Alien Interrupted

Alien, Interrupted

Is it wise to have sex with a tall, gorgeous space alien who used to be your cat? The

question barely has a chance to flitter through Hannah’s mind before she’s
overwhelmed by temptation and writhing under the strong, hot man in her bed. And
while the thought of goodbye sometimes makes her question the decision, life with a
handsome lover does not disappoint.

Yom Lister has proven no better at reasoning himself out of his lust. Somehow he’s

managed to pair-bond with an Earthling—the intensity and speed of his connection to
Hannah setting him completely off-balance. In one unthinking moment, Yom ends his
state-sponsored vacationon Earth and finds himself a traitor to the planet he once
saved.

Before he’s arrested, however, he plans to make the best of the insanity. He has

good reason to reap the rewards of Hannah’s willing body while he can—their
impending separation isn’t only inevitable, it’s potentially deadly.

Ellora’s Cave Publishing

www.ellorascave.com

Alien, Interrupted

ISBN 9781419937675

Edited by April Chapman

Cover design by Irene Adler

Photography: Shutterstock.com/Dreamstime.com/Photoshop Creative Magazine

Electronic book publication January 2012

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Iris Astres

Prologue

Vol Cilon Memorial Transit Station—Thalia 5

“You’re doing that cat thing, right? On Earth?” The young technician let all his

affable envy show as he sealed Yom’s large body into the scanpod and started the

protocols for geno-shift.

Yom acknowledged the techie’s friendly expression with a nod, wondering vaguely

if it was safe to shoot the breeze while you rearranged a man’s molecules. The kid in

question seemed practiced enough at both, so he forced himself to relax. That was the

whole point of vacation, from what he’d been told—letting someone else do the work

for a change.

“Lister. Is that your name?”
Yom frowned. Don’t you know who I am was hardly his mantra, and still, after

months of steady news footage, he’d be amazed if a single person on the planet failed to

recognize him now.

The techie’s open palm slammed the side of the pod, sparing Yom the need to be

amazed. “You’re that manual override guy, aren’t you? The one who kept those

supercrafts from colliding out there and snuffing the planet?”

“That’s me,” Yom agreed.
The kid let out an odd sort of hoot then bounced from one foot to the other before

circling back to stare down at him again. “That was some amazing shit. But tell me

something, seriously. How’d you know the orbit data was off? We’re all total science

geeks around here and none of us can figure that one out.”

“I had a hunch.” The pod was too tight for a shrug, so Yom lifted a dismissive brow

and hoped the mini-posturing would keep him from having to explain his take on time

conversions and space trajectories while stuck in a tube.

The kid shook his head. “Don’t sound like no hunch to me, Mr. Lister. Sounds more

like serious balls is what you had. That and brains, I guess.”

Rather than comment on the relative size of either, Yom shifted his eyes

meaningfully toward the paused datascreen.

“Oh,” said the kid. “You wanna get going, right? Sorry, man.” He jerked back to

work, stubby fingers drumming across the scanpad at double time. “Can’t blame you

for the hurry. Whoever came up with that Earth cat idea must have known a thing or

two about pleasure trips. Last guy came back buzzed beyond all recognition.” He

paused and waited while the master control fixed on the read. Then he looked back at

Yom with a secretive smile.

Alien, Interrupted

“Just make sure you end up with someone fuckable, Mr. Lister. That’s what

everyone says.” The smile turned into a grin and he tapped at Yom’s face shield to

prepare him for a good one. “I’m not sure why though.” He winked. “Since you can’t

actually fuck her.”

At that, the kid laughed until he had to juggle the pad to brush at his watering eyes.

Yom squirmed involuntarily in the confining tube. His movement refocused the guy’s

attention.

“Hey, don’t worry, man. This doesn’t really hurt. It just feels a little weird.” The

screen went green and he moved to the master control. “Coming back’s even easier,” he

said over his shoulder. “You can reverse the process by yourself, anytime you want.

That’s real important in an emergency. Just don’t do it while you’re curled up on some

Earthbunny’s lap or we’ll have to arrest you.”

Some people had a thing for “don’t poke your eye out” advice. Yom’s geno-

technician found this last bit even more hilarious than the “don’t fuck your Earth host”

gem he’d delivered earlier. While the kid fought for composure, the datascreen fixed in

place, the bodypod locked. Snorting bursts of laughter were the last thing Yom heard

before his mind went blank and his life changed forever.

Iris Astres

Chapter One

San Francisco—Three days later

You need to get out of here. Now. Hannah not only felt the words in the pit of her

stomach, she could actually see them flashing red on some Terminator-esque screen

inside her head. Everything about her inner alarm system was fully functional, it just

needed to adjust for the constant delay in her reactions. This time, as usual, the warning

had started blaring a little too late.

If she’d heard it when she’d taken the impulsive turn off the interstate, or even

when she’d spotted the well-hidden sign and parked her car, it might have been a help.

But by the time the lovely dark-skinned girl had introduced herself as Lalita, the guilt of

her impulsiveness had officially lost its war against the thrill of finally getting what she

wanted. Hannah quickly accepted the girl’s offer to come in despite the “closed” sign

she’d been hanging on the door. No belated red alert was going to keep her from going

through with this now.

N.O.W.
Once again, the three nagging letters paraded through her mind. Less than a year of

living in the land of beatniks, hippies and transcendental gurus, and Hannah found

herself virtually besieged by exhortations to live in the moment.

Life is now. Be here for it.
A tempting philosophy and probably true, as far as it went, but for someone who’d

spent decades developing some pretty hardcore bookishness, it was proving to be a

slight problem.

Hannah had tried meditation long enough to know she was unquestionably “now-

challenged”. It might help if her present were more interesting. Or if life didn’t have

such brutal competition. But compared to the delicious scenarios of her favorite books,

living in the real world didn’t tempt her at all. A few wildly randy college years

notwithstanding, it never had.

At ten it had been genuinely lousy. Turning the page on that chapter had been a

relief.

To avoid unpleasant memories, Hannah focused on her current misbehavior. She

followed Lalita through a door into a garden, still wondering if she should go through

with her plan. It would definitely jump-start her move into real life. And that was good.

She’d been too lucky not to notice. A few advanced degrees, some academic kudos

and suddenly Lumière was paying her a mint to run part of their textbook division, a job

she could do without ever leaving her amazing new condo.

Alien, Interrupted

And there was Richard, of course, an old flame with new potential—that was

always nice.

The iron security door rattled, whiplashing Hannah’s thoughts back to the present.
This is it, she thought. It’s finally happening. Somewhere in the lower dungeons of

her self-awareness, she felt temptation threaten to get out of hand. Only one, she

reminded herself. Get in, get out and don’t look back.

Lalita motioned her inside and Hannah stepped around the girl, drew a deep breath

and took a look at her surroundings.

“Oh my God.” A tad embarrassing to hear her supposed whisper echo through the

hall, but if any place was exclamation-worthy, this was it.

Hannah smiled into the wide-open space. She pulled a long, deep breath and

caught the faint, not unpleasant, animal scent in the air. Why had she waited so long to

give in to this side of herself? There was nothing sinister here. The place was clean,

spacious—no signs of restraint or mistreatment. Despite a few screens and latches on

the doors, there was, if anything, a sense of chaotic freedom in the room. Just a decadent

playground that offered a delicious jumble of exactly what she’d wanted all her life.

One step forward and Hannah was stopped by the unmistakable sensation of a hot

and heavy stare crawling over her pale skin. The impression was palpable, odd. When

she turned, her gaze locked on a pair of startlingly beautiful eyes, which belonged to as

gorgeous a creature as Hannah had ever seen.

He’d obviously had his eye on her for some time, because before she could check

her naked reaction, he was moving purposefully forward, drawing close enough for her

to touch. Hannah watched his big, sleek body lower itself to the ground in front of her

and stretch submissively at her feet. That was when it happened—the perfect moment

when Hannah’s unmanageable mind disappeared into the Zen-like clarity of pure want.

Tossing her bag into a corner, she sank to her knees. The unfinished floor was

rough and cool beneath her skin. She sat on her heels, leather pumps curled beneath her

for balance, and reached for him.

“Ah.” Lalita took a quiet step closer. “I see you found our star attraction.”
“He found me actually.” Hannah ran a bold hand down the perfect body and stared

into the jewel-green eyes that calmly considered her. “My God, he’s gorgeous,” she

said.

“The most beautiful one here,” Lalita agreed.
That he was. He had to be. Hannah felt the warmth of him—the perfect bone

structure of his angular face, the ripple of shoulder, the long supple spine. There she

paused and bent her head to press her lips against his neck. “What’s a handsome

specimen like you doing in a place like this?”

Her only answer was a deep, throaty purr.
“Not that it’s a bad place,” she amended, a small apologetic smile on her lips. “It’s a

really nice shelter. But this guy doesn’t look like any stray I’ve ever seen.”

Iris Astres

Lalita’s dark eyes narrowed as she pulled her lips to one side and sucked air

through her teeth. “Someone ditched him after hours,” she said. “There are temporary

cages in front of the shelter to accommodate the dickwads who’d rather not have to

look anyone in the eye while they’re abandoning their designer pets. Those people

should be shot.” The girl made a gun with two fingers and picked the imaginary

culprits off, one by one. “Still,” she allowed, “bringing them here is better than leaving

them on the side of the road, I guess.”

Hannah sat back, intrigued. The obvious Indian heritage behind the shelter

worker’s striking features hadn’t prepared her for something quite so punk-cum-doom

metal. But now that she saw the persona emerge, she had to admit it totally worked.

The two of them could have been good friends, she thought. Back in college, when

Hannah’s friendship mojo had been in full swing.

The large cat tugged her back to the present with his forepaws, licking her fingers

with his wet, raspy tongue. “God,” she whispered. “What kind of lunatic would

abandon you?”

If any one reason had kept Hannah from adopting a pet, it was the certain

knowledge she could never turn her back on one. Especially not a gorgeous cat like this.

There was beauty in all felines but this one was taking it to a whole new level.

Large and lean with an expressive face, his golden-tan body was elegantly shaded with

dark markings on his head and chest. And then there were those eyes. The purest green

she’d ever seen, rimmed in lava gold, they studied her openly with an oddly knowing

look.

She leaned closer. A faint impression of something in the air made her sniff at the

vaguely sweet odor coming off his body. Something warm and buttery like…sugar

cookies?

Even if that last bit was a triple latte-induced hallucination, an animal like that

could get away with large amounts of misbehavior, from clawing at the furniture to

playing hard to get.

At the moment, however, this cat was playing very easy to get. In fact he was

prostrate at Hannah’s feet and worshiping her hand as if she was the reigning monarch

of Catland. Looking down at his sweet face, Hannah pulled her thick sweater more

tightly around her, while the pangs of burning love began to swell.

“Why do all the good ones have paws?” she murmured.
“I’m sorry?”
“What kind of cat is he anyway?”
“No idea.” Lalita scooted a ginger tabby into a pen and closed the door. “His looks

are feral, but that’s hardly the vibe you get from his personality.” She picked up a white

Persian, deposited it in the same pen, shut the door and turned to Hannah. “I think he’s

just totally doing his own thing.”

Hannah didn’t really care what kind of thing the cat was doing—mountain lion

tinged with flying monkey—it was all good. She wanted him. Who wouldn’t?

Alien, Interrupted

“He can’t have been here long,” she said.
“Two days.”
“I’m still surprised no one’s wanted him.”
“Are you kidding me?” Lalita puffed air through her lips and rolled her eyes. “The

last three people who came through that door were instantly all about adopting him.

Nice people too—I wouldn’t let a loser have him. But Mr. Pickydick here wasn’t having

it.” She paused on her way to another pen to nudge Mr. so-called Pickydick’s butt with

the toe of her rubbery clog. The cat blinked lazily up at the girl and used a hind paw to

nudge her back. “He totally bailed on them the minute their backs were turned. I

couldn’t figure out what his deal was. But now I guess it’s obvious—he was looking for

some Betty booty.”

“Betty booty?” Hannah looked at the cat for a translation and didn’t get it.
“A hottie,” explained the girl. “He’s got good taste too. You’re totally smokin’.”
“Smokin’?”
“For your age. Totally.”
“For my age.” Hannah snorted a laugh at herself. “Good one. You almost had me

going.”

“I’m totally serious. What are you—like, thirty?”
Hannah shook her head. Thirty-eight was nothing whatsoever like thirty. “More

like forty,” she said.

“Wow.” The girl gave her an admiring once-over. “The minute you walked in here I

was thinking you looked just like the girl in that Puddy song. Sea Serpent. Have you

heard it?”

“Yeah.” Even a homebody like Hannah couldn’t avoid hearing the local band’s

biggest hit from time to time. “Thanks.” She shrugged the compliment away.

Something about having big eyes, wavy hair and a long reedy body had brought up

comparisons with nymphs and mermaids all her life. Beyond her recent lack of human

contact, however, Hannah couldn’t really see it.

“So what do you think?” The young girl straightened, shifting gears. “Do we start

the paperwork?”

Hannah straightened too. This was it, then. Irreversible decision time.
“This can’t be your first cat.”
“It is,” Hannah admitted. “Are you surprised?”
“Totally.” The girl’s head tilted like a connoisseur’s. “I’d have placed you at a

minimum of three. So what’s the story?”

Hannah spread her hands and shrugged. “Rootlessness basically. Three different

degrees at three different schools. A lot of Europe after that. I haven’t felt settled until

this year.”

Iris Astres

As always, she left out the more maudlin part of her bio. No one needed to hear

that the family Lab had run away while Hannah had been sitting at her daddy’s funeral.

That particular trauma had soured her on pets for quite some time. And still, even dead

set against another such potential heartache, the animal lover inside lingered.

She’d spent countless parties communing in corners with displeased Persians

instead of out with other guests. And she certainly wasn’t above timing her exercise for

prime dog walking hours so she could cop a canine snuggle on the sly. Time to come

out of the pet-loving closet and get one of her own.

“Mraw,” the cat agreed.
“Does he have a name?” Hannah asked
“Not officially. I call him Oliver.”
“Oliver?”
“Short for Oliver Klozehoff.”
Hannah arched a brow at the oddly corny pun. All of her clothes off—ha ha. “Are you

sure he’s not waiting to go home with you?” She pulled the thick wool of her sweater

over her icy fingers and rose awkwardly to her feet, a wary rival’s eye squinting first at

the slight young girl then down at the playboy cat who’d clearly been using her for

sport. Lalita caught her expression and smirked.

“Under different circumstances I might fight you for him, but my roomies wouldn’t

go for it. Besides—” She sneered at the cat who was now stretching his long body up

Hannah’s bare leg and staring meaningfully into her eyes. “He’s never made an ass out

of himself like that for me. You really need to shoot him down or take him home, you

know.”

More than anything, Hannah wanted to do the latter. She wanted it so much it was

tripping that stupid alarm again. Stubbornly, she bit her lip and tried to shake the

second thoughts out of her head.

But then again, and with all due respect to the pleasures of now, a cat was a living

thing—not a new book or film to be analyzed. She couldn’t shelve it, forget it and get

back to it later. There was no delete key here. Cats were part of real life, where real

things could happen. Even if nothing happened, they didn’t live forever and Hannah

had dealt with a lifetime’s worth of death before puberty. Or not dealt with it, maybe.

Either way, she wasn’t up for more.

“Sorry, Ollie.” Lalita dipped and scooped the cat into her long, thin arms. “I guess

your Betty’s just a tease.”

“I’m not a tease!” Hannah protested. She looked into the blazing eyes of Oliver

Klozehoff as he struggled in Lalita’s grip. “Hand him over,” she said, a thrill of iron in

her voice to match the sudden steel in her spine. “I’m taking him. He’s mine.”

Alien, Interrupted

Chapter Two

The shrill buzzing sounded again.
Yom glared at the door, willing Hannah not to open it, knowing all the while that

she would. She’d open it and the idiot she called a boyfriend would be standing on the

other side. He knew that too. Whatever twisted fate had brought him Hannah,

whatever miracle had handed the perfect woman over to him on a delightfully

uncontested platter, it had also insisted on bringing that scrawny, censorial jerk-off into

the picture, and making him wish he weren’t such a civilized man.

But Yom was nothing if not civilized. Even in his current animal state.
Truth be told, he’d had his doubts about this cat vacation business. But all of those

dignitaries had been so bent on rewarding his heroism with the most expensive rest

cure ever devised that he hadn’t had the heart to argue. And, to be honest, after eleven

years of dedicated service to the high-stress world of interplanetary travel safety, the

combination of exotic scenery and radical relaxation had sounded pretty good to him.

And it had been good. Or almost good. Earth had certainly lived up to all of his

most vivid imaginings and that had made his first days at the shelter amusing, given

the oddness of it all. Despite that, he’d still been glad not to have paid for the

outrageously expensive trip. A ludicrous sum for what had started out a clever novelty

at best.

Then he’d seen Hannah and his sense of detached unreality had come abruptly to

an end.

When her tall, slender frame had tentatively stepped into that shelter, he’d felt a

strange shift inside him. His gaze had fixed on those big blue eyes blinking back desire,

slid to the moistened tip of her tongue darting between her wide pink lips, and Yom felt

his indulgent nature swell to the level of a righteous quest.

If the lady wanted a cat, she should fucking have one.
And so he’d lain at her feet and seen the supreme beauty of a woman giving in to

secret craving. The sight of that, combined with the white-lily scent on her skin, the

sensual stroke of her slender fingers over his body and the confessional softness of her

exotic Earth-like voice, had neatly awoken Yom to the hitherto unexplored possibilities

of this special vacation of his. As her cat, he’d have this lithe beauty open and naked to

him in a way no woman had ever been before. That was bound to be good.

Then she’d taken him home and his elation had grown to something deep enough

to almost frighten him.

Almost.

Iris Astres

Yom had done the usual dabbling with simulation bubbles, chem shots and the

other popular mind-benders that were readily available at the site of his second

education circuit. He’d had his share of synthetic fun but he’d never gone too far.

Perhaps he hadn’t gone far enough. It might have prepared him better if he had. In

all his explorations, he’d never achieved anything like the glorious high he’d felt since

moving in with Hannah. Dropping chemicals wasn’t quite what it was like—it was

more like dropping chemicals while gazing at the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen,

in the best mood he’d ever experienced, with his whole body constantly amped on the

electric, tinny hum of full-blown sexual arousal.

In other words, every minute Yom spent around Hannah was fucking fantastic.
Dimly, his well-trained, analytical mind was aware of the potential safety issue his

altered state entailed. So much constant pleasure was bound to dull his wits to some

degree, which meant he could make some poor decisions. And there might be long-

term mental or physical side effects associated with being so high for so long. But that

buzz-killing voice was not the one he chose to listen to.

Instead, he listened to the voice that constantly repeated Hannah’s name. The

steady pulse in his gut that willed her to sit so he could crawl into her lap and breathe

the seashell scent of her sex. The blissful receptors that soaked in the heated moisture of

her skin while she slept sprawled around him in her big white bed. The sheer force of

will that urged her to undress for him, to lie down with him, stroke him, or better yet,

lie down and stroke herself.

The first time Hannah came for him, his drug-addled mind had pulsed inside his

cranium with a sweet purple glow. He’d actually found himself praying it would last,

and barring that, that it would happen again and again.

And Yom’s prayers had been answered.
He’d feasted his eyes on the slow, erotic act of Hannah’s climax often enough to

have memorized every sight and sound that followed the sinewy path of her sexual

response. And still he hadn’t seen it anywhere near often enough to satisfy him.

He might have seen it again tonight were it not for the idiot prick at the door. Left

to another quiet evening curled up with a book in her big velvet chair, and Hannah

might well have reached for her treasures eventually.

Yom had the contents of the hidden red box memorized, could turn each object over

in his mind and see the lovely use she put it to. First there was the small green bottle of

scented oil. With her eyelids already heavy and the breath drawn unevenly into her

lungs, Hannah sprayed the bottle’s contents across the tips of her large breasts and

down the sweet slope of her belly into the crease of her sex. The oil warmed her skin as

she touched herself, made the sweet flesh glisten beneath her hands while the rich,

verdant smell of the oil filled the enclosed room like jungle foliage.

Almost imperceptibly, Hannah’s legs would spread. Then her hand would reach for

the small, smooth elliptical vibrator in the box, and Yom would watch as she pressed

and stroked it into the folds of her sex.

Alien, Interrupted

In his mind he replaced the curving plastic with the much sweeter sensation of his

own adoring tongue. He knew it would never be possible, and still he gave in to the

pleasure of imagining all the ways his own human form could be used to pleasure hers.

He’d know how to heighten her response and how to sustain it—when to pulse his

tongue into her slit, when to tap and flick against her swollen clitoris, when to furrow

down the sides of her pussy and when to slowly lick from base to tip until she came for

him.

Sometimes this fantasy became so real for Yom that he failed to notice the moment

Hannah squeezed the vibe between her thighs and used both hands to pull her big glass

phallus from its cushioned pouch. At the sound of glass clinking against her teeth, he’d

feel his attention riveted back to her.

Hannah’s glass dildo, although artfully adorned with intricately raised veins of

gold and peacock blue, was similar in shape and size to his own cock. That fact alone

gratified him more than it should, but when she wrapped her wide pink lips around the

long thick rod, sucking it into her mouth to make it warm and wet for her pussy, he felt

her tongue stroking his own cock, and the tinny buzz of intense arousal he constantly

felt began to actually ring in his ears.

But now it was just that goddamn doorbell ringing. Leave it to Richard to keep it up

until she reached the door.

Yom felt his irritation swell at how wrong the man was for Hannah. He supposed it

was always possible that thin, pale, sickly cerebrals could be thought attractive by

women on Earth, but that alone could in no way make up for Richard’s copious failings.

Two unhappily witnessed dates, and Yom’s list of grievances against him had grown

lengthy. He was inattentive, self-obsessed and dull—never looking to Hannah’s comfort

and pleasure in any way that Yom could see.

Even on the bed front, Richard seemed content to be completely worthless. He’d so

far let Hannah’s minor cold and a supposed bout of work he had to do stand in the way

of pleasuring her. The lack of attention was sickening. And still, if Yom were honest

with himself, it had also been a great relief. He had no desire to see his Hannah bedded

by such a man.

Tonight, however, Hannah’s health was much improved, the weekend looming

large. She looked like sheer temptation in the white silky tunic she’d thrown over her

bare skin. He’d watched in fascination as the wispy hem settled above her knees, a few

seconds before her pink-tipped toes disappeared into frail silver shoes

Yom admired the result again, despite the cold revulsion spreading through his

belly. He didn’t like to think what he might have to witness tonight. In vain, he tried to

master his displeasure while his slitted eyes watched Hannah’s hand reach for the door.

Iris Astres

Chapter Three

“Oh great! You went to Yippee Cayenne!” Hannah grinned with real pleasure at the

proffered bags of takeout. The smiling logo marked what had to be the world’s best

Indian fusion cuisine, and the San Francisco landmark had fast become her favorite

place to eat. Just the sight of all that yummy flatbread peeking out of its white paper

sent a sexy spike into her appetite.

With a mix of Turkish belly music pumping in the background, she and Richard

headed to the kitchen table and tucked into their feast. By the end of the evening, the

spicy mix of cinnamon, turmeric and hot chili pepper, combined with the crisp white

wine Hannah had found in the fridge, had them both buzzed and happy while replayed

memories of college antics fueled the fun.

“I heard Dr. Jensen took a job in Missouri,” Richard said.
Hannah worked to swallow her wine without choking and carefully set down her

glass. “Professor Penis is going to the Midwest? No way. That has to be some twisted

urban legend.”

“Missouri is the Show Me State, you know.”
“Ha ha.” Hannah lifted the lid on the container of masala enchiladas, barely

managing to talk herself out of a third. “I swear I never took a single note in one of his

lectures.” She passed the container to Richard. “Do you remember what he was talking

about?”

“The Marginal Male as Jungle Savage.” Richard helped himself to the last of the

food. Hannah poured them both more wine.

“All I remember is pictures of big dicks surrounded by palm fronds,” she said. “I

can’t believe he got away with flashing all those cocks when Dr. Lovelace got busted

just for telling her gender studies class to say invaginate instead of fuck.”

“Dr. Lovelace got busted for using her porn name at work,” Richard said.
For some reason, that struck Hannah funny. She tilted sideways in her chair,

leaning against Richard for support while her body labored to breathe through fits of

laughter. He ran a supportive hand down her back and it felt good. As good as eating,

laughing and talking about old times had been feeling all night.

When Richard had gone to the trouble of looking her up, and confessed having had

a big crush on her in school, she’d felt a definite tingle of hope at meeting him again.

Their last two dates had been a little underwhelming, but in retrospect that had to be

nerves. Now that they were comfortable together, it looked as if they might actually

turn into an item. The laughter was there. The shared experience. Assuming they could

rock each other’s world in bed, the connection had go written all over it. And having a

Alien, Interrupted

man in her life would be good for Hannah. Company was an excellent inducement for

now.

Eventually, meals finished, Richard leaned in for a kiss, and while it didn’t exactly

make Hannah’s toes curl, it was pleasant enough. A few more caresses and her former

classmate surprised her by coming back from the bathroom stripped to a pair of Calvin

Klein boxer briefs.

Hannah laughed, smiling cheekily up at his lanky frame. “Fancy underwear, I see.”

She ran a teasing finger around the elastic, and Richard leaned over and kissed her on

the cheek.

The wisp of his beard made an unexpected image of cobwebs enter Hannah’s brain.

She pulled reflexively away from the tickle and felt Richard’s long fingers trail over her

arms, creating yet another spidery image.

Hannah leaned away. Richard’s lips pressed to her forehead, forming soothing

sounds, and a worrying chill spread up Hannah’s spine.

Maybe they should skip ahead a little.
Generally speaking, getting naked in front of men had always been a foolproof way

for Hannah to rev a guy’s engine and infuse his sexual moves with fresh inspiration.

Maybe it had been the shock of seeing what she kept beneath the thick sweaters and

tights she’d worn to study. Whatever the reason, the college boys she’d hooked up with

had never failed to gape in admiration at the unveiling of her charms, which had been

favorably compared to an Asian fertility goddess, a teenage wet dream and a Playboy

centerfold circa 1965.

Quickly, Hannah stood and pulled the tunic she was wearing over her head. In

nothing but her favorite silver pumps, she walked backward to the couch, beckoning

for Richard to follow. The man gaped as expected, but rather than join her, he frowned

and looked toward the bedroom.

“Shouldn’t we go in there?”
Hannah sat up. “Sure,” she said, kicking off her shoes. “Let’s go.” She went before

him and lay on the bed, wondering if sex was still such a good idea. The flame of

arousal the evening had lit in her belly was flickering dangerously low. So now what?

Flat on her back, eyes on the ceiling, Hannah let two imperfect options battle it out

in her head—she could call it all off and deal with the awkwardness and eventual hurt

an abrupt about-face would entail, or carry on and hope for the best.

In the space of two deep breaths, Hannah decided on the latter while Richard

fiddled with the lights. There was no point in wounding an old friend, and she might

warm to his style if she gave the man a chance. It wasn’t a crime to be shy. She might

learn to like a lighter touch with time.

Suddenly, Hannah felt the distinctly heavy touch of her cat jumping on the bed

from out of nowhere. Four large paws made a beeline for her naked body. Seconds later

an impressive feline frame was draped over her stomach.

Iris Astres

“Oliver,” she said, with gentle warning.
The cat ignored the polite invitation to scram. He planted himself between her hips,

flattening and stretching to claim maximum territory on her body, while his tail

indignantly slashed through the air.

“Oh no,” said Richard. “The fucking cat goes.”
Before Hannah could react, he had Oliver by the waist and was carrying him to the

door. The animal twisted wildly in the man’s hands. When Richard finally tossed him

out and slammed the door, Hannah heard a high-pitched wail that sounded uncannily

like a warrior cry. She sat up and leaned to the foot of the bed, feeling around for her

robe.

Richard threw his hands up in exasperation. “It’s a cat,” he said. “He’ll be fine.

Relax, Hannah. I thought this was what you wanted.”

Both of them froze as a second unearthly howl came from the other room.
“Jesus,” said Richard. “Does it always do that?
“Something’s wrong,” Hannah said.
“He’s faking it.”
“Cats don’t fake it, Richard.” And neither did she, but that fact had just become

irrelevant. Hannah found a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt on the back of a chair, threw

them on and opened the door.

Oliver was huddled on the floorboards outside, balled up protectively on his

haunches. When she touched him, he rolled over, howled again and began to writhe.

“Oliver.” She glared at Richard. “How hard did you squeeze him, you bastard?”
Richard raised his hands palms up, fingers splayed, so adamantly innocent she

found it suspicious.

“It’s okay, Ollie,” she crooned to the cat, lifting him gently. His painful wail quieted

slightly and she gingerly moved him to her bed then got the carrier from a closet and

looked around for her purse.

“What the fuck are you doing? It’s after midnight.” Richard was staring at her with

his hands on his hips. She could see that, while shaken by the cat’s distress, he still

believed he was the wounded party. A clear sign the man should get a grip.

“There’s an all-night clinic near Mission,” she said. “Get dressed.”
He took a step back and vaguely shook his head. “I’ll wait for you here.”
Hannah stopped on her way to the closet to look him in the eye. “I want you to go.”

She hoped the low and steady tone would do the trick, because her B plan was violent

and shrill. She couldn’t hear the cat anymore—hoped that was a good sign. Please God,

let him be all right.

Richard was scowling but he obviously recognized her resolve, because he

retrieved his clothes from the bathroom and stepped into his pants. When Hannah saw

him pause to make sure his socks were right side out, her patience snapped and she

Alien, Interrupted

grabbed him by the arm. He stumbled slightly and pulled back to finish slipping on his

left shoe.

Hannah opened the door and threw him his jacket. “Do you have your keys?”
He checked his pocket. “Yeah, but do you mind if I…?”
“I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” Somehow, she managed not to slam the door before

rushing back into her room.

The moment she got there, Hannah tried to scream but all that came out was an

odd, strangled bark—like the sound she might make if doused by a bucket of ice. She

stared wide-eyed at the place she’d left her cat. But there was no cat. Instead what she

saw was a very tall, very handsome and very naked man. Hannah sucked in a deep,

ragged breath, about to try another more successful, full-bodied shriek, but the stranger

stepped quickly forward and placed a hand lightly across her lips. The touch of his

fingers stopped the scream more than the barrier of his hand, and she ventured a look

at the man’s face, to find him staring down at her.

“Shh, Hannah,” he soothed. “Don’t be frightened. It’s me.”
She looked at him, about to argue that he wasn’t like any me she’d ever known, but

the sight of dark hair, tan skin and green sunburst eyes was frighteningly familiar to

her. She inhaled slowly to calm her pounding heart and caught the buttery sweetness of

sugar cookies in the air. Her eyes widened as he pulled her against the trail of dark hair

on his warm, muscled chest and folded his arms around her.

“It’s all right.”
Hannah pushed back hard. “How is it all right?” she demanded. “Who the hell are

you?” Her voice rose and caught. “Where’s my cat?”

He smiled at her again and shrugged slightly before placing a warm hand on either

side of her face. “I’m right here,” he said. And then he kissed her.

Iris Astres

Chapter Four

The kiss was warm, soft, distinctly naughty, but also brief. The man clearly knew

better than to hold it long enough for her to push at him again. Before she’d made so

much as a sound, he stepped back, touching his thumb to where his lips had been,

while his long fingers feathered across her furrowed brow.

“No more frowning,” he murmured. “There’s no need. Oliver is fine, and more

importantly Richard is gone.” He gave the empty hallway a look of satisfaction before

returning his startlingly full attention to her.

In her shock, Hannah stood stock-still and stared. Too close to get a perspective on

the whole, her mind struggled to make sense of the parts. A swell of muscle here. A dip

of sinew there. Skin and more skin. Smooth and warm. Beauty. Perfection. Unreal. Very

real. So alive. His hands had lifted from her face and left a trail of sensation to play

across her cheekbones and forehead, while the unexpected kiss lingered on her lips.

