Healing Hands Page 3

  I'm certain I can get him to make that sound again.

  Without bothering to ask permission, I give him a few rough strokes. His eyes roll back in his head and that's all I need. I reach down, peel the cloth up and expose him to revel in the--what on Earth is that?

  There are three prongs to the tip of his cock, each one curled like a corkscrew. They lay just so I'd have only been able to see the topmost of them, though all three are incredibly hard.

  I have to say, I'm a reasonable girl, but even in my wildest college days I was never presented with three things to impale myself upon. My mind turns over, making all kinds of use of my imagination. One for each hand--but wherever shall the third one go?

  My tongue slips over his head and his nails dig into his palms. He tastes like the perfect sushi rice--salty, but just with a hint of sweetness under all of the brine. I want more, and so I take advantage of the fact that he hasn't said no. I slide down until his head rests at the back of my mouth, savoring him.

  The stream of words that leave his mouth are completely foreign to me, but any girl with a little experience knows what those breathy gasps mean when they come from a rock-hard man. He's practically begging for more, so I take a deep breath and give it to him. This is immediately a mistake. This central prong is so thick that my throat bulges when he enters it, completely cutting off my air. My hands tighten on the other two, holding him close, as I fight my own gag reflex.

  It's then that his hands come to my hair and try to pull me away. Have I done something wrong? I look up at him, confused. He certainly didn't seem to be protesting.

  "If you keep doing that, I will never last the entire time," he breathes, his grip as gentle as it can be. "Let me help you."

  Unfortunately, I have to breathe. "Help me?"

  As if I've encouraged something, he grabs me and lifts me like I weigh no more than a sack of groceries. He lays me out on a nearby table and presses that long snout below my skirt.

  It seems his tongue is three-pronged as well. Better yet, they all move individually. While one sends shivers up my spine, plumbing my depths, another flicks across my clit. That one is an expert at making fireworks explode behind my eyelids. The third seems to be working on licking me from top to bottom, every single stroke.

  My thighs want to curl together, my hips beg to grind into his face. I'm at war with myself over just what to do with this man between my legs. I end up bucking toward him, close to the edge already. God, he's an expert and it's really more than I can bear. It's been seconds but it feels like years of torture, building toward an abyss that I'll never see my way out of again.

  And God, all I want is more.

  "Don't stop," I pant, twisting my ankles around the back of his head.

  Whatever he says in reply, I can't possibly make it out. Instead, the vibrations rattle down the tines of his tongue and deep into the sweet, dark part of my soul that wants everything he can give me. A single lash sends a sensation through my stomach that makes me stumble over the cliff and fall... fall...

  The orgasm is so strong that my knees end up pressing against my chest. I hear his soft, amused chuckle below as I lay there astounded. No man has ever made me do that before. I grab the tip of one horn and give it a tug. He draws back a damp face and raises slender, dark brows at me. How did I never see those before?

  "Find a way to get in me, or I'll throw you down and figure it out," I demand, flushed and breathless.

  Teasing, he flicks his tongue at me and wiggles each point by itself. Is it a mocking gesture? I certainly don't know, but it reminds me of the moment before I came and my heart leaps to my throat. Huge and hulking, gentle but overwhelming, he crawls over me and nestles against my cheek. I can smell myself on him, rich and satisfied, only another reminder of his absolutely magical tongue.

  "You're certain?" he asks, ever the gentleman.

  Or not. A pair of long nails twist one of my nipples through the fabric and I inhale sharply, my eyes squeezing shut. He toys with it as he waits for an answer. God, he intends to make me ask for it again. How do people ever complain about being abducted if this is what they have to look forward to?

  "You're killing me. Please," I beg, unashamed.

  If he wants me back on my knees, figuratively or literally, I won't complain.

  His hips rock forward and I feel that central prong press against my entrance. The bottom prong strokes lower as the third bumps against my clitoris. That tiny bump sends electricity coursing through my veins.

  "Please!" I squeak.

  It's all he needs. He drives home in one fluid swoop that forces him deep within me in not one, but two spots. I've never let anyone have my anal virginity, but the moment he's in I have no regrets. The sensation of being entirely filled in one smooth movement is a wonderous thing, something that I never knew I wanted until now. Why go home? No one will ever match this.

  Rothren rocks against me, his gills fluttering with the force of his breath. His brows knit as he concentrates on, what? I loop my arms around his neck, dragging him down against me. One hand slides back down to scratch his chest, something he seemed to like so much. He jerks against me and I hear his balls slap my ass as much as I feel it. They're heavy, full, begging for release as much as I am.

  I kiss the top of one of his gills and hear his breath pitch to a new level. His thrusts become ever stronger, working toward a place for both of us this time. For my part, I ride him back as well as I can. My ankles won't quite lock behind his back, but by God, I try.

  Another kiss to the top of his gill turns into a trail of them down his neck and to his clavicle. He must love this, because each slam against me brings forth a heave on his part--as though he's trying to get deeper, plunge himself into my silky secrets and be lost there for good.

