“I don’t want to have Zethki’s baby,” I say. These revelations are streaming from my mouth as if someone else is saying them—they certainly haven’t gone through any checks in my brain before leaving my lips. But when I hear them, hear the words in my own voice, I realize how true they are.
He pushes my hands down on either side of my head, staring at me with a look of complete possession, total ownership, and obsession. How I can know that’s what is on his alien features, I have no idea. But I would bet my life on it.
And then he’s inside of me, and even that feels familiar. I decide this is a dream—the best, most vivid one I have ever had, and I allow myself to be absorbed by it. My body responds to him as if we have been lovers for a long time; I’m wet, he slides in easily, and his size is not painful, just filling, completing.
“You will not have Zethki’s baby,” he says, as he begins to fuck me, hard, possessively. He is so deep inside of me that he touches places I didn’t know existed, and yet even that feels like an echo of something that has happened before. As my pleasure boils over, that, too, feels familiar, and when it crashes all around me, and I almost lose consciousness, it doesn’t make me afraid, even though it’s wild and more intense than anything I have ever felt before.
“You will bear my child,” he’s saying, close to my ear. I’m lost in a sea of pleasure, and it’s so intense that it almost hurts, as my orgasm fades and he continues to pleasure me. He is still holding me down, but now his lips are on mine, his tongue in my mouth, our connection intense and somehow a seeming memory. “I will breed you now, and you will bear my child,” he says again, and then I feel his body overcome by his own climax, his hot seed filling me, satisfying me.
He remains inside of me, his weight on top of me, and I begin to move against him, my body ready again to rise to the heights of pleasure he just gave me. I have never felt a need so consuming, never wanted to keep fucking after the man comes, never in my life wanting anything so badly.
He lifts his torso and releases one hand, his cock still pulsing inside of me. He seems to wince with the motion of my body, probably over-pleasured as I was minutes ago. He moves his free hand down the center of my quivering torso, pausing at my breasts, playing with my erect nipples. His touch connects to my pussy through my body, and I arch my back against him.
He moves his hand down to my soaked pussy, finding my clit in the slippery folds as though he has searched for a part of his own body. He finds it easily, and expertly he strokes it, slowly, making me squirm. There is a frisson of fear that ripples through me when I feel his sharp claw sliding against my tender skin, but he will not hurt me, I know this by now. He could; he could slice me open, or squeeze my neck, or throw me across the room like a piece of crumpled parchment, but he won’t.
Instead, he strokes my clit, and my eyes roll into the back of my head, stars gathering at the corners of my vision, my whole body shaking. I’m no longer in control of myself, and I’m going to come. I mewl.
“Good,” he says, and his praise makes me shudder in pleasure. “Good girl, come for me, come, so mykrythis strong, so you breed my child, that’s a good girl.”
When I come it’s so encompassing that I do almost black out. I feel my legs trembling, my abdomen rolls in uncontrolled waves of pleasure, and my limbs seem to break apart in a seizure. Maybe I’m having a seizure, I think, as my head rolls from side to side. My pussy squeezes his cock, pulsing around him, his hot seed gushing inside of me with the churning of my flesh.
I don’t know how I know, or why I think it, or why I evenwantto think of it at all, but I know that his seed has reached my womb, that he has filled me with himself, and that his words will become true.
I don’t know how long this lasts, only that it seems like forever. He stays inside of me, letting the remnants of my orgasm shudder around him, and then he places his lips on my forehead in a kiss that slips in the sweat there.
I mewl emptily when I feel him slide from inside of me. He pushes my legs up to my chest and wraps my arms around them, and I leave them as he has placed them as he moves his body around, cradling me on his lap, pulling his robe from somewhere to cover me.
We lie like this in silence, and he strokes my hair. I know this must be a dream, but it feels too real, and I check myself, looking for the floor, pinching my own skin.
“Rys,” I say. “What…?”
He gathers my hair from my face with his fingertips, sending a delicious shudder through me. “Do not say that name,” he whispers gently in my ear. “Not in his presence. Not in anyone’s presence. Do you understand me, Anya?”
I stare at the ceiling. I don’t understand.
“You will have my baby,” he repeats. “Not his. But you will have to marry him. You will have to… there is no other way, Anya.” His thumb strokes my lip. “But you are mine.Kryth’a sar slorim.”
I don’t know what this means, and yet I do. I have never heard it, and yet I have.
I’m his. He is mine. I know that he said this to me, I know that I believe it. It makes no sense, and I’m swamped by dreams, by feelings I cannot understand.
“I will have you, Anya, but I cannot stop him now.” He whispers this in my ear, and hiskrythturns bright and violent, and grows so hot to the touch that it’s uncomfortable against my skin. An energy that is violent, angry, almost out of control, is coursing through him, and it frightens me, because it enters me, and because he’s not like this.
And yet I know that it’s not directed at me. This thought travels through me, as though it has entered my blood like a drug. I’m completely safe in his arms, and I believe him, and I know that I need to trust him.
“You will be mine,” he repeats. “You are mine.”
I close my eyes, and I drift away, because I feel sleepy, against all odds. I don’t understand, not with my head, but I understand with my heart and my body.
I’m his. I have always been his. And I will be his.
* * *
I stare at the green liquid in the vial he has set on the table. He has washed me, removing the scent of his body from me, and instructed me to take a cool bath when I return to my quarters. And now we stand across from each other, me in my robe, and he in his, with the vial between us.
I pick it up and look at it. It, too, feels familiar in my hands.
“I’ve done this before,” I say absently.