In the pit of her stomach, where there should have been panic, Hannah felt a

buzzing excitement grow—a feeling better suited to a game show contestant than a

woman with a naked intruder in her bedroom.

Naked. Intruder. She ground the words inside her brain, looking for the customary

clang of her alarm. Nothing happened. Only shallow breathing and that long,

wondering perusal of warm flesh.

The man seemed happy enough to let her stare. Happy enough to stare back, in fact.

She examined his expression for signs of a threat or a leer and found only dazzled

recognition. Unquestioning approval. He was looking at her the way a soldier might

look at an empress, or a druid priest his sacred monolith—as though he’d just found

something mythical and prized

Or maybe that wasn’t it at all. How could she know when no one had ever looked

at her quite that way before?

Eventually the force of his complete approval got to her, making recent emotion

bubble inside her, threatening to spill. Emotional spill being the last thing Hannah ever

needed, she jerked her chin down sharply, breaking contact with those dazzling eyes,

and pressed her palm against the muscled chest in front of her to keep the man at arm’s

length while she searched her brain for some response.

I’m right here, he’d said. The crazy claim triggered enough indignation to open

Hannah’s mouth and make it move.

“You’re not saying you’re my cat, are you?”
Warm skin shifted uncertainly against her fingers while the accused worked

through the accusation. “I am your cat,” he concluded, the pleasant contours of his

Alien, Interrupted

voice sounding vaguely foreign despite the flawless diction. “Or at least I was,” he

amended. “Now I’m a man.”

His eyes lowered, and Hannah’s followed. Whatever she thought of the first part of

the affirmation, the last was undeniably true.

“So what happened?” she asked. “You faked some horrible injury to get rid of

Richard?”

“It was him or me.” The man smiled. “You made the right decision, by the way.”

With a mild glance in the direction of the door, he turned to take a victor’s tour of her

room.

Hannah’s eyes traveled unerringly to the jaw-dropping view of his muscled back

and the tantalizing curves and hollows shifting provocatively just below. She’d seen

naked men before. Some of her past hook-ups had had nice builds. But this was pure Da

Vinci—an artist’s vision of the very best that masculine beauty could be. The sight left

her numb and slightly woozy, aided no doubt by too much wine, excitement and just a

touch of PTSD.

The stranger sat on her bed, one knee raised discreetly. Hannah glanced past him to

her rumpled duvet and realized her bare feet were cold, and she was exhausted. How

incredibly good would it feel to burrow under that soft, fluffy fabric and let the insanity

dissolve around her into sleep? Increasingly rivaled by thick sweaters and used

bookstores, napping was still at the top of Hannah’s comfort trilogy. She’d dozed off in

some pretty strange situations but never before with a naked stranger in her room. That

was probably a bad idea.

On the other hand, she really was exhausted, and more than a little stoned from all

the drama. She considered the man from beneath her drooping lids. If there was a

threat, she was not picking up on it. He felt like company. The safest feeling she’d had

in years.

“How come it feels like I know you?”
Thigh muscles flexed as he leaned back on his arms and crossed his long legs,

eyebrows raised politely. “Because we’ve been living together, perhaps?”

Oliver. The image of her sweet companion flooded Hannah’s mind, making her

shoulders tighten and her eyes travel over the floor. She’d only had a pet for three

weeks, but in that time she’d loved every inch of him with her whole heart. It hadn’t

been difficult. He’d been so sweet, curled up against her or following her through the

house, always blinking up at her with jewel-green eyes that seemed bedazzled by the

slightest thing she did. Now he was hurt. Now he was gone. She dragged the ball of her

foot along the rough denim of her jeans and raked a shaking hand through her hair,

swallowing hard to chase the sourness from her throat.

The stranger moved quickly off the bed. A familiar scent filled her nostrils as his

large hands closed around her upper arms, moving with a slow steady pressure that

was just right, comforting her in spite of her panic.

“Look at me,” he said.

Iris Astres

She did so reluctantly and saw those eyes again, sunlit green and rimmed in lava

gold, the pupils large and very black. She took in the rest of him, saw the whole

startling image of his angular face, softened by dark curls across his forehead. Golden-

tan, dark-brown markings, her own descriptions echoed in her head.

“I am Oliver,” he confirmed.
“How can I believe something so insane?” She pressed her lips together, willing her

real cat to emerge out of nowhere and sit at her feet.

The man touched her cheek. “You don’t have to believe it,” he said. “Just know that

it’s true.”

Hannah blinked. It was true. She did know it. And even if she wanted to object,

what hypothesis would that leave? That a random naked Adonis, who bore an unusual

resemblance to her cat, had either sneaked past her and Richard or climbed naked

through a locked and ledgeless second-story window?

This man was nothing like any home intruder she’d ever heard of. But what else

could he be? Was someone playing an elaborate trick on her? She looked around for

signs of a prank and found none. Only Sue would do something like this, and if her

dearest friend had gone to this kind of trouble, she’d most definitely be here to enjoy

the show by now. The only other option was that Hannah had lost her mind.

Completely.

That must be it.
Again her bed beckoned, and this time she followed the call, staggering over to

collapse onto the mattress. She wriggled her body under the big white comforter and

breathed in the soothing smell of cotton and sleep. The sensation was instantly good

enough to ease the other worries from her mind. Pulling a pillow under her head,

Hannah slanted a look at the muscled torso she’d just felt beneath her shaking palm and

decided that, from her current position, insanity didn’t look so bad.

“If I am hallucinating, I’m doing an extremely good job,” she said. “You look like a

Michelangelo.”

“Must be the Science Diet.”
She was smiling at the joke before she realized he was right about the brand. A

lucky guess?

“If you’re really Oliver,” she said, propping up on an elbow while she dug her

frozen toes into the sheets, “tell me everything you know about being my cat.”

“It’s good.”
Hannah frowned.
“You want specifics?”
She nodded.
“Okay.” He came to sit at the far edge of the bed, body angling towards hers.
Either it was Richard’s recent reemergence or the relative positions of their bodies

on the bed, but something was giving Hannah serious flashbacks of her dorm room in

Alien, Interrupted

good old hippie-dippie Santa Cruz. The memory sharpened until she could almost

smell the bong water and feel the vibration of a Led Zeppelin bass line filtering through

the walls. Stevenson Hall had been the perfect place for late night confidences with near

strangers. Easy trust made easy fun in those days.

“Every morning.” Her attention returned to the pleasing slide of the man’s voice.

“The first thing you do when you wake up is reach for me and stroke me very sweetly.

Then, of course, you ask me to make the coffee, which is unfair, since even the most

dedicated cat is hopeless in the kitchen. Still, I join you while you make your espresso—

it always smells delicious, by the way—and while it’s heating, you go to the bathroom.”

“Where you also join me.”
“Of course.” There was the slightest of smiles, but no apology.
Hannah closed her mind to the undignified image of herself on the commode and

felt her thoughts shift to the disconcerting way her cat used to watch her shower. That

memory caused a strange heat to dull her already frazzled thoughts. What had he been

thinking when he watched her like that? Shouldn’t the idea upset her? It didn’t.

“When the coffee’s ready,” he continued, “you call Sue and sit down to work at that

nuclear aftermath you call a desk.” Hannah frowned defensively but didn’t argue.

“Which invariably annoys you too much to invite me onto your lap. But eventually

some poem, or image, or film draws you in, and when you find your rhythm, the gates

of heaven open for me in a way that I’ll remember all my life.”

Gates of heaven? With the now-disturbing memory of Oliver wriggling on her lap

while she worked, Hannah threw her forearms over her eyes and groaned.

“That’s enough,” she said. “I’m satisfied.”
There was a pause. The bed shifted as he moved beside her. She lifted her arms and

lowered her chin to look at him. His face was too engaged to be called blank but his

intent expression was just as unreadable. She had no idea what he was thinking. She

only knew it was dangerous to watch him watch her that way.

“So that’s the story we’re going with,” she mumbled, elbows back in place. “You

were my cat but you hate Richard so much that you faked an illness to get rid of him,

and turned into some sort of mythical god.”

“Yes,” he concurred. “I can’t explain it better than that, so let’s say that’s what

happened.”

He moved to lie beside her.
“No.” Hannah shooed him away. “You’re not sleeping here. No way.”
“Why not?” The man stepped away from the bed, his full attention focused back on

her. “You can’t be frightened of me.”

When she didn’t answer, his gaze slid thoughtfully to the floor, leaving her with

nothing but eyelash and cheekbone to stare at. As the silence increased, the set of his

jaw took on reluctant worry, something like a parent standing over a small child. The

concern turned his perfect nudity into something vulnerable, exposed.

Iris Astres

Hannah looked more closely. There was a dark dusting of hair on his chest and

belly, a gradation of color along his skin—golden brown at the shoulders, paler at the

seam of his underarm and down his sides. He was broad and long and corded with

strength, yet for all of that, he was made of flesh, like her, just warm and vulnerable

skin. He looked up, pupils dilating at the sight of her perusal, until slowly his lips

curled in a way that caught her breath.

“Let me lie down with you,” he said softly. Heat flicked inside his provocative eyes,

nothing moving but the tip of his tongue that touched his upper lip. “You’ll fall asleep,

and when you wake up, we’ll talk more.” Hannah didn’t move. “You’ve no reason

whatever to fear me. I swear.”

Fear wasn’t exactly the issue—that small flame in her belly had raged back to life.

She pulled a shaky breath through her constricted airways.

“Moreover,” he continued as she lowered reluctantly back to the bed, “I’m not only

a gentleman, I’m a family member. You signed adoption papers at the shelter, don’t

forget.”

That last bit made her look at him again, trying unsuccessfully to integrate the sight

of him with anything to do with her stiff and distant family. Much, much easier to

imagine him a cat. More than anything, he looked to her like a classical sculpture, with

a few more inches of marble attached where it mattered most.

Soft marble. Unfortunately. For a fantasy man, he looked more relaxed than

interested.

Before she could get depressed at that, Hannah used it as another argument against

a possible sex crime and in favor of trust and sleep. Burrowing farther under the soft

downy quilt, her curious eyes shifted back to his large, lovely penis lying thick and

peaceful below a dark patch of pubic hair. Sternly, she advised herself to look away.

The trick with cock gazing was knowing when to stop. One last lingering look

convinced her that stopping might be difficult, and so she lumbered unsteadily out of

bed, grabbed a silk shawl draped over a door knob and handed it to him.

The man looked at the shimmering fabric a moment and then back at her. “It’s

lovely,” he said politely.

She rescued it from his hands before he could drape it over his shoulders and tied it

around his waist herself, looking intently at a spot on his chin as she did.

When she’d finished, she followed his gaze down to the heavily embroidered silk

skirt at his waist. Impossibly, it made his muscled belly look sexier.

He raised an eyebrow at her slack expression, his gaze still smooth and watchful.

“How do I look?”

“Like cross-dressing Zeus.” Hannah lay back down before silently modifying her

remark. He looked perfect and gorgeous and good enough to eat. More than that, he

looked good enough to fuck. Lord, how long had it been since she’d had dirty sex?

Much too long. Years, in fact. It was probably lucky—she didn’t have the energy for

questionable behavior tonight, even if she had lost her mind.

Alien, Interrupted

“Are all housecats Greek gods in disguise?” She yawned.
“No. Very few, in fact.”
“So why you?”
Dead silence. Hannah opened her eyes.
For the first time, the man’s face shuttered closed. She felt his sudden worry like a

thinness in the air and lifted slightly toward him. “You don’t have to tell me,” she said.

“I’ll tell you.” A smile at her concern. “After you’ve slept.” With slow deliberation

he moved to the bed where he sat, waiting for her objection, and eventually lay down.

“You don’t really expect me to sleep with you, do you?” The words were sleepy

and slurred, no real challenge in them. Her shoulders tipped slightly as his weight

moved closer. The calming effect of his body next to hers was so immediate and so

complete it felt intravenous. She heard the slight rasp of his breath, then his answer.

“We’ve been sleeping together for the last three weeks, Hannah. Why should

tonight be any different?”

“Oliver,” Hannah moaned the name of her cat then flipped to her stomach and

tugged miserably at her pillow.

The man on the bed draped one strong arm around her waist. “I’m here,” he said.

Iris Astres

Chapter Five

Hannah reluctantly opened her eyes to the steely gray sky that in San Francisco

could mean anything from dawn to mid-morning. She dimly recognized the shape of

her room, the feel of her own bed, but other than that everything seemed wrong. Her

nerves were tingly, her body oddly cramped. A kick beneath the covers had her looking

at her clothes. Jeans and a sweatshirt. Why the hell was she dressed?

Hannah blinked and came up on her elbows, trying to piece together the cause of

her misgivings. Richard had been there. Oliver had gotten hurt. Then she’d fallen asleep

and had a crazy dream. But what had happened to the cat? Her anxiety grew

incrementally as she looked over the empty bed.

“Oliver?” She waited, heard nothing, struggled forward to scan the room. Floor,

antique rocker, cushioned window seat—no sign of him anywhere. “Oliver!” Hannah

wriggled free of the bedding, brushing her hair from her face.

“I’m making you coffee.”
That voice. With the purity of recognition came a dizzying wave of shock and relief.

Her dream man was still here.

“Go back to bed,” the smooth, sliding sound called again from the kitchen, and

Hannah huddled back into the covers. “It’ll be ready in a second,” he said.

Oliver, or the man so called, wasn’t actually making coffee, although after the night

he’d had, he could probably use a cup.

When he’d heard the first stirrings of Hannah in her room, he’d still been pacing in

the living room. Now he stood looking at the copper espresso machine, trying to

remember how it worked. It couldn’t be that complicated. God knows he’d seen

Hannah use it often enough. But if he’d learned anything from his night of wandering

her living room, it was that things looked different when you were suddenly six times

taller.

And, to be honest, he’d spent most of his time as a cat staring up at Hannah’s fine

round bottom and all but ignoring everything else.

The image of her sweetly curving flesh, the petal softness of her skin and the faint

lily scent that clung to her bare calves renewed his resolve to keep his promise. After

some fiddling, Yom managed to fit the coffee filter into the machine and twist it tight.

He found the on switch and was congratulating himself on his success when the rich

brown liquid started pouring directly into the grate, and he realized he’d forgotten to

put anything there to catch it.

Alien, Interrupted

That’s what no sleep, raging lust and the knowledge of certain disaster did to a

man’s brain. Yom took a steadying look through the kitchen window, out over the

foggy San Francisco morning, then down the hall to the bedroom, imagining Hannah’s

long limbs spread haphazardly across her big white bed. He was in the middle of a self-

made catastrophe that was sure to destroy his entire life, but for the moment, he still

had Hannah. And now that the feeling was returning to his customary shape, he was

much better equipped to appreciate her.

He pressed his palms against the tiled kitchen counter and stretched, feeling his

muscles flex and his blood pump. The numbness of the transformation had finally worn

off, and he was fully functional—good to go. A promising fact that made him want to

get back to her. But first, he’d have to make the coffee. So it was back to the machine.

He knew enough about the physics of pressure and heat to let the filter cool before

he tried again. He also knew Hannah well enough to know she’d have her face buried

in her pillow for at least another ten minutes before she even thought about getting up.

That left him with another chance to solve his current life crisis—or understand it at any

rate.

Yom shifted his thoughts to the comfort of problem solving. Under ordinary

circumstances, it was what he enjoyed most—lining things up in his mind, playing the

patterns, mapping pathways to outcomes, until he found the best course. There was

always real pleasure in that.

This situation, however, was a bit too stark for his taste. It started with a humorless

group of Council guards arresting him, for one thing. They’d come for him and put him

on a long, cold transport home. After which, there’d be a trial. Trials were not good. He

imagined the forum, himself looking up to see the appointed spokesmen to his left, the

delegated citizens to his right. Then he imagined the charge.

Treason.
As usual the filthy word stopped Yom cold, but this time he shook off his revulsion

and forced the imagined trial to go on.

Yom Lister. You’re charged with treasonous contact with an incommunicate planet. How do

you plead?

Damned good question. How did he plead? Yom breathed into his tired mind,

trying to let the best option unfold.

The facts made him culpable, there was no denying that. Whatever he thought he

was doing at the time, assuming he’d been thinking at all, he’d undeniably revealed his

alien status to a member of Earth’s population. Scientifically speaking, the planet was of

an earlier age, making all open contact not just completely, but emphatically prohibited.

The rule about that was pretty fucking unambiguous and he’d broken it.

Phavik. Yom gave himself the comfort of the filthiest Thalian curse he knew but

didn’t feel much better. An open transformation from cat to man during a government-

sponsored vacation was as bad as it got. They’d strip him of everything he had because

Iris Astres

of it. Send him off to herd time somewhere nasty and forget he ever was. Unless he

could think of some way to stop it. So it was back to plotting a possible defense.

He’d spent his share of time with members of the governing bodies. He knew the

basics of Thalian law—a man could be found innocent of the crime of treasonous inter-

planetary interaction if…if what? Yom lowered his weight onto one of the wicker chairs

beside the small kitchen table and forced his mind to the end of that thought.

Several rejected scenarios brought him to the inevitable defense of his insanity. He

huffed a humorless laugh, raised his head and looked through the window again. The

branches of Hannah’s silk oak slowly emerged against the still-gray sky. The fog was

lifting. That was good.

Insanity was not a pleasant defense for a man in his position but he had to admit it

was the closest to the truth. And it would surely be believable. Everyone would think

what he’d done made him crazy regardless the plea.

This particular trip had been all but forced on him as a reward for heroism. For

saving the planet he’d just recklessly endangered. Getting to the no-contact zone meant

having the kind of prestige, property and privilege only a madman would ever risk

losing.

Which meant he was a madman. A man driven mad by thoughts of Hannah.
That defense wasn’t likely to save him.
Thanks to an onslaught of infocasts, it had become everyone’s personal

responsibility to avoid the very real dangers of the rapid pair-bonding he’d succumbed

to. Even the most foolish citizens knew better than to lose their minds to accelerated lust

and ruin their lives. School boys didn’t even try it as an excuse for skipping class

anymore.

B.A.L.H.T. Yom saw the ubiquitous public service acronym blaze across his eyes.

He’d seen it posted in every academy, business sector and Funclub in town—flashing

red everywhere the sexually viable, non-bonded citizens were likely to meet.

B.A.L.H.T., or what, in English, might translate to S.C.A.R.E. Yes, he mused, if he

needed a translation, S.C.A.R.E. would probably work.

The S would stand for something like Surge—the unmistakable shift in energy that

signaled recognition of a potential mate. At that moment, and at that moment only, all

experts agreed, you had a choice—either make a commitment, arrange for the necessary

work leave and begin the steps of safe bonding, or reject the pairing and stay away from

the source until all symptoms disappeared.

What you didn’t do was spend three weeks with your nose pressed into the lap of

someone whose body chemistry did the kind of brain-sapping damage Hannah’s did to

his. He’d felt the surge all right. Felt it and loved it. In fact, he would love to be feeling it

again and soon.

Because he was bonded. That was a fact. Certain, irrevocable, emphatically true.

How he’d let that happen was the important question now. The part of the puzzle he

needed to lock in place. Yom was a disciplined guy. Not the type to run idiotic risks for

Alien, Interrupted

the sake of passing pleasure. So what the hell had happened? He leaned forward,

forcing himself to again rehearse the facts as he knew them.

In the beginning he’d dismissed the danger. Chalked it all up to the effects of a wild

vacation. An understandable mistake. Being suddenly shot of the responsibilities he

carried on a daily basis was bound to do something to the central nervous system. Add

that to the effects of molecular projection, space travel to an exotic local, and no wonder

the initial surge had gone unnoticed. He thought he was buzzed on the bizarre

experience, not geno-matching with an Earthling. What were the odds of that

happening?

A bright shard of sunlight splintered through the marbled glass onto the cold

linoleum floor of Hannah’s kitchen, and Yom felt a kernel of hope straighten his spine.

Interplanetary geno-bonds shouldn’t be possible. The biological cues governing

such things were thought by everyone to be far too complex and too subtle to apply

outside the Thalian sub-species. It certainly hadn’t happened before, ever, so far as Yom

knew. So of course he’d ignored the signs. There shouldn’t have been any signs to begin

with. He should have been safe.

By the time he’d recognized the danger, it had been too late. He’d gone rapidly, if

imperceptibly, from Surge to Craving, almost climbing the walls whenever Hannah left

the house, which thankfully wasn’t all that often. The rest of the acronym—Arousal,

Reactivity and Emotion—had come over him all at once. Hannah’s happiness elated

him. Her work irritations made him agitated, incensed. Had he not been a cat, he’d

have memorized the contents of her desk immediately, so he could hand her what she

needed before she had time to panic and swear. Because her peace was his peace. Her

needs, his.

And her arousal.
The first time he’d watched Hannah come, he’d had a good idea what was

happening to him. But by that time, the knowledge had done him no good at all. The

second he realized what was happening was the moment he knew he would never

break free.

And now he was way past caring.
Those were the facts as he knew them. Whether they’d add up to a legitimate

defense was anyone’s guess.

Assuming the Council found out, of course. Yom’s eyebrows quirked upward

briefly but he didn’t waste much time considering the chances he’d get away with what

he’d done. He was in San Francisco after all. The city most densely populated by his

brethren, outside his own planet. Someone would see him sooner or later. He’d be

recognized. There’d be questions. Or else when he wasn’t a cat upon reentry they’d

realize he’d retransformed and work out the rest.

He had no idea if they could track him now or not. Maybe they already knew. That

thought sent an unpleasant prickle of fear down his spine, followed by the adrenaline of

newfound urgency.

Iris Astres

Hannah. The thought of her dulled any interest he had in a trial. If it came to that at

all, it would mean that he’d lost her, and that would mean he didn’t give a damn about

the rest. Let them take everything else—his status, his fame, his class-one clearance, his

friends, connections, his transport, his home—all of it. All he wanted now was Hannah.

The longer he could delay his arrest, the more time he’d have to find some way to keep

her with him forever.

The light sound of footsteps on the hardwood floor brought him out of his chair. He

moved quickly back to the espresso machine, removed the filter, emptied the grounds

and tried it again, this time with the pitcher in place. He’d bring Hannah her coffee.

And then they’d see just how potent their geno-match was. If his life was going up in

flames, he knew exactly what he wanted to be doing while it burned.

Hannah stood in the archway to her kitchen, feeling cold and wobbly on her bare

feet. He was there all right. Still large as life, looking like something from the Louvre

edition of Night at the Museum; a living marble god.

“Did you take a shower?” Her slow inspection jarred to a halt at the dark-blue

towel wrapped around his hips.

The man smiled warmly. “I traded that silky thing you gave me last night for this

sturdier version.” He slid one hand below his navel and gave the towel a demonstrative

tug. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“No.” She cleared her throat. “So now you’re making coffee?”
“Now that I’m able.” He lifted his hands and wriggled both thumbs.
Hannah let her attention be drawn to his long fingers. Her sleepy gaze panned

upward, over the smooth ripple of muscle along his arms, past the broad shoulders and

elegant neck, all the way to his handsome face.

The sight stopped her from making the objection her mind had stupidly formed. A

man in her kitchen, making her coffee. A beautiful man who knew what she liked and

wanted her to have it. There was absolutely nothing objectionable about that. She tore

her eyes away long enough to notice a few extra dishes in the sink, which made her

look with curiosity into the fridge.

“Wow,” she said, noticing the absence of just about everything that had been there

the night before, “I guess you were hungry.”

His head dipped apologetically. “Molecular transformation will do that to a man,”

he confessed.

Molecular transformation. Hannah grabbed vaguely for the door frame to steady

herself while she closed her eyes. There were clearly a few tiny things she needed to get

her mind around today. When the air at her side grew warmer, she opened them again

to find him standing very close.

Alien, Interrupted

His large hands sent a wave of heat to her shoulders as he turned her gently and

pointed her in the direction of her room. “You should go back to bed and let me bring

you coffee. Otherwise, it spoils the effect.”

She nodded but didn’t move. It was too deliciously warm beside him—like lying on

warm concrete after an icy swim. Hannah felt the fine hairs raise on her arms. Her

nipples gathered tightly against the stiff cotton sweatshirt. Without thinking, she raised

both palms and pressed them to his bare chest.

“Why are you so hot?” The question sounded stupid but she hadn’t meant it in the

hubba hubba way. There was a distinctly non-metaphorical kind of heat rising off the

man. Too much heat.

“Something’s wrong.” Hannah’s heart began to pound an alarm as she ran her

fingers over the pulse in his neck. She raised a hand to his forehead and found that he

was burning up. “You’re sick. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I’m not sick, I’m always hot. That’s normal, Hannah. Don’t worry.” He grabbed

her fluttering hand and shushed her. “A slight difference in our calibrations. I’m in

perfect health.”

“You don’t have a fever? Are you sure?” She stared into his eyes. They were

perfectly clear, but so bright, and his hand actually felt heated, like a leather seat left in

the sun.

Slowly, the man laced his fingers with hers and raised both their hands to his

forehead, a slow, gentle smile curving his lips. “104.2,” he announced, pressing her

hand to his lips before letting go. “For me, that’s optimal. We actually get a little colder

when we’re ill.”

“Oh.” Hannah stared at her toes and let it sink in. He wasn’t like her. She knew that

already. He was some kind of naked catman who’d shown up last night. And Oliver

was gone. The weirdness caught up with her, taking on the paralyzing form of

sensation overload. It made her neck hot and her cheeks tingle, leaving her as empty of

response as she’d been the night before.

“Go back to bed,” he suggested.
She looked ahead dumbly and rubbed at her eyes. “I think I will,” she agreed.

“Going crazy overnight still has me dizzy.”

The coffee sputtered and he turned away. She risked one last look over her

shoulder and saw him stretch to get two mugs from the top shelf. His muscles rippled

lazily as he rooted through the cupboards. Crazy should always look that good.

Once back in her room, Hannah slipped quickly out of her jeans, pulled the shirt

over her head and wrapped herself in her long, warm bathrobe before climbing back

into bed. The near nudity made her feel both better and more vulnerable, which didn’t

make sense. But nothing made sense right now, and when everything was senseless, it

didn’t make sense to make sense of things.

“Oh God.” Hannah rolled her eyes at the twisted state of her own mind. She pulled

one pillow over her eyes and brought her thoughts to what she did understand. The

Iris Astres

safe harbor of her desk held a collection of love poems to be annotated, a compiled list

of film clips she had to okay. Where would she start today? With Lorca? Baudelaire?

She’d almost convinced herself to get up and start working when a change in air

announced Oliver’s presence in the room. She emerged from behind the pillow to see

his strong, graceful body move toward her. In his hands were two steaming mugs.

She took one, thanked him, then paused to frown into the dark, fragrant liquid. “I

can’t call you Oliver anymore, can I?”

“You can.” He lowered himself to the foot of the bed. “I’m used to it. And it’s

actually very close to my real name.”

“Which is?”
“Yom Lister.”
“Yum?” She made a face.
“Yom,” he corrected.
“How is that like Oliver?”
“Most people call me Lister. Lister. Oliver.” He demonstrated a plausible similarity.
“I see.” She remembered her coffee and took a sip. It was strong and slightly sweet.

Exactly how she liked it, and he’d even served it up in her favorite bluebird mug.

“How do you know everything?” she asked. “Do you read minds or something?”
“No. Not much anyway.” He reached a long arm to her knee and patted it

reassuringly. “I know because I’ve been living here for three weeks.”

“Oh yeah.” As her cat. How could she forget?
“You can learn a lot about a person in three weeks.”
Hannah went back to her cup, trying to take this in. What had he seen? Should she

quiz him again? What would that prove? Maybe he’d used cameras to spy on her.

Maybe he’d been watching her from tiny holes in the wall. She took a bigger cowboy

swig of coffee and brushed the creepy image from her mind.

Why the hell would anyone spend three weeks watching her? Do what? Read?

Rummage through her messy desk? Wouldn’t drying paint be more exciting? Sure, she

undressed sometimes, but… Suddenly Hannah gasped and almost choked.

“What?” He reached for her mug. She wouldn’t let go. The coffee tasted good and

she wanted lots more. Inadvertently, her eyes shifted to her dressing room and the

“intimate equipment” she kept in the red box.

“That?” He smiled, instantly recognizing the direction of her gaze.
She pushed against his thigh with her toes, wriggling away from him. “You should

be ashamed of yourself,” she told him.

“I should?” He looked genuinely surprised. “I don’t see why. You knew I was

there.”

She gaped at him in disbelief. “I thought you were a cat!”

Alien, Interrupted

“Oh right.” He nodded thoughtfully. “Perhaps I was a little out of line. In my

defense it would have been impossible for me to take my eyes off you. I’ve never seen

anything so lovely. Those particular memories were the best thing about an otherwise

fabulous trip.”

“Trip?”
“Yes.”
“Trip,” she repeated.
“Yes. I’m here on vacation.”
“Vacation.”
He smiled at her. “Yes. Are you all right? You’re looking a little blank.”
“So fill me in,” she prompted. Later she would deal with having been an accidental

porn star. “Here from where?”

He paused and looked slightly left. When he inhaled, his eyes narrowed

protectively as though he were expecting a bad reaction. She got ready to give it to him.

“Thalia,” he said.
Hannah gave no reaction at all. “Where the hell is that?”
“Not far.” He watched her carefully. “It’s about six planets east of Saturn.”
Hannah relinquished her cup and sank under the covers.
“You’re from a different planet?” She moaned into her hands. Then flipped on her

belly and grabbed for the pillow. A space alien. Either a real one or someone

delusional—and given the cat-to-man trick, smart money said real.

That seemed unfathomably bad, but then again, what explanation for her cat

turning into a man had she been hoping for? Space alien was as good as any, wasn’t it?

“Wait,” she said, flipping herself back over. “You’re not here to eradicate the

existing population and colonize the planet, are you?”

“No.” He solemnly shook his head. “I am not here to do that.”
“And you’re not going to cook us up and eat us.”
“What?” His expression morphed from confusion to alarm and back again.
“With a recipe book for how to make human stew called To Serve Man, like those

Twilight Zone aliens,” she prompted. It was all the science fiction she knew—that and a

lot of laser beams blowing things up.

He shook his head at her, the beguiling expression of patience melting her reserve.

“Why not let me tell you everything from the beginning.”

Everything, Yom Lister reminded himself, was a relative term. But he would tell

Hannah something at least. She was naked under that robe—he could tell by the way

she looked at him, by the way she moved. He stood up from the foot of the bed where

he’d been sitting, looking meaningfully down at the mattress. She looked at it too.

Iris Astres

“Scoot over,” he said.
She glanced uncertainly to her left, before frowning back at him. “Why do you

always do that?” she demanded. “There’s plenty of room all over this bed and you

always come over on this side and want me to move.” She was obviously thinking back

to when he’d been a cat, which was good. If she could marry those two identities into

one person, she’d probably be able to handle the rest.

But of course she could do it. Complex stories were what Hannah did. She had a

taste for narrative. A serious talent. If she could handle epic poetry, she’d easily manage

his simple storyline. He suddenly felt great pride in his Hannah. Pride, mixed with

tenderness, soaking in a generous vat of increasingly insistent lust.

“I like to be where your body’s been.” He answered her question by nodding at her

place in the bed. Hannah flushed and then paled, looking at a loss. “And it’s fun to

watch you thrash around under the covers like that.”

“Okay.” A hand shot up to shush him. “Don’t say any more. It’s only because

you’re warm and I’m freezing.” She scooted over, plucking self-consciously at her robe,

and he slid in beside her.

“Relax and listen,” he said, settling in.
“I’ll try.”
“My job…”
“Your job!” Hannah leaned away to stare at him.
“Yes,” he said calmly. “I have been known to work. I don’t blame you for being

skeptical, considering what you’ve seen so far. But I do have a job and it’s very

stressful.”

“Stressful?”
“If you interrupt me every other word, this is going to be a very long story.”
She retrieved the cup he’d placed on her nightstand and adopted an exaggerated

listening pose while she sipped.