  He tips his head down and catches my lips with his own. We kiss and it's like honey in my mouth as I try to keep up with each tine of his tongue against my own, lacking one. He rumbles into my mouth and shivers against me. I have to break the kiss to gasp as the world goes white. No one has ever hit my g-spot like that before.

  The prong of cock on my clit rubs against it on every downstroke, every upstroke, begging for my knees to buckle, pin together, recoil or drag him in. I'm in a daze of pleasure, hardly able to understand every delicious, slick movement for my own recognition.

  His teeth bare as his gills flap open. My body is on fire and only he can quench my need. I claw at him, everywhere, panting and whispering for more as he tries to give it to me. The table threatens to break beneath us. Let it fall. This is worth it.

  With a last, savage thrust he grips me with both hands and I feel the flood of his seed spurting deep within me, over my mound, pouring into my body. The spasming of his cocks sends me over the edge once more, liquifying my knees and deafening me to the lab around me.

  Even when it's finished, he doesn't pull away. He licks my cheek and inhales my hair as he curls up beside me. I fall asleep with my head on his chest, listening to the six-pump beat of his heart.

  5

  Rothren

  What have I done?

  She sleeps with her head upon my chest, dreaming of things that cannot be. Though I have sated something that so desperately craved attention, I cannot be what she will need me to be. Yet, when I breathe the scent of her hair and kiss her forehead, some part of me says that I will find a way to make it so.

  This is madness. I worry, for one of the signs of the Neff is abundant madness, particularly in males. We gibber towards the end, unable to form rational thought or concern. Many ran off cliffs only to fall to their deaths in the early days of the disease. As if to comfort myself that I am not dying, I kiss her forehead again.

  She dreams on.

  I wish I were able to. Instead, I draw away and head for the tank. A swim will take my mind off of things. It always does.

  Upon reaching the tank, I tap a button that will warm the fluid within. The lid snaps closed behind me and I allow myself to sink to th
e depths and consider my options.

  Will this human still wish to leave me? It is clear that we get along well, that there is some small connection between us. Neither species mates without some amount of affection involved, with a few exceptions. Our research states most of the humans go through a processed called marriage. It is a beautiful affair in which they state their love for one another, their hopes, their dreams for a bright future together, and their families applaud their efforts.

  Many of them are very poor writers, though their mates certainly seem to be convinced that the words they hear are a beautiful promise. They touch their hearts.

  Love is different at home. We mate for life, we are affectionate, but we have no ceremonies in such a manner. We may announce that we are mated to neighbors or family, but they simply nod and acknowledge it. In this time, as hopeless as things are, I cannot imagine anyone would care if I were to take a mate again or not. At this point I am not even certain anyone would be there to see it.

  "Star map?" I ask, lifting my head from the water.

  A picture of the map appears on the inside of the lid. We are more than halfway home already. It seems we are making excellent time. I wonder why it took so long to get there? Perhaps my autopilot has detected some sort of fantastic slipstream within the confines of space. Accessing this world more quickly in the future would be a wonder.

  I could use it when I bring Marie home.

  The very idea hits a wall in my mind that I dislike. I am far too interested in this human, too affectionate, for knowing her such a short period of time. Yet, I cannot stop myself. She is a charmer. Her laughter makes my body react in ways I have never known. I do not wish to lose that.

  But I promised.

  We do not break our promises. It is the behavior of the lowest common lifeform to do so. I disappear beneath the water again to turn it all over in my head. This is all such a problem, and one that I could have never thought to come. Surely, any female such as her would run away should I tell her that I have an attachment already. She would be crazed not to do so.

  A spot catches my attention in the reflection of the pool. I swim closer, twisting so that I may get a better look at the base of my tail. There, just where my spine ends, is a tiny pink spot.

  The Neff.

  I am infected.

  I am going to die.

  The cold spike of realization buries itself in my stomach and I wrap an arm around it, trying to hold my innards where they belong. My eyes close. When I open them, it will all be a bad dream. I will be back with Marie. We will be headed toward home, where she will cure those afflicted. The Neff will be defeated, never to trouble us again. I will not be ill. I will be fine.

  These are lies. I open my eyes to see that the spot remains, clear as it was before has been. The disease is mutating, it must be. I have not been near another potential mate of my people for a very long period. Unless we are guessing incorrectly over the incubation period of the Neff disease? Is there anything our physicians have understood correctly are correct with this ailment?

  A flash of anger sparks through me. I am going to die because these fools are incapable of performing their own job. It would be as if I were incapable of understanding the formation of language yet claiming that I am was a linguist. I huff through my lungs and realize--what is the point of anger? The majority of them are dead of their own inferior ability as it is. Have they not suffered enough?

  No, what I am angry about is my impending demise. It is normal for this to happen, so the nurses say. Denial will come next, that perhaps Marie will be able to cure me as well. No one who has the spots has been healed. It is 100 percent fatal once it is visible upon your body.

  My wife will be very displeased about my activities with Marie when I see her again. I do not think I will apologize. We mate for life, not until the end of time. When death comes, it is acceptable to choose another if so desired. She will understand.

