“Holy… holy fuck…” I collapse against his chest and he holds me close, indulging me with his embrace as ripples of my first alien-induced orgasm continue to course through me, leaving me shaking, weak, and absolutely fucked all the way from my pussy to my brain.
I am in trouble with this alien. Deep fucking trouble.
CHAPTER 2
Ava
This, I learn, is a cruiser ship, the spaceship equivalent of a caravan. That means it is small, poky, and above all, slow. My shuttle, before I crashed it, could have run circles around this thing. It is going to take us absolutely forever to get anywhere. That means there’s no reason for me to worry about being pretend sold anytime soon. It could be weeks, or even months before we encounter an alien looking to trade in human flesh. That means we have a lot of time where it will be just me and Zed. I wonder if it is wrong that I am looking forward to this so much? One night in bed with him has changed my opinion of him. He’s still a shady, overbearing, cocky asshole. But he’s a shady, overbearing, cocky asshole who can make me come so hard I forget my own name.
I come out to the cockpit to find Zed wrestling with the ship, his big muscles rippling in a way they really shouldn’t need to, given the fineness of most controls.
“Morning,” I say.
“Hey,” he says.
I thought this would be a bit more romantic after what we did last night, but he seems preoccupied. I don’t think he’s even had breakfast. I don’t see any remnants of food or dishes. I don’t even detect the scent of food in the air.
“What’s going on?” I want to eat, but I want to know what is happening even more. It’s hard to feel ship movements in space but judging by what I am seeing on the controls, I’d say he has us ricocheting around like a pinball inside a machine.
“We have company,” he says grimly. “And not friendly company.”
“Really? Weird. You seem like the sort of guy who makes friends everywhere he goes… OW!”
That last part is from him smacking my ass. Hard.
“Sit down and put your seatbelt on,” he growls.
I do as I am told. I sit in a fuzzy orange chair with a drink holder in the arm. It doesn’t have a seatbelt that I can see. Nothing on this ship was designed to deal with chaos and drama. The drink cart rattles in a concerning way as Zed takes the controls and yanks on them roughly.
He should be careful, or else he’s going to use more aggression than they can take.
“So. Who is chasing us?”
“Aberks,” he says.
“Never heard of them.”
“We should have a good chance at escape if this thing would respond to orders.”
He yanks the controls again. I hear a grinding sound that never bodes well. It sounds like a Christmas toy being played with by an overzealous child.
“Careful,” I mutter.
“What?” He snaps back, slamming the control forward.
The stalk snaps off in his big, clumsy hands.
“Oh shit,” I murmur to myself.
“Alright. Dead ahead in a straight line it is,” he says, stamping his foot on the surprisingly anachronistic accelerator. The ship surges forward, making my stomach lurch. Around us, the stars become a big white milky blur and a second later we are spat out into a section of the universe where the sky is pink and blue, all melded together like a tie-dye shirt. We must be in clouds of something. Color, I guess. It’s times like these I wish I knew more science. Then I would understand things instead of just having to experience them as they happen to me.
“What the…”
“Wow,” Zed says. “I had no idea this thing had a random generator drive. There’s usually a button or something.”
“What is a random generator drive?”
“It’s a drive that selects a random point in the universe and takes you there instantly.”
“That seems very dangerous and not very useful.”
“It is only for use when the danger chasing you is more likely to destroy you than the relatively low odds of appearing inside a sun somewhere.” He looks pleased with himself, though if you ask me, there’s very little to be pleased about. We are now hopelessly lost and very possibly outside the charted universe. Most of the universe is uncharted. Less than a fraction of a percentage is occupied. He has probably just hurled us into a very lonely corner of nowhere. If this has occurred to him, it has not shown on his face yet.
“Why were we being chased?”
“Disgruntled clients,” he says.
“You mean people you’ve scammed before.”
He gives me that amethyst glare which heralds discipline of the painful kind. “You know, I’m not in the mood for disrespect.”
He wants respect, but he clearly doesn’t respect the aliens he’s ripping off. He almost just got us both killed. And here I am supposed to respect him.