“My government decided to reward recent service with a top-of-the-line stress-

reducing vacation.” Yom rushed the sentence and waited for her to speak. She said

nothing. “I chose the house pet package.”

“The house pet package.”
He couldn’t blame her for repeating that one. “Yes,” he explained. “For the tiny

sliver of the population who can afford it, it’s become very popular over the years. And

I can see why.” He winked at her. “Although I suppose it’s only for singles, and not

everyone can get away for so long.”

Hannah sucked in a loud breath and went tense.
“What is it now?”
“Single,” she repeated. “God, I never even asked you.”
“Now you know.”

Alien, Interrupted

She nodded. “But why?”
“Why am I single?”
“No! I hate that question.” She rolled onto her side, propped herself up on one

elbow. His eyes roamed over the exposed skin where the neck of her robe slid open.

“Why would you want to be a cat?”

“You’re joking.” He laughed. “Name me a more decadent lifestyle. Nothing to do

but eat, sleep and feast your eyes on a beautiful woman all day. A woman who is

basically your willing slave, I might add. And then there’s all that physical therapy.” He

glanced at her, a knowing smile forming on his lips. “The sight of you, the smell of you,

your hands all over me, kneading, petting, rubbing. When you weren’t doing the same

to yourself.”

“Hey!” She struggled to sit up against the headboard, pulling her robe together,

while a look of affronted objection settled uncomfortably on her face. “So what are you,

some kind of voyeur?”

“Why some kind?” He shrugged. “I like to watch you get undressed and touch

yourself until you come. Isn’t that a pretty standard voyeur?”

His blunt words kindled her arousal. He could see it. The blood rose to her cheeks,

the skin on her arms tightening into gooseflesh while her eyes lost focus. Both the

thought and the words excited her. So many things did. The possible ways of making

Hannah come increased by the second, making him, if possible, more anxious to get

started.

“I’ll do it for you, if you like,” he offered. “Make it even, as it were. Would you like

to watch me stroke my cock?”

Her lips said nothing. Her body said yes. It took concentration for him to remain

still while her eyes dilated and her jaw went slack. When he finally touched her, and

please, he thought, let that be soon, he was not going to stop touching her. That made

patience very important now. He let his mind drift dangerously toward a vision of how

he would have her. Saw himself turning her, posing her, teasing her, tasting her, and

then fucking her, and fucking her, and fucking her again. He’d had three weeks of

constrained excitement, of being surrounded by her touch and the torturous

intoxication of her scent, of punishing himself unwisely with tiny surreptitious licks

across her skin, so that the taste of her could narrow his thinking even further. Now all

he saw was Hannah, and all he wanted was to be inside her.

He felt her shudder violently beside him, as though she could see what he was

thinking. The coffee cup in her hand tilted dangerously and she quickly turned it

upright and took a steadying sip.

“So why’d you change? Why aren’t you still a cat?”
“Because I couldn’t stand to watch you get in bed with that idiot.”
That was a mistake. Hannah snapped her mouth shut and narrowed her eyes. “No

one asked you to watch,” she said. “There are other rooms in this house, you know.”

Iris Astres

He watched her scoot dangerously close to the edge of the bed, where she leveled

him with an expression that said he was about to be set straight.

“Generally speaking,” she began, “sex is private. I don’t remember asking you to

weigh in on my choices. But since you’ve expressed concern, let me tell you that

Richard is hardly an idiot. He has his masters from Berkeley and he works for the city

council. Nor is he some stranger I dragged in off the street. I’ve known him for over ten

years. He went way out on an emotional limb to get back in touch with me and said

some very nice things in the process. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with exploring

those romantic possibilities, in whatever way I choose to do so and—oh shit.” Hannah

steadied her coffee cup between her breasts and shoved him with the flat of her hand.

“Why am I justifying myself to you, anyway? You’re not my mother.”

The brief dressing-down stopped abruptly on the word “mother”, leaving Yom

wrong-footed and confused. Years of diverting explosive collisions, however, had made

him an expert at remaining outwardly calm, despite apparent danger. Quickly he

reviewed the labyrinth of Hannah’s words and found the problem easily enough—she

felt criticized.

“If the stranger on the street has the skill to make you come,” he said carefully,

“then by all means, have sex with him, Hannah. I’ve no objection whatever to your

having what you want, when you want it, in whatever way you might want to have it.

What I resent is your mistreatment. That old friend, despite his degree and his

supposed emotions, would not have made things good for you in bed. He couldn’t

have. He hadn’t the skill. I object to your being fucked without pleasure. If that puts me

on the side of mothers,” he added, “so be it.”

“What?” To Yom’s relief, a smile lurked behind Hannah’s dubious expression.
“Watching that utter incompetent try to make love to you would be like…” He

paused for a suitable image to take shape. “Like hearing a politician read a poem.”

“Yuck.” Hannah wrinkled her nose in disgust.
“He wouldn’t have made you come.”
“You already said that.” She took a mollified sip of her coffee. “So, you turned into

a man to save me from lousy sex. Thanks, I guess.” He watched her toes move in

meditative circles underneath the covers. “Is this really you now, or are you actually

something else?”

“This is me.” Yom smiled.
Hannah smiled in return. “How the hell does that work though?” she asked. “They

can just mold all those hard, muscled molecules into a fourteen-pound housecat?”

“Something like that. I’m not exactly sure how it works to tell you the truth.”
“You don’t know how it works?”
“Why is that surprising? Tell me how the telephone works.”
She blinked at him. “I have no clue.”

Alien, Interrupted

“See.” Yom spread his hands diplomatically. “We use things we don’t understand

all the time. From what little I’ve gathered, it’s like a projector to the brain. I’m still

essentially me, but I look like a cat to everyone else and my molecules have been

accelerated to lower the density so I can interact with the world as a small animal

would.”

“And that all changes when you shut off the projector?”
“Exactly.” He nodded his approval. “Like hanging up the phone.”
“Can you look like a cat again?
“Perhaps.” Yom mulled that over. “But not without help.”
“Can they do things besides cats? Could they make me look like a supermodel?”
“A supermodel?” He took the cup from her hand and set it carefully on her tiny

bedside table, brushing against her as he rolled onto one elbow and looked into her

eyes. “I don’t think I’d like the sight of you bored and skeletal,” he confided, “but I’ll

bet you’re truly lovely after a good hard fuck. Will you let me see that?”

Hannah felt the open offer of sex burn through her like candle wax on an open

flame. She had yes please on the tip of her tongue, and since she couldn’t say that, she

made herself stay quiet until all the sex thoughts burned away.

In the meantime, she’d have liked to see another woman resist such temptation.

Given what she was up against, she truly deserved a good pat on the back. The man

beside her in bed was every imaginable kind of sexy—not just beautiful, but strong and

steady, guru-smart and sweet as a mental health worker born for the job.

Best of all, he wanted her. That tension inside him was unmistakable and clearly

contagious, because Hannah was absolutely soaking in it too. But, she reminded herself,

it would probably be wrong for her to sleep with a supposed space alien who used to be

her house pet. And while Oliver and she had indeed spent three weeks together, the

truth was she hardly knew the guy. Not as a man, in any case. On top of that, she was

shell-shocked. Not in her right mind. In no condition to be having sex. Which was, of

course, the absolute most delicious time of all to have it.

She looked at the curve of his full lips and felt a strong objection to her own

objections. Hadn’t she decided to awaken to now and live in the moment? If ever a

moment begged to be lived in, this was it. She drew a long, meditative breath and heard

a gong go off in her head. Don’t be stupid, said the gong. Ditch the robe and jump that man.

When Oliver beckoned for her to come closer, she did. He bent his head until his

lips were all but pressed to her ear.

“I’ll make it good for you.” The softness of his voice, the warm breath on her cheek

and the heat of his skin next to hers had gooseflesh prickling her neck.

“I assure you, I’m well versed. Anything you want to do. Anything you’d like to

try. I’ll indulge you.”

Iris Astres

“Anything?” Intrigued, Hannah spun an imaginary wheel in her head and waited

as a blur of sexual favors went through her mind. She caught glimpses of sweaty rutting

in various positions, tongues trailed seductively over arching body parts, lips and

hands pressed hither and yon, until the wheel finally slowed and the same two words

clicked by in steady succession.

Kiss me, click, Kiss me, click.
“Kiss me,” said Hannah.
A tiny smile quirked at the corner of Oliver’s lips before he lowered his mouth to

hers.

Seconds later and for the first time in her life, Hannah saw kissing as a passion to

match every other thrill she’d known. The press of Oliver’s mouth excited and seduced

as much as an operatic overture, or the first sweeping montage of an epic film. His kiss

made her want. It made her believe. It made her achingly ready for what was to come.

But what came was more kissing. Followed by more.
With slow, thoughtful action, the man made each delicious embrace a feast of

distinct pleasures—the touch of his mouth to hers, the pressure of teeth, the amorphous

shock of tongue touching tongue as he licked into her mouth. His lips moved over hers,

hotly organic, firmly alive, committed and wise. Hannah trusted the pleasure, rising

and opening beneath him, eager for it all.

When the delicious weight of his body grew heavy, she struggled to untangle her

robe from her legs so she could spread her knees and pull more of him against her. The

frantic movement, while successful, left her flushed and gasping for breath.

Oliver drew back to look at her. She opened her eyes. He held her gaze a long,

airless moment and ruthlessly kissed her again. Excess sensation spilled through

Hannah like steamed milk from a heated pitcher. It lifted her body and tore a deep,

wild moan from her throat.

The edges of her robe were pushed apart. Cold air on her breasts and belly made

her shrink into the bed until the glorious heat of his body met her bare skin. Hannah

curled around the red-hot coil of his torso. He moved his head against her cheek and

spoke into her ear.

“I love to watch you come,” he breathed. “When you’re very close, your skin

flushes here.” He touched her cheek and drew one finger down her throat, all the way

to the tips of her breasts. “And here.” He lifted himself to his knees and pulled the robe

completely open so he could brush his fingers along the tops of her thighs.

“Are you very wet now, Hannah?” The warm water ripple of his words touched

her skin.

She lowered herself fractionally deeper in the bed, rotating her thighs in invitation,

more than happy for him to see what he’d done.

Oliver slid a hot hand to her pussy, both of them sucking in breath at the thick,

slippery wetness he found. He moved the pad of his index finger from the base of her

Alien, Interrupted

clit, along the outer groove, stroking slow and steady, back and forth, until she felt

arousal thicken her blood, and all her senses spike.

“This is where you like it most.” A second finger joined the first, playing with her

pussy while her legs rotated open at the seams. He stopped. “And just before you come,

you open your eyes.”

“I do?”
He nodded. “Let’s take this off.” For some reason, rather than touch her again, he

dragged her robe over her shoulders and down her arms, leaving it draped at the foot

of the bed. He paused to look at her.

Never in her life had Hannah let a man see her so desperate for sex. It unnerved her

to do so now. She began to rise higher on the bed, pulling her legs together as she did.

He shook his head and slid between her knees, broad shoulders nudging her thighs

apart while his face settled over her mound.

Hannah lowered back into the pillows, feeling lonely without his heat against her.

Her eyebrows drew together and her belly twitched. She flattened her hands on the

mattress, about to push away, when his tongue licked deep into her pussy.

Something like a growl rose from the back of the man’s throat, just as his strong

arms slid under Hannah’s ass. He lifted her roughly to him. His hot mouth clamped

hungrily over her sex.

She sank into the mattress, letting the thick tongue pulse and slide against her. The

slow, measured strokes she’d felt in her mouth moved masterfully over the swollen

flesh between her legs, stroking again and again, until orgasm loomed like a big orange

desert sun between her eyes. An urgent breath escaped her and she spread her legs

indecently wide, moaning her encouragement. Oliver shifted his weight and slipped

two fingers inside her. His knuckles pressed against soft flesh, ratcheting sensation in

her already hard and swollen clit.

On some level, she realized he was right about her eyes being open. But all Hannah

saw before she came was space and air. The real world was inside her, licked to life

between her thighs. She pressed her hips against his face, rubbed her cleft against his

tongue. A shattering orgasm broke, and she hovered above it for one long, weightless

moment, until deep gluttonous spasms tugged her slowly back to Earth.

Like an addict who’d just plunged the contents of a questionable syringe into his

arm, Yom licked the delicious taste of Hannah’s cum from his lips and wondered

vaguely if his heart would stop. When the pounding continued, steady and slow in his

chest, he looked for a sign he’d lost his mind instead. Hannah’s thigh twitched against

his cheek in time to remind him how little he cared.

“That was better than I imagined,” he said, lifting himself to his knees. “Do you still

want to fuck?”

Beneath the heavy flutter of sex-soaked eyes, Hannah’s chin dipped into a dazed

and sluggish nod. Before he could move over her, however, her lithe upper body

Iris Astres

twisted unexpectedly away, straining to open the nightstand drawer. Evidently she

pulled too hard, because both the drawer and its contents fell on the floor with a

resonant crash.

“Shit.” Hannah hoisted herself higher to dip her shoulders off the side of the bed

and rifle through the scattered contents. As intrigued as Yom was by the odd

maneuver, his attention was irreversibly caught by the sweet little cleft at the base of

her ass and the long, sloping S of her waist. “I found it,” she said.

“Found what?” He hoisted her like a well bucket back to the bed. In her hand she

held a small square packet.

“It’s a Magnum.” She smiled. “Extra, extra large. One of Sue’s housewarming gifts.”
Yom studied the packet, trying to remember how the ancient prophylactic practice

worked. Fucking on Earth had, for obvious reasons, not been part of his orientation.

“It’s not only to protect me,” she offered as apology. “It’s for you too.”
“Of course.” He gave her the condom, motioned to his erection and leaned out of

her way. “My cock is all yours.”

Hannah looked uncertainly at the packet. Clearly this was not her usual protocol,

but to his relief she tore the foil, removed the latex and reached for him. Their bodies

stiffened at the contact. They stared together at her hand along his length.

Yom had been so aroused for so long he could barely feel his own skin. With her

attention, sensation returned and his cock thrummed like electrified mortar under her

fingers. Both of them sucked in a breath. Condom forgotten, she unclasped her fingers

to stroke him.

“Hannah,” he rasped. “Please.”
“Okay.” Numbly, she hunched forward to fit the sheath over the head of his cock,

unrolling it quickly to the base and smoothing it down with both hands.

Her mission accomplished, Hannah lay back and held out her arms. It was wildly

sweet, that giving, open sight of her. Yom crawled over her, rocked into position

between her thighs. He drew back and pushed, pushed again, felt himself buried in a

dizzy perfection of warm, pliant flesh.

A rush of sensation nearly overpowered him. Was it touch, taste or smell? No doubt

he’d been hit by some combining alchemy of all three.

Whatever it was, it had Yom intensely high. He felt the shaky flush of something

tilting inside him, while his heated skin turned hyperaware. So aware he could feel the

hair on his anus and balls stand on end, the moisture of her pussy seep down his sex

over his thighs.

Inside he felt a dull, thudding savage self emerge—some limbic remnant of male

development, centuries past and darkly primal. He couldn’t precisely say he didn’t

recognize it, only that he’d never felt it dominate the rest of him before.

Alien, Interrupted

When he could, he rose slightly and looked down at her body. The skin of her full

breasts was flushed and tight, her breathing shallow. He felt a pinch in his lower ribs

and realized she’d wrapped her legs around him and begun to squeeze.

“Are you all right?” he rasped.
“Yeah.” She nodded.
“If you need to stop, say so.”
The chivalrous vow would have sounded better without the grunting, but at least

he’d meant it. He’d prefer a thirty-foot drop onto broken glass but it wouldn’t kill him

to stop, and as his mate she’d be in command. That was the myth in any case. Given

how true quick-bond insanity had turned out to be, he was disinclined to doubt it.

Evolutionarily, it also made sense. Left up to him, he’d probably fuck until he killed

them both.

Yom thread his fingers through her hair and buried his face in her neck to muffle

the growl and hide the snarl while he withdrew and slid back in. Her cunt was tight

and sweet, welcoming more and more of him with each thrust.

A third thrust and she flinched.
Yom lifted onto straightened elbows and saw that a sliver of bright sun had fallen

across the bed into her eyes. She was squinting painfully, raising a palm to ward off the

intrusion. One arm under her back, he lifted her up and away from the offending ray.

She gasped at the unexpected weightlessness, the sudden change of place. Her thighs

stretched open, tightening the pressure of her cunt around his cock.

“Do you like that?” He tightened his grip, dangling her upper body a few feet from

the bed.

She looked at him, as flushed and marvel-eyed as someone being shown a new

dimension. Her jaw was slack, nipples gathering, she arched her back over his arm and

moaned. He lifted her again and felt her squirm.

Yom smiled. Obliging her with brute force would not be a problem. He pulled the

pillows underneath her and leaned her body back against them, lifting both her arms

until her palms were pressed against the headboard.

“Brace yourself,” he said. When she did, he hoisted her higher, slid to his knees and

draped her legs around his hips.

Like the drummer sent before the king, Yom started a cadenced fucking. His pace

was slow and steady, pushing him into her, relentless and deep. Hannah’s pink-tipped

breasts shook with each thrust. She dug her heels in the mattress, hands against the

headboard, and squirmed on his cock. For a long time it was very good. So good he felt

his whole body dissolve around the hardness of his cock in its paradise. When her

moans brought him too close to the edge he stopped.

“Touch yourself,” he whispered.
Her eyes slitted open to consider the request. Evidently it met with approval. One

slender hand left the headboard and reached between her legs. Hannah’s fingers circled

Iris Astres

a minute while she watched him watch. Then, with no attempt to hide the lust in her

eyes, she lifted her hand to his mouth.

“Make them wet,” she said.
Yom parted his lips, coating her fingers with saliva. She stroked her clit again. He

lifted her hips to watch the rhythmic slide, felt the light scratch of a nail against his

pubic hair as her rhythm accelerated. Her nipples gathered until at last he saw what

he’d been looking for—blue eyes opened in a sightless stare that signaled she was

getting very close.

Yom started to fuck with a fury worthy of the inner caveman he was coming to

know. He lifted and jostled and spread and plundered while Hannah gasped her

pleasure and came in clenching sobs around his cock. When her cries turned to

whimpering moans, he let it end for him as well, gripping her hips to shoot hot semen

deep inside. Marking her. Marking himself. And thinking only one repeated word—

more.

Hannah expected him to collapse on the bed beside her. When the air on her skin

remained cool, the bed frame unmoving, she opened her eyes. Oliver was on his knees,

staring with confusion at his own cock, as though he’d just seen it in the other room and

couldn’t understand what it was doing back between his legs. She lifted awkwardly, a

puzzled look fixing on his furrowed brow.

“Don’t move,” he said, eyes darting between her legs.
Alarmed into obedience she held the halfway pose while he dipped his fingers

gingerly into the slit of her sex. She felt a pinch, some minor pressure, then he

straightened, and she saw a shiny white glob of latex scissored between two fingers.

“What happened?” Hannah’s body labored upward. She looked from the rubbery

mess in his hand to the ring of latex at the base of his cock. “Shit,” she said.

“I think it broke,” he agreed. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.” Except that it wasn’t. A mix of guilt and panic had blood

simultaneously draining from Hannah’s face and rising to her cheeks. She caught his

concern and forced a smile. Using a novelty condom to have sex with a monster-cocked

stranger had been her idea. Her very, very dumb idea.

“Hannah, listen to me. Before I came to Earth… Are you listening?” He bobbed his

head, inviting her to look at him. A few more seconds of self-recrimination and she

obliged.

“To travel to Earth,” he said, “we have to go through a full range of medical testing.

Think about it. No one has any interest in starting any kind of epidemic here. My

records are pristine. I swear it. I have immunity to most communicable diseases and I’m

sterile, so you really shouldn’t worry.”

“Sterile?” That couldn’t be right. Hannah looked him over with concern.

Alien, Interrupted

“Reversibly so.” Half his mouth curled upward in that sexy, wry way of his.

“Nothing permanent. Are you okay?”

Hannah lay back on the bed. When he still didn’t join her, she sighed. Sex that

actually exceeded the horniest of expectations had to be one of life’s rarest and most

precious events. Broken condom notwithstanding, she was utterly undone by it all.

Shaky with the shock of elation and gratitude. And there he sat at the foot of the bed,

millions of miles away from her, unmoved. Even if he were one of those cagey guys,

opposed to post-coital affection, he might at least do her the courtesy of showing some

fatigue. For her part, she was done for. Pleasured half to death.

“Aren’t you tired?” she complained.
His gaze shifted to her face. In answer to her question, he shook his head, eyes

roaming over breasts and belly, all the way down to her thighs. She watched in muzzy

fascination while his lips curled and his cock began to rise.

“Let me fuck you again,” he said.

Iris Astres

Chapter Six

Feeding a hungry man was always a pleasure. Today, thanks to the man in

question, it would be Hannah’s fifth pleasure of the day, not counting the coffee. All of

which made a feast no more than Oliver’s due.

Like most San Franciscans, she had a kitchen drawer stuffed full of takeout menus

that would make the job easy enough, but when she’d mentioned they might also go

out, the handsome man in her bed had dizzied her with a broad smile.

If that’s what he wanted, she was hot to make it so. Which left her with the tiny

little problem of getting her naked ex-cat into some clothes.

Standing barefoot in her dressing room, damp from a shower and back in her robe,

Hannah forced herself to stop the maniacal yanking of hangers long enough to think.

Under normal circumstances, her extravagant dressing room was a place for

relaxation. The windowless room was cozy and small, perfect for her fledgling attempts

at meditation. But now she was feeling anything but peaceful. Hannah was determined

to find something Oliver could wear.

There had to be something in her stuff she could use. Something baggy. An

elasticized medium. She glanced around the doorway at the naked man on her bed and

decided a woman’s medium, however baggy or elastic, probably wouldn’t do the trick.

So what else did she have?

Re-shifting the doors with an irritated grunt, she frowned into the overgrown

collection of clothes and tried to remember where she’d put everything the day she’d

moved in. The faintest of memories soon had her on all fours, pushing back coat hems

to dig around the dusty closet floor. She held a hand to her nose to keep from sneezing

and ignored the rumpled laundry tickets digging into her bare knees.

Triumphantly she snatched the crumpled shopping bag she’d been filling for

donation and dumped the contents onto the dressing room floor.

Success.
She instantly remembered why she’d bought the shapeless gym shorts. They’d been

plucked out of a surplus bin to wear for a jog along the Hudson the last time she’d seen

Sue. It hadn’t mattered then that they were men’s shorts, or that she’d had to pull the

drawstring waist until it gathered into ruffles at her sides—but it definitely mattered

now. Now she was looking at the best $3.99 she’d ever spent in her life.

Beside that lay an equally promising sight.
Hannah peered into the Femina Cosmetics bag, extracting the most hideous t-shirt

she’d ever seen. A monstrosity in electric blue, it bore the winking Femina logo on the

Alien, Interrupted

front with “The Eyes Have It” written in a crazy cursive scrawl across the back. The XL

tag at the neck, however, generously made up for all its sins.

And if that weren’t enough, the tacky gift bag also held a pair of rubber flip-flops.

Hannah beamed at the gold seal that closed the see-through package. Size 10-12.

Raising the outfit over her head, she let out a triumphant whoop and burst back

into the bedroom cradling her loot.

Oliver seemed to barely notice the disruption. Propped on two pillows, ankles

crossed, muscles relaxed, cock sweetly nestled against his thigh, he was clearly

engrossed in one of her books. She watched him from the doorway before moving to

perch beside him and peek at what he’d chosen. Abelard and Heloise. She studied his face

with pleasure as he took in the tale of the medieval lovers. It might not equal the thrill

of watching a surfer catch a wave, or a cowboy rope a steer, but the sight of those

intelligent sea-glass eyes scanning the exquisite prose was even hotter for a girl like her.

Broad shoulders or intelligent eyes? She heard Sue’s drunken “either or” echo in her

head. Good conversation or a long, thick cock? The answer to a happy life was clearly all

four.

Oliver’s brow dipped with concern at the end of Abelard’s first letter. He closed the

book around his finger and caught Hannah’s gaze.

“It ends badly, doesn’t it?” This fact appeared to worry him.
Hannah lay down beside him. She curled into his body and looked up at the pages.

“It all depends on what you mean by badly,” she said. “The two suffer separation,

depravation, violence and physical affliction, but through it all, their devotion for each

other survives.” She ran a respectful hand over the well-worn cover. “And the strength

of their connection lives on to this day, in this.”

“Is that enough?” He’d drawn his head away to study her. “To know that you’re

loved forever?”

“It’s a lot,” Hannah said.
He shifted farther away, clearly wanting a better answer. “If you were absolutely

certain of someone’s love, in spite of the hardship of separation, could you be happy,

Hannah?”

“I don’t know.” She didn’t like the question or the earnestness behind it. And if she

were truthful, she didn’t much care for her own answer.

What she loved about Abelard and Heloise was the beginning of the story—the

thought of a passion so great it made a wise man abandon reason to pursue desire. By

his own account, Abelard had been reckless with feeling, actually flaunting his

forbidden passion for the young and beautiful Heloise, whose love for him was every

bit as heedless. Their story was exciting through the pregnancy, the secret marriage,

right up until the violent, devastating separation. Which was where the letters began.

Iris Astres

Letters full of loving reproach and gentle longing—sustained emotion that hovered just

below any hope of real joy.

While Hannah would never discount the worthiness of a mad but courageous

commitment, Abelard and Heloise had lived in a different time, both challenged and

supported by their rigid social structure. In Hannah’s own world, with its wild personal

freedoms, such sacrifice was far less likely.

And not, she must admit, in any way appealing. Especially for someone like her,

who’d been through devastating loss already. As far as she and Oliver were concerned,

however, it was hardly the time to be thinking of either love or separation. At least, she

hoped it wasn’t.

She snuggled closer and kept her voice light. “In principle,” she said, “eternal love

from a distance must be better than unloving company. But to actually live it, without

finding it equals a life of longing and pain, I think you’d have to be incredibly strong.”

“Strong?”
“Yes.” She nodded, her chin brushing over his arm. “It’s hard to imagine love

without doubt, even when the other person’s there for you to see, and touch, and talk

to. For the separated, the star-crossed, doubt must be a constant, fearsome enemy. It

might be worth it when a hard life makes great art. But to actively choose that. I don’t

think I would.”

“Of course.” Oliver’s eyes raked unhappily over Hannah’s face. He started to say

something more and stopped himself, staring instead at the small pile of clothes she’d

left at the foot of the bed. “What’s this?” he asked.

“Your new wardrobe.”
He sat up to look, comically wary, while the hard-earned success made Hannah

grin.

“It’s only to get you to the thrift store,” she promised. “Down the block, so that we

can leave the house without your getting arrested or,” a significant glance over his hard

belly and impressive cock, “kidnapped on the way.”

“I see.” Oliver reached for the clothes like a man invited to pet a rodent. “Are you

sure I wouldn’t look better in that scarf you gave me before?”

“You would,” she agreed. “But this will attract less attention.”
“Are you sure?” He poked the provocative Femina logo with a hesitant index

finger.

“It’s San Francisco,” she said. “The real problem is you’re going to freeze. But it’s

only a few blocks. And while we’re out, we can get anything you want. Burger, pizza,

burrito, Poulet Provençal with wine-braised asparagus tips and an amusing

Chardonnay…”

“All of the above.” Oliver rallied at the mention of food and rose from the bed. He

reached for the shorts and pulled them on. The soft cotton fabric clung lovingly to his

cock, making Hannah wonder briefly if a pair of her panties might minimize the effect.

Alien, Interrupted

The thought of trying to wedge his dick into white lace hipsters made her hope

instead that the shirt would be long enough to cover. It wasn’t quite but it certainly did

refocus the attention.

The plastic sandals were perhaps the most ridiculous part of the whole ensemble,

but when only a fraction of his toes and heel spilled over the ends, she called it good

and quickly tied back her hair to throw on pants, shirt, shoes and a jacket so they could

be on their way.

It was a typical day for August in San Francisco, which meant mid-Octoberish

anywhere else. Brisk gusts of air whirled under a bright blue sky that seemed miles

away. The whole city was visible from the slope of the hill where they walked, and the

white, jagged outline of buildings looked like concrete party streamers falling from the

sky.

It was cold. It always was. But today, for some reason, Hannah didn’t care.
She had to take two steps to keep up with Oliver’s stride, and still the thrill of being

out with him had her slightly in the lead. When she circled around to smile at him,

Oliver stopped, an intriguing tilt to his head, and pulled her up beside him.

“See that dog?” He pointed to a lunatic beagle pulling a young girl toward Dolores

Park. “You have the same crazed look in your eye.”

“I don’t get out much,” Hannah admitted. She squinted up at the sky and smiled at

the sprawling cityscape below.

“We should fix that.” He gave her hand a playful tug. “Here, puppy,” he called.
They were down the hill in record time, breathing hard and smiling. More people

crossed their path as they neared Valencia, and Hannah suddenly noticed the oddly

expressive faces rising to meet hers. A unibrowed emo kid in skinny black jeans stared

openly at Oliver, looking slack-jawed and wide-eyed while his ethereal girlfriend

fluttered pale lashes beside him. A family of four emerged from their van, each

stopping mid-stretch to gape at her companion, including, rather startlingly, the big,

beefy dad.

It could be the odd outfit, she supposed. Could be, but wasn’t. Every person they

passed, from Asian shop girls to Latino cabbies, clearly ignored the ugly clothes to stare

with shock and awe at the gorgeous face and killer physique of the man.

And that was just how it was, Hannah reasoned—striking features, startling eyes,

an androgynous mop of hair. It could make anyone look twice, even a trio of butch

Giants fans, like the one currently headed their way.

No one, it seemed, could resist a lingering once-over. Not that it was necessarily a

surface thing. Oliver wasn’t merely tall and gorgeous, he also had uncommon charisma.

Space alien chic, she supposed it must be. Or maybe it was just the look of a man out for

a walk between lengthy sex binges that brought on this collective double-take.

Iris Astres

Whatever the cause, Hannah was proud of the effect, until she gradually noticed

the way those admiring eyes would turn puzzled when they moved to her. Frowning,

she considered the odd after-effect and clearly saw a series of jaws shut, eyebrows knit

and heads shake when the glances moved from perfect male beauty over to her.

“I’m his grandmother,” she finally said to the thrift store clerk, who’d interrupted

his fawning at Oliver to give her yet another sideways glance. The young man had

clearly wished her gone from the minute they’d stepped into the shop, but his way with

a rack had made her swallow her objections, and the end result had been well worth it.

Oliver’s bottom-of-the-closet look was now forever discarded, replaced by a nicely

worn pair of jeans, long-sleeved crew-neck shirt and leather lace-ups, all of which were

topped by a painfully chic Perry Ellis jacket that made the whole ensemble look so good

it would have been worth five times its paltry price.

The clerk had the good grace to blush at Hannah’s sarcasm, making her feel

instantly bad, which, as it turned out, was a waste of good remorse. He looked past her

and offered an apology to Oliver, who in turn looked to Hannah for an explanation. She

opted to pay for the clothes without further comment, feeling more like a crotchety

spinster every second.

Thrift Boy performed the transaction in a growing snit, no doubt assuming any

number of disgusting reasons why some hag was buying clothes for such a gorgeous

man. She watched the kid toy with his pen as though he were considering jotting down

his number and offering it to Ollie as a crisis hotline. Hannah stuffed the receipt in her

purse on her way to the door without looking back.

She was half a block away from the shop before Oliver got close enough to tug her

elbow. “You’ve stopped romping,” he said. “What happened in there?”

“Nothing.” Hannah took a brave step forward. Oliver’s firm hand brought her up

short. She stared at him in disbelief while he danced her up against the white stucco

storefront of Miguel’s Cantina, angling his shoulders to keep her still and shield her

from the street while he studied her face for the key to her altered mood.

“What’s up?” she said, feeling trapped and annoyed. She tried to stare him down,

but no dice. He was looming, his eyes boring into her with some weird World’s Coolest

Teacher vibe pouring off him.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” he insisted.
Hannah shook her head. It was her freaky luck to have a man’s undivided attention

the minute she wanted it least. “This is going to sound even stupider after the fuss

you’re making.”