  I lay my head against the side of the tank and sink to sit upon my rump. I will return home just in time to die upon that sickened rock. And I will break my promise. I will never be able to return Marie to her planet. Worse, it is possible that her species is immune. She may be trapped, starving to death upon a planet that she does not understand.

  What have I done to her? To all of them? I deserve this infection. I deserve this death. This is why we are forbidden from that world, even that section of the universe. They do not understand. They have no way to cope with what I am bringing her to bear.

  If I turn around, will it be too late? I could teach her to land the craft, how to send it back to my planet. Autopilot could take her home if it must, though what if she ran into trouble? There is no one who would be willing to risk the monarchy falling upon them to take an errant human back to her homeland.

  There is no way around it. I have condemned her in an attempt to meet my own goals. I wished to be the hero, through her, to save the others. Instead, I have brought misery to a creature so innocent of the world beyond hers that she considers herself to be the top of a ridiculous thing they call a "food chain".

  I rub my head against the polesthrine of the tank, wishing it would put me out of my misery. This beautiful female will suffer and I am a liar. There he is, Rothren Ket L'kan, sole remaining member of his school's faculty. He thought himself immune to the Neff so he dragged a human into something that was not hers to cope with.

  I knew this was a possibility. How could I not? But after all this time, I simply assumed that I had a lower chance of becoming ill. Hadn't I worked for months in the infirmaries before my wife became ill? Hadn't I tried to maintain my composure when it was she, not I, who caught the Neff virus? I remember staring down at her, dressed in so many layers of protection. What protection it was--half the nurses who caught the Neff were hidden beneath more than I was.

  Why here? Why now?

  Should I tell Marie that I will never be able to fulfill my promise? Or should I keep her in the dark, allowing her to hold out hope until that last moment when she finds me dead? It is my fault. All of it.

  Not for the first time I wonder if I brought the Neff home on my shoes, my clothing. I had followed proper procedure, but it is clear that procedure does little to prevent the spread. My wife did not leave the house for three months and sprouted pink spots across her tawny coat overnight. Just as I have.

  I take a deep breath and try to quiet my thoughts. It takes a good deal of effort, but I manage it in a short time. I must concentrate. They will throw my corpse upon the fire soon and nothing will matter. I will be another number in a line of many.

  I do not fear the flames.

  I fear for her.

  The lid snaps open at my command and I drag myself out. It is pointless to dry myself, this beast I am, I just give my fur a shake. If I were to become ill now, a secondary infection, it would be a blessing in disguise.

  "You were in there for a while."

  My tail lashes, knocking a table with a canister across the room. I spin to stare at her. How did I keep from seeing her? We are nearly certain that her species cannot become invisible, like the chameleons of her planet manage. Nearly being the most important word there.

  She sits on a bench, wrapped in a toq that is too large for her. The pale yellow compliments her ashy brown hair, her dark eyes. Were I not ill, I would throw her down upon that bench and repeat the mating, ripping her toq from her body and tasting her again. Instead, I walk to her and scoop her into my arms.

  "I have unfortunate news," I start, but I cannot finish. My throat chokes the admittance away.

  Her hands dig into the wet fluff across my chest and my eyes sink closed. Yes, it is arousing, but it is so very fulfilling at the same time. This is not just a sexual motivator. Mates rub their horns against one another's chest to play, to flirt. She has no clue what she is doing, but it is one of the kindest gestures I have felt in a long time.

  "Yeah, you like that, don't you? I don't know what kind of stuff your people are int
o, but this seems to be a hit," she smiles, unaware.

  "Marie," I whisper, gathering my courage.

  Then she curls her fingers just so and I put a hand against the wall to keep from falling to the bench beside her--or atop her. One of those would have happened, and I doubt it would matter much to me which one at the moment. I dream of a place in which I could impart another passionate filling of my genetic material into her, but this is not a priority. Soon, the madness will take me. I will be safer behind cage bars.

  I could not cope if I hurt her more than I already have.

  "Shh, just stand there and enjoy it. We can be up for a little round two in a moment. I want to try a few of those things again. I've never been to bed with someone as capable as you are," she chatters away.

  "Marie, we can't," I say as gently as I can.

  "Of course, we can, we just did. You didn't like it?"

  "It isn't that, Marie," I say, wanting to die with her name on my lips. "I have the Neff. There is a spot."

  She answers simply. Easily.

  "Oh, hell."

  6

  Marie

  Did I do this to him? Maybe the stress of being around me, dealing with me, did this to him. His daughter died from this disease, his whole world is suffering from it.

  ...Does that mean he's going to die, too?

  I wrench myself from the bench and race down the hall. It's back to the lab again. We'll have to test my guess on him right now, I suppose. Though it's kind of crazy to do that without testing on something else first. If the roots aren't enough, we're going to be entering some very questionable waters. I don't know how long he has left, and I don't know how long this stuff will take to work.

  Back home it's not like we have to deal with frequent smallpox epidemics anymore. And here, I don't even have Jessie to lean on. I'm all alone, and as I stare down at this bag of roots in my hand, I hope that I'm enough. It's not just that he's incredible, it's that he's my only way home. If that's where I decide to go.