Page 21 of Alien Desire
I wouldn’t describe it as that, no, but not wanting to hurt her feelings I continue to smile and say nothing.
Appearing to take this as encouragement, the little Omega starts to squirm and wiggle on the spot. I stare at her open-mouthed. What on Astia is she doing? Is she unwell? The way her body convulses looks almost like she might be having a fit.
My eyebrows lift in alarm and I reach for her, but she tosses back her head, throws her arms wide, and spins.
Is this … dancing? These chaotic, erratic movements are not the ordered, sedated motion of Gryton dance, but I have to confess to being somewhat captivated by the sway of her hips, the bounce of her chest and the jiggle of her backside.
“Come,” she says, beckoning me to join in. But frankly, I wouldn’t know where to start. There’s no rhyme or reason to it.
Seeing my hesitancy, she reaches forward and takes my hands in hers and that now familiar jolt of electricity races through me.
She steps from side to side and my arms sway with her, while my body remains rigid. This does not deter her. She points to my feet, signaling for me to move in time with her.
With a reluctant sigh, I obey. If it were not for the pure absurdity of this dance, I would wonder if it were another part of the mating ritual — some creatures on Astia being known to seduce each other with ‘dance’ before copulation.
It occurs to me that this experience would be more enjoyable with the Omega pressed up against me. I’m about to tug her my way, when she spins under my arm, yelping with joy, and then spins the other way.
While I certainly am happy to continue to watch the hypnotising wriggles of her soft pliant body, this is a waste of time. Time we could be using to mate. I need to overcome the trial she has set me. And soon.
* * *
When morning arrives, I persuade her into another game of chess. This one is closer; I can tell from the little crease between Emma’s eyebrows and the way she snaps at the computer with irritation. She is concentrating more closely. But after half an hour she beats me again. I immediately demand a rematch and, with a shake of her head, she agrees.
This time the match is even closer. I take some risks and set up some of the plays the computer showed me. She leans forward and studies the screen, muttering to herself, her eyes flickering about as if she’s visualising the moves. When she makes her move, she bites her lip and her finger lingers above the screen. She’s still of two minds about what to do and I know I’ve got her. Five moves later and I have her King.
She grins at me and holds out her hand. I stare at it for several minutes, wondering what this can mean, if she is finally submitting, then take hold of it and tug her towards me.
She yelps in alarm and lands in my lap where I’ve wanted her for several days.
But before I can wrap her in my arms and proceed to the mating, she’s scrambled to her feet.
With her hands on her hips, she says, “Shake.” Then takes her right hand in her left and waggles it up and down, before offering me her hand again. I copy the gesture although it seems pointless, and wait for my prize.
It is not forthcoming and, for the first time in my life, I am so utterly frustrated with the situation I find I want to head out into the storm and yell at the sky. Or punch something. Punch lots of things. Hard.
I need to get to my damned ship, storm or no storm, and resolve this communication obstacle.
But the storm is fierce and relentless and it rages on for five more days.
Five more days of being taunted by the smiles of this Omega, the jiggles of her unfamiliar body, and the ripening of her scent.
Chapter eleven - Emma
The world outside the station is bright and sparkling and Tor wants to go out into it again. His eagerness is infectious and I can’t help but catch it, rushing into my snowsuit and skipping out with him to the snow mobiles.
This time we ride one each. It takes Tor a few attempts to work his snowmobile. Twice he zooms off backwards and once he comes to such a sudden halt that he very nearly somersaults over his handlebars. I laugh and the noise catches his attention and he smiles at me.
His face has clearly rarely worn such an expression but it suits him. It melts away the fierce angles and brutality, softening him and drawing attention to his eyes. Under the sunlight they glint and glitter, rivers of molten gold.
I race away from him across the glimmering ice and he tears after me, struggling to keep pace. The fierce bumps of the landscape make me bounce in my seat. It’s exhilarating and I laugh some more.
We stop to watch the distant dogs skip across the landscape and I show him the patches of ice worn so smooth by the passing winds that they reflect the sky like a mirror.
The illusion is dizzying and for moments knowing which way is up and which way down is impossible. We stand side by side and peer down into the reflective pane, our images peeking back up at us.
What a funny pair we are, him huge and deadly pale as the snow, me small and fragile and richly brown. He crouches down and places a palm on his image. “Tor, male, Gryton,” he says, then places his palm over mine, “Emma, female, human.”
“Yes,” I say in wonderment. How has he learned so much already? “Human.” I point to myself then to him.