He blocked her retreat and she bristled at him. Since when did men shake women

down for their emotions?

“Tell me,” he said.
“Fine,” she sighed. “I don’t like the way people are looking at us.”

Alien, Interrupted

When that, understandably, made no apparent sense to him, she drew enough

breath to spell it all out. “People walk in front of us,” she said. “They look at you and

think that man is ridiculously handsome, and then they look at me and think and look! He’s

taking his demented sister out for a day away from the home. I confess, it has me slightly

depressed.”

“They’re looking at us?”
Oliver turned his attention to the offending street. As if on cue, an adorable pair of

oncoming teens, in jacketed tube tops, leggings and boots, caught sight of him. The

girls’ pace slowed as their eyes grew wide. What happened next could only be

described as a giggling, coltish mating dance for his pleasure, an odd sort of prancing,

awash in bubble gum and bangles. Hannah stepped forward like the Sister Mary

Buzzkill she’d become. The girls stopped short, their expressions souring.

“I don’t get it,” said Oliver, as the girls moved sulkily away. “What’s wrong with

how we look?” He pulled Hannah a little farther, to face the storefront window of a

camera shop, the two of them reflected side by side.

“Oh God,” said Hannah. She braved a look at herself and wished she hadn’t. Her

ripped jeans and purple hoodie had felt young and hip when she’d thrown them on at

home, but now they just seemed lumpy and bland—the sartorial gravy of a woman past

caring.

She pulled her arm out of Oliver’s grasp and looked resignedly up the hill to her

house. Suddenly it wasn’t so much fun to be out of doors.

“Let’s go back,” she said. “I need to pull myself together if I’m going out with you. I

have nice things, I just don’t wear them anymore, because I work at home. Even

Richard said I always had a tendency to schlub.”

She stopped apologizing and projected her determined mind back into the closet

where she did some fevered plotting. She could definitely pull something together if

she tried. If the end result didn’t quite reach the level of his absolute perfection, she

could sure as shit look like she could afford him.

“Richard said you were a what?”
It took her a second to remember the reference. “A schlub.” That was it. “It

means…”

“Please don’t tell me. I won’t like it.”
He nudged her gently back to her reflection in the window. “I don’t know what

Richard saw when he looked at you, Hannah, but when I look, I see you naked.” She

felt the tickling whisper against her ear. It was good, and he made it better by pulling

her against him. “I see you arching and moaning and opening under me.” His hands

were on her hips, which instinctually circled against him. “So, with all due respect to

your concerns, I don’t care how you dress so long as you feel like undressing. How do

we accomplish that?”

The man had a way with a question. Sent off in that more interesting direction,

Hannah again considered the problem. To be out with him and feel sexy and good she

Alien, Interrupted

Chapter Seven

On the second floor of Saks in Union Square, Oliver looked as happy as any

heterosexual male surrounded by stylish separates that dangled with four-digit price

tags had any right to be. Hannah felt somewhat less enthused. A new outfit wouldn’t be

a bad idea and her bank account could certainly accommodate an urge to splurge, but

the second slice of Blondie’s pizza she’d consumed made trying on new waistbands

seem an unlikely mood-lifter. She gazed out at the endless sea of racks, which did little

to inspire.

“May I help you find something?” Hannah looked up to see a handsome young

man in a pale-gray suit hovering nearby. Before she could mechanically decline the

offered assistance, her companion reached out to shake the man’s hand.

“Oliver,” he said.
“Jeremy.” The sales clerk looked startled but infinitely pleased. She had to guess

such warm welcomes were rare in his line of work. She also had to guess he enjoyed the

company of handsome men. The meticulous gel job and hint of blue eye shadow above

his long lashes kinda gave it away.

That was all she could process before Oliver’s devastating space smile turned back

in her direction like a tractor beam. She stared helplessly while it sucked her in. The row

of jeans behind him made her wonder vaguely what clothes were like where he was

from—did they all wear metallic onesies, like in films? Oliver in a silver zipper suit

would be cute.

“My girlfriend Hannah needs a few special outfits, and I’d like to pick them out for

her,” said the spaceman to the clerk. Hannah roused herself enough to shake the latter’s

hand. “Is there someplace comfortable she can wait while you and I find a few things

she might like?”

“Wait.” Hannah frowned. “You’re going to choose for me?”
“You did me.” Oliver spread his hands to indicate his killer outfit. It was true,

oddly enough. She had picked his clothes for him, with the help of evil Thrift Boy of

course. It was still a weird idea for him to do the same. And yet he looked utterly intent

on returning the favor. Were all the men on his planet so gracious? All equally

charming and meticulously attentive to their woman? Or had she just hit some

intergalactic jackpot? Any way you sliced it, it was good news, so why was such a large

part of her still looking for the catch?

Hannah searched for an argument amidst the maze of clothes. Everything in the

place managed to look both frantic and dull to her. She briefly watched two zombielike

women shuffle between stacks, the inner dirge they danced to very different from the

toothless rock the store piped though its speakers. For her to connect with anything in

Iris Astres

this cluttered, airless overkill would be a real chore. She eyed her would-be assistants,

who exchanged a perfect pep squad look and waited for her answer.

“Do you seriously want to do this?” she asked.
The sales associate affected a plausible bow. Oliver looked bizarrely delighted.
“Where’s a good place for her to wait?” he asked.
The question caught Jeremy mid-ogle and he recovered by coughing into his steel-

gray tie. “This way,” he said.

With that, they wound their way through the serpentine layout of circular racks,

past the glittering habitats of Gucci and Chanel, to a hidden dressing room so large it

could have been a Fairmont suite. Hannah blinked at the classy layout, complete with

white leather sofa and flat-screen TV. Her attention landed on a glass coffee table that

held not only a selection of glossy catalogs but also an open bottle of Veuve Cliquot,

sweating inside a silver ice bucket.

Jeremy led them inside, all smiles. He stopped at a cabinet, extracting two gold-

rimmed flutes. Hannah sat on the sofa and fussed with her hair. When the expected

offer of champagne finally came, she nodded bored assent. “Rich bitch” had never been

her game but it wasn’t as if it was a challenge. If being out with perfect male beauty was

enough to make you a VIP, who was she to refuse a request to act uselessly important

with the rest of them?

“Okay,” she said, waving bored fingers while she sipped. “Go ahead. I’ll wait.” She

watched each man awkwardly try to hold the door for the other. Oliver won, which

meant his fine ass was the last thing she saw before the door closed.

Now what, she thought, champagne tilted to her lips. Her gaze made its way to the

three-way mirror that beckoned to her like a down-home serial killer. I won’t hurt you, it

said. Hannah knew better but she got up anyway, taking the bubbly with her for

backup. She stood shoulders back, legs straight like a good soldier, and looked at

herself.

It wasn’t that bad. She had a good enough face. Long legs, slender build. The raw

materials were workable. It was just that she was somewhat underdressed. A little too

suburban carpool for her choice of companion. What she needed was a citified edge.

Oliver and his new pal would sort it out.

The thought came and went as Hannah caught sight of her eyes in the glass. The

expression revealed everything she was trying so hard to ignore. She looked skittish,

evasive, eyes wide, lips tight—like a kid with pilfered change in her hand—caught

between temptation and sure punishment.

Since when did she let men fix things for her? Since about the same time she’d

started hanging out with space aliens. A space alien she’d let fuck all the brains from

her head. Hannah tried to form some opinion of what she was up to but her buzzing

mind pinged like a poorly launched pinball. She didn’t even bother with the flippers

when it made a beeline back into its hole. None of it was worth getting up in arms

Alien, Interrupted

about. Oliver was temporary. A vacation-y thing. Like the world’s most exotic cabana

boy. He’d fawn, flatter and fuck until it was time to go home. She could live with that.

When they were done tweaking her trousseau, it might even be fun. She flopped

back on the couch, scooping up a catalog as she poured out more champagne. What on

earth would those boys come back with? She flipped a few pages. Nothing like that, she

hoped. The first image showed a sort of slutty prison warden—brass buttons and belts

over six inches of skirt. “Or that!” She let her face twist in horror at the ugly gash of red

wool on the following page. No bat wings please. She turned the page. No aging rocker.

No new-age witch. When the quiet tap at the door finally came, Hannah was primed for

disaster.

Jeremy sailed past her, his arms bearing a full weight of clothes. “Amazing,” he

mouthed on his way to the wall racks. Did that mean the clothes or the man? A tickle of

excitement made its way through the wine haze she’d started to feel. Rich color and

texture fanned out against the wall, pulling her with the force of a sunlit lake. She was

about to ask for a dressing room when she realized she was already in one. Hannah

looked from the clothes to her companions. Both men beamed back at her, thoroughly

pleased with themselves and in no hurry to leave.

“Perhaps you should wait outside,” she suggested. This idea seemed to puzzle

them. “That way it won’t spoil the effect.”

Oliver reluctantly nodded assent, whereupon Jeremy happily made off with him

again. At the click of the door handle, Hannah kicked off her shoes and stripped to her

pink undies, the only worthy garments she had on. She grabbed the first hanger and felt

herself fall in love.

They’d brought her a Fendi sheath with matching coat. Sleek, warm and sexy in a

light, creamy wool. She stepped into the dress, pulled her arms through the holes and

straightened into a deliciously perfect fit—close enough to outline her curves, loose

enough for the cool silky liner to brush at her belly whenever she moved. She slipped

the soft trench over her shoulders and cinched the belt tight, before turning back to the

mirror. The effect she saw was a killer brand of kittenish chic. Was that how Oliver saw

her? If so, she liked it. But it was probably best not to read too much into the choice. The

designer ensemble was wickedly expensive. She could have Jeremy’s commission to

thank instead.

Whatever the source, the suit felt so good, she’d have left it on forever if there

hadn’t been more. Hannah stepped out of the Fendi, into an adorably retro Akiko

shirtwaist in a foamy pale green. On the hanger, the design had looked banker prim.

When she got it on and saw the pearly buttons had been purposefully placed for casual

cleavage, a very different look emerged. Hannah laughed and did a turn. She stood

with her back to the mirror and circled her hips. This innocent dress had to be the most

perverted thing she’d ever had on, and she was most definitely taking it home.

Last but not least was a black velvet pencil skirt hooked beside an assortment of

blouses, all so exquisite she wanted to rub up against them. She had to suck in her

Iris Astres

stomach to zip up the skirt but the effort was worth it. The tight fit turned the lines of

her body into a continuous curve of female flesh.

Oh my god, she thought, eyes on her ass, I’m turning myself on. The self-love only

deepened when she slid the crimson blouse over her shoulders. The silk fell into place,

petal soft and paper thin, revealing the merest shadow of her lacey bra beneath. The

two pieces were classic—conservative in form and completely provocative in content.

They made her feel a crooked finger away from sex at any time. It was a very good

feeling.

Hannah opened the door to the dressing room, feeling happily shy, like a five-year-

old in tap shoes. She walked out to the circular foyer and saw Oliver waiting on a bench

while Jeremy rang up a purchase. Her handsome lover turned at her approach, and the

look on his face made her feel even hornier than the clothes. It was a primal, masculine

approval that had nothing to do with what she had on—a silent offer to help her out of

her things and slide his hands everywhere the delicious fabric had been.

As though that were precisely his intent, Oliver stood, ushering her back into the

dressing room. At the doorway, he paused. She watched him take a visual tour of her

body, his clear green eyes like trailing fingers over her breasts, along her belly and

down her thighs, until his expression locked into a frown at her bare feet.

“Jeremy,” Oliver called over his shoulder. Their personal shopper was quickly

striding up behind him. He stood at the dressing room door, while Oliver joined

Hannah in the center of the room. “She needs shoes. Can you do that?”

“Of course.” The hesitation was brief but Hannah had seen it. Either the man didn’t

do shoes or he dreaded the prospect.

“I have shoes at home,” she objected, rising up on her pink-polished toes. “I have a

gorgeous pair of black cutaways that will be fine.”

Oliver dismissed this, looking back at his accomplice.
“What size?” the man asked.
“Seven, but…” Hannah gave up.
Jeremy straightened his shoulders and started to leave before he paused, looking

thoughtfully at the door.

“It might take some time,” he said slowly. “At least a half hour. Maybe forty-five

minutes?”

Oliver understood. A warm smile of rewarded faith spread deliciously across his

face. “Forty-five minutes is fine,” he agreed.

Jeremy walked to the door and jiggled the handle. “It locks automatically,” he

informed them. “Be sure to prop it open if you leave, otherwise you’ll need to find me

for the key.”

“Does anyone else have the key?” Hannah didn’t even try to make the question

sound casual. It wasn’t as if anyone was being very subtle.

Alien, Interrupted

“Maintenance, in emergencies, and my boss.” Jeremy smiled. “But she’s on a

buying trip today, so really, it’s just me.” Open invitation thus extended, their host

turned and left.

Oliver pulled Hannah into his arms a second after the door clicked shut. He ran an

appreciative hand down the rich fabric clinging to her back and bottom. “Do you like

what we brought you?”

In answer, she reached both arms around his neck and nuzzled her mouth against

his. She licked at his lips, let her palms run down his muscled arms—the intimate

contact, sexy and hot, made her want to do more, but despite all the sex they’d had that

morning, her boldness still felt strangely presumptuous.

Oliver looked anything but put out. His face held that muzzy, turned-on look that

was absolute killer foreplay all by itself. Hannah felt the burn of wanting bleed into the

champagne that ran through her veins.

“Forty-five minutes is a pretty long time,” he rasped, glancing from her mouth to

the closed door. He kissed her again, one hand lowering to the hem of her skirt. Hannah

widened her stance and let his long fingers brush her knees, inching up to her thighs.

She flattened the palm of her hand to the front of his jeans and felt hard flesh rise

and expand toward his belt. Suddenly she absolutely had to have his cock. To touch it,

kiss it, lick and pull with her tongue until she felt him grow hard as a board, spasm and

shoot cum straight down her throat. Her thumb rubbed back and forth over the front of

his pants.

“Let me suck you off,” she said.
Oliver’s body straightened and went so still he seemed to change the temperature

of the room. The displaced sound of Bob Dylan singing Tangled Up in Blue over the

PA—a distant favorite of a distant beau—brought her uncomfortably back to her

surroundings. The skin around her neck and hairline grew cool from the lack of his heat

against her.

“No?” She blinked up at him, fighting the chill of rejection. “You don’t like it? Or

the way I said it?”

“Hannah.” His hand closed over her cheek, a soft and loving scold. “I love the

things you say. It’s nothing really. I’ve just never done it before.”

“Never?” It was probably uncool to sound so shocked. In her defense, she was

beyond surprised. How was such a thing possible? Even ugly guys got blown from time

to time. In Oliver’s case the idea flickered on contact through everyone’s mind. She

didn’t think they’d passed two consecutive people on the street who wouldn’t have

paid good money for the privilege of sucking him off. It might be he had hang-ups, but

she sure hadn’t seen any sign of them that morning.

“Is that like a planet thing?” The only possible explanation.
He smiled in lieu of an answer. It was devastating—the way a smile warmed his

eyes and shaped his perfect face. It made her feel instantly better about everything. She

leaned into him again, burrowing her cold nose into his warm neck, where she

Iris Astres

delicately sniffed to find the cookie scent beneath the odor of cotton and thrift store

wool.

“Okay then,” she said. “If you’re not comfortable with oral, we can do something

else.”

Oliver draped his arms around her and rested his chin on her head. “Maybe I

should explain something first,” he said.

“Oh shit.” Hannah pulled away.
He led her to the couch where both of them sat down.
“On Thalia,” he said, and she leaned away to watch him speak, “there’s something

called rapid pair-bonding.” He shot her a measuring glance and she shrugged her

acceptance so far. Nothing in the concept of pair-bonding to get nervy about, unless…

Hannah shot rigidly upright against the back of the couch and stared him down.

“You said you were single,” she warned.

He blinked at her. “I am. You’re—” He started to say something, shook his head

and stopped. “There’s no one else, Hannah.”

She narrowed her eyes.
“No one. Anywhere. In any world.”
“Okay.” She drew a breath. “Sorry to interrupt. I’m just anti-cheating. So anyway,

why no blowjobs?”

He shrugged. “There are rules of intimacy on my planet. Something like your idea

of safe sex, but where I’m from it takes a different shape. Because of our predisposition

to pair-bonding, the mind is more at stake than the body—although the two are

connected, of course.” Oliver apparently didn’t like the disjointed explanation any more

than she did. He slipped out of his jacket and angled his body against the armrest,

gauging her reaction while he tried again. “There are two ways two people can get close

on my planet—slowly, over time, which is good. Or all at once, which can be very bad.”

“I see,” Hannah said. “So oral sex makes you bond too fast. Like chugging a slushie,

it gives you a headache. Is that it?”

“Almost. Except it’s more like you go insane.”
“Insane?” Hannah blinked. “So that’s why you’ve never come in anyone’s mouth.”
“Right.”
She blinked again, working hard to grasp the thought. “Because it’s dangerous for

you, or for the girl?”

“Both.” He thought it over. “But in this case, I suppose it would be more dangerous

for the girl.”

“And you’ve never wanted to put anyone at risk by letting your cum go to their

head, as it were.”

“Right.” He looked confused.
“Because you’ve never been bonded.”

Alien, Interrupted

“No.”
“But you’ve had sex.”
“Yes.”
“So it’s only blowjobs that are dangerous?” That was just weird. “What about all

the things you did to me this morning? That was worse, if you ask me.”

Oliver stared politely back at her incredulous face, his expression so open she

couldn’t figure him out at all.

“Anyway, I’m from here, so it’s safe—right?”
He stood up. His hands pulled the tab of his belt hard to the side, releasing it from

the buckle. The belt came off, the metal buttons of his fly slid out of their holes one by

one. Oliver reached his right hand into his pants and extracted his long, hard cock. She

watched it all at eye level, including the stroke of his fingers running slowly from

crown to base and up again.

“Suck me off,” he said.
Despite the temptation, she hesitated. What if this really was dangerous for him

somehow? But how could it be, after everything else they’d done? “You’re not going to

lose your mind, or your job or something?”

Oliver laughed. “I alre…” He stopped himself. She stared up at his face. “I’m on

vacation,” he said.

“You did it to me,” she reasoned.
“That’s right,” he agreed. “Shall I do it again?”
Hannah pulled the tight velvet skirt high enough for her to sink comfortably to her

knees. “Wait your turn,” she said. Before anyone could change their mind, she parted

her lips and slid her mouth around the head of his cock.

Oliver sucked in air. His hips flexed fractionally forward and the heat of his hands

hovered over her hair. Hannah sucked him deeper, filling her mouth with a flavor that

was clean and hot: a perfectly distilled, more complex version of the taste of his lips and

his skin. She savored the dual sensation of his straining cock and the sexual tension in

his muscled belly, before drawing back to admire the look of him covered in spit.

Oliver’s cock was as gorgeous as the rest of him. Smooth, full and heavy, it rose

from the gap in his jeans like a thick length of living pipe suspended by wires.

She gave it a lick and saw the flicker of muscle at the gap where his t-shirt was

lifting from his jeans. Suddenly the man was wearing too many clothes.

Hannah curled her fingers over the sides of his pants and tugged. When he pressed

a hand to her shoulder, she thought he might be about to protest—instead he toed off

his shoes so that she could pull his pants all the way off, leaving him naked from the

waist down. She pushed the rumpled denim out of the way and caught a glimpse of her

reflection in the three-way mirror. This gave Hannah the best idea she’d ever had.

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“Come over here,” she said, crossing the distance on her knees. Oliver followed

without question or complaint. When she had him where she wanted him, the extent of

her genius took shape.

She could see his hard cock in front of her, the muscles in his ass and legs reflected

in the mirror behind him, his face reflected just to her left. If pleasure did indeed begin

at home, then this was going to be very good, because the sight of this man naked and

hot for her from all three directions was about the sexiest thing she’d ever seen.

Provided they could finish before Jeremy’s return.

Hannah didn’t waste any more time. She sucked his cock into her mouth. He

groaned, fingers threading lightly through her hair.

His excitement made her incredibly hot. Jeremy or no, this needed to last. She ran

light fingertips over his ass while she took him as deep as she could. She opened the

back of her throat wide and sucked until the faint metallic taste brought tears to her

eyes. Still she couldn’t take him all.

He didn’t seem to care. That same stoned expression was back on his face. Parted

lips and heavy lids. Dorian Grey in his opium den. It turned her on enough for a

moment of selfishness to cross her mind into thinking the thick dick she was sucking

could just as easily be fucking her. But no. It was about time he got his cock sucked.

Hannah started a sweet rocking rhythm, tonguing the soft spot where the head met

the shaft. While she worked, she focused on the muscles clenching in his buttocks, and

ran her fingertips over the hot skin of both cheeks, then lightly down the crack of his ass

where she scraped with her nails at the back of his balls. Oliver began to thrust into her

mouth and she pulled away, gasping for breath.

“Touch it,” she said, wiping at her mouth. “Stroke your cock. Let me see.”
He obliged. The elegant shape of his fingers stroked up and down the shaft,

pausing occasionally for a few quick pulls under the head.

Hannah’s sharpened, greedy gaze was presented with several equally fine angles

from which to view the scene—the flex of stomach muscles reflected in one mirror, the

clenched curve of his ass in another. His fist wrapped around the head of his cock, he

stroked and pulled while she pressed his balls with the palm of her hand and scraped

between his legs with her nails. He groaned and she closed her mouth over him again.

Her lips and mouth stretched around him. She bobbed and sucked, eyes wide and

watching while his body shuddered under her caressing hands.

When the ache in her jaw was too much, Hannah opened her mouth wide, tongue

flattened to the underside of his shaft, and stared up his body, into his eyes. They were

focused down on her, heavy with pleasure and something else. Something deep and

wondering—all for her. She swallowed him again and heard his breath catch, then a

few words she couldn’t make out.

The expression she’d seen in his eyes flickered electric through Hannah’s head. She

sucked with purpose, with something like love, slow and deep, until his cock seemed to

breathe under her tongue. Pulling inward like the tide, it pulsed long and hard, the hot

Alien, Interrupted

rush of cum spilling over her tongue and into her throat where she sucked and pulled

and licked it greedily down.

Yom was still on his feet when it was over. He knew because he saw his dazed

expression in the mirror, the gooseflesh rising on her arms, a shudder running from his

heart into his belly.

He didn’t have to look to know that Hannah hadn’t risen from her knees. He could

feel his cock twitch in her warm mouth. Her hands were still caressing his ass while her

breath brushed rhythmically along the crease of his thigh.

She was being careful just to hold him, for which he was intensely grateful. Any

more stimulation and he’d have to pull away.

He wanted to stay.
Dangerous for you or for the girl? Yom heard Hannah’s question repeat in his head

along with the obvious answer.

It was dangerous for him.
Or had it been? He tried to think this through, although his brain felt as limp and

exhausted as his prick.

Could he really say what they’d just done had made things worse? That he’d been

damaged by her saliva? The way she’d looked up at him, her tongue rippling beneath

the swollen head of his cock? The hot clasp of her mouth around him while he came?

While he couldn’t discount the certain aftereffects of such pleasure, he wasn’t sure it

made anything worse. If they spent their time walking, sleeping, reading, doing chores,

he’d still be just as much in love.

In love.
Yom looked at their lovely obscene image in the mirror and felt his heart confirm

the thought. Whether love was independent of the chemical reaction—because of it, on

top of it, the catalyst or consequence—he couldn’t think and frankly didn’t care. He

loved her. That was true.

Hannah’s mouth was moving on his cock. She swallowed one last time. He looked

to find her face tilted up at him. Their eyes met in the mirror. She was flushed with

deep contentment but unsatisfied. He wrapped his hands around her arms, his cock

already thickening in preparation.

Outside, a throat was theatrically cleared.
Jeremy.
Yom groaned.
Hannah smiled wryly at his reflection in the mirror and handed him his pants.

Iris Astres

Chapter Eight

When they reached sight of the house, Hannah sprinted toward the stairs to her

apartment, her heart keeping time with the sound of Oliver’s steady pursuit. They’d

walked all the way home from Union Square, pleasantly high on the cold Sapporo

they’d drunk with their sushi, driven ever forward by the world’s best reason for

calling it an early night.

With a burning vision of mutual molestation ever present in her mind, Hannah

paused in the downstairs light to fish out her keys. A shadow flickered at the top of the

stairs.

“There you are.” Richard peered down at her from the upstairs landing. “I brought

these—” He descended one step, a spindly red bouquet extending forward. “For your

cat.” He grinned. “I assume he’s all right?”

Hannah stared at the shadowy form while classic movie scenes flickered through

her head—a disappointing ex, a handsome Romeo, the girl giddy and teetering, dressed

for a party, while sex visions visibly danced overhead. But Hannah would never be cast

in such a role—far too brunette to ever be so blonde. She felt no titillation and no

triumph. The night air pricked against her flushed skin, growing clammy with the

sudden downer.

She nodded dumbly at the flowers and tried to muster a thank you that would also

serve as warning for poor, unsuspecting Richard. When no words came, Hannah

blinked an apology, turning guiltily toward the man drawing to a stop at her side.

Richard’s gaze shifted as well.

“Hello,” said Oliver.
At first, the sight of him simply didn’t register. Richard waited politely for the

stranger to move on. When that didn’t happen he looked back at Hannah, a question in

his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she said.
Richard let the flowers fall into the shadows around him. “I see,” he said. “You

have a guest.”

She nodded, backing away from the stairs.
His descent grew rapid, determined. Hannah felt the beginnings of a strong if

rather heartless wish that her uninvited guest would just go away, so she could finally

fuck the man she’d been lusting after all day. Oliver had given her the best date of her

life—a flirtation so prolonged and so hot, it had been painful. When the third waiter

had openly leered at her new look, Hannah nudged Oliver’s leg under the table and felt

his big, warm hand wrap around her calf, where it stayed, moving slowly, for the rest of

Alien, Interrupted

the meal. It had made her very hot. The whole day had made her crazy for him. She

wanted relief. She wanted him naked. She wanted his body hot and hard inside her

again. All that male beauty and strength lifting her out of herself into that heaven of

perfect, mindless sex.

Richard hit the bottom step. On the verge of a terse good night, he paused to look at

her, and whatever he saw made the furrows in his brow arch and deepen. “This is your

vet, I presume.” He looked pointedly at Oliver before taking the last step down to the

concrete, where he waited for his explanation.

“This is my date, Richard,” she said. “I’m sorry. I know we were trying for

something but it just wasn’t working. Let’s please still be friends. I was so happy to be

back in touch with you. I’d miss you if we had to say goodbye.”

Richard’s eyes grew flat at the mention of friends. She watched the press of his lips,

the twitch in his jaw that signaled his displeasure. When his gaze shifted to Oliver, it

grew even more disgusted, as though the handsome man were equal to the losing pick

in a game of Three Card Monty, and Richard had been the witless sucker to an obvious

con. “How long have you been fucking him?” he said.

Hannah leaned reflexively away from the nasty tone and felt an answering

movement behind her.

“Oliver.” She reached for his arm, shook her head. “It’s okay.”
“You named your fucking cat after him?” Hard eyes glinted with disgust at

Hannah’s guilty expression. “How long?” he demanded.

“Not long. And we weren’t…” She stopped. “It all happened last night after you

left.”

“Sure,” he said. “Whatever.” He began to walk down the narrow concrete path but

turned suddenly to hurl the bouquet over the railing into the bushes. A trio of moths

circled the light, making loopy black shadows flicker across his face as he leaned closer.

“He’s just screwing you, Hannah. You know that, don’t you?” His voice was low, oddly

out of breath and unfamiliar. “You’re probably just a vaguely amusing change from his

usual bimbo. How long do you think it’ll be before he gets bored? Do you think I’m

coming back after that, so that we can be friends again? Because I wouldn’t count on it.”

He brushed the seemingly bitter taste of Hannah’s friendship from his lips and turned

back down the path.

“Richard.” Oliver’s voice was quiet, insistent. He took a step toward the departing

man, head cocked to one side.

Hannah studied him for signs of violence. All she needed now was some ghastly

macho confrontation. It was a relief to see her ex-cat looking imminently reasonable,

benevolent in fact, like some dreamy GQ version of an early sitcom dad.

“You either care about a woman, or you want to see her miserable,” he said. “It

can’t be both.”

Richard turned from ten feet away, offering only the barest acknowledgement.

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“So if you truly care for Hannah, come and fight for her, and if not, let her go,

without this condemnation.”

For a moment there was only dark and stillness down the path. The silence was

eventually broken by the smallest of coughs that effectively marked Richard’s decision.

“Goodbye, Hannah,” he said. Warmth didn’t exactly blaze from him but at least the

icy tone of angry hurt had gone. He turned into the shadows and kept walking.

When even the sound of his footsteps had vanished into darkness, Oliver led

Hannah up the stairs. He took her keys, managed both locks and opened the door,

depositing the packages on the floor as he turned on the kitchen light to look into her

face. She couldn’t think there was much to see there. She was feeling pretty blank.

Mechanically, she moved to the stove and flicked the kettle on for tea.

He’s just screwing you, Hannah. The toxic speech echoed dully through Hannah’s

brain. It wasn’t as though the words conjured a loss she hadn’t prepared for. She was

well aware the crazy buzz she’d been feeling was temporary—when you had killer sex

with a gorgeous spaceman, temporary was a foregone conclusion. But she’d told herself

that was a good thing. No illusions. No surprises. No self-recrimination with goodbye.

The comedown might be unpleasant, but ten minutes ago it had been a price she’d been

more than willing to pay. Now, however, in the echo of Richard’s curse, the thought of

Oliver’s inevitable absence was slowly seeping into her, leaving her hollow with

loneliness, and very cold.

“Are you sorry?” Oliver’s voice was in the same spot behind her, by the door. For a

big man he was very good at giving space.

“Sorry about what? Richard?” She shrugged. “There really isn’t that much to be

sorry about. Except that I made him unhappy, although—” She glanced over her

shoulder. “You were right in what you said, I think. It wasn’t me he cared about—just

his pride.” She paused, pulling the threads of Oliver’s intervention together in her

mind. “You weren’t really going to fight him, were you?”

“Why not?”
“Can you fight?”
“Everyone can fight.” He threw the line away but Hannah wasn’t convinced. For all

Oliver’s height and muscle, he looked more like an aristocrat than a warrior.

“Richard took some martial arts, you know.”
“What makes you think I haven’t?”
“Have you?”
“Yes.” Oliver smiled. “Lots.”
For some reason, that made Hannah grin as well.
“Would you like to see?” He glanced at the door. “I could try to catch him.”
“No!”

Alien, Interrupted

Shrugging, Oliver lowered his body into one of her wicker chairs and stretched his

long legs out in front of him. “Actually, I didn’t really mean he should physically fight,”

he continued. “I thought he might make a case for himself. Apologize. Beg.”

“Beg!” Hannah scoffed.
“In his place I would, if I thought it would work.”
“Where would a man like you learn how to beg?”
She was openly staring now. Trying again to think what she liked best about him.

The Byronic smolder? The careless curl of his hair above his intelligent eyes? The way

elegant clothes matched the balletic length of his limbs? Piece by piece, it was pretty

hard to choose. She should remember to take pictures. Something to remember him by

when he was gone.

The sudden urge to store up keepsakes made her feel like some jittery woodland

creature scenting snow. Hannah wrinkled her nose and turned back to the stove.

“All men can fight, and all men can beg.” The warm voice hit her like a hand on her

shoulder. She opened a canister of tea and fought the impulse to turn back around. “All

that’s needed is the right motivation. Why don’t you come here and let me show you

how motivated I am.”

