Oten, to want me the way he is kissing me now—to care about me as he is caring for me—to value my humanity, as he is doing by healing me and helping me protect my skin.

  I like it, too much. This being cared for. Being valued. Not having to worry about anyone else. Not having to be in charge of my crew. The responsibility of being a general, of having so many lives depending on me, is a heavy burden.

  With his mouth on mine like this, it’s as though I’m important for being me.

  Him kissing me has everything to do with me. He has no reason to touch me like this except because he wants to. Pleasure in anything, especially myself, is not something I’ve ever had time for. But with him—Oten—I want to spend all the time there is doing nothing except touching him and making us feel good.

  He caresses my cheek again, and he’s so gentle, it’s like being stroked with a feather. “I have a proposition.”

  I stare at his eyes, dark and depthless. The irises are black, but his gaze is not.

  I don’t let go of him. “What?”

  “A schedule. A way to stay ahead of the burning madness.”

  I relax backward. “I’m listening.”

  He runs his hands down my arms, as if treasuring the feel of my skin. “Every day at its hottest, we lose our sanity to the need for sex. But what if we stay ahead of the need?”

  “You mean give in to it before it incapacitates us?”

  He nods. “Every few hours, we plan to stop and satisfy it. Then start moving again.”

  “So that when it’s at its worst, we won’t already be weakened. We’ll be at our strongest.”

  A broad smile stretches my cheeks, but I have no desire to conceal it. “I love that idea.” Not only because it makes strategic sense, but because more sex with him…yes, please. I want his touch like an engine craves fuel. It goes beyond the crazed desire this place makes me feel.

  This planet doesn’t have the power to make me want him and him alone.

  His lips part, and he looks ready to say a thousand things, things that will still not just my desire, but my heart. Mine thuds so loud behind my ribs, I’m sure he can hear it beating.

  He swallows and merely says, “We make a good team.” He scratches his head. “I never thought I could say that about a human.”

  “Not all humans are the same. Not all of us want to dominate and destroy.”

  He stares at me quietly, as though remeasuring me. “You have honor.”

  “Is that a bit of respect I’m hearing?”

  He nods, carefully, unable to take his eyes off me.

  I don’t know what is happening between me and this male who should hate me—who I should hate, too. It’s as though because our bodies have proven such a perfect match, the rest of us—our feelings—can’t help but follow.

  It’s as terrifying as any enemy I’ve ever faced. Far scarier than the bureuh charging me last night. I’m better off alone, separate, away from everyone and everything. I keep my distance; that’s my MO.

  Feeling for anyone—friend, lover, family—is not something I’ve allowed myself since my parents died. I’ve had too many things to do for my own survival, for the survival of the mission. That I could be feeling something for him, the male who ordered an attack on my ship and killed members of my crew…

  It makes no sense. It can’t happen.

  As though he can see the fear written on my face, his expression changes. Heat—he lets it pump through his eyes, and he drops his gaze to my body.

  “You want it, don’t you?” He traces his finger delicate as a flower petal around the underside of my breast. “You want my cock inside you, filling you.”

  “Yes.” I close my eyes.

  “You want me pounding it into you until you’re screaming.”

  I shiver, and my lips part.

  “But how do you want it?”

  “Hard,” I groan, growing wet between my legs. I can feel him. Remember him doing it to me.

  He runs his hand down my leg and grips my thigh. “Fast or slow?”

  “Both.” His fingers sinking into my soft flesh make me want him to stroke my swelling clit, too.

  He lowers his mouth to my ear. “But I will lick your sweet cunt first. Would you like that?”

  I shudder and lean against him. “Yes.”

  “And after you have come so many times you’re begging me to stop, I will come on you.”

  I can see it again. His bright silver come pouring onto my belly.

  “Not your belly,” he corrects as though he can hear my thoughts. “Your back.”

  There it is—the whole scene. Him forcing me to all fours and fucking me from behind. My mouth is open, and I’m panting. My inner thighs are wet, and I’m throbbing between my legs. I want it now.

  “Later.” He smacks my ass with a hard crack that makes me whimper and cling to him. “Get dressed.” He picks up his pants and hands them to me.

  My legs wobbling, I grab his leather pants and draw them up my legs.

  He packs up the ground covering and stuffs it in the pack. He hands me a ration bar from the pack, and I eat. But he starts eating what looks like a yellow piece of fresh fruit.

  “What’s that?” I ask, my voice still throaty like sex—which I’m still desperate for.

  He pulls the fruit back from his mouth, and I see his fangs extended.

  I back away from him. “Put those things away.”

  “I’m staying ahead of the need, relieving some of the venom this way.” He sinks them into the fruit again and takes a bite.

  “Is it working?”

  He chews and says around the food. “I haven’t bitten you since I started eating these yesterday.”

  “They don’t have more of the compound that’s causing the burning?”

  “Perhaps. But it is better than biting you.”