Page 53 of No Strings Attached

He was focused on getting everything straight and just so, then he stood back and admired it, “Now it’s the most beautiful thing, on you.”

When he finally stopped scrutinizing his work and stepped back to take her in, he visibly registered the heated look in her eyes and his purr stopped, abruptly. She was fucking drowning in lust for him right now, had been even before watching him a few minutes ago while he had been looking so ridiculously sexy at his work, before seeing the wondrous fruits of his labors and his obvious genius for design and engineering. Those were sizable logs on the fire, sure, but he had kindled the blaze this morning with a few words and it had been raging ever since.

Bobby’s eyes went wide, then he turned and ran for the door, slamming it closed and engaging a lock. He was back in front of her in a second, tugging off her coverall and panties—but leaving the crown in place, a part of her mind noted—then his own and toolbelt, and she was wrapped around him tightly while he pressed her hard against the nearest wall.

She felt him slide into her while he murmured, “So hot and wet already,” and their tongues entwined as he grew to fill her.

Bobby started rocking into her, hands around the undersides of her thighs, and she moaned, breathing, “Harder, Bobby.”

His eyes shone with the green light from her crown while he ground into her even harder, and she was over the edge in seconds, screaming, while her fingers dug into his back. Bobby was right behind her.

When their breathing had normalized, Bobby pulled her away from the wall and she wrapped her legs around him. He grabbed their clothes off the floor and carried her to the back of the room, looking for a good place to tuck themselves away for a while, at least out of sight of the door.

“That’s one,” Bobby said, smiling wickedly and lowering himself to a cross-legged sitting position on top of their coveralls, with her still joined.

Vi laughed, pulling the goggles off his forehead, and tossing them behind her. Then she straightened her back, placed her hands on her hips, and asked, “So how’d you like fucking the Queen?”

Twenty-Three: Your Mom and Dad Don’t Sound Very Nice, Steev

Bahbi thought they musthave walked past every Trallian on the stupid rock trying to get back to the main cavern. Each time they passed someone, he’d see a nostril flare, then a neck-cracking swivel of the head, and eyes widening in shock.

Vi was saying, “I hope there’s some dinner left. I’m starving,” as another pair of Trallians came toward them and repeated the nostril-flare, neck-crack, eyes-wide dance. She didn’t notice, because she was looking down in admiration at the crown in her hands, which Bahbi had pulled off between rounds two and three. They were taking it to show the others and get their approval for the design.

On one hand, he felt a little strange having all these others know what he and Vi were doing together. It was theirs, no one else’s, and no one had a right to be giving them, givingher, those looks.

On the other hand, more than half the Trallians they encountered finished their little dance routine by looking himstraight in the eye. Acknowledging him. It was a first for him, as a runt. And he liked it. He was proud to be with Vi, proud to be the male she had chosen, and a big part of him basked in the acknowledgment of that fact by the other Trallians.

Sure, they had all seen her embrace him yesterday in the bunkroom, but this was different. It was the smell of their mating and comingled scents that the Trallians were reacting to—incontrovertible proof that Vi chose him for all things. He was not just a “pet” as the big Trallian had called him, yesterday. Vi did not think of him that way, he was certain.Wasn’t he?

She had been driven in the fabrication room. No sooner had they settled in behind a big piece of machinery, than she had started running her hands all over his body, both over and under the fur. Then she had become methodical about it, while rocking back and forth on him absentmindedly and occasionally letting out a soft moan.

First, she had started with his neck, running her fingers down both sides of his neck to his collarbone, then out across his shoulders to his biceps. She had made appreciative little noises each time she found something that pleased her, and she had spent a long time at his pecs before continuing down his abdomen and making a “mmm” sound. She had gasped a little when she felt his musculature from his abdomen down to his sheath, then leaned backwards to run her hands along his thighs.

Eventually, he had to ask, “What are you doing, Vi? Not that I want you to stop, of course.”

She had looked back at his face a little dreamily, still lightly rocking her hips and continuing to feel his thighs. “I’m making a visualization of what your body looks like under your fur.”

“I can find you a picture of a Trallian with no fur.”

She shook her head, “I don’t care what other Trallians look like underneath. Just you, Bahbi. I want to visualize your body.”

“Um, how does it look?”

“Like a hard, lean, sexy-as-hell swimmer’s body.”

“So, you like it?”

“I always have. I’m just getting more details. You can see all of me, and I want to see all of you, even if it’s just in my head.”

“I could…I could…remove my fur.”

Vi had laughed, “No! I love your fur, and I can’t imagine how itchy that would be—for both of us—when it was coming back in.” She looked thoughtful for a moment, “Do you ever imagine me with fur…a big tail…and six more tits?” She ran her hands down in lines from her small, perky breasts to her lower abdomen.

“No,” he had said, placing both hands on her back and pulling her in so he could bring a nipple to his mouth. “In my imagination, you always look exactly like you do now. Only the many ways we can wrap our bodies around each other change.”

She had moaned and whispered, “Slide a finger in me, Bahbi,” and they were both lost.

No, she didn’t think of him as a pet, he decided as they entered the main cavern. She enjoyed him—his conversation, his body, his creativity, his personality. He was a person to her. More thanthat, he washerperson, the one she chose to share her time, her mind, and her body with.

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