“I…” Hannah pressed her palms into the counter and grappled with a big decision

she never dreamed she’d have to make. Female empowerment aside, there was

something pretty distasteful in a grown woman daring to demure after all the flirting

she’d done that day. The dressing room blowjob alone was bound to give a guy ideas. It

was probably a little late for reluctance. On the other hand, if for whatever reason her

heart wasn’t in it…

The kettle clicked off and she poured hot water over a measure of chamomile,

letting the steamy fragrance reassure her, while she worked out what to say. The tea

steeped as long seconds ticked. With her back to the man at her table she poured it into

cups, still at a loss for words.

“It’s okay to look at me, Hannah. It won’t mean we have to have sex.”
“I’m sorry.” She turned, shoulders shrugging helplessly as she tilted her grim

apology into Oliver’s eyes. She couldn’t have sex with him now. The mood had been

shattered.

Had he looked put out, she would have understood. He’d definitely have his

reasons, but that wasn’t anything like the expression she saw. No anger,

just…discomfort? His breath was shallow, his body still. He looked suddenly paler,

straighter, otherwise politely blank, like a man who’d just been given a very bad

diagnosis. Terminal cancer. Three months to live. Hannah blinked the ridiculous image

away and handed him his cup.

“I’m going to put this stuff away,” she said.
Before the silence between them had the chance to grow more awkward, she

gathered the collection of bags in the hand not holding her tea and made her way into

Iris Astres

her dressing room. When the door closed behind her, she drew a deep cleansing breath,

slid back the doors to both closets and set to work putting things away.

The first bag, ironically, contained what they’d picked out for Oliver. She left the

boxer briefs, t-shirts and socks in the bag. The wool slacks and sweater that had made

him look Movieland-handsome and good enough to bronze, she folded and placed on

the dresser. Later she’d move all his stuff to the closet in the hall. She dipped into the

second larger bag and removed the shoeboxes, placing them on the shelf above her

clothes. That done, she folded the bag and slid it along the closet wall with the others

she’d kept.

It felt good, tending to these little things. Her house, her life, her domain. She could

tidy, arrange, order her world, the same way she organized books and films and poems.

That was all relationship too, after all. Who’s to say her solitude was less worthy than

any other life? She’d be fine. She’d survive this. Hannah the handler—not for nothing

had they called her that in school.

Thus heartened, Hannah unfolded the vinyl garment bag Jeremy had zipped her

own purchases into, and took one last peek at the creamy wool sheath and matching

coat she’d bought. She ran her fingers over the frothy green Akiko dress. Everything

was so gorgeous, and the fact that the outfits had been chosen for her by an equally

gorgeous man still felt intimate and strange. Magical, really.

So why exactly had she skulked off and left the man alone with a cup of chamomile

in her kitchen? Because of Richard’s crazy he’s-just-screwing-you thing?

Richard might have some anger issues, and in this case, he was plain old wrong—

screwing like that wasn’t just anything. The sex she’d had that morning had been life

altering. A series of orgasmic bursts of lightning that had altered her inner terrain,

made things a little more solid inside her. She’d had enough before-and-after events in

her life to recognize the feeling. And it wasn’t just that, anyway. Oliver was sweet, he

was fun, he was gorgeous and giving. She’d never experienced anything like him

before. Why would she turn her back on that?

The flicker of doubt made Hannah sit in the big velvet chair by the door. The

question was worthy of a solid answer—so what was it? She was calling a halt to the

best sex of her life with a man she unreservedly adored because…

Because it had come to her out of nowhere and would end up as nothing.
That was it.
Too good to lose and impossible to keep was not the future she was after. If

someone beamed her catman up right now she’d be okay with it. Better than okay,

really. She’d be the happiest old woman in the nursing home, blissfully rocking to the

indelible image of his ass flexing in the mirror while she’d sucked his cock. But if she let

it go on another week? Two weeks? And then he disappeared? She might just feel like a

fatherless ten-year-old again. A ten-year-old without a center to her world. Abandoned

and lost. Undone and alone. Her whole life she’d worked hard not to feel that way

again, and she wasn’t about to let up now.

Alien, Interrupted

Hannah stood with new resolve and unhooked the waist to her tight velvet skirt,

feeling the silky lining brush over her thighs on the way to the floor. She unbuttoned

the silk blouse, unhooked her bra, pulled on an old pair of yoga pants and threw a boxy

fleece over her head. Goodbye, seductress—hello, roommate. A little sad, maybe, but

ultimately for the best.

When she’d hung everything up and stowed the bags, she emerged from her

dressing room to find the apartment quiet and dark. Only a faint stream of light from

the street filtered into her bedroom through a few uneven slats in the blinds. It was just

enough to make out the shape of Oliver’s body in her bed.

She’d vaguely considered making up the daybed in her office for him but this was

probably better. Less awkward than a last-minute change of sleeping arrangements for

one thing, and a California king could be like separate zip codes when you wanted it to

be.

Feeling slightly awkward despite those facts, Hannah crawled into bed and lay on

her side for a minute, listening to the rhythm of his breathing, waiting for a shift in

posture to indicate he was asleep. When after long minutes nothing came, she rolled

over and looked at him in the darkness. He was flat on his back, hands clasped on his

chest, eyes blinking up at the ceiling.

“Tell me about your planet.”
The abrupt shift beside her let her know she’d picked a lousy icebreaker.
“Let me guess,” she said, propping herself up on an elbow. “You can tell me, but

then you have to kill me. Is that it?”

“Don’t say that.” The tension in him ratcheted another notch. “You’re not in

danger, Hannah, but you shouldn’t know the planet exists. Or that I exist, for that

matter.”

“Okay, but don’t worry. I won’t ever tell.” She wouldn’t. Not for anything. Ever.
He nodded.
For long minutes they both lay on their backs, staring at the trail of headlights

across the ceiling.

“Can’t you tell me something else?” she suggested. “A story, maybe. Something

you liked growing up?”

“A story.” Oliver’s head turned. She wondered if his eyesight was better than her

own. “I was thinking of a story today, actually.” His body shifted under the covers. “It

was a serial fantasy, with very realistic drawings—the kind we all kept under our beds

at school.”

“Under the bed, huh? That sounds promising. Was it sexy? Like an adult comic

book? A graphic novel?”

He emitted a quick huff of air. “More graphic than comical, I’d say. It was called

Anota, the Slave Girl.” The silvery flicker of headlights slid like water across the ceiling.

Oliver turned again. “You look like her,” he said.

Iris Astres

“I look like Anota the slave girl?” This was exciting.
“How do you know that’s a good thing?” he asked.
“I don’t, I guess. Was she a mutant?”
“She was pure sex,” said Oliver. “The biggest turn-on of my young life.” His arms

stretched over the pillow and she felt his feet move under the covers. Then he stacked

his hands under his head and stared at the ceiling, as though he could see a woman

there. “Soft curls, long legs, and this.” Very suddenly, his hand reached across the bed

and landed at her waist, where it slowly swept up to her ribs and then down to her hip.

“She had the same long, sexy S shape you have. Guaranteed to make my cock instantly

hard. Then as now.”

Hannah pulled a protective pillow into her stomach and tucked her knees around

it, while Oliver settled back, hands under his head again. “So tell me about An… What’s

her name?”

“Anota, the Slave Girl. Well,” Oliver said with a cough, “as the title suggests, Anota

was captured and enslaved when her city fell to an invading nation.”

“Your planet has slavery?”
“Had, Hannah, thousands of years ago. But this is a fantasy story, not history.”
“Of course. Sorry. Keep going. I’ll shut up.”
A doubtful snort left him at her promise of silence, but he started the story and

Hannah listened dutifully, without saying a word.

“While the world was divided into warring tribes,” he began, “the wise and

beautiful Anota was captured and auctioned as a slave. We find her in the first

illustrated panel on the verge of being sold to a man named Vlammick, but at the last

minute the small ratlike chieftain is outbid by a tall, hooded stranger.”

“Yay,” whispered Hannah.
“The cloaked newcomer, we eventually learn, is a man named Charnyl,” he

continued. “An ardent opponent of slavery, he spends a fortune to buy the mesmerizing

beauty away from Vlammick, whom he knows to be ruthlessly cruel to his slaves and a

sexual sadist besides. The good deed costs him more than money, however, because

now he must make a long journey back to his village, where he can leave Anota in his

mother’s care.”

“Why?”
“Because she can’t stay with him.”
“Why not?”
“Because she’s a woman.”
“What’s he got against women?”
“He’s got nothing against women, sweetness. The problem is, they turn him on.

Especially the sexy ones.”

“Hmph,” Hannah said.

Alien, Interrupted

“All right then,” he conceded. “You might say Charnyl’s like an early model sex

addict—if he abstains from sex entirely, he’s fine, but once he starts fucking, he can’t get

enough. And during war times that kind of hobby can be dangerous.”

Hannah nodded, dipping a mollified chin into her pillow.
“So, Anota and Charnyl set off for a place that will preserve her safety and his

sanity, but—” A dramatic pause. “On the way the two are attacked by brigands.”

“Oh no,” said Hannah.
“Bravely, Charnyl gives his only weapon to Anota who promptly murders both

men.”

“Go Anota.”
“Right. It seems the silent slave has untapped assets.”
“Yikes. You’re not setting up some lame ‘tap her assets’ joke, are you?”
“What?”
Hannah hunkered lower against the pillow, which she used to hide her smile.

“Never mind,” she said.

“As I was saying.” Oliver cleared his throat. “The beautiful slave and her honorable

master, who was slightly injured in the fight, stop in a village inn. Charnyl does his best

to keep his distance, but because Anota’s convinced their attackers were sent by

Vlammick, and that her master was wounded because of her, she won’t leave his side.

A few nights of her constant care, and Charnyl feels his resolve start to crumble. He

decides to scare her off.”

“How?”
“With sex.”
“Oh good. Does it work?”
“No. It’s an utter failure.”
“Even better.”
Oliver turned to his side. The thin beam of light that poured through the uneven

slat in the blinds caught his handsome face for just a moment, before he settled back

into the shadows. His voice spilled into the dark room with all the luscious stimulation

of espresso. This is what spellbound is like, Hannah thought, and she tightened her knees

around the pillow, circling her hips.

“Charnyl gives Anota a transparent length of cloth, telling her to wear nothing else

when she serves his meals. The expectation, of course, is that she’ll refuse. But she

appears before him as he’s asked. Her whole body’s exposed beneath the glimmering

fabric, and Charnyl’s transfixed by the sight, instantly on fire for her. Still, he’s

determined to execute his plan and make her rebuff him. His actions become rougher,

more insulting. He orders her to sit on the table with the food while he eats. He lewdly

examines her between mouthfuls, using an insolent hand to press and pull at her limbs,

posing her to his liking, as though she’s no more than a plaything for him to enjoy.”

Iris Astres

“Wow.”
“Through it all Anota submits, and Charnyl’s blood grows hotter, drawing him

more deeply into his own trap. Finally, he stands. Pushing the dishes aside, he lays his

willing slave back on the table and parts the folds of his tunic to reveal his hard,

enormous cock.”

“Enormous, huh.”
“Very much so. Illustrators often have a taste for exaggeration.”
“Who can blame them?” Hannah said. “Did Anota scream and run away?”
“She did not.”
“Ah.” Hannah took a moment to picture the scene. Lovely Anota in her gossamer

drape, spread open amongst the plates and dishes across the heavy wood table, Charnyl

looming over her with his big hard dick in his hand. “Does he fuck her?”

“No.” The answer came after a pause. Hannah lifted herself to look at Oliver.

Despite her adjustment to the dark, his expression was shadowed, unreadable. “He

remembers himself in time,” he said. “She’s the slave, after all. He’s determined to

master her. Charnyl doubles his efforts to turn her away, assuming at some point she’ll

reject his domination. ‘Your legs aren’t far enough apart,’ he barks. She spreads them

wider. ‘Turn over,’ he commands. Anota obeys, crawling onto the table on all fours. He

pulls her knees apart, leans his heavy arm into her shoulder, until her breasts are

pressed into the unfinished wood, and her hips are arched high, all of her open and

exposed. Her sex is wet and swollen—in the drawing you can actually see it drip.”

“Wow.” Hannah swallowed hard to clear the dry sound in her throat.
“He holds her down, head turned away from him, cheek pressed into the wood.

And when he has her pinned, Charnyl uses his thick rough fingers to play with her

pussy, sliding them inside her, stroking them over her clit. He presses her down and

works her slow and steady, until she comes on his hand.”

Hannah focused on drawing her breath in slow, shallow sips, nothing but darkness

in front of her eyes and the deep, sweet sound of Oliver’s voice folding around her like

another world. She wanted him to stop and make love to her.

“He…” Oliver paused, like a man who’d lost conviction in the middle of a pledge.

He brought both hands to his chest and cleared his throat. “Anota comes, and Charnyl

steps away. If he dismisses her now, he tells himself, he’s still the master. He orders her

to go and she stirs herself to comply, but her body is shaken and weak. She stumbles

getting off the table.”

“Clever,” Hannah said.
“Yes,” Oliver agreed. “Charnyl feels her soft hot skin press against him, and a

second later she’s flat on her back again, this time with her master’s hard hot cock

inside her.”

There the story stopped, and Hannah didn’t press for more. She was

uncharacteristically without comment on the text. The room was so still, she could feel

Alien, Interrupted

their breath mingling above the bed, while the phantom sensation of a thick, hard cock

throbbed inside her wet pussy. She was soaked again. Beyond turned-on. On the verge

of chucking all her good intentions out the window. But how lamely self-defeating

would that be? If she made a pass at Oliver now, there’d be no going back later. No—I

mean yes—I mean no was not her style. No style at all. Yes would be forever yes. Which

meant that she would grow to need him. Which meant that she would have to lose him.

Which meant that she would grieve.

Hannah stared hard into the darkness, willing Oliver to decide in her place. If he

made the first move, she’d submit. But he didn’t move. Hadn’t moved, in fact. Hands

still clasped on his chest, he was rigid as a corpse. Hannah shifted slightly forward and

used the movement to snake one bare foot closer to his side of the bed.

It felt cold over there. Frosty, even. Like cold brick beneath ashes. Where was that

glorious heat she’d felt rolling off him all day? A flashing image of the drawn look

she’d seen in the kitchen made her wriggle closer, until she could get a hand on his

belly. It was chilly and damp as moonlit sand. She thought she felt a tiny shudder ripple

underneath her palm.

Hannah sat up. “What’s the matter?”
No answer. He turned slowly, as though it hurt him to move. Hannah flung herself

over him to reach the light on the nightstand. He stopped her. “Don’t do that,” he said.

“What’s wrong?” she demanded. She couldn’t see clearly but his cheeks looked

hollow to her now, his forehead and jaw creased with pain. “Tell me.”

He reached for her, hands slipping under her fleece over her bare back. She sucked

in a breath at the cold on her skin and he let go. “What is it?” Curling around him,

Hannah tried to make him warm again, legs cradling his hips, arms around his neck.

She rubbed at his legs with the balls of her feet and pressed her face into his neck.

“Hannah.”
She raised her head to look at him.
“Kiss me,” he said.

Somewhere, somehow in all the lectures he’d been given against rapid bonding at

school, they’d neglected to mention the pain. Yom couldn’t imagine why they’d left that

part out. Unless, of course, no one had ever lived to describe it, which might very well

be true. It’s like being buried in a deep freeze, kids, with a vise screwed tight around your balls.

Maybe one day he’d give his testimonial. But only if he managed to survive.

Increasing his chances of living through this was Hannah’s warm body, her words

gently cooing over him. She rocked against his frozen skin, as soothing as the slosh of

warm soapy water in a tub. He didn’t deserve her compassion, but he was going to

accept it, because otherwise he’d die from this, which wouldn’t be a help to either one

of them. Yom’s leaden arms wrapped around her rocking body, pulling her close. The

feel of her skin against his wasn’t a long-term solution, but for the moment, it would

definitely do.

Iris Astres

And when the pain subsided, what then? How could he help her? The fact was, she

was right to keep her distance from him. Right to want clarity and stability from the

man who shared her bed. Right to insist on it, demand it for herself. Not only could he

not give her that, he was going to bring on her worst fears instead. He would

disappear—not quite like a death, but very much like that, whisked off by the Council

guard as soon as they found out he’d become a risk. He’d have to prepare her for that

somehow. When the closeness he needed to breathe was restored, he’d explain it all to

her. Prepare her. Honesty was all he had. And that much he would give her. When he

could.

As for himself, there was no preparation. He was clearly done for. The bonding had

been lethally quick, insanely intense. Being separated by distrust and three feet of

mattress had been like a knife to the heart. To be torn from her and separated by

hundreds of millions of miles would kill him. It was as simple as that.

“Kiss me,” he asked her again, and this time, mercifully, Hannah snaked her tongue

between his lips. He felt the tickle, the warmth, the sweet wet press of her against him,

and the ice in his veins began at last to thaw.

She kissed him again. Her hot mouth lapped at the pain, dissolving what it didn’t

wear away. It distracted him from hopelessness into the strange solace of physical need.

Unlike Hannah, he, at least, would not regret this closeness. He loved her too much,

loved this too much. Yom thread his fingers through her hair, sucking hungrily at her

mouth. When that wasn’t enough, he rolled her onto her back and tugged the black

cotton down from her hips to the foot of the bed. He settled himself between her knees

and kissed and licked at her skin, moaning with the sweetness of it.

The vibration of sound in his throat was so soothing he spoke to her as well.

“Hannah.” Her name and what it meant to him. “Good,” “so sweet,” “my love.” Her thighs

parted, her back arched and the words in his mouth grew thicker with lust. “Yes,” he

said. “That’s it, let me have you, let me fuck you, open for me, more.” Sound poured out of

him in a hot heavy stream, coaxing her desire, begging her forgiveness, assuring his

devotion. He spoke until a stillness in her made the fog recede enough for him to pull

away. He watched the muscles in her belly grow taut with the effort it took for her to sit

up, a timid question in her eyes.

“Charnyl?” she asked.
Yom stopped. At first he was too puzzled by the word to know what to say in

return, but soon he realized what he’d done. He’d been speaking to her in Gna-ma, the

language of his birth. In her sweetness she chose to believe it was part of the story. A

game of barbaric invader. Of master and slave. Yom pressed a quick kiss into the thatch

of hair between her thighs before he rose to his knees above her.

“Anota,” he said. He motioned for her to turn over and get on her knees.

The silent darkness made Hannah uncertain, but she was far too turned on to

question anything now. She got onto all fours, her pussy already throbbing with the

Alien, Interrupted

thrill of exposure. When she’d settled, a large hand closed over her shoulder and

pushed her face into the muting softness of the sheets.

His roughness shocked her. She’d never played this kind of game before. Even

more of a shock was to feel how strong a man’s body actually was. With one hand, he’d

all but immobilized her. It made her heart begin to race.

Then there were the words again. The language was like nothing she’d ever heard

before—a rasping stream of alien sound. She heard a sibilant slur, the muffled taps of

unpopped Ts and Ds, something like Turkish, she thought, with a melodic overlay of

Tamil, Kashmiri or some more ancient version of the two. Whatever it was, the odd

sound spilled around her, lingered in the gaps left by her hammering heart. She felt his

fingers push the fleece over her back until it bunched at her neck, and she rose up

enough to pull it over her head. The impatient gesture might not be in keeping with

feigned subservience, but she wanted to be naked for him. It excited her to know that he

could see her everywhere, touch her anywhere he wanted, anytime.

The front of his thighs brushed against the back of hers, his right forearm pressed

like an iron bar against her upper back. His chin came to rest against the base of her

neck. More sounds, the harsh tone morphing into dark persuasion that washed against

the shell of her ear and made the fine hair at her temple rise.

Hannah imagined herself a slave, taken irreversibly from one life into another—a

defeat that led to the icy freedom of no choice. This was what it must be like. To be

plundered, conquered, forced into erotic compliance by a man she mutely wanted.

She tried to move against his arms, to feel the way his strength excited her. His

muscles hardened and she loved it. They rippled behind her, feeding the erotic force of

her own powerlessness. He could keep her under him this way for hours, no more of an

effort than holding a door closed against a gust of wind. She couldn’t stop him.

“Ahna.” His right hand wrapped around her thigh just above the knee, coaxing her

to open for him. The spread of her legs widened the lips of her sex, her pussy so wet

and swollen it seemed to fuck the empty air. He still held her pinned with his left hand,

while the heat of his breath and the form of strange syllables tickled her neck.

“Ektha,” she heard. “Nazair,” and then a string of words like an incantation, filling

her with an image of herself as someone he could use however he wanted.

When his thick cock bumped against her, desire rushed through her mouth in a

tight choking sound. She had to fight to keep still, not to open herself beyond what he

asked, not to reach back and press greedily against him. Instead she knelt, ass in the air,

his intractable weight bearing down on her shoulders while his body grew hot and

urgent behind her, no anger in him she could feel, only the heat of a mindless appetite

much like her own.

His body pulled away and she bit down her protest. When the cool air tingled on

her sensitized skin, she knew he’d drawn back to look at her. She imagined his deep

green eyes traveling from her nape to the small of her back. A slow, detailed inspection

of the soft white mounds of her buttocks, the shadowed cleft between, all the way to her

Iris Astres

pussy lips, wet and swollen between her parted thighs. She began to hear the rasping of

her own breath, her excitement almost unbearable, solely from being touched, looked

at, exposed to a man she couldn’t see and who spoke to her in words she couldn’t

understand.

When he clamped his hand over her mound, the curls above her sex were spongy

with wetness, the extent of her excitement so blatantly exposed it shook Hannah out of

her trance. She’d managed the slightest shift away from him, before he stilled her with

one arm.

“Ahna,” he ordered. “Ektha zsa pahni, zsa nazni.” Despite the command she dared to

reach for his cock. He was hard as stone, hot and dry, straining upward into her hand.

Hannah no longer cared about anything else in the world. She ran her palm down

his length and arched back. Suddenly she was pressed into the mattress again, his long

fingers stroking her pussy, denying what she wanted.

For a long time, he played with the wet between her thighs. Hannah let the air rush

from her lungs in stifled moans. His teeth grazed the tip of her spine, and more exotic

words caressed her skin as he spread her moisture over her straining clit, working it

upward into the cleft of her buttocks and the small opening there.

She stiffened only slightly at his fingers’ shallow penetration of her anus. Though

unexpected it was not unwanted.

Hannah pressed her head into the sheets and breathed. Slow and gentle he twisted

and tugged against sensitive nerves until, with a shudder, she felt his body shift behind

her and the head of his erection finally press against her pussy. Hannah’s hips rotated

only slightly, but again his hold tightened.

“Nazair.”
Don’t move. It must mean that. She froze. The head of his cock bumped tentatively

against her again, then he was moving steadily into her cunt, filling her full. The

sensation was instantly perfect, intensely good. Patches of heat and chill ran down the

sensitized skin of her back and over her belly. She heard him speak, the sound still low,

but more broken now and rasping. “Ahna,” he breathed, then another string of words so

soaked in lust they sounded as heavy and lewd as her own offered body.

He fucked her hard. The constant pressure like flames licking into her belly, so

tantalizing she had to dig her nails into the mattress to hold back a scream. Her knees

were spread painfully wide, his weight bearing her so close to the bed, her swollen clit

brushed against the tangle of bedding with each hard thrust. Hannah’s body rocked

more purposefully against the knotted sheets, her nipples hard against the cool silky

cotton, her groans open-mouthed and rasping. His fingers pulled at the rim of her

asshole, tickling the pleasure beyond what she could bear.

“Ghat!” His grunted cry sprang the coiling tension, and Hannah’s sex slammed

hard around him. The pleasure had her soaring, arms stretching outward in simulated

flight as her body shook with spasms. She moaned beneath him while hot pleasure

rolled through her. She recovered just enough and just in time to feel the battering

Alien, Interrupted

behind her grow uncontrolled, to feel his hands move to her hips and pull her hard

against him as he shouted and jerked and pressed his coming cock deep, deep, deep

inside.

Moments later her conqueror was pulling gently away, tugging the quilt up from

the foot of the bed to tuck over her shoulders before curling himself around her back.

Hannah was shaking slightly, and there were tears in her eyes. She was glad he

couldn’t see. If he asked why she was crying, she wouldn’t know what to say.

“You’re hot again,” she murmured.
“Yes.”
“Why were you so cold?” She blotted her damp face against the pillow and glanced

over her shoulder at the inky shape of him.

He drew a long, slow breath. “I may have panicked slightly.”
“Panicked?”
“That’s probably the wrong word.”
She wriggled until he loosened his grip and she could turn in his arms. It was still

too dark to see his face. Hannah pressed her nose into the heated crook of his neck and

felt his pulse beat against her lips.

“What does nazair mean?” she whispered.
The question surprised him. He drew back to look at her a moment, then relaxed.

“Nazair means keep still,” he said.

“Ahna?”
He kissed her neck and pulled her closer. “Ahna is open.”
“Estha?”
“Ektha,” he corrected. “It means sweet, lovely. You are ektha.”
“Oh.” She yawned. “What else did you say?”
“Filthy things.” His knee slid higher between her damp thighs. “If you make me

translate everything, I’ll have to fuck you again.”

Hannah rocked against him, arms trailing sleepily over his strong back. “Tell me

tomorrow then.” She kissed him once and fell asleep.

Iris Astres

Chapter Nine

The long slide and crash of a metal truck door jolted Hannah into consciousness for

the third time in less than half an hour. Whatever seriously obnoxious thing was going

on downstairs, it clearly didn’t care about her beauty sleep. She wrinkled her nose and

rolled onto her back, protecting her eyes from the light with the crook of her arm. Even

that tiny movement had her muscles complaining. An all-over ache bled into Hannah’s

consciousness, making her wince.

As nice as it was, the constant fucking was taking its toll. At first, it had just been

her ass and her thighs that throbbed when she moved. Three multiple-orgasmic days

later and her whole body was filing grievances against her. Even her toes felt cramped

and whiney. Briefly she thought that over and realized she must have strained them

trying to keep her balance in the shower before bed.

The memory of Oliver’s wet soapy muscles sliding up and down her back had her

smiling into another lazy stretch that also ended badly. Pleasant memories aside, there

was no buzz big enough to mask her aches and pains anymore. Every muscle and joint

felt sorely used, and as far as her primary erogenous zones were concerned, the sexily

swollen sting she’d been feeling had clearly evolved into something more sinister.

Time out, she concluded. No sex today. They’d have to think of some other way to

keep busy. A walk, perhaps, or a movie. That might be good.

Hannah instantly imagined her hand down Oliver’s pants in the dark and realized

a crowded theater would be too tempting. What if they food shopped and did some

cooking instead? That would keep her hands busy, anyway.

The idea had potential. She tended to be a good enough cook and food was clearly

his second favorite thing. The thought of lazy domesticity, Iggy Pop on the stereo while

Ollie pilfered veggies from her cutting board, made Hannah smile. To wake him, she

stretched a leg across the bed, looking for the delicious heat that always rolled off his

body after a long night of love.

Her calf met with sheets that were stone-cold.
Hannah pulled back, slid her palms along the mattress and pushed upright.

Exposure to the air caused gooseflesh to rise on her bare breasts. Although she didn’t

have to see the emptiness beside her to know he was gone, she still stared in confusion

at the vacant spot where he’d been. She blinked, raised her chin and listened to the

empty house.

He wasn’t there. Not just out of bed—he was nowhere in the house at all. She

glanced at the rocker by the window and saw his clothes had also disappeared.

Alien, Interrupted

Hannah supposed it was possible he’d only stepped out. At the same time, she

knew he might also be gone for good. Evaporated, whisked back into the stars. Never to

be seen again.

Perversely, the aches and pains in her limbs left her too. She couldn’t feel anything

at all beyond her dull, blinking confusion. Hannah slid her legs over the bed and tried

to stand, taking great care to place her weight on both feet, like someone rising from an

unexplained collapse. Once sure of her balance, she reached for her robe. Eyes down

and out of danger, Hannah left the room.

Coffee. That was always her day’s first, and most certain, motivation, but on her

way to the kitchen Hannah stopped, suddenly unwilling to pass under the wooden arch

at the end of the hall.

Something might be in there. Something bad. Her mind fixed on the image of a torn

sheet of paper propped against the coffee jar or left dead center on the table where she’d

see. Thank you. I’ll miss you. I’ll never forget. It would be something like that—a few kind

words left in a masculine scrawl. Or else it would be nothing. Nothing would be worse,

but not by much.

Her body pivoted toward the bathroom. Once inside, she turned the shower on,

threw her robe over a hook near the door, and brushed her teeth. When steam began to

shroud her image in the mirror, she stepped into the stall and held her head under the

stream.

The blindness was soothing. Eyes closed, she reached for the soap and worked to

breathe around the knowledge that her dream man wasn’t with her anymore. After a

moment or two, surrounded by heat and the familiar lily scent, she actually did feel the

breathlessness ease a fraction—enough to brave a small and random thought of Oliver,

just to see what memory would do. Images of his eyes, his smile, flickered in and out

until she settled on the sight of him wrapped in a blue towel, making coffee for her on

that very first day.

The pain had Hannah doubled over, leaning against the tiled wall for support while

she fought for breath enough to sob. “No,” she choked, face pressed to the tiles.

He’d left without saying goodbye. After all his sweet insistence on her happiness,

his pervasive tenderness, he’d waited for her to fall asleep and walked away. It wasn’t

right. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t even nice. She sobbed again and felt the stark

abandonment snag something inside her, unraveling all the other terrible hurts she’d

borne in her life.

He’d disappeared, exactly like her dad. Suddenly and with no warning. Like the

friends who’d been lost in Hannah’s constant elsewhere, the habit she’d made of not

getting too attached. Or her mother. Hannah straightened, cradled her face away from

the water and tried to breathe. It hadn’t been her mother’s fault. In grief, she’d retreated

into herself, the same way Hannah had. Both of their lives had been shattered, and not a

soul had been to blame.

Iris Astres

Now that shattered, empty feeling was back. Hannah slapped one palm against the

wet tile and heard a hollow, splintered sound. She pulled long loops of breath slowly in

and out, easing the grief lower into her belly where it grounded her.

Bad things happened to everyone. Much worse things than the loss of a man. She’d

known it wouldn’t last. She’d be sad for a while, but in the long run she was no worse

off than she’d been. She shouldn’t complain. And she wouldn’t.

Hannah shut off the water and stood, brain groping blindly for the solace of work.

The names on the spines of the books on her desk ran through her mind like a mantra—

Baudelaire, Byron, Shakespeare, Schiller, Rosselini, Claude Chabrol. She had literature,

cinema, immortal poems, works of art. They could always be counted on. They’d saved

her many times and would again.

Hair combed and body dried, Hannah got back into her robe. Coffee would ease the

ache in her head when she got strong enough to face the kitchen. Eventually she could

stand knowing if he’d bothered with a note or not, but not now. Arms folded

protectively across her chest, Hannah tottered into her study to find the work she’d left

herself.

Moments later, looking over notes she’d taken days ago, she told herself she felt

okay, and almost believed it. Another succession of shouts and curses rose from the

sidewalk below her window. This time, more than irritation, it offered distraction from

the tears that still prickled the back of her eyes and constricted her throat. She pushed

her chair away from her desk and peeked down through the blinds.

Someone was moving into her house.
Not hers, of course. The downstairs unit had become temptingly vacant a few

months after she’d moved in, but however many times she crunched the numbers, it

hadn’t seemed wise to spread her credit that thin. And now, apparently, she’d missed

the boat for good.

For the best, really. Life with neighbors would be safer. Provided they didn’t set fire

to the place, of course. Or, she thought uneasily, were so obnoxious they made her want

to light the match herself.

Nibbling at her thumb, Hannah stood to get a better look, hoping what she saw

looked nothing like any of the nightmare neighbors she’d heard tales of. “No

whammies,” she whispered, scanning the pavement. “No metal heads with power

tools. No evil dog neglecters, no lousy parents, no bickering Bickersons, no… Oliver!”

He was standing in the driveway, shirtsleeves pushed to his elbows, green eyes

squinting against the brightness of the sun. The sight of him had her pressed against the

glass, while her heart and lungs worked to keep her upright. He was downstairs. Not

magically beamed up, or heartlessly walking away, but on the sidewalk. Close enough

for her to run to. She could open the window and call down to him. If she did, he’d look

up at her and smile.

