AllFreeNovel
Share Us
No one had ever said that to Fal’ran before.
Chapter Three
A hard tusk brushed down his jaw line before a hot, wet mouth closed around the tendon of his neck and sharp teeth pressed into his skin.
Patrick woke with a strangled gasp and shot his hand down between his thighs to press against the base of his cock. Fuck, oh fuck. He squeezed his eyes shut as he fought off his orgasm, determined not to come in his pajama pants like a horny teenager. In, out, he just had to breathe in and out. Breathe through it. Breathe and not think about Fal’ran’s weight pressing him into the sparring room floor or Fal’ran’s nose pressed into the hollow of his throat and inhaling with a desperate moan.
“Fuck, no.” Patrick’s cock kicked, and he wrapped his thumb and forefinger tight around the base. He would not come to thoughts of a soldier half his age. A soldier under his command. He would not.
Embarrassment forced its way into Patrick’s waking mind and Patrick let go of his softening cock with a relieved sigh. He sat up and scrubbed the last bit of sleep from his eyes. No doubt Fal’ran would love to know the state Patrick had woken in and that was all the more reason for Patrick to make sure it never happened again.
No more impulsive sparring in darkening rooms together. Patrick flushed at the memory as he climbed out of bed—his joints stiff in ways they hadn’t been when he was Fal’ran’s age. He’d ask himself what the hell he’d been thinking, but he hadn’t been thinking at all. Fal’ran’s challenging burnt-orange eyes and the thrill of the fight had made him act like an impulsive twenty-year-old.
With an impulsive twenty-year-old.
Twenty-three-year-old, another part of his mind helpfully corrected.
Patrick scoffed to himself as he pulled on his captain’s jacket. Twenty or twenty-three didn’t matter. The point was, Patrick had dealt with plenty of immature soldiers that got a thrill from trying to fuck their human commanding officer. He hadn’t given in before and he wasn’t about to now.
He stepped out of his private tent and into the muggy morning air and came chest to chest with his least favorite person in the camp.
“Smith.” Yal’rest barked as though it were Patrick’s fault they’d almost run into each other while Yal’rest lurked outside his tent at an unseemly morning hour. Patrick was always up early, a fact he doubted Yal’rest knew, judging by the surprised and disappointed scowl Yal’rest swept over his body. Bastard had been trying to catch him out of uniform.
“Sir.” Patrick snapped to attention. “How can I help you, sir?”
Yal’rest’s face pinched, as though saying his next words pained him. “The Qeshian Senate has requested your squad for special assignment.”
Patrick kept the level of surprise on his face and in his scent to curious, but inside he reeled. What the hell did anyone in the Senate want with his squad? He was determined that one day his squad would be a well-oiled, harmonious fighting machine, but…well, that day was a long way off. Had someone requested him in particular?
The only person attached to the Senate that Patrick knew was Emissary Serihk. Could he have—Patrick’s eyebrows rose to his hairline when Yal’rest stepped to the side to reveal the slim figure standing behind him.
“Sazahk?”
“Hello, Captain Smith.” Sazahk dipped his head as stripes of brown marched up his throat. “It’s nice to see you again.”
“And you.” Patrick nodded back on autopilot, his mind reeling harder. Last he’d checked, Sazahk had been associated with Carta Cartel, the notorious criminal enterprise, not the Qeshian Senate, the notorious rule-maker.
“Sazahk here is part of a special group of scientists the Qesh have requested we embed in our combat units in order to better understand the Insects.” Yal’rest’s lips pinched harder, and Patrick had to wonder how long he could hold that expression before they went numb. “He’ll be in yours.”
“Thank you, sir, for entrusting my squad with this responsibility.” Patrick inclined his head to his commanding officer. “Your decision—”
“Oh, shut it, Smith.” Yal’rest’s expression broke into a scowl. “It wasn’t my decision, it was his. Don’t get him killed or the Qesh will have my ass.”
With one last accusing glare at the two of them, as though Sazahk and Patrick had conspired against him, Yal’rest turned on his heel and stormed off. Watching him walk away, Patrick raised an eyebrow to see that one of his back pockets was hanging inside out and he hadn’t quite tucked his shirt in all the way. Not a morning person, after all.
Brushing off his general’s mood, Patrick clapped Sazahk’s narrow shoulder with a crooked smile. “Well, I’ve got some questions for you.”
Sazahk shrugged the shoulder not weighed down by Patrick’s hand and the brown stripes on his throat collapsed into eddies of dark yellow. “I’ve got questions about everything.”
“Well, come on then.” Patrick steered the two of them toward the squad tents. “Let’s go introduce you. I can take that.”
Patrick reached for the heavy duffle hanging across Sazahk’s slim chest, but Sazahk pulled the strap back toward himself with a scowl and burst of purple over his cheek. “I’ve got it.”
“Sorry, fair enough.” Patrick raised his hands and let the qesh carry his own bag. He started leading him down the pathway between the officers’ tents, most of which were still occupied by people that didn’t have the same affinity for mornings that Patrick did. “Have you eaten?”
“Yes, yes.” Sazahk sighed as he followed Patrick. “Zyk and Ha’ral made me take more food than could fit in my bag. I think they thought the Klah’Eel wouldn’t feed me. I gave it to the crewmen of the ship that flew me to Klah. They looked starving, and they were Klah’Eel, so maybe the Klah’Eel don’t feed their people after all.”
Patrick laughed to himself as he walked. Sazahk was an odd one for sure and he was looking forward to seeing Fal’ran, Bar’in, and Tar’s reaction to him. Well, Patrick was looking forward to seeing Fal’ran in general—No. No, no.
