Page 69 of Sawoots Story

"Four…three…two…one!”

I gasp in anticipation…

And nothing happens.

The Mothership sits, unharmed, and starts to lumber forward towards us. The loading bays open, attack ships blasting forward and slipping out the opening doors sideways to squeeze through.

They’re headed straight towards us.

14

Sawoot

“You fucking cunts! I’ll kill you!” Meelon screams through the coms-link. Every battery on the Mothership fires towards us, a blinding crescendo of las-cannon fire. Through the bright lights I see missiles blasting off towards us.

Garrick hugs me tight. My terror rises, but it’s controlled, muted by his strength. I stare up at him, knowing this is it. He kisses me, deep, pressing his lips against mine while he pilots us expertly away from the blast radius. We lurch back at full power away from the gunfire while his tongue claims my mouth, and we’re bound together, ready to face eternity in each other’s arms.

The beams fade short of Aelon’s Reaver. He’s out of range, and so are we. I break off the kiss, gasping.

Waves of attack ships pour out of the loading bays, angry hornets buzzing towards us.

The mothership buckles outwards from the Loading Bay side, a ball of red, pulsating fire spreading out as the oxygen of the ship vents and ignites. A ribbon of blue-black energy crescendos out. For a second, the attack ships ride the wave, pushed outwards, before they are consumed, disintegrated instantly. Lightning arcs out from the husk of the once mighty behemoth.

My eyes are wide open and locked in as a second blast extends outwards. This one is repugnant to my senses. I can barely understand it. A black so deep it’s less than nothing, blue electric energy brighter than the sun, and the Mothership and every little attack ship filled with angry Toad simply ceases to exist.

The twenty-six Orbs sit in space. There’s no hint of debris. I shudder as I realize they added themselves to the blast, hungry for the life-force of the Toads.

Garrick caresses my neck, and all the tension leaves my body. I moan out, half in relief, half in pent-up lust for his triad that I’ve been holding at bay.

We’re alive.

We’re safe.

And I’m with them. I push down all my insecurities. I push down the image of the teary-faced Nami when her heart was broken.

Bonded or not, I want them.

Markrin and Tar’ank stand, and their body language is different.

It’s the same as when we were in the diplomat’s chamber. It’s the half-predatory, animalistic movements as they fumble with their heavy armor. As warriors they’ve put their armor on and taken it off thousands of times. It should be muscle memory, but their eyes are so fixed on me they struggle to pull off the plating.

I run my hands over Garrick’s armored chest, looking for divots where I can feel his body. He kisses me deep, his huge tongue a welcome invader in my mouth. Gods. Everything about them is bigger. I want to feel those tongues running over my body, every inch of me as they explore me.

Garrick stands, lifting me easily, pulling me up so fast I’m dizzy as he kisses me. He half tosses me to his battle-brothers, and I let out a littleeekas I’m in the air for a second before Tar’ank catches me with a growl. His armor is strewn at the floor, and all that separates me from him is his thin T-shirt stretched to the limit on his broad chest and the thin wisp of my dress. His huge biceps flex as he lifts me, and I instinctively wrap my legs around him, on fire with desire as my mound grinds against his muscled body.

It’s like something is taking over me. A pure, primal need to be utterly taken by the alien warriors, to submit to whatever they want to do with me. I can’t blame the Bond. It’s what they do to me. I want to be their little toy, and I can’t imagine how intense it would be if we end up linked. Tar’ank growls as he kisses me, a low rumble in the back of his throat, becoming a beast in his need.

They held back in the diplomat’s room. Barely.

I want them to let go and claim me with every ounce of their might.

“I want you to let go,” I gasp, pulling away from his kiss, staring into his slate-grey eyes burning up with need for me. I give the three of them permission to fully succumb to the Mating Rage.

My dress rips as Garrick’s big fingers pull it apart from behind, and Tar’ank twirls me, holding me up to face the triad’s leader. Tar’ank is the most brutal, but Garrick is their leader.

He’s fully naked.

I bite my lip, a little tendril of fear building up inside me. It’s one thing to tell them to let go. It’s another to see Garrick in all his might. Over seven foot tall without an ounce of fat, he’s got muscles on muscles, his eight-pack abs taut and flexed. Sweat drips from his brow down his marble chest, and it’s not from exertion.

---