Hannah gave the thought serious consideration, then brushed at her watering eyes

and decided it was better just to watch. As always, the sight of him was quite a show.

Alien, Interrupted

Hair unruly and muscles tight, looking in his t-shirt and jeans like the best idea any god

had ever had, he was helping some blond kid tilt a white leather sofa on its side and try

to fit it through the downstairs door, while a tall man with a goatee eyeballed the fit

from the side. He’d clearly gone downstairs to help out. Which was really very sweet of

him. A neighborly thing. The best possible side of being a guy.

His reappearance in her life had Hannah elated, beyond any happiness she’d ever

felt. It tilted her center enough to drag her attention warily away from mindless joy.

This buzzing of her insides felt like a revival meeting full of cripples dancing amidst

toppled crutches. Better not count on the miracle lasting. She’d need those crutches

again someday, maybe even someday soon. And it would hurt again. It would hurt a

lot. But now, by God, the man was still here and she could dance.

She entertained a violent urge to go downstairs and join the fun. She should make a

pot of coffee, go out for donuts, or better—find a metal bucket somewhere and fill it

with beer. The stock image of moving day fun, straight from some glossy ad, made a

tiny smile play across her lips.

Seconds later she shrugged and shook her head. That was a guy thing going on

downstairs. They didn’t need her. She had work to do anyway. Coffee first, and then

she’d try to get things done.

Following through on the caffeine was easy. When it came time to work, however,

Hannah stared at her desk and went back to the window. There were far fewer boxes in

the driveway now. The men’s trips, while still steady, were slower, with more time

spent chatting to each other in between. Occasionally she saw two men look up at the

sky and nod, seeming to congratulate each other on their choice of day.

Hannah looked up at the cloudless sky. The sun she felt on the window was

actually warm. A true San Franciscan would know better than to stay inside when the

weather was fine.

Scales successfully tipped, Hannah dropped her robe to the floor in under half a

second, skidding around the corner to the closet at a run. She stepped into panties,

snapped her bra and pulled her frothy green dress over her head while she slid her toes

into a pointy pair of leather mules. Using the strange giddiness in her stomach to speed

her actions and slow her thoughts, she left her hair to kink on its own, while she

accomplished powder, lipstick and a touch of mascara in seconds flat. Bright sun

poured through the bathroom skylight, bathing her reflection in a golden glow. Adding

to the morning miracles, Hannah left her reflection in the mirror feeling positively

gorgeous.

The truck was empty and the lawn significantly less cluttered when Yom saw

Hannah make her way downstairs. He lifted the hem of his t-shirt to wipe the sweat

from his eyes and heard a quick round of applause burst out around him.

“Nice abs,” Scott hooted.

Iris Astres

“What else you got under there, killer?” Marc gave a grinning head jerk toward the

exposed belly. Yom lowered his t-shirt with an indulgent eye roll, moving quickly

down the walkway to his woman.

She was wearing the dress he’d chosen for her, a fact that pleased him more than he

could have expected. She looked beautiful in it. Beautiful, period. Except that something

somewhere wasn’t right.

Yom focused on the hint of wobble in her stance, the faint rim of red around her

sparkling eyes. Not long ago she’d been in tears. The sobering thought made him take a

crisp, solicitous step closer. She skirted him and smiled at the group of men.

“I’m Hannah,” she said. “I bought the place upstairs.” In case someone had missed

the existence of a second story, she pointed helpfully upward and smiled again.

Their leader put down the lamp he’d been carrying, rubbed both hands down the

front of his jeans and came to shake her hand. “Hi, neighbor. I’m Philip, the new owner.

My partner Marc’s inside somewhere.”

“I’m here,” said Marc, stretching his hand out to Hannah over the porch rail.
“Sorry about the noise,” said Philip. “But don’t worry. It’s probably the last time

you’ll see either of us before noon. And these two are leaving soon.” He pointed out the

two younger men. “They think they’ll be invited back, but…” Philip’s mouth turned

sharply downward and he sketched a tiny no with his chin.

Hannah’s laughter made the ruffles at the bottom of her dress sway prettily around

her knees. Yom swept her with his eyes again, an old question rising to the front of his

mind.

Where were all of Hannah’s friends? She was funny, sweet and kindhearted. Surely

she was suited to good company. Three weeks he’d lived with her and no visitors,

besides Richard. Hardly so much as a phone call, besides Sue. Selfishly, he’d been

delighted at her near-constant solitude. It suited him to be the uncontested center of her

world, but objectively he knew it shouldn’t be that way at all. She should be

surrounded by friends.

Like all puzzles, her social disconnect appeared like a diagram in Yom’s head, with

variable symbols and arrows that showed all possible movement for every part.

Hannah alone, Hannah surrounded by others. This day, at least, would be a start. She

had neighbors now. Good ones as far as he could see. The initial awkwardness when

he’d come down to offer help had almost instantly given way to shared complaints and

easy kidding. And he’d grown to like all four men, but the new owners especially.

Philip was obviously the sensible part of the couple. Marc met his thoughtfulness

with an easy shrug or dirty joke, grabbing whatever it was out of his partner’s hand and

setting it down again to shoo him away. The couple seemed happy together, and the

two younger men good friends. He was about to take Hannah’s hand and pull her aside

to say as much when one of those friends stepped around him, blocking his way.

Alien, Interrupted

“I’m James.” The sandy-haired athlete had a touch of the odd-man-out in this

group, and suddenly Yom realized why. “I’m not gay,” James announced, giving

Hannah’s hand an obvious squeeze before letting go.

“Nor am I,” answered Yom. In case that hadn’t been enough of a clue, he closed the

space between himself and Hannah’s back, wrapping his arms around her waist and

pulling her against his chest.

“Oh.” Phillip came forward, considering this modest public display. “You two…”

He made a little waltzing motion with his fingers, then stopped and wiggled his

eyebrows to complete the thought.

“I’m not sure what that means,” said Yom, “but if it’s too filthy to say out loud the

answer’s yes.”

Hannah turned her head away in mock embarrassment. The sun filtered through

the soft waves of her hair, making the blue-black shine like water. She looked clean and

fresh and feminine. She also looked chastened. Recovered from something he hadn’t

been a witness to. He wanted very much to kiss her and then make her tell him what

was wrong, but rather than take the hint and go away, his new friends made that

impossible by closing in.

“Is that a Nanette Lepore?” Scott, the youngest and smallest of the makeshift

movers, came forward with a beer in his hand, pointing admiringly at Hannah’s dress.

“Akiko.” She wriggled her hips to make the skirt move. “Fun, isn’t it?”
“Naughty,” Scott agreed. “On you at least. I usually end up showing this kind of

garment to frumpy banker types. It doesn’t show its potential on the hanger.” He took

another swig of beer and narrowed his eyes. “You have a good eye.”

Hannah looked at Yom. “He does, actually.” All brows lifted at that. Hannah

wiggled her knees again. The flounces flounced, and Yom caught the corner of a

satisfied smile on her lips.

Philip smoothed his perfectly sculpted goatee while he frowned at Scott’s beer.

“Where’d you get that?”

“Take it easy, bossman. We’re done. Marc’s getting lunch ready out back.”
“Marc is?” Apparently there was something alarming in that, because their host left

them suddenly to bound up the stairs.

“You’re staying for lunch, right?” asked Scott.
“Yes.” Philip paused on the landing to issue the order. “They’re staying.”
Scott swept his hand toward the door in a silent after you.
“We’ll join you in a minute,” said Yom.
The boyish blond straightened with a knowing smirk but didn’t argue. The second

he’d closed the door behind him, Yom turned Hannah in his arms and pulled her up

against him, looking down at her face.

“What happened?” he said.

Iris Astres

“What?” She pushed at him. He held her tight.
“Hannah,” he said. “Relief can make a beautiful woman absolutely radiant. Do you

know how I know? Because I can see it, right in front of me. What happened?”

She waved impatiently at the air between them. “I panicked,” she teased, copying

not only his words but his delivery. He didn’t smile. “Overreaction of the century,” she

insisted. “I’m fine.”

He didn’t let go. She set her mouth and he waited. She sighed and stared at her

shoes. He waited some more.

“Promise me one thing.” Hannah’s eyes rose cautiously. “Promise you won’t leave

without saying goodbye.”

Yom stared at her, then his eyes moved to the house while some sense of how she’d

woken up that morning came into his mind. It made him feel cold to his bones. Leaving

her to think he was gone was a cruelly stupid thing to do. He was not under normal

circumstances a careless man.

In all the self-recrimination, he’d kept her waiting too long for the answer. Yom

wrapped his hands around her shoulders and caught her eye. “I swear it,” he said. “I

hope that day’s a long way off, but when it comes, we’ll go through it together.” He

pressed his lips over hers and caught the taste of her on his tongue.

The rush of desire was violent and unexpected, although it really shouldn’t have

been. There wasn’t any doubt about it now. He’d been fully in the throes of rapid geno-

bonding long enough to know. Hannah’s scent, texture and taste were soaking his

blood in transformative chemicals, a fact that made him legally, if not yet totally, insane.

Yom didn’t feel demented—or not in a bad way, at least. The mistake he’d made

that morning was very unlike him, but missteps aside, his mind still managed logic,

prediction, the natural ordering of events. He felt more like a rational caveman on a

powerful narcotic. At the center of everything stood his mate. She was every effort’s

goal, as well as its reward. When that imperative eased, he felt more like a drunken

poet. He wanted to fuck and be in love and didn’t care about much else. Yom pulled

Hannah closer, about to indulge his hunger more fully, when he remembered why he’d

left her in bed to begin with.

“I had to leave this morning,” he said. “I can’t trust myself around you. If I’d stayed

I’d have started fucking you again, and you’d probably have let me, even though I saw

you wince last night. After three full days, you need a break, I think.” He let his gaze

sweep the front of her skirt. “Are you all right?”

She couldn’t be. She had to be suffering a bit. He’d let his lust get the better of him

too many times. Yesterday had started with her body spread out on the breakfast table

before they’d even had their coffee. After which, it had seemed very important to give

the rest of her furniture equal time. He’d had her draped over chairs, pressed against

the cushioned arm of her couch—anywhere and everywhere had been an inspiration.

Hannah squirmed delicately. “Some parts are better than others,” she said. “How

’bout you?”

Alien, Interrupted

Her hand flitted briefly toward his stomach. He caught it and placed it neatly where

she clearly wanted it to be. He was hard. Very hard, and as the full extent of his arousal

registered, her expression grew soft and heavy, making his mini-abstinence pledge hard

to keep in mind. Her fingers curled around him while she outlined his length with her

thumb.

“Are you hard all the time?”
“No.” This got a dubious expression tilted up at him. “I’m only hard when I want to

fuck you, Hannah, And I only want to fuck you whenever I see you or think about you.

Which isn’t always. Because sometimes I’m asleep.”

“Oh.” She leaned her cheek against his shoulder. He nuzzled his mouth against her

hair.

“Now that that’s settled, why don’t you, me and my hard cock go have lunch.”

Iris Astres

Chapter Ten

Marc had ordered a lavish Middle Eastern feast from Ali Kebaba down the street,

and set it up on the wrought iron patio furniture previous tenants had thoughtfully left

behind. The sky was still full of sunlight, which had raised the temperature to an

unheard of eighty degrees. Philip found his iPod speakers and plugged in a Motown

playlist that started with Martha and the Vandellas singing Dancing in the Street.

Bottles were opened, and the atmosphere soon became full of the exhilarating good

will you always wished you felt on family holidays and rarely did. Once the multiple

platters of falafel, tabouleh, hummus and mixed-grill brochettes had been passed

around, and the edge taken off their hunger, general conversation became more

focused, with everyone clearly wanting to indulge their curiosity about the others.

After a few timid “Are you from the city”s were exchanged, Marc announced he

had a plan. He sent Philip off for paper and pens while everyone either helped clear the

table or rooted in the cooler for various refills.

“Okay,” said Marc, holding up a pen and paper upon Philip’s return. “Everyone

gets three questions for one person. Make them good.”

“Why do we need paper for that?” James asked suspiciously around a swig of beer.
“It’s better when you plot a little,” Marc explained.
“Do you have to answer?” James asked this to Philip, casting a wary eye back at

Marc.

“Can the answer be ‘none of your fucking business’?” Scott muttered.
“Oh please,” said Philip, hunched over his paper to keep Marc from looking over

his shoulder, “when have you ever refused to talk about yourself?”

“Never,” said Scott idly. “Hetero boy over there is the cagey one.”
“We’re actually not forcing our guests to do anything but lift things today,” said

Philip with a brief look up at Marc. His lover gave an easy “if you say so” shrug, but

Yom noted a look of disappointment in the man’s eye, as though he truly found the

cutthroat games more fun.

Yom looked again at Hannah. She’d moved her chair away from the table and had

one bare leg crossed over the other, free ankle dangling meditatively as she made slow,

thoughtful marks on her small sheet of paper. She looked like a schoolgirl, and

although that was not a sexual image he would ever intentionally conjure, in this case, it

had him wanting to help her out of her panties and onto his lap. Again she seemed to

feel his stare and raised her eyes, lips curving into a smile. He would have to kiss her

soon. When this game was over, they’d be playing something a little more interesting

upstairs.

Alien, Interrupted

“Who starts?” he said, looking first at Philip, then at Marc.
The latter host picked a beer bottle off the table, emptied the last drops onto the

grass and handed it to Hannah. “Spin for who goes first, my dear. After that, each

questioner can pick his, or her, successor. Agreed?”

Everyone nodded. Hannah stood, placing the bottle at the center of the table and

eyeing each guest as if they were pockets on a pool table. She spun. The dark amber

bottle made clattering circles on itself and slowly came to a halt in front of Philip.

“Every time,” said Marc with a disbelieving shake of his head.
Philip shrugged. “Just lucky, I guess.” He turned his smile to Hannah. “Are you

ready?”

“Me?” She let her widened eyes drift over everyone else at the table, as if Philip

might have failed to see the better choices available.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “I’ll be gentle.”
With one side of her mouth pulled into a dubious smile, she sat down.
“What do you do for a job?”
“Oh.” That relaxed her. “I’m a textbook contributor-slash-developer-slash-

consultant for Lumière Press.”

“Really?” He put his paper down. “What do you contribute?”
“Different things.” She reached for her wineglass and wiggled in her chair. “None

of them particularly banter worthy. Learning modules for poetry, French, film,

composition and,” she searched her brain for one last thing, “theater,” she concluded.

“That’s about it.”

“Huh,” said Philip. He nodded appreciatively while the others looked equally

puzzled and pleased. “And finally…” Philip’s voice deepened dramatically and he

paused to cast a complicit look at Marc, who was settling expectantly into his chair.

“Where were you the first time you kissed Oliver?” A few snickering laughs while

everyone’s gaze ping-ponged from Hannah to Oliver and back again.

“In bed,” said Hannah guilelessly. The table erupted in raucous laughter. Yom saw

her surprised expression seek his confirmation. He shook his head.

“Not quite,” he corrected gently. “You’re right about the bedroom, but for the first

kiss, we were still standing, as I recall.”

She tilted her head and he watched the memory of his spectacular transformation

and quick, burning kiss return.

“He’s right.” She smiled happily at everyone. “The second time we were in bed.”
The table burst into a round of applause with a few spoons clicking on glasses for

good measure. The Spinners started singing Could It Be I’m Falling in Love, and Hannah

let Marc fill her glass again, obviously happy to have gotten through her questions

more or less unscathed.

“Who’s next?” said Marc.

Iris Astres

“You, of course.” Philip raised a deferential glass to his lover.
“Three questions for Oliver then.” Marc put his pen behind his ear and used a

dogged reporter delivery that made everyone smile beneath rolling eyes. “One,” he

barked. “What do you do for a living? Two: what were you wearing the first time you

kissed Hannah? And, three…” He leaned back, dropping his Hollywood persona and

winking at Scott, who apparently knew what was coming. “Have you ever had sex with

a man?”

Yom crossed his arms across his chest and laughed. All of this sexual attention from

strangers was hysterical. The way people looked at him here would have his friends

back home rolling on the floor. There had never been a lot of open propositioning—

teasing or otherwise—in the super serious scientific and political circles he spent all his

time in, but even if he’d grown up running wild in the streets, his looks would never

have garnered him any special attention at home. After the massive improvements in

genetic trait mapping on his planet, more than a century before he was born, looks like

his had become the norm—making men like him as boring as a row of corn. He had to

admit, the slack-jawed looks amused the hell out of him anyway. Except where Hannah

was concerned. There he just thanked all those ethically challenged scientists of

yesteryear for giving him the useful edge.

Out of curiosity, he looked up to see her reaction to Marc’s question and was

surprised to find her literally on the edge of her seat. The avid expression made him

laugh even harder. Every man’s dream to fall in love with the woman of a thousand

fantasies, and Hannah had to have at least that many. Including, apparently, the idea of

him wrapped in a homoerotic embrace.

Marc cleared his throat and Yom stopped laughing. He brushed at his eyes. “Three

answers then.” He held up one finger while everyone thought back to the question

about work. “Nothing,” he announced. No one cared. A second finger was raised.

“Nothing,” he said again. A few guffaws and feigned looks of shock went straight to

blushing Hannah. “And—” All eyes turned back to him, Hannah’s the widest. Yom

shrugged back into his chair, palms sheepishly raised. “No.”

Shoulders slumped in unison as the table let out a collectively disappointed breath.
“Sorry,” said Yom.
“It’s never too late,” said Scott.
“I’m still going to let you ask the next questions,” said Marc.
Yom inclined his head toward his host. He let his gaze sweep the table while he

returned to the diagramed problem of Hannah’s isolation he was still mapping in his

head. When the perfect question eluded him, he decided to go general and hope for the

best. “Marc,” he said, guessing he’d get the best results from the man who most liked

talking. “Tell me how you met each of the men at this table.”

The question did the job. Yom carefully watched Hannah’s face soften almost

wistfully while the answer had a rich, full life unfolding before her eyes. At the mention

of the opera house where Marc and Philip had not only met but still worked, her

Alien, Interrupted

envious look was so apparent it got her the offer of a private backstage tour. An offer

she accepted with a gratifying bounce. Marc moved on to meeting James, which

brought them all to City Lights in North Beach. Nostalgic tales of the old beat bookstore

were exchanged, and vows made to spend a day of poetry and cappuccino soon. Scott,

it was discovered, was working the MAC counter at Saks.

“Do you know Jeremy?” Hannah asked. The table went silent while all eyes

traveled to Scott. All eyes except for Yom’s, which were focused on Hannah’s vibrant

expression. It occurred to him for about the fiftieth time that he would never sit this far

away from her again.

“Jeremy Bloom?” Scott’s voice was nonchalant, but his three friends all leaned back

in their chairs in an attitude that suggested a show was about to begin.

Hannah looked questioningly at Yom. “Was that his name?”
Scott’s attention shifted immediately and Yom answered directly. “Short brown

hair, medium build, nice suit, blue eyes?”

“That’s him,” said Philip, neatly filling everyone’s glasses.
“He sold us some clothes,” said Hannah.
Scott kept his eyes on Yom. “Did he make a pass at you?”
At the force of the question, Yom raised his eyebrows and looked at Hannah for

help.

“I was there, so he had to be polite,” she said.
Scott did not look appeased.
“Are you in love with him?” Hannah asked.
“Is that your first question?” asked Marc with a bloodthirsty expression.
She sat back in her chair. “It’s not my turn.”
“It is if I say it is,” Yom corrected.
Hannah tilted him a crooked smile as though his choosing her had been a big

surprise. “But didn’t you choose Marc?”

“He chose Marc for the questions and you for his successor,” Philip said.
Similar versions of the complicated rules were dutifully recited around the table

accompanied by helpful eye rolls and jerk-off gestures. Hannah still looked uncertain—

Scott brushed his blond hair off his forehead and whispered something into her ear.

Whatever it was made her laugh so hard she held the chair for balance. Yom wondered

if she might be slightly tipsy. Having no idea how much wine she’d had, or how much

it would take, he let the question go and went back to watching her.

“We should invite you all over sometime. Or I should,” Hannah amended. “Oliver

might be going home soon.”

“Oh.” Philip looked from Oliver to Hannah and back again. “Where’s home?”
“A small place you won’t have heard of.” Yom didn’t bother checking his

brusqueness or the dousing effect it had had. However gratifying it was to see his

Alien, Interrupted

Chapter Eleven

Feeling both exhausted and uncomfortably awake, Hannah slipped off her shoes

and tucked her feet beneath her. How long had she been such a social couch potato,

anyway? Long enough for today’s whirlwind of sharing and caring to feel exceedingly

strange. The muscles in her jaw ached from all the smiling banter. The rest of her felt

jittery and wrung out.

Somewhere mid-fun she’d grown anxious to get back to her apartment, but now

that she was home, her beloved living room didn’t feel right to her either. She needed to

chill out somehow. If the remote wasn’t so far away, she might’ve tried watching a few

scenes of Night in the City, although the classic noir might be a little twisty for her

current mood.

Then again, what film could hold a girl’s focus with Oliver’s long, lazy limbs

sprawled mere inches from her thighs? The man’s big body had been seriously

beckoning since their return, as patient and relaxed as always. He’d been so sexy all

afternoon. His green eyes on her skin had felt better than the sunshine, better than the

music, the laughter, the wine. Perfect, in fact.

But not, unfortunately, quite good enough to give her amnesia.
Hannah hadn’t forgotten her emotional collapse in the shower, nor her miraculous

resurrection after catching a glimpse of him downstairs. She was hooked. A junkie for

the man. Completely gone.

On the brighter side, Hannah thought, if she was already headed for a horrible

comedown, she might as well enjoy the high. She turned to face her poison and felt

instantly hungry. Uncurling herself, Hannah rose to stand between Oliver’s long legs.

His eyes lifted in welcome, roaming her body as she lowered onto his lap.

“Were you flirting with me today?” she asked.
“I may have been.” The silky slide of his calm answer made Hannah shift against

him. Something feral immediately crossed over his expression, gathering her arms into

gooseflesh and stiffening her nipples.

“What goes on behind those eyes of yours when you look at me like that?” She

leaned forward, brushed the rasping question close to his ear.

“Actually…” His hands closed gently around her arms and she watched his easy

smile go on pause, eyebrows lifting thoughtfully upward. “This afternoon, I was

imagining you on my lap, just like this.” His hands brushed her ankles as he slid them

past her knees, under her skirt. “Without panties, of course.”

“I see.” Hannah slid off his lap. Her fingers curled under the hem of her skirt.

Oliver’s eyebrows quirked encouragement as she pulled the garment higher, revealing

Iris Astres

the tops of her thighs. Silently accepting the proffered invitation, he slid one hand

under the green silk, hooked the lace band around her hips with one finger, and tugged.

Hannah watched the blissful loss of focus come over him again and felt her thighs begin

to shake. She placed her hands on his shoulders. He reached a second hand to join the

first and pulled her panties slow and smooth over her ass and down to her bare feet.

Hannah stepped free and moved back onto his lap. His hands trailed over the cool

skin of her buttocks and over her thighs.

“So while I was imagining this,” he murmured, “what were you imagining?”
She arched thoughtfully forward and felt him skate his lips over one breast.
“I was imagining how all those men would have taken turns with you, if I hadn’t

been in the way.”

Hannah had to catch her balance as Oliver leaned sharply away, stilling her hips

with both hands. “Marc and Philip are in love,” he protested. “And James is straight.”

“Yeah, right.” She rolled her eyes. “For a cock like yours, exceptions are made. Gay,

straight, boy, girl—I’d seriously love to see what happens to you when I’m not around.”

“What do you think would happen?”
“Who knows? Anything’s possible. Heavy steady mooning, drooling and filthy

propositioning, I’d expect.”

He studied her carefully, nodding slowly. “Okay,” he said. “If you’re genuinely

curious, we’ll go somewhere and you can watch.”

The way his lips curled upward at her unconcealed delight was sexy. Seeing him hit

on by strangers would be sexier still—especially when she knew who he’d be going

home with.

“How do people usually flirt with you? Tell me.” Hannah was suddenly intent on

playing out the scene.

“No idea.”
She gave him a skeptical look.
“Sorry, sweetness.” He ran a dismissive hand over his face and torso. “This is about

as impressive as a good pair of jeans where I’m from. I’m not sure I’ve ever been hit on

at all.”

“Are you serious?”
His shoulders raised into a helpless shrug.
“Whoa,” Hannah said. She stared at the wall behind his head, imagining a planet

full of men who looked like Oliver. “What the hell do the women look like? Please tell

me the constant perfection is dull, and that I’m at least exotic.”

“Exotic?” He considered the word before rejecting it. “I wouldn’t say you were

exotic.”

“Oh.” She slumped back on his knees.

Alien, Interrupted

“I’d say you were forbidden.” He ran a warm, lazy hand over the front of her dress

and arched his hips beneath her. “Unattainable. Priceless. Intoxicating too.” She sank

against him, cheek pressed into his hair as his head bent to lick a path across her neck.

“You taste so smoky and so sweet.”

Hannah flattened her palms against the small of his back while she kissed him slow

and deep.

“I want to try something,” he whispered, inches from her lips. “Something gentle.”

The back of his fingers ran down her belly, pausing at her pubic bone. “But not if you’re

too sore.”

Hannah was sore, maybe even too sore, but not about to say so. Her pussy was

swollen and raw enough to have her positively randy. She tilted her mouth for another

hungry kiss. He pulled away.

“I’m serious,” he said. “If you’re uncomfortable, we stop. Agreed?”
“Okay.” Fingers crossed behind her back, Hannah tilted her hips until her sex

pressed painfully against the fabric of his jeans. She smiled at the satisfying sting.

Making him stop was not what she had in mind. She’d had too much fun looking at

him all afternoon and imagining what they’d be doing the minute they were alone.

Something new was a little daunting and, at this point, completely unnecessary. She felt

hot enough to come from a few quick thrusts of his cock right there on the couch.

Oliver shifted beneath her, and both of them stood. Her lips twitched lasciviously

as she followed him wordlessly to the bedroom. The muscles moved across his back.

Desire tingled along her cheeks and jaw. Fucking was going to be so very good.

Unlike her, Oliver didn’t appear to be in any hurry. He brought her into the

darkness of her dressing room and flipped on the tiny red lamp on her dresser. The

beaded shade settled back in place with a soft, seductive sound. She watched him go to

her closet, coming back, as she’d somehow known he would, carrying her box of toys.

He placed the red velvet square on the leather chaise by the wall, his hands moving to

the buttons of her dress.

“I want everything off,” he said in a rumbling whisper. “I’m going to lay you down

right there, completely naked, then I’m going to rub oil into your skin so that I can

touch you, play with your tits, lick and fondle you everywhere until you’re so hot the

slightest touch of my fingers on your clit will make you come.”

Hannah shuddered while he pulled the buttons of her dress apart. He started to lift

the skirt over her hips. “Wait.” She stopped him, reaching for the zip at the side. When

the gap at her waist was open she quickly pulled the dress over her head and draped it

on a hook by the door. Oliver crouched beside the chaise, blazing eyes staring up at her.

“Take off your bra and lie down,” he commanded.
Hannah reached behind her and stopped. “No.” She shook her head. “You first.

Take everything off.” Her voice sounded cool and sexy, as convincingly Domme as she

could have hoped.

Iris Astres

Oliver’s brows lifted at the shift in scene, but the man was nothing if not flexible.

He sketched a tiny bow as he rose to his feet in front of her. His shirt slid off his belly

and over his head. He stepped out of his jeans, and she watched his cock unfurl like the

time-release film of some thick, exotic fern—it rose impressively against his belly.

Satisfied, Hannah unhooked her bra, pulled the silk straps over her shoulders and

let the shimmering fabric fall to the floor.

“Lie down,” he repeated.
This time, she was only too happy to comply. She was ready. Ready for the

unapologetic way he always stroked and touched her into mindless wanting. Ready not

to care about anything again but the way he made her feel and the way he made her

come. Ready too for the way he looked at her when she felt hot and nasty and oblivious

to everything but fucking and being fucked by him. She was more than ready, more

than halfway there.

He knelt on the floor beside her and reached for the red velvet box. No hesitation or

particular reaction beyond recognition when he lifted the lid. That he should know all

of her secrets so well, everything she hid away and how she used it when no one

watched, sent a rush of blood to Hannah’s cheeks that was all heat and no shame. No

matter what he knew, she knew better what the objects in that box could do to her. The

curve of pink plastic, the blue ridges standing out against the thick glass phallus—

everything she saw triggered a deep memory of pleasure. Between that man and that

box, she could barely keep still.

“Kiss me,” Hannah said. Oliver turned his head to her lips.
“No.” She redirected his attention by shifting her thighs. He stared into her face,

long enough for her to wonder if he’d fight her for control. His lids lowered fractionally

as his gaze swept obediently down her body. Compliance then. Her stomach danced

with the thrilling idea of using a man like a toy. He turned, chest crisscrossed over hers,

and pressed his mouth between her legs. Hannah moaned as his lips nuzzled into her.

He licked gently over her sensitive flesh, back and forth. She spread her legs and felt a

sharp, giddy jolt to her excitement.

“That’s enough.” She’d come if he didn’t stop. He lifted slowly away and blinked

drunkenly at her, as though someone had dusted her cunt with cocaine. “Take the

bottle out of the box,” she rasped. Her obedient man did as instructed. Waited beside

her for what would come next. She reached her hands over her head, stretching her

body under his gaze. “Make me wet,” she said. A lazy blink at her already sopping

pussy was his only objection. He squirted the oily mist over each of her nipples,

dribbling a few drops over her belly. He shifted his weight, angling over her thighs.

“Hey,” she objected. He looked at her. She raised both hands to her gleaming tits,

squeezing and kneading her own flesh. “Are you going to make me rub it in myself?”

Oliver’s stoned expression locked on her body, the decision apparently hard to make.

Eventually, however, he did take over for her, his fingers lighter than hers, the

movements slower, the shift in pressure unpredictable and hot. She let him go on

Alien, Interrupted

fondling her tits while he stared at her body long past what she thought she could take.

When his fingernail snagged at her nipple, she sucked in breath, the raging turn-on

notching higher in an instant.

“Fuck me.” The Domme voice was gone, replaced by a low and horny hush.
Oliver slid an oily hand over her belly, cupping her sex. She pushed his hand away,

craned her neck and saw her pussy lips, plump and pulling apart, a film of silky

dampness at the seam. Oliver’s eyelids had grown heavy, his lips parted, making the

expression on his face as far gone as she felt.

“Let’s fuck,” she insisted.
He stared at her mouth and shook his head. Hannah was about to argue. Maybe she

was slightly sore, but it wasn’t so bad the fucking wouldn’t still feel good. Hell, she was

so turned on, it might actually feel better with a little rasping sting beneath the slide of

his sweet cock. She opened her mouth to say so, and closed it again.

Oliver’s eyes were too languid, too zoned out with sex for him to listen. He was

Zombie Knight again, the man he became when arousal shut down every part of his

brain that wasn’t a protective instinct. She’d seen the look often enough. Knew it meant

he’d be pulling pillows under her ass, or cupping his hand around her hip bones to

keep them from bumping against whatever he was bending her over. It meant he’d be

stopping, slowing, easing, at exactly the moment she herself had gone way beyond

caring about pain.

“Fine,” she sighed, and rolled onto her belly. “More oil then.” The movement onto

her knees excited her. The flaunting of her bare ass, and the insistence he touch it did as

well. Her slippery tits slid against the leather as Hannah rocked her knees apart and

arched her back.

It was too good. She turned her cheek to the wall and sipped in air, hoping the lack

of visual would dim the excitement between her legs. Her sightlessness brought the

opposite effect. She knew without seeing when he reached for the bottle. Knew where

he’d aimed it even before she felt the light mist of oil on both cheeks of her ass. He

started to put it down.

