Slag: Book Four in the Galaxy Pirates Alien Abduction Romance Series (Shifter) Alana Khan (love letters to the dead .txt) 📖

little room is a pile of something. I get the sense this is his sleeping den. That’s his pathetic bed. It couldn’t provide much more comfort than the warm stone floor.

This planet is hot. Outside in the furiously blowing sand, it was well over one-hundred and ten. Down here, it’s a balmy ninety. Even if I wasn’t staring down the prospect of being raped by the green giant, I’d find everything about this place oppressive.

Slag eases my feet to the floor, grasps my wrist, and pulls me to the wall. Before I totally freak out, I see a trickle of water sluicing down the stone wall. He cups his hands under a tiny jut in the rock and drinks deeply, then nods his head at me, encouraging me to mimic him.

The water’s warm and has a mineral tang to it, but it’s wet and quenches a thirst I was too terrified to notice until now.

He scarfs down his two bars, tipping his head, encouraging me to eat mine. This guy outweighs me by a hundred pounds, maybe more, and he did my entire quota of work today. When I toss him one of my bars he shakes his head and tosses it back to me.

“You earned it Slag. You not only worked all day, you took ten lashes for me. I won’t be so selfish tomorrow. I’m KJ, by the way.”

I throw him the extra bar and he dips his head in thanks, then devours it.

I picture living here, drinking stale water and eating meager rations and mining green salt every day until I die. It makes my eyes sting with tears as despair threatens to overwhelm me. My lips quiver even as I scold myself to stay tough.

Slag and I ate standing up. He motions for me to take another drink, then offers me the pile on the floor. Upon closer inspection, I see a jumble of ancient leaves and an assortment of rags. The way Slag pointed to them, as if he just invited me to sleep in the Lincoln Bedroom at the White House, is touching.

I almost quit breathing when I realize that’s not the only thing that is going to be touching. In the next couple of minutes, this huge, green alien is going to be wanting his payment for providing my quota of green salt at the weigh station today.

After I sit on the pile of rags, Slag drops to his knees in front of me. I swallow, keeping my jaw tight so I don’t show the fear that’s slicing through me. This is it. Time to pay for his help. The pickaxe leans against the stone wall behind his back. I’d have to go through him to reach it.

He’s huge, at least two heads taller than me. Tipping his head, he leans close, sniffing. As if that wasn’t good enough, he presses his nose into my shoulder-length blond hair and inhales deeply.

One thick finger grips a strand of my blond hair and deftly twirls it into a ringlet. He grunts as if he approves.

He unwinds the filthy rag that covers his sex and his erection springs to life. Slag’s a big male, and his cock is humongous. Long and thick and green, it points at me as its owner continues to visually inspect me.

He grabs one of the rags on the pile next to me, rises, and returns to the water dripping down the wall. He rinses the loincloth he was wearing, and with the other rag, he gives himself a sponge bath. It’s an interesting juxtaposition as his large hands perform precise actions while cleaning his pebbled green skin. His ablutions completed, he returns to me and kneels, sitting back onto his heels.

Even though my mouth is dry, I try to swallow. Fear circles the pit of my stomach. I can’t think of a worse nightmare than being taken by a green giant on a pile of filthy rags.

Cocking his head, he leans an inch closer, staring at my breasts under my t-shirt. If he has superhuman hearing, I’m certain he can hear my heart thumping in triple time. Closing my eyes, I clamp my teeth together and consider just disappearing deep in my mind so I don’t have to be present from here out.

I learned meditation. It helped me control my emotions in my personal life and on the job as a 911 dispatcher. I was an expert at it when I used to conduct really emotional 911 calls. There was one time I was with a victim every step of the way when a serial rapist broke into her house and was taunting her in the dark. I used my skills to stay calm and help the terrified woman on the other end of the line until the police arrived.

Right now, though, I can’t slide away into my internal darkness, I guess my level of terror is too high. When my eyes flash open I find him still staring at me.

He’s on his knees, his ass on his heels, his muscular thighs bulging, his cock beaded with pale green pre-cum.

He reaches over, and gently lifts my t-shirt, scrunching it into the band of my bra so my midriff is exposed. My heart quits pumping in my chest as I squinch my eyes shut and order myself to breathe. At least he’s not a snake who wants to beat me or cut me to ribbons. I can’t control the fearful mewl that squeaks from my throat, though.

When he doesn’t touch me, I open my eyes to see his hands lodge above his knees and slide up his textured green skin. It’s as if this is foreplay and he’s readying himself.

“Please. Don’t do this.” I shake my head, my eyes wide and terrified.

I wonder if I should make a preemptive strike and try to go down on him. Perhaps a