"My safety?" I feign ignorance. I know the score. All the humans living on Risda III do. We know we're being targeted by other aliens. When the humans arrived here as refugees, we were granted tracts of land, a basic home, and refurbished farming equipment. Apparently this has stuck in the craw of a lot of aliens, because ever since, women have been turning up missing, with their farms “signed over” to new owners. Or women have shown up with alien husbands they didn't want, but no one listens to a woman alone, much less a human woman alone. I know that if someone's stalking my property, I'm in danger.
No one has been. That's the big lie, and I feel terribly guilty for pretending otherwise. And yet…Rektar gets to his feet.
Maybe a teensy white lie never hurt anyone.
"I am certain it is nothing to be concerned over, colonist," Rektar says in an utterly kind voice as he looks at me. His gaze goes soft, and for a moment, he watches me with such yearning that my heart jumps in my throat. This is what I want. This big, oversized alien with the enormous hands, protective nature, and the hungry gaze when he looks at me. I want someone like this.
"But you'll come out and take a look?" I ask, voice husky.
"I will." He clips a weapon to his belt, nods at Khex, and then moves to my side. His enormous hand goes to the small of my back, and I swear I'm going to swoon. "Lead the way," he tells me.
I wonder if it'd be too obvious if I led him directly to my bedroom.
3
REKTAR
It's difficult being alone with the human in my air-sled. Lucy left hers in town, claiming she's happy to return to Port later and finish her errands. My air-sled is of a more recent design than hers—military issue—and she exclaims over it, touching the panels and wiggling in the seat across from me as if it's the most comfortable ride she's ever had. She wiggles and her large breasts jiggle, and I sweat despite myself. The acrid floral scent of her perfume is killing my nose, but I endure it, because this is what I've dreamed about—being alone with Lucy.
Granted, in my dreams, Lucy is wearing considerably less and touching below-the-belt parts of me instead of just sitting in an air-sled together. But I'll still take it. On those late nights when I'm feeling lonely, it'll provide ample fuel for my rendezvous with my hand.
I glance over at Lucy as she talks animatedly about her crops. Her skin is a rich golden-brown shade that just begs to be touched. Her hair falls in soft waves around her shoulders, teasing at the low neckline of her clothing. She smiles a lot, too, and I love that she's so happy. Many of the humans here on Risda III are traumatized by their experiences, and they tend to cringe back from strangers, or avoid us entirely. They don't trust aliens, don't trust the law, and while it's understandable, it also makes for a frustrating time. Lucy seems as if she's the type that finds pleasure in any situation, and I appreciate that. I also appreciate how she talks and talks and doesn't expect me to say anything. I've never been much for talking—but I do like to listen.
I especially like to listen when it's Lucy. She's just…so pretty. I'd never seen a human before landing on Risda III, and most of them are fragile-looking creatures that seem as if they could be broken if touched the wrong way. Lucy is all rounded curves, though, and something tells me that despite her small stature, she'd not break as easily as the others.
That shameful thought fuels many of my self-pleasuring sessions, I confess.
"What do you think?" Lucy asks, glancing over at me. She blinks her big, dark eyes in my direction and leans over, giving me another ample view of her breasts.
I try to recall what she was talking about, but all I can think of is her glorious cleavage, and how soft she looks. How soft all of her looks. Are they sensitive, those breasts? I wonder. All human females have them, but Lucy's are more prominent than most. "Of?"
"My perimeters?" She gestures at her farm as we approach, smiling. "Does it look safe to you?"
"It's impossible to tell from up here. I'll do a scan for DNA traces when we get below."
"Will that work?" Lucy tilts her head, regarding me.
"It should. It's the breast way to find out if you've had interlopers." I spot her small house and steer it down toward the clearing in front of her door. It's not until I turn the air-sled off that I realize I said “breast” and not “best.” Kef me. My ears grow hot and I resist the urge to rub them. I swallow hard, unable to look over at her. "I'll get started."