“More,” she said and he obligingly squirted a thick stream along her crack.
Inside Hannah felt herself writhe, but her outward self kept fairly still while he

massaged her ass. His hands were hot and strong. Soon she felt his breath against her

skin while he kissed the back of her thighs and then burrowed his face into the hollow

between her legs. Hannah lifted slightly onto her knees, inching open for him. He licked

into her pussy and she moaned. When he backed away she felt the stir of air between

her thighs. Then he stood up, and she stared at him over her shoulder. He was naked,

long, muscled and gorgeous, his erection arching high in front of him.

“Stroke it.” She lifted her heavy chin toward his cock. He wrapped one hand and

then the other around his shaft, leaving an oily smear.

“Fuck me.” She said it louder this time. Her voice stronger.

Iris Astres

He nodded. With the fingers of one hand he burrowed between the cheeks of her

ass, circling her small, tight hole. “Here,” he told her.

Hannah drew a breath and dropped her head between her arms. Anal sex was not

shocking to her. Not in theory, anyway. Nor, under present circumstances, was it scary.

As big as he was, he’d make it work. He’d make it good. And God, she wanted him.

She circled her hips while he fitted himself against her, wrapping one arm beneath

her chest to bear his weight while with the other he guided his cock to the lubricated

crease of her ass. She felt the quick bump of his cock head against the tight opening,

then one smooth firm press of thrilling violation that had Hannah gasping and arching

beneath him. He waited. Pushed again until the pleasure turned to pain and she

whimpered with worry.

“It hurts?”
A tight nod.
“Push me out,” he said.
Hannah pushed and felt his thick cock slide farther in. She felt it deep, where the

unfamiliar presence scalded with a shock that was chillingly good. This stark, breathless

penetration made her hot as hell. Crazy with a thrill that was better than coming. Why

rush to the end? Let the slow, steady thrust of his cock keep her here in this place

forever, balanced on this high sexual edge.

Oliver held his weight on one forearm, his fingers stroking over the skin on her

breasts. His head was arcing back and forth against her shoulders, where she felt the

shape of her name move over his lips. She inched her knees wider, to the farthest

extreme of the leather. He paused, hovering over her, one hand rummaging through

her box, until she heard the buzz of her contour vibe and felt another hot rush of sexual

desire make her push back against him.

He pressed the vibe between her legs and started fucking her again. Her hips tilted

back and forth, dragging her clit across the vibrating toy, while his relentless

penetration thrilled like nothing else in this world. It made her feel wild and vulnerable,

hot and shivery, her soul a fluttering pulse on the surface of her skin.

Hannah played with an imminent orgasm, leaving it just out of reach while the

movement of his cock between her ass cheeks got hotter and harder, his breath growing

more urgent in her ear.

“Fuck me,” she said, again and again. “Fuck me. Don’t stop.” And then she was

coming. Coming and moaning with pleasure that tinged gratitude with greed. She

wanted this man and this feeling forever. Hannah’s body fell into the churning

perfection—the rolling spasms, the thrill, the heat, the helplessness and the power of

sex.

Oliver’s muscles tightened like iron around her, and he shouted and jerked, gasped

and jerked, choked and spasmed, jerked one last time and slid beside her where they

both lay panting and still.

Alien, Interrupted

“Hannah.” Many minutes later, her cheek was still pressed to the leather, both

knees tucked beneath her. The sound of her name and Oliver’s gently coaxing hands

roused her somewhat from her stupor, but despite that, she was finding it strangely

hard to move.

“Come on, sweetheart.” He managed to shift her around to face him, then got one

arm around her waist and tugged her up over his body.

“I want you to see something.” With his free hand he switched on the lamp beside

them, the crimson shade muting the already faint wattage of the bulb, and led her

forward to her dressing table.

Hannah ran a sleepy hand over her face and didn’t argue as he pulled her closer to

the mirror.

“Open your eyes.” He stood behind her. One large palm on either shoulder.

Hannah’s senses were too saturated with pleasure to offer up resistance. She opened

her eyes and looked at her reflection in the mirror.

“Wow,” she said.
It was quite a sight. Her body flushed, warm and heavy with pleasure, looked like

something painted on the wall of a bordello. Add the swollen lips, half-closed eyes and

tousled hair and you got something iconic—the farmer’s daughter pressed into a stack

of hay, the tavern wench lured into moonlight by a randy lord.

“Whenever I look at you, this is what I see,” he said. “I’ll see it from now on, every

time I close my eyes.”

The image was a lovely gift. She turned into his body and leaned into the delicious

heat of his chest. “I’m so tired,” she said. “I know it’s still early, but let’s have a nap.

Take me to bed.”

When they woke three hours later, it was dark and they were hungry. Hannah left

Oliver in the shower while she scavenged a meal of olives, prosciutto and marinated

mozzarella on thick crusty bread. She was thumbing through a cookbook, Chianti in

hand, when he emerged slightly steamy and draped once again in a dark-blue towel.

Halfway through a companionably silent feast, a heavy pull to know him better hit

her like lightning. She wanted to know everything—mother, father, siblings, pets, but

any mention of his planet clearly worried him in a way she hated seeing. Hannah lifted

her feet to his lap and rubbed her toes over the swells and hollows of his belly. She took

another drink, eyeing him carefully over the smooth crystal rim. “Can’t you tell me

anything at all about where you’re from?”

He gathered her feet in his hands, cradled them against his belly and leaned

forward.

“Hannah.”
She leaned forward too, waiting for him to go on.

Iris Astres

“There isn’t anything I wouldn’t tell you, if it were only about me.” He drew a long,

unhappy breath. “But what I’ve told you already put a whole planet full of people at

risk. And I hesitate to make that worse.” The grip on her ankles tightened slightly. “For

my sake, Hannah. You can’t ever tell anyone. Can you promise me that?”

“Tell anyone what?” She soothed him with a look of utter innocence. “I met you at

the animal shelter, what’s wrong with that?”

He gave her a weary, grateful smile and slid back in his chair. She looked at the

softer curve of his body, now that his muscles weren’t bunching beneath his skin, and

allowed a faint smile to creep over her lips.

“Too bad though. I bet I could have sold my story to the tabloids for a couple of

grand, at least.” Oliver didn’t laugh. Hannah frowned and tried again. “Spaceman

Caught in Pussy Scam.” She wriggled her toes against his ribs until she got a reluctant

smile.

“Your secret’s safe with me,” she sighed. “I never talk to anyone anyway.”
“Why not?”
Hannah screwed the lid back on the olives and pushed them aside. “Do you have

lots of friends?” she asked.

He stared for a moment, evidently giving this some thought. Then he shrugged and

shook his head. “Caught up with work,” he said.

“That’s right. You said it was stressful. What do you do, anyway?”
“Orbit control.”
“I see.” She didn’t.
Oliver drew a breath and looked at her. A decision was evidently made, because he

settled back, starting to speak. “Spacecraft arrive from various places—places with their

own distinct rules and measurements. Some are calibrated to match our calculations for

size, distance, velocity. Some use transformers, which don’t always work. Thalia has

various forms of instrumentation to confirm all input data, but there are still too many

variables not to have a good many people making sure the measurements aren’t off. It’s

a bit like playing four-dimensional chess, except all the pieces are alive and taken from

about a dozen different games.”

“Does that mean there are accidents?”
“Of course. Less now that there are more safeguards, but it still happens.”
Hannah gave him a careful look.
“None that I’ve been responsible for,” he said.
“Good. So you’re good at it?”
He leaned back in his chair and smiled in a quiet way that said he was a champion.

“They don’t let you keep the job if you’re bad at it. Careers tend to be short though,

even with the long vacations.”

“And your company really pays for ten years off?”

Alien, Interrupted

“Ten years?” He swallowed carefully and blinked.
Hannah felt a strange shift in the air. “How long?” He released her feet and she put

them on the floor, using the momentum to stand up and put what they hadn’t eaten

back in the fridge.

“How long were you going to stay as my cat?” she asked over her shoulder.
“About six months.”
Hannah froze, hand gripping tight around the door of the fridge. “And then what

happens?”

“What happens?”
She shut the door a little too hard and faced him.
“What do you mean you leave after six months? You were a cat. Cats tend to live at

least ten years. So what happens? Is there some kind of switch? Do you leave an

identical cat in your place? You can’t just disappear. People tend to notice when their

pets just vanish into thin air.”

The cornered look on Oliver’s face made something ugly travel up Hannah’s arms

and into her throat.

“What happens to the cat?” she demanded.
He pushed his plate away and folded his hands in his lap. “You saw what

happened to the cat, Hannah.”

“You get sick? Fake a death? What?”
“No.”
She watched him tense and felt no sympathy. Only the slow, painful hardening of

her heart. “You just disappear?”

“Yes.”
Disappearing was a shitty thing to do. Her father hadn’t had a choice, but this…

Hannah felt her expressionless stare shift to the window sill, where the cartoon birthday

card Richard had given her was still sitting next to Sue’s. It was time to clear some

things away.

“But how does that work? Oliver doesn’t go out.” The thin objection sounded

stupid, which made Hannah even angrier. She pressed her lips together and started

again. “I had an indoor cat. What was I supposed to think when he just disappeared?

When you just disappeared, or whatever.”

He didn’t look away from her. She’d give him that. And he clearly wasn’t stupid

enough to ask her what the problem was. He knew what was bothering her. Maybe

even knew how much.

Maybe, but she doubted it.
“On the day of the exit,” he began, “two or three escorts, men from my planet

stationed here, would have come while you were away, with clothes and a car. I’d have

taken my customary form and gone with them. To explain the disappearance they do

Iris Astres

different things, break a lock, or a window—generally it’s something like that.” She ran

a hand across the table, brushing the crumbs away. “We leave a door open.” He raised

his eyes, tilting his head at her. His voice was softly matter-of-fact. “We always watch

until the owner comes home to make sure nothing’s stolen, of course.”

“Oh thanks.” Hannah shot out of her chair and paced the kitchen while she

imagined the sickening scene. Coming home, setting down her purse, her groceries,

flipping through the ads and bills that came in the mail. Looking up to find a half-open

door by the back stairs and no sign of her pet anywhere.

“And so the owner thinks you’ve been lost or hurt or hit by a car or something?”
“Hannah.”
She looked at him as pale as a sheet, her hands trembling slightly as she pulled the

robe shut around her. “You agreed to that?” He made her wait for the answer. She

punished him for it with the sheer hatred in her gaze.

“Yes.” Oliver’s voice was very quiet. He watched her pace, being careful not to

stare, as though she were a madwoman covered in explosives. Which was almost

precisely how she felt.

Suddenly she stopped and looked at him. “That’s the cruelest thing I’ve ever

heard.”

She strode out of the room. He was rising warily from his chair when she came back

with his clothes in her hands, put them on the chair beside him, and stood by the door.

“Go now,” she said.
He looked at the clothes then back at her.
“Go now,” she repeated.
“Hannah.”
She buried her face in her hands then blotted the tears on her sleeve. “Take your

things,” she said, “put them on and leave. I don’t give a fuck if you shut the door

behind you or not.” She turned and left the room.

Yom found her sitting on the rug, back against the couch, head pressed into her

knees like the lone survivor of some horrible storm. Not knowing what else to do, he’d

gotten a fresh t-shirt from the three-pack they’d bought and stepped back into his jeans.

But that was just a small concession to her mood. In no way was he leaving.

“If you can,” she said, wrapped in her robe and rocking slightly, “when you get

back, I think you should try to get them to stop doing that. Because it’s cruel and

completely unfair. No one asked you to come here. You can’t take advantage of people

because you think they’re inferior.”

“All right.”
She nodded without looking at him. Pressed her eyes back into her knees. “I put

some money for you on that little table by the door. It’s enough for a couple of days. If

you need more, ask.”

Alien, Interrupted

He didn’t answer.
“Do you need me to call you a cab?”
“No,” he said. “I’m not leaving, Hannah.”
“What do you mean?” She stared blankly up at him. “You just said you were going.

In a few months. If you can do it then, you can do it now.”

Yom shook his head, bearing the brunt of her hurt and her rage as best he could. It

was interesting, despite his worry, to see her angry. Interesting in a terrifying way. In

fact, besides the very memorable fear of a deep-space collision he’d once been an

unwilling witness to, Hannah’s chilling “fuck you” had to be about the most frightening

thing Yom had ever seen. Whether such blank dismissals came naturally, or she’d had a

lot of practice, he couldn’t say. Either way she knew what she was doing. Her surface

was as smooth and hard as a marble-covered crypt. Not a crack, not a snag. No place to

catch at and hold on to while she escorted you out of her life. And no way to object to

such a civilized stroll to the door. You’d be halfway down the street before you caught

the smell of smoke behind you, and by then she’d have had the time to turn every

feeling she’d ever had for you into ashes and charred remains. He thought sourly back

to her solicitous apologies to Richard. Why did that worthless cretin merit compassion

when all Yom got was the price of the cab? Doubtless it was hurt that made her mean.

Yom fancied he could almost smell the smoldering trust in the air and the fear and

guilt it evoked was painful to him as well. “I can’t leave you, Hannah.”

She opened her mouth to object, and he calmly shook his head. Hannah drew a long

breath and rose to her feet, eyes hard and narrow. He saw the tiniest flicker of real fury

cross her face, before she tucked it back into her tidy death-stewardess veneer, politely

suggesting again that he leave.

He leveled his gaze. “Remember what I told you about pair-bonding? In the

dressing room, while we were shopping.” She gave a brief, disinterested nod. “Pair-

bonding means you can’t leave.”

Hannah rolled her eyes. “You just said you were leaving. So, clearly there are

exceptions. And I don’t have to wait for you to make one. I can tell you to go now. I

have that right.”

“There are no exceptions.” His words hooked her slightly. The anger slipped briefly

into pain and rose again.

“You’re telling me that pair bonds never separate.”
“I’m telling you that pair bonds never willingly separate.”
“Willingly.” She shook her head in disgust. “Stop bullshitting me.”
“Listen.” Yom grabbed her hand, circled his fingers around her wrist and kept her

from jerking away. “Look at your hand, Hannah. Think of what, if anything, would

ever make you cut it off.” She stared at him. “Hard to imagine a good reason to chop off

your own limb, isn’t it? And no easier for me to imagine a reason I’d willingly leave

you.” He looked at her hand a long moment, stroked it and pressed it to his chest.

Iris Astres

“Accidents. Violence. Illness of some kind. People do lose parts of themselves, but not

by choice. Do you see?”

It seemed to him she did. Her eyes widened up at him. He felt the tension in her

body slightly shift.

“And sometimes bonded mates are separated by the law, or some other impossible

misfortune, but…” He risked a hand on her face. She didn’t pull away. “But barring

that, I will not ever leave you. I can’t. It shouldn’t be so hard to understand.” Yom

hesitated briefly, but went on. “Think of how upset you were at the idea of losing a cat.

With all due respect to your world, Hannah, you’d think its inhabitants were more

committed to their animals than to the people they bed. Someone turns his back on a

poodle and he’s a monster. Do the same to a lover and you’re giving the bastard what

he deserves. Where I come from, that simply doesn’t happen.”

“But you are going.” The anger in Hannah had gone, taking everything else along

with it. She looked vacant. Numb. Exhausted.

“Yes,” Yom sighed, drawing her against him. “There are people who can make me

leave. If they come for me, I’ll have to go.”

“Will you just disappear?”
“No.” He rushed the word out, cupped her face and found her gaze. “We’ll be

together through it all. You’ll always know as much as I can tell you, and I’ll never

leave without saying goodbye.”

“Okay.” She pulled his hands away from her face and wiped at her nose with the

back of a sleeve. “I’m tired,” she said.

He followed her to bed. She slid between the sheets with her robe still in place. Yom

hesitated slightly, hand poised at the button of his jeans.

“Take them off.” She blinked sleepily up at him. When he was naked and lying

beside her, she pressed her body against his side and stroked him like she had all those

nights when he’d been playing at being her pet. Her hands trailed over his face, past his

shoulders and belly. She nuzzled her face in his neck, pressing one of his feet between

both of hers. The slow, loving caress of him ended with a sigh. Hannah flipped onto her

back and shook her head.

“You still owe me a cat,” she said.

Alien, Interrupted

Chapter Twelve

Despite the distinctly un-Lalita-like old woman behind the front desk, the shelter

was much as it had been all those weeks ago—same dusty dog prints scattered across

the concrete floor, same ads for vets and groomers tacked up on the wall, same dry

kibble-y scent in the air, all of which made Hannah smile. This place had been lucky for

her once—a sort of magic zone where all her biggest dreams had been granted, genie-

style. Something else was going to happen here today, she could feel it in her bones.

“Are you about to close?” Hannah tilted a solicitous look into the shelter worker’s

souring expression.

The old woman jerked her chin up at the clock, iron-gray pin-curls wobbling over

her round head. “We close at six,” she said.

A different breed of terrier marked each hour on the wall. “Oh good,” Hannah said,

noting the shorter hand was nowhere near the Schnauzer at the bottom. “We’d like to

see your cats, if that’s okay.”

“This isn’t a zoo,” the lady informed her.
“Yes, I know.” Hannah frowned, the buzz in her veins beginning to fizz. Since

when did pet adoption warrant a visible snit? And was it a troll, or a billy goat that

stood under a bridge to keep people from crossing? Either way, the round lumpy thing

at the desk would be perfect casting.

“How are you, Martha?” Oliver shouldered Hannah gently aside, leaned on the

counter and smiled something slow and devastating into the woman’s beady eyes. “Do

you remember me?”

The attempted charm made Martha’s dry mouth pucker, no sale etched into the

wrinkles on her face. “I see a lot of people on the job,” she muttered.

“I was here the day Mittens arrived.”
As if touched by magic words, the old woman froze. Hannah watched in

amazement as her entire countenance shifted from Death Granny to naughty schoolgirl.

Oliver tilted his head and tsked lightly at her. “You mustn’t blame yourself,” he

said. “It could have happened to anyone. And there was no real harm done, was there?”

“No!” The affirmation came out quick enough to cause Hannah some doubts. “We

got the vet to set her leg, and now she’s just fine.” Martha ran her hands over her

turquoise track pants, sniffing the memory away, and nodded herself back on course.

“What can I do for you?” she said.

“We’d like to adopt a cat.” Oliver kissed the back of Hannah’s hand and pulled it

onto the counter beside his own. “Would that be possible, do you think?”

Iris Astres

100

“Of course it’s possible. What do people think a shelter is, I wonder?” Martha

hoisted herself to her feet. Hannah watched the wheeled desk chair beneath her scurry

out from under her as if in terror. The troll-woman moved to the door, working the

kinks from her hips. They followed her outside, past a small pen full of bunnies, to the

cats.

“What happened to Mittens?” As soon as the distance seemed safe, Hannah

whispered the question to Oliver.

He glanced meaningfully up to the wide expanse of stretched polyester moving

ahead of them, affecting a nonchalant lean against her ear. “Martha sat on her,” he said.

“Oh my God,” Hannah mouthed.
“Traumatic, but not fatal,” he went on. “I still wouldn’t nap in her chair if I were

you.”

While Hannah muffled a laugh against his shoulder, Martha got the iron door open,

and with a vaguely displeased wave of her hand shooed them off to the attendant there.

Without a word, the old lady circled back and out the door again. The young attendant

turned.

“Hello,” said Hannah, smiling.
With a diamond in her nose, and what looked to be some kind of graveyard tattoo

rising from the pink plastic gloves on her hands, Lalita looked even more Goth than she

had the first time Hannah had seen her. Her red lips curved into a smile, while kohl-

smudged eyes shifted from Hannah to the tall man at her side.

Hannah grinned into the other woman’s campy leer. “This is Oliver,” she said.
“Oliver Klozehoff?” Lalita’s brows lifted dramatically. “My, how you’ve changed.”

Despite the joking tone, a funny look traveled through the girl’s dark eyes as she took

the man in.

Hannah felt a pang of worry hit her, unable to remember how strong the

resemblance between man and cat had originally been. Surely nothing could be strong

enough for anyone to suspect what had actually happened—even with a hundred clues

much stronger than a common name. Still Hannah worried.

“I want a cat,” she heard herself blurt. “A second one, I mean. I think Oliver, the

other one, of course, would enjoy having someone to chase around with, and I can’t get

enough of the things.” Like all of Hannah’s lies, this one came out as a lunatic babble.

She glanced her panic up at Oliver, who smiled indulgently and shook his head to calm

her down.

Lalita shrugged, peeling the pink gloves from her hands and setting them beside

the bags of litter on the shelf. “I guess I can take a break from my important duties to

show you around.” She leaned in for a whisper. “I always volunteer for poo patrol

when Martha’s here.”

“Good call,” Hannah said.
“I think you’ll find some furry things back here.”

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101

That was a purposeful understatement. The three rounded the corner to find the

vast concrete structure crawling in felines—if anything, more than before. “Have a

look,” said Lalita. “I’ll be right back.”

At the sight of so much animal chaos, Hannah felt something of her early buzz

return, and shifted her giddy attention up at Oliver, whose eyes were still on her.

“Make sure I don’t get carried away,” she said.
“Not my style.” He pulled her against him. “I like you carried away. You’re sexy

when you overload.”

Hannah pressed her palms against the large hands clasped against her belly, while

she smiled out at the congress of cats. Then a thought made her turn to face him. “Did

she recognize you?” Her head jerked back to indicate Lalita.

“No, sweetheart.” He smiled. “Of course not. But maybe someone else will.” He

looked with sudden interest at a small ginger tabby. “Let me go see if I recognize

anyone from before.”

Hannah assumed he was joking, but he strolled with intent toward the cat trail

outside, abandoning her to her temptation.

An absolute beauty with long white fur caught Hannah’s eye. She reached down to

stroke the luxurious coat. The cat raised its head briefly, before collapsing back onto its

curling paws.

“That’s Garbo,” said Lalita, stepping beside her. “I’m told the name’s some geriatric

code for ‘fuck off’, and if so, it totally suits her. But if it’s looks you’re after, I have

something…” The girl paused mid-sentence, suddenly unsure. She turned to face

Hannah with a sadly worried expression. “Come on, I want to show you something.”

“Okay.” Hannah followed, head tilted slightly to one side. There seemed to be some

strange counterbalancing going on inside the punked-out girl. More external toughness,

but inside something was softer. Almost fragile.

“Hi, big guy.” Lalita stopped outside a small enclosure, putting her hand to the

wire mesh.

“Wow.” Hannah peered around her, instantly aware of what the attraction might

be. A single cat sat staring out of the enclosure. Very large, and very black, the animal

looked like a miniature panther—a perfection of nature, zapped tabby-size by some

kind of spell. It was utterly mesmerizing to look at—big and sleek with riveting blue

eyes. Lalita stepped into the pen, and with some trepidation, Hannah followed.

“Meet Loverboy.” The girl’s black-nailed fingers ran over the animal’s rippling

spine. He arched his body and rubbed his head against her wrists, eyes narrowed with

obvious bliss. “I begged my roomies to let me have him, but they’re being total dicks

about it.” Her lips pressed together, eyes narrowed. “I’m so ready to be out of there. But

I’ll never make it happen before some loser comes and takes L-boy away from me.” She

drew a long breath and straightened. “So I’ve been hiding him,” she confessed. “Totally

psycho, right?”

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102

Hannah shrugged. “I get it.”
“Do you?” Lalita studied her.
“Oh yeah,” Hannah said.
“Would you consider taking him?”
“Me?”
“If I have to lose him, it should be you.”
Lalita kissed the cat between the eyes. He lowered his head into her neck and

purred. “Loverboy,” she hummed to him. “Seduce this nice lady while I clean your

pen.” The cat lowered to all fours and slitted suspicious eyes at the girl. “If she takes

you home I know you’ll be okay, and maybe I can visit you sometime.” The upward

glance Lalita gave Hannah was shyly hopeful. It broke Hannah’s heart.

“Maybe I can keep him for you until you get your own place,” Hannah said. It was

an impulsive promise, and one she might regret, given how bad she was at goodbyes,

but it was too touching to see the Goth girl fall apart this way. Lalita’s wrinkled brow

and sadly shaking head said she was grateful for the gesture, but wouldn’t hold

Hannah to it. She nudged the litter tray out of the pen with her clog and excused herself

to finish the job.

The big black cat moved to the door, watching Lalita’s retreat. “It’s okay,” Hannah

soothed, reaching a tentative hand toward the savage beauty. “I’d like an excuse to

have Lalita over, actually. I’ll make sure you can see her again.” The blue-eyed cat

glanced up at Hannah with a thoughtful expression. Decision apparently made, he

jumped onto a two-story cat cubby, lowered his perfect head in tribute and pressed it

into Hannah’s belly.

“Really?” She rubbed his ears and felt the rumble of a purr so warm and deep it

made her gasp.

The caressing continued, with Hannah growing ever more charmed. Familiar

footsteps came up behind her, and Oliver’s elegant shadow flickered against the far

wall. “This one’s as big a flirt as you were,” she said.

“Impossible.” His lips pressed into the hollow of her neck.
“I promised Lalita I’d rescue him. They’re in love, but it’s one of those star-crossed

things. So I have to step in.” Gently, Hannah eased the perfect head away from her belly

to show off the animal’s face. Just as Oliver had done weeks before, the cat went back

on his hind paws and pulled on her hand. Hannah smiled up at the man behind her and

felt a sharp and sickening dip hit her stomach.

“What is it?” she said. “Are you sick?”
Her lover’s face had grown rigid, like a man before a firing squad. In his eyes

Hannah saw the most awful expression—stony resignation tinged with grief and regret.

He pushed her gently to the side, a quick glance over his shoulder before turning to

the cat.

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103

“Nic,” he said. “I can’t say I’m happy to see you. Although, I suppose if it’s anyone,

it might as well be you.”

Hannah gaped at Oliver as he spoke to the cat, begging him to tell her he was

kidding. The grim expression said it was no joke.

The animal sat back on his haunches, blue eyes blinking regretfully at Hannah.
“Do what you have to do,” Oliver said. “But I need a few days. Can you give me

that?” An affirmative tilt of the head, and the animal jumped to the floor, moving

discreetly to the back of its pen. Oliver turned to Hannah, the barest of smiles curving

his lips. “And to think, five minutes ago I would have sworn I was the luckiest man

alive.”

“What is it?” She saw raw pain in his eyes, her stomach sinking to her toes at the

expression

His head bowed. “It’s time to say goodbye,” he said. Then his palms rose to her

shoulders, and he turned her wordlessly to the door.

Hannah navigated her way back to the freeway, stealing quick glances at Oliver,

who was pinching the bridge of his nose and shaking his head.

When she’d merged into late-afternoon traffic and slowed to a safe, if tedious,

twenty miles an hour, she placed an inquiring hand on his thigh. He grabbed it

immediately, pressing it slightly higher and harder against him. The possessive gesture

worked a miracle on her nerves.

“Can you tell me what happened in there?”
Oliver angled against the car door, considering her. “The short version is I’m about

to be arrested.”

“Arrested?” Warning bumps jarred Hannah’s eyes to the road. She pulled the

Volkswagen off the soft shoulder, back into the lane.

“Assuming we survive the drive home,” he cautioned gently. Hannah drew a

steadying breath. She shot a quick glance over her shoulder before hitting the signal for

the off-ramp. Mumbling something about back streets, she exited at Baker’s Beach,

silently navigating toward the Pacific.

The sea cliffs, visible from the winding road, were as beautiful as she’d

remembered them—a gently terraced enclave of million-dollar homes, forested hills

and jagged coast. When a space in a loading zone came free, Hannah pulled into it,

threw the car into park, cut the engine and took a deep breath.

She and Oliver watched in silence as two young parents loaded a stroller into the

back of a van and pulled away, leaving them an unhindered ocean view. The fading sun

left the landscape around them a glittering purple, the rise of the Golden Gate a shadow

crown across the bay. Despite her many west coast years, the beach was still glorious

enough to shock Hannah’s mind into a moment’s stillness.

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“Why would you be arrested?” she made herself ask. “Arrested by whom? You

keep hinting and hinting but I don’t understand.”

Eyes focused on the horizon, she felt his big body turn slowly away from rocks and

waves to face her. “It’s fairly simple.” His voice was heavy, lifeless. She kept her eyes

straight ahead. “The night you were with Richard, I showed you what I was and

committed a serious crime. There have been Thalians on Earth for over two hundred

years, and not one has ever endangered his people or his hosts by revealing himself to a

member of your planet. Letting you see me as a man was a treasonous act. And now

that they know what I’ve done, they’ll arrest me.”

“You’re the first?” Hannah didn’t believe it. What had happened between her and

Oliver had been too easy and natural to be a credible taboo. Someone must have let the

secret out before. Probably many people had. They just hadn’t told anyone.

“It’s not merely self-preservation,” he insisted. “It’s also very basic ethics. You don’t

introduce technical and scientific capabilities to a civilization that’s not yet ready to

receive them. With all due respect, it’s as dangerous as giving a child a gun. And—” He

touched her knee. She didn’t move. “It’s also very much against the law.”

Hannah lightly stroked his hand, before tilting her legs from underneath it.
“I’m guilty of treason,” he repeated. “I’ll be arrested and taken away.”
She shook her head, as if he were pitching a story she knew wouldn’t sell.
Oliver’s eyes closed a long moment. She watched the rise and fall of breath inside

his broad chest. “That cat in there—the one who tried to seduce you—” His head tilted

up at her. “Nic.” She nodded her recognition. “As it happens, he’s head of Council

security.” Oliver huffed an unhappy laugh. “I like him, actually, but he’ll do his duty.

At least he’ll give us time to say goodbye.”

As bright sides went, time for goodbye wasn’t much. “How much time?” Hannah

asked this casually. In truth, she didn’t care. She’d rejected everything already. No

matter the details, her answer was no.

Oliver sighed, looking away. “A few days, I suppose.”
An elderly couple walked arm in arm down the path to the beach. Behind them, a

lone woman pulled at the leash of an overweight pug. Hannah placed both hands on

the steering wheel and looked through the spots on her windshield. The setting sun

glinted off the glass.

“Why did you do it?” she whispered. “If it’s so wrong, and if no one else has ever

even been tempted in hundreds of years, then why did you?” She snapped her head

around to face him. “I know something about you, Ollie. I know you have honor.

Intelligence. Strength. I can’t believe you’d be the only one in centuries to ever commit

intergalactic treason, or whatever you just said. So why did you?” She released her

seatbelt and shifted to face him.

With her back against the door, she saw him blinking at the question, as politely

confounded as a great mathematician asked to justify the shape of a zero. His dark

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105

lashes drooped and his mouth slowly curved around the obvious answer. “Because I’m

in love with you,” he said.

Hannah felt her body jerk back and her eyes sting. She managed to clear the

parking brake on her way out of her seat and onto his lap, banging her knee on the door

frame instead.

“Ow,” she winced. His long fingers replaced hers, curling around the damaged

limb while she burrowed her wet face into the crook of his neck and flexed her hips to

feel more of his body with hers.

“You knew that,” he soothed. “You knew I was in love with you.” His voice was

soft, the hands on her back warm and gentle, tender kisses pressed into her hair.

“No.” Hannah sucked in breath and shook her head. “How could I know? You

never told me.”

“Maybe not in words, but in some other way.” She felt his chin brush thoughtfully

across the top of her head. “The constant attention? The obsessive sex? What I said

about the severed hand. Surely you had some idea.”

“That was all about chemistry and mating laws and God knows what.” Hannah

gathered tears from her face and flung them from her hands with frustration. “You

never said anything about love.”

“Ah.” He waited, palms moving over her arms while she calmed. “In addition to

chemistry and mating laws and God knows what, Hannah, I love you.”

“I love you too.” She blinked into his open eyes, feeling giddy, elated. The soar out

of misery left her shaky and glad. Hannah fell forward, lips pressing into his. The tears

had made her mouth hot and sensitive. He kissed her slow and deep.

“You can’t go,” she whispered. “We love each other now. You have to stay.”
Her smile was met by the same awful misery she’d seen in his eyes before. “No,”

she said, and tried to move away.

He held on to her arms. “I can go with dignity or be taken,” he said. “What I can’t

do is stay.”

