Page 59 of Stripped By the Alien

He angles just right. The broadest bulb of his cock presses exactly where the pleasure gathers brightest. What he is, what his kind has done, what the galaxy whispers about creatures like him - it should repulse me. But here and now, it only heightens every sensation. Because he has this side to him, too, and only I know. That he chooses to move inside me with such focused tenderness is its own intoxication.

“Ooh…” My control slips. The climax rises in a long, rolling wave rather than a sudden break, gathering force until it overtakes me completely. I cry out against the hard plane of his chest, body tightening around him in powerful, rhythmic pulses. He continues the same measured thrusts through the whole of it, drawing the pleasure out until I am shaking and soft and utterly open beneath him.

Only then does his own release take him—deep, controlled, a series of heavy throbs that fill me while his wings quiver once and settle.

He remains joined to me afterward, forehead resting lightly against mine, antennae stroking the damp strands of my hair as if still marveling at their texture.

Outside the viewport the stars keep their silent watch. Inside, there is only the slow shared breath, the residual heat of his body, and the quiet certainty that I have been thoroughly, lovingly claimed. And I don't know if I can live without this.

Krix'vorr's arm remains draped across my waist while the Beast's pulse moves through the walls around us. The steady rhythm makes the chamber feel alive in a way I still haven't grown accustomed to. After everything that's happened today, the battle, the wreckage, Sophia, and the impossible intensity of being with him, my body is finally beginning to relax.

For a while neither of us speaks. I trace one finger across the warm plates of his chest. The movement starts as idle curiosity, but my thoughts keep returning to the wreckage chamber and the burned remains of Sophia's ship. Every time I start drifting back toward the pleasant haze of the present, her face appears again.

Eventually I lift my head. "If Sophia survived, what happens to her?"

Krix'vorr’s hand moves through my hair once before coming to rest behind my neck. The hesitation catches my attention because certainty usually comes as naturally to him as breathing. "I don't know."

The answer unsettles me more than I'd expected. "You don't know, or you don't want to tell me?"

His mandibles tighten before he replies. "The Gzet are difficult to predict. They don't think like my people."

I prop myself up on one elbow and study him. "What does that mean?"

For several moments he appears to be deciding how much to say. Eventually his gaze drifts toward the ceiling. "My people harvest worlds. We take what we need openly. The Gzet collect things."

The choice of words makes my stomach tighten. "What kind of things?"

His eyes return to mine. "Creatures. Species. Curiosities. Living things. Anything they believe has value."

The warmth from a few moments ago begins to fade. "You mean slaves?"

"That’s one word for it. Sentients are a particular favorite of theirs."

I stare at him for several seconds while I think through the implications. Part of me already understands where this conversation is going, but another part keeps hoping there's some explanation that will make it less awful. "What do they do with them?"

Krix'vorr exhales. "They sell them. Trade them. Display them. Alter them."

I don't like any of those words, especially not the last one. "Alter them how?"

He thinks for a moment. "A creature purchased by the Gzet is rarely considered finished. Buyers have preferences. The Gzet make adjustments."

I push myself a little higher. "What sort of adjustments?"

"Whatever increases value at their auctions. Or whatever a prospective buyers might want. Some buyers want servants. Some want laborers. Some want companions. Some want trophies. The Gzet modify bodies and minds to satisfy those demands."

A knot forms in my stomach. "They brainwash people?"

"One of their specialties, as I understand it."

The simplicity of the answer makes it worse. "And if somebody wants something worse than that?"

For the first time during the conversation, Krix'vorr looks genuinely displeased. "Then the Gzet provide something worse. Whatever the customer wants. Whatever will sell."

My thoughts drift back to Sophia. I remember training exercises, arguments with instructors, and the stubborn determination that seemed woven into every part of her personality. A month ago she was flying a scout vessel away from Earth. Now she might be trapped somewhere waiting for strangers to decide what she'll become. "We're going after her."

Krix'vorr watches me. There is no surprise in his expression. "We are indeed."

I raise my eyebrows. "You already decided that?"