“We’ll go together then.” She knew it would be no, even before his chin tilted

downward and he looked away.

“Why not?” she wailed at him. “I’m the only one who knows. They can quarantine

me. Lock me up. Forever, if they’ll let me be with you.”

“Enough.” He covered her mouth. “You are to stay here and be safe and well.

Interplanetary travel requires adaptation and training you don’t have.” She opened her

mouth.

“Don’t.” He stopped her.
“Then let’s go somewhere together and hide.” Again the dipping chin, the sideways

glance. She closed her eyes against his agonized expression, felt his fingers press into

her hair.

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“They can find me no matter where I go. And they will. But I’ll come back to you,

Hannah.”

“No.” She shook her head.
“If there’s any conceivable way, I’ll be back.”
“If.” She slid off his lap, back into the driver’s seat. “If means you don’t know. You

can’t be sure.”

She waited through the silence that said she was right, then turned the key, put the

car in drive and pulled into the southbound lane heading home.

Yom pulled his jacket around him, feeling sick with a cold he’d never felt in his life.

He told himself he was numb but knew the sensation was closer to fear. Or perhaps it

was horror. Like a man hurtling through space. The same sick weightlessness. The same

pointless adrenaline. Darting mind, racing heart and no action to take. Nothing to

consider but which unpleasant outcome would be his. Crushed to death, suffocated,

burned or just an endlessly powerless confinement until he was sick or mad or both.

As always when he felt himself fall into that panicky void, he reached for an image

of Hannah in his mind and held on. None of that would happen to him, because he was

going to fight.

More than that, he was going to win. Yom pushed the bell, heard nothing, knocked

once and waited. Marc called something over his shoulder as he opened the door. His

look on seeing his upstairs neighbor was understandably puzzled, but he still stepped

immediately back, motioned Yom inside.

“I can’t stay.” Yom held up a firm hand and shook his head. “I’ve come for a favor.”
With a puzzled frown, Marc stepped onto the landing.
“I have to go away for a while. I need you to keep an eye on Hannah. It’s going to

be hard on her, I think. Try to see she’s eating. Check in on her. Make sure she’s okay.”

“Okay.” Marc shrugged, squinting up at him through the evening shadows on the

porch. “How long will you be gone?”

“I don’t know.” Yom stared out at the street and sighed. “It could be some time.”
“Everything okay?”
“Hardly anything,” he muttered. Marc put a hand on his shoulder. Yom looked at it

a second. Faced the man. “I need you to help me with Hannah. Can I count on you for

that? If she’s okay, I’ll be fine.”

“Sure.” Marc gave a teasing grin. “I’m sure James would love to help out too, if

that’s okay.”

Yom closed his eyes with a sigh. “Fine,” he said and turned to go.
“Dude,” Marc called after him, “that was a joke. You don’t have to laugh but try not

to jump off a cliff.”

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Chapter Thirteen

The morning air was very cold. Too cold for anyone, let alone Hannah, to be out

without shoes or a coat. She’d grabbed the first pair of jeans she could find and slipped

them on under the shirt Oliver had put her to bed in. This made her poorly dressed in

all respects, but it couldn’t possibly matter how bad she looked when she was following

the man she loved out of her life. It mattered more that he was still so beautiful—

standing tall against the pale-gray sky, smiling gravely down at her like a dream come

to life on her stairs.

What mattered most of all was that she somehow get through this goodbye without

crying. The bitter cold might help. At least they couldn’t drag it out. Whatever it took,

she wanted him to remember her smiling and sweet, not choked and miserable and

gasping in pain.

In the three days since the shelter disaster, he’d seen plenty of both personas, but if

he’d had a preference, he’d kept it to himself. When she’d cried, he’d held her. When

she smiled he thanked her. All in all, she supposed, she hadn’t done too badly.

Neither she nor he had done much of anything at all. Most of the time, they’d spent

lying in bed, his warm palms moving slowly over her skin while she pressed her cheek

to his chest and breathed. Twice, in that time, they’d showered and dressed for some

planned excursion, some “last night on the town”, only to stop at the door, clothes

promptly discarded as they’d crawled back into their bed, curling up side by side to

stare at their respective nothings—he at the ceiling over her head, she at the wall

beyond his left shoulder. When Hannah’s eyes finally drooped with exhaustion, she’d

push back on the sheets with her toes, sliding high enough on his body to kiss him on

the mouth. That was how their lovemaking began. The slowness of their bodies and the

dullness in their heads made it easy to kiss and touch and move together for hour after

hour of slow, sleepy sex.

Time, however, had not stood still for all that. A discreet knock had come to the

door as expected, a meeting place and time had been arranged, and now the place and

time had come.

Oliver’s gaze shifted to a black sedan parked on the corner. He’s going to tell me he

has to go. With that thought came a sob so fierce it felt as if Hannah’s whole self was

collapsing—pulled into the nothing she’d have when he was gone. She did her best to

stifle the sound, let her eyes skid over asphalt and hedges, looking for distraction and

escape. When neither appeared, she covered her face to block out the grief. Only

Oliver’s gentle fingers curling around her wrists made her lower her hands.

“You’d better run,” she breathed. “I don’t think I can keep it together.”

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“I left you a present.” She blinked at this unexpected announcement, swiping a tear

from her chin. “It’s under your desk, Hannah. You need to go and get it right away.

That’s important. Do you promise me?”

She nodded.
“All right.” He took a step away from her and she winced at the movement, arms

winding tightly around her, chin tilting down against the pain. “Tell me you don’t

regret it,” he whispered. “Please, sweetheart—tell me that.”

“Regret it?”
“Do you wish I hadn’t come?”
Hannah began to shake her head, and stopped. Did she regret it? For a moment

Hannah didn’t know. She thought back and imagined her life before she’d adopted a

cat who’d turned into a man and changed her forever. It had been a life of work that

was pleasant enough. There might have been more evenings spent with Richard,

comfortably annoyed, vaguely disappointed. Maybe she and Richard would have

reasoned each other into a marriage someday, agreed upon some tolerable routine.

She’d have no grief. No longing. No all-consuming love to feel abandoned by.

Hannah stepped up on the curb. Tears forgotten, she looked at the man who’d

changed it all. Blissfully, the sight made her forget herself. For all his beauty, he did not

look well. His face was drawn with worry, maybe something worse.

What must this be like for him? She, at least, was going home. God knows what he

would have to deal with. And now he only wanted to know if she wished she’d never

met him. She’d already let him think the question hard to answer.

Hannah curled both hands around the collar of his coat and drew him close enough

to whisper in his ear. “Nothing that opposes you can succeed.” Hopeful green eyes

tilted into hers. She answered them with unmasked love. “Abelard writes that to

Heloise,” she explained, “once he’s tried to forget her and failed, tried to abandon his

love for her and found it impossible.” She lowered her bare feet flat on the sidewalk,

relaxing into the bitter cold. “Nothing that opposes you can succeed,” she repeated.

“But unlike Abelard, I have no plans to even try to undo what we’ve done together. I’ll

just love you, Oliver. I’ll love you, and miss you, and wait for you however long it

takes. Nothing that opposes you will ever succeed. And I’m glad.”

“Hannah.” Oliver’s body folded around hers, his strong back sheltering her from

the blackness of the waiting car. He kissed her, soft and slow and deep. If there was any

hurry in him, he didn’t let it show.

When his face finally lifted, she managed a smile. “I only wish I could hear from

you the way Heloise did, and know how you are and what you’re doing.”

“You will know.” A narrow look came into his eyes. “Every time you think of me,

you’ll know that I’m thinking of you, wanting you, wishing I was here with you. Know

that every time, and I swear to you, you’ll never be wrong.”

“But will you be okay?”

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He let the left side of his mouth pull to one side, a teasing look she always loved,

but it was different somehow. His skin seemed pale and tight, his cheeks a little hollow.

She tried to press a hand to his forehead, but he caught it in midair, pressed it to his

mouth, squeezed it and let go.

“I’ll be all right.” He glanced at the sedan. Hannah began frantically nodding, to

keep the tears from welling in her eyes.

“Go find what I left for you. Find your present, Hannah.” He turned her with a

gentle push toward the house.

A few steps away from him, hot tears splashed down her cheeks. “Goodbye, Oliver.

I’ll miss you.” She gasped the words into the cold air around her and stumbled up the

stairs into her home.

Hannah didn’t immediately keep her promise. She made it up the stairs,

successfully managed the door and even pushed herself as far as the other side. Once

there, however, she collapsed with her back to the wall, legs tucked beneath her on the

kitchen floor.

She felt the pain of loss steal her breath, until it tore from her in an ugly whoosh, the

sound cold and lonely, like a mournful flock of crows in flight. She sobbed into her

hands, and when they got too miserably wet, she sobbed into the bunched cotton that

gathered at the crook of her arm.

The wound of separation grew as she cried. She could feel it swell in the swampy

wetness of her grief and didn’t care. She cried until the damp of tears, the air of all those

racking sobs, fed the beast of pain into a monster. It pushed and pushed at the walls of

what Hannah thought she was and who she thought she’d been. She cried until the

image broke, and when it did the thinnest shard of light bled through the cracks and

eventually helped her forward.

It was almost two hours later when a new, shaky self finally stumbled down the

hall to her office, but the cardboard box she found under her desk, where Oliver had

left it, was still intact.

Inside was a kitten maybe six weeks old, a silky tiger stripe with bright blue eyes,

mewing and squeaking helplessly up at her from his cardboard cell. Outside the box, in

careful printing, a small card said Herman D. Cat, and then, below that, the indelible

words she’d first heard him say by the beach. I love you.

Hannah lifted the squirming kitten and cupped it to her cheek, “You must have

been lonely and scared all this time.” She held the wriggling warmth up in both hands

and looked into sapphire blue eyes, full of helpless curiosity. “Herman.” She cooed his

name, cuddled him against her chest. “You’re not a real tiger, are you?” In answer, the

claws of all four paws dug deep into her tender flesh. “Aye! Is that a yes?” Hannah

tugged him away to look again.

“Mew.” The answer, though uncertain, sounded so forlorn she sat with her new

kitten a good long time, stroking, and soothing, and kissing its head. Her eyes traveled

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back to the box, beside which had been placed a bag of food, litter tray and litter. When

she’d set this out and Herman had enjoyed his first snack, pausing to careen drunkenly

across the kitchen tiles between bites, she grabbed a quilt from the arm of a chair,

scooped him up against her chest and, lying back on the couch, cried until she and her

new kitten fell asleep.

* * * * *

“You’ve admitted the reversal was voluntary. And you’re certain of this?”
“I’m not certain of anything,” Yom repeated. The Council representative was

laboring too hard to sustain his look of outraged suspicion. Tight-lipped and dead-

eyed, he looked more like a man battling stomach cramps than a righteous defender of

the public good.

Yom connected with the image of pain. His insides had been knotted and seething

for weeks now, as though his guts were trying to break past his bones and crawl away

from him. It was an effort to move. An effort to breathe. But the suffering was

interesting too. It kept his mind focused to see how much pain could be fit in a day.

How much mental and physical agony could be borne. Something to keep his brain

alive while he struggled to be with Hannah again.

“Is that your answer, Mr. Lister?” Was it his answer? He didn’t know. Yom raised

his eyes to the panel of judges and saw more boredom than anything else. Whatever the

decision, they’d likely reached it weeks ago, along with the rest of the planet.

“Given it was very much what I wanted to happen, I can only suppose I made it

happen. I can’t be certain because I wasn’t thinking past the bonding instinct at the

time. I didn’t ignore the consequences. They just didn’t exist.”

“I see.” Was that condemnation in the man’s voice, or incredulity? The shoddy

technique was irritating even if it did work in Yom’s favor. He had a lot in his favor, if

the nurses who visited his cell could be believed. Public opinion was still solidly with

him. The infocasts were recycling the ancient tropes from his hero persona. Man against

machine. Scientist as Thalian savior. The added strains of his debilitating passion for an

Earthling, the subsequent illness he was currently dying from, only added juice, it

seemed.

All of which could make it all the more important for the council to make an

example of him. Mustn’t have a series of horny bachelors using his case as an excuse to

risk detection on exotic locales.

“Did you consider the consequences when you overrode a trusted protective

network and chose to manually orbit three supercrafts, despite the advice of every other

supervisor on call?”

Yom blinked at the unexpected jump in logic. Maybe the prosecutor really was ill or

drunk, perhaps. “Of course I considered the consequences.”

“You’re generally a careful man?”

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Chapter Fourteen

Full grown, Herman’s body made a noticeable impact when it landed on Hannah’s

belly in bed. “Hey,” she slurred, gently removing his bulk from her bladder, “a

gentleman takes his own weight, remember?” The large cat resettled against her hip.

Hannah snuggled more deeply under the quilt and closed her eyes.

Oliver. Longing for him always came with consciousness. It buzzed in her veins,

like white noise. Flickering memories—kisses, caresses, glances and words—everything

tingled and hummed under her skin. When she was lucky, the images gathered into

pleasant fantasy, lulling her back into sleep. At other times, a long loop of questions

worried her awake—where was he, and what was he doing? Could he feel her, see her

somehow? Did he know that she loved him? Hannah flipped onto her belly, pulling his

pillow into her arms. “Be well,” she whispered, closing her eyes. “I love you.”

A slow, heavy thud of footsteps on the back stairs jarred her from near sleep to

curious alert. Herman uncurled himself from her side, edging to the corner of the bed

while Hannah listened.

Someone was definitely on the back steps to her door. Her eyes shifted quickly to

the red numbers on the face of the clock: 7:30 on a Tuesday morning—nothing good

came calling at that hour. Only dire catastrophe would have Marc or Philip up before

noon. All other possibilities she could think of involved policemen, criminals and

similar dangers, unless… Hannah drew a calming breath and let it out. It had to be

some kid delivering free newspapers, or menus from a takeout place.

Just as she’d settled into the idea, a slight tap against glass had her torso pushing

upright again. Tap, tap, tap. The sound was stronger this time, more insistent. Nerves

made a chill crawl over Hannah’s arms as she tossed back the covers and rose to her

feet. She threw a robe over her camisole and panties, ran a hand over her face, and

started down the hall.

Something in the silhouette she saw through the thick glass panel in the door made

her heart seize violently in her chest. A tall figure in a dark coat stood with his back to

the door, staring out at the rooftops beyond the garden. The man pivoted slowly on his

feet and looked at her. Sunburst eyes held Hannah rooted and motionless, six paces

away from the door. When after long seconds she still hadn’t moved, the smallest of

smiles touched Oliver’s lips.

Hannah lurched across the cold kitchen floor, fumbling with the locks until she’d

managed them all and felt the door swing free of its frame.

“Oliver.” Her neck tilted back to catch those blazing green eyes gazing at her from

beneath the dark tousle of hair. The same man. The man she loved. Here again.

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114

She examined his face against the cold gray sky, saw that it was pale and thin, dark

circles adding to the drama of his beauty, his perfect cheekbones standing out against

the hollows in his cheeks. She could see the muscles in his jaw jump, as though he was

grinding his teeth to keep himself from shuddering. A hand held his coat closed at his

throat.

Hannah pulled at his shoulder to bring him inside. He was carrying a large black

satchel that thudded to the floor beside him. She watched him push it to the corner and

took a step back to stare at him, waiting for a gratifying click of recognition, a warm

rush of joy.

Nothing came. It had been too long. Month after month of numbing out her grief

and moving on.

Something blurred her vision and Hannah blinked it away, realizing belatedly that

it was Oliver’s body, swaying slightly by the door.

“You’re sick.” She pulled him farther into the room, worry gathering where shock

had been. He shook his head, the denial cut off by a harsh, hollow cough it took obvious

effort to master.

Hoping to take some of the chill from the air, Hannah moved to the stove and lit all

four burners, while she flipped the kettle on. She rooted through cupboards looking for

soup, crackers, cookies, something to offer him. The same ancient collection of cake mix

and baked beans stared accusingly back at her. She hadn’t been hungry in months. And

the boys downstairs had been so intent on feeding her—she’d let everything around her

go to hell.

“Hannah.” Oliver came up behind her, sliding his hands around her waist. His coat

was cool and damp with morning. It gave her gooseflesh and she shivered against him.

He reached around her to turn off the stove. He’d always objected to her standing by

the open flame.

When his hand covered hers, Hannah caught sight of a large coffee stain on the

sleeve of her robe and grimaced at the mess she must seem. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

“Understandable,” he said. “And still, it’s going to be a little embarrassing if you

don’t want me here.” His gently wry tone, previously so familiar, sounded hollowed

out. Unreal.

“Oliver,” she said.
“That’s right,” he agreed.
“I missed you.” Hannah heard her own words like a quiet confession. A whispered

song. Tears welled in her eyes and spilled. “I missed you,” she choked.

The tiniest tug and she was in his arms, pulling at his coat to get closer. Her hands

fumbled their way into openings, working past buttons and layers of cloth to his skin.

She felt him sway beneath her touch, and spread her fingers upward from his belly to

his ribs. Cold skin and bone had her drawing away. “God, Oliver. What happened to

you?”

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115

He glanced wearily from her anxious expression to the two wicker chairs by the

window. “Let’s sit down,” he said.

Hannah shook her head. “Come on.” She pulled him down the hall to the bedroom.

They weren’t going to spend all day in a cold kitchen. Not when he was sick, and she’d

gone weirdly numb. When they’d made their shaky way to the foot of the bed, she

helped him shrug out of his coat, glanced at the clothes beneath, and surprised them

both with a smile.

“Ah,” he said wryly, “the pants you’re happy to see.”
“I’m in shock.” Hannah frowned again. “I think it’s worse than the first time I saw

you standing there. I thought I’d never see you again.” Tears slid absently from her face

to the floor, while she took his coat and draped it over the rocker. He lifted his sweater

over his head, unbuckled his belt and stepped out of his shoes.

When he was naked, they stood for a moment staring. He gestured vaguely and she

was beside him again. Her head dipped. Her cheek ran experimentally over the cool,

pale skin of his bare arm. She led him to her bed.

Oliver rolled unquestioningly onto his back while Hannah studied him, mopping

the tears from her face with a sleeve. His hair was longer. His color replaced by a

smooth, milky sheen. His hands and feet were icy. A thin layer of cold sweat gathered

at his neck. And he was so thin. The change made him seem younger somehow.

Vulnerable and moving. Like the medieval depiction of a martyred saint, made glorious

beyond the grip of his ordeal.

Some sense of what he’d been through caused a different heartache to flood the

place in Hannah where the loss of him had been. “You said they wouldn’t hurt you,”

she lamented.

“They didn’t hurt me, Hannah, they saved me. Don’t you see?” His hand brushed

over the pain of her expression. “Here I am.”

“You’re sick,” she said again. He shook his head.
“They kept me drugged until the trial, which didn’t last long, thankfully.”
“What happened?”
“I was found guilty.” Her grip tightened on his arm. “Guilty, but not responsible.”

He held up a hand as her mouth rounded for another question. “It means a demotion, a

fine, various privileges revoked. Nothing I wouldn’t gladly have traded to be here

now.”

Hannah relaxed at that, her leg and arm curling around him, even though she was

barely warmer than his chilly skin. “Then why are you so thin?”

“I’ve been in a coma.”
She lifted away and watched him stare up at her, his beautiful face calm and

reassuring despite the flicker of worry in his eyes.

“A medical coma,” he amended. “Induced to protect me from more damaging

withdrawal. I’ve only been back on my feet for about ten days.” He lifted an arm,

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116

making a fist. “It takes time to get the muscle back, even with the automated

stimulation they give you while you’re under. But I’m not actually ill, Hannah. I’ll

recover. Fully.”

Yom hoped that was true. Hoped against all hope that he was imagining the

coolness he felt in his mate, the distance. It might all be in his head. God knows he was

far from at his best. But somehow a serious doubt had formed since he’d been back, and

he couldn’t make it go.

Maybe he should have written to her first. Given her a chance to adjust. At best it

had been a questionable decision to surprise her this way. At worst it had been fear, the

fear she wouldn’t want him.

In truth, Yom had never really dealt with his being the only bonded member of

their pair. Hannah had no deep physical attachment to him. She wouldn’t go through

the pain of withdrawal without him. She was completely free to walk away. Maybe

that’s what she’d done while he was gone. Maybe she was looking for a way to tell him

so.

To counter the cold sheen of sweat such thoughts produced, Yom turned his head

and buried his nose in the crook of her neck, inhaling the familiar scent of her hair. The

wave of well-being rose and crashed against a wall of mounting fear. Her posture

beside him was open, giving enough, but shaky and cool, not the Hannah he’d known.

Not at all.

A trilling bell came from somewhere in her dressing room. Hannah pulled away

from him, eyes drifting to her clock.

“Sue?” he asked, knowing it was someone else.
Hannah shook her head. “One second.” He watched her pad off to the phone.

“Esther!”

Yom pulled her pillow into his face, breathing the sweet scent of her and wishing he

couldn’t hear her half conversation. There was a new tone in her voice. An odd

assurance. A practical energy. A separateness from who they’d been.

“That’s actually good,” said Hannah, coming down the hall. “No, it’s not good he’s

sick, obviously. But it’s good we can reschedule, because I’m actually busy today.” A

pause. “I’ll tell you later.” Hannah came into the bedroom. Yom watched her eyes

flicker at the sight of him and forced the questions from his mind. “Okay then,” she

said. “See you Saturday.” She pressed a button on the phone and sat on the edge of the

bed. “That was my only appointment today and it’s canceled.” She smiled.

“Appointment?” There’d been no appointments when he’d left. Now, evidently,

there were many.

Her smile broadened. She was proud.

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117

Yom’s own face was tired from the effort of controlling his expression. He’d never

been polite with her before. Never unreal. “It’s been a long time, Hannah.” False words

to match the false behavior. “Tell me how you’ve been.”

“Well.” She perched beside him. “Not too bad, I guess. I don’t remember much

about the beginning. I cried and I slept. Finally Herman needed food so I got up.” She

tapped the side of the bed until the cat jumped up beside her. “He’s a sweetie, Ollie,

thank you. You knew I’d never die and leave him to starve, didn’t you?” She pulled the

cat onto her lap and stroked him. “All I remember other than that are Philip and Marc

hounding me constantly to come out with them, or come downstairs and have dinner

with them, or at least try this new cinnamon latte from the Java Jungle they’d brought

back for me, or whatever, on and on, they just would not let up.”

Yom looked at the window and nodded a silent acknowledgement to his friends.
“Finally they sent Salvador after me.” The name, Salvador, brought a lopsided grin

to Hannah’s face. More clouds gathered over Yom in his exile. “He’s their cleaning

lady’s son.”

“Esther?”
“Right.” She frowned at him. “Oh right, you heard on the phone.”
Yom used his hands and feet to push upright against the headboard. It helped him

breathe.

“So anyway,” Hannah said, “he came upstairs with some of his mother’s tamales,

and we started talking about school and etcetera, and he’s having trouble with language

arts, which I have quite the background in, as you know, so now I tutor him, and some

of the other kids from his neighborhood twice a week while his mother and the women

she works with clean a couple of places on the street.”

“Kids?” Yom asked.
Hannah nodded. “Salvador’s eight—completely adorable. The others are all

somewhere around there.”

The news didn’t bring the relief it should. A deepening unease slid over him as he

studied her. Her hair was a dark, silky jumble down her back, and her robe split

gradually apart at the waist, revealing the tops of her thighs. She was here as he’d

imagined her a thousand times since their separation, but he couldn’t feel her. Couldn’t

touch her. None of the painful wanting he’d felt had eased. If anything, the pain was

worse now. Before, at least, he’d believed he’d have her back.

Hannah shifted her weight to one side, legs curled beside her, while she smiled

more broadly into his face. “But that’s not the coolest thing,” she said, patting his arm.

“The boys set me up with a glitzier gig, teaching French for singers at the opera house

every Wednesday night. For which I am paid,” she bounced up and down, “season

tickets.” He watched her beam at him until her eyes flickered and she slumped away.

“What is it?” she asked. “You don’t like opera?”

“God, Hannah. What would it matter?” Yom could feel his spirit slithering away

from her jubilance into the darkest place he’d ever known. He’d almost died and in his

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absence, she’d taken flight. Flown away. Beyond the reach of his courage, his patience,

his will. He’d never have her now. Which meant he was done for. A second round of

withdrawal was out of the question—all other options dangerously unappealing. Yom

closed his eyes and tried to marshal what little strength he still had to draw another

breath.

“My absence seems to work for you,” he said.
Her body slid away from him. He made no move to bring her back. A moment later

Herman started beside him, jumped to the floor and hurried away. Yom opened his

eyes.

“What did you say?” She was standing at the foot of the bed, eyes dangerously

wide and sharp. Her words dared him to repeat himself. A dare he didn’t take.

“Did you just say your absence worked for me?” An angry accusation. “Why?

Because I’m not thirty pounds thinner? Or dead, maybe?” She punched a rigid finger at

him. “I could have been dead, you know. I wanted to be. I stupidly thought you wanted

something else.” He watched her long limbs take three steps, turn and move the other

way, her voice the whispered equivalent of a thoughtful neighbor’s scream. “I grew up

with loss and death and pain, Oliver. Plenty of it! Buckets full! My father dead, my

friends freaked out, my mother weak and useless. I had no desire to live through more

trauma, so if you really weren’t interested in putting me through it, you should have

said so. That’s not what you said, is it? Do you remember? You wanted faith and trust

and fucking Heloise. Stoic. Spiritual. Steadfast. Sublime.” She stopped suddenly to stare

him down. “So that’s what I did. For you.”

“Hannah.”
His effort to calm her had her whirling around, like a woman desperate for

something to throw. He sat up, reaching for her. She shoved him hard, her strength

surprising. Before she could scramble back, he caught her hand and pulled her down

with him, refusing to let go.

“Be angry,” he said. “Be angry, but stay. Don’t leave.”
“I want to hit you,” she snarled.
“Then hit me, Hannah. Hit me. No one’s stopping you.”
With a shove she had him on his back. Rolling on top of him, she pinned him in a

straddle and pushed against his shoulders as though she thought the mattress were an

ocean she could drown him in. “I did it for you.” She pushed again. “I thought you’d be

proud.” Her hands lifted off his shoulders to cover a face that had crumpled with tears.

“I did it for you,” she sobbed. “I imagined you could see me all the time and that you

thought I was so brave and good.”

“Hannah.” Her pain throbbed inside him.
“Stop.” She scowled until he lay back flat in bed, waiting for the right to comfort

her again.

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119

“I’d have taken arsenic like Emma Bovary, or thrown myself under Anna

Karenina’s train. Anything but fucking Heloise. You wouldn’t let me,” she choked.

“You planted a cat for me to care for. You enlisted the neighbors to check on me twelve

times a day. I kept hearing you ask Do you regret it? That led me to think that you

wanted my strength. That you wanted my courage. So that’s what I gave you.” She

stared at him, shaking her head with lonely wonder. “I did such impossible things for

you. You can’t imagine. I carried on. I survived. And all because I love you.”

When her breath grew even, body still, eyes wet and staring, Yom drew her

carefully down beside him, sliding a hand beneath her body to gather her close. “I

misunderstood.” He breathed the words into her ear. “Forgive me,” he whispered.

“And, Hannah.” He waited. She opened her eyes. “I love you more than life, and

always will.”

Her mouth was hot with tears when he kissed her. Her body rose and pressed into

his arms. After long moments, her hand lifted to his chest. He moved reluctantly away

and let her speak.

“Are you here forever now?” They looked into each other’s faces.
“For as long as I’m alive,” he said. The vow brought a sudden thought that made

him push to a seated position at the foot of the bed. “Did we leave my satchel on the

landing, or bring it inside?”

“It’s in the kitchen.” He looked at her. “I saw it,” she confirmed.
Yom nodded toward the hallway. “Let’s not lose it,” he said. “I’m legal now,

Hannah. It’s all been arranged. I have all the proper documents. A job with an income.

And,” he announced with a smile, “a pretty nice amount of cash.” He reached for her

hand. “We can be married, if that’s what you want.”

Her face went dangerously blank.
“You’ll have a proper proposal,” he added, “and a ring, of course. I only wanted…”
She put a heavy hand on his arm. “I want to get married,” she said. “I love you,

Yom. I want to be married to you.”

The strange sound of his name on her lips made both of them smile. “And

children?” he asked. “My current contraceptive cycle will be over in three months. I

have enough to continue after that. But I can also stop.”

“Do you want children?” Hannah looked like a child herself. Wide-eyed and bleary,

everything new.

“I want you, Hannah. And what you want. No more than that.”
Her eyes wandered away, and back again. “Do you think we can have children?

Are we enough alike, I mean?”

“Ah.” Yom nodded. With a deep breath, he leveled a careful gaze into her eyes.

“The danger of anyone so much as suspecting who I am is simply unimaginable,

sweetheart. We must keep what I tell you a secret, you and I.”

“We will,” she agreed.

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And so Yom told her everything he knew about their origins. The accepted theory

now suggested the inhabitants of both their planets had been quietly colonized at

various points in their development, long centuries ago, by the same unknown beings

from galaxies away in space. Whatever the natural evolution of each planet might have

been, it was commonly redirected by this silent, pervasive invasion. A dominant species

too long ago for either native population to register or record. And so, Hannah and he

were fairly similar, fathered as they were by the same unknown source.

“I see,” she said, when his story was told. “So we’re compatible.” She smiled a

challenge. “Care to put it to the test?”

He pulled her against him. “I want to be inside you.” Just saying the words made

him ache.

Her body slid open in invitation.
“You’re not ready,” he objected.
“I can be.” She reached for him. “I am.”
He pulled her robe apart. Kissed her breasts beneath the cotton camisole. Brushed a

hand along the outside of a silky thigh that rose at an angle, leading him on. He lifted

his head for a kiss and caught her expression, dreamy and distant.

“What?” he asked.
“I was thinking about our wedding.” She smiled up at him, body rippling like a

wave. “I’ll make Sue wear something ghastly, and she’ll love you so much she won’t

care. And since it’s bad luck for you to dress me, I’ll ask Jeremy and Scott to do it. Then

they’ll fall in love, and we can go to their wedding.”

Yom nodded, nibbled his way down her neck, feeling the tingly elation of blood

and life returning to the cells beneath his skin.

“Maybe we can do it at the opera house somewhere,” she added. “Like in the lower

vestibule.”

“Lower vestibule,” he repeated, and rocked himself between her thighs.
“Or maybe we could do it today.”
A subtle question in her voice. He rose to look her in the eye. “We can do both,” he

said. Hannah’s unblinking eyes stared into his, full of gratitude and love.

“Ask me again,” she instructed. He lifted away, about to get on one knee and

proffer the heartfelt request, the pledge and the offering he thought she wanted. She

pulled him back to her, shaking her head.

“Ask me while you’re fucking me.”
Yom’s cock went diamond hard between them. It nestled against the thin, damp

cloth between her legs.

“Pull your panties down,” he said.
Her hands slid off his back and she wriggled beneath him until one foot had finally

freed the other from the tiny scrap of cloth, and her thighs were spread wide.

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“Hannah.” Yom pressed his cock against her silky flesh and waited for her lids to

flutter open. “Marry me.” He pushed an inch or two inside her and felt the ball of her

foot travel over his calf all the way to his ass. “Marry me.” He slid in deep, feeling an

almost painful rush of pleasure take the place of so much depravation. Two hundred

and fourteen days of fevered dreams brought to aching life.

“Ask me,” she said. And he did. Again and again he slid the question into her,

whispered it over her, mouthed the words against her skin, until after many long, sweet

minutes, her body closed around him, and Yom heard her say the word that hammered

in his heart. A long, sweet “yes”.

About the Author

A native Californian, Iris managed to misspend most of her youth in Paris, France,

where she learned to parlez-vous with the best of them. Now she leads a bilingual, bi-

coastal and frequently bi-continental life, saying yes to desire whenever she can.

You also might enjoy Iris’ historical romances, which she writes under the pen

name Ellen Trubody.

Iris welcomes comments from readers. You can find her website and email

addresses on her

author bio page

www.ellorascave.com

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