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I also discover that the guy wet his pants.
I frown down at the sight of the damp fabric covering his crotch, because there’s not a smell of urine in the air. It’s musky, yes, but not unpleasant and acrid. It almost smells like…
One of his legs twitches and then, as I watch, the wet stain spreads. As it does, it outlines a very large, very thick cock. A very erect, thick cock.
That’s not urine. He’s getting off.
I stare at him in horror, skittering backward. He doesn’t move, and it takes me a moment to realize he’s still unconscious. What the fuck is wrong with him that he’s coming in his sleep and puking when he’s awake? I retreat to my kitchen, taking the glass of water and drinking it as I think. I’m not thirsty, but one doesn’t waste water.
He makes a pained groan and starts panting again, and for a moment, he looks so pitiful that I know he’s sick. I’m not sure what sort of sickness it is, but I stare at the flushed pink shade in his ears and think about how he’d begged for a drink. I think about all the nights that I’d spent in the slave barracks with a dry mouth, begging for a drink myself. Just something to wet my throat and bring some relief from the never-ending heat of the desert moon.
Damn it, I really am an idiot, I decide, because I’m going to help him. I wet a towel with cold water and cross the floor to his side, knife in hand. Carefully, I put the towel on his forehead, patting it in place.
The stranger makes a sound of relief, and I feel another twinge of guilt.
If he really is sick, he’ll be easy to keep tied up because he won’t have the strength to free himself. I’ve got a stun-stick. I’ve got weapons. I should be safe.
I should.
And if he tries anything, I can kill him.
I tell myself this as I head back to the kitchen for another wet towel to put on his broad chest.
Three
JRRRU
My head is foggy, my mouth feels like a wasteland, and my wrists hurt. I try to turn over, and this feels more difficult than anticipated. I smack my lips, trying to wet them, and something cool and damp brushes over my mouth. Precious liquid drips in, and I lap at it, so thirsty that it makes me near-crazed. This is the best tasting water ever.
“Drink slow or you’ll vomit again.” The strange, sweet voice is doing its best to sound hard, but there’s a gentle edge to it. The female. The one I smelled as I headed over here. I vaguely remember pounding on her door, drowning in her scent and the grip of the noli, and then…not much else. How did I get inside?
I can’t remember. I don’t know where I am or how I got here.
Everything hurts like I’ve been in a fight and lost. My stomach, my throat, my head, my shoulder…all of it aches. When my tail moves, it slides over cool tile, which tells me I’m not on a bed. On the floor? I crack one eye open, assessing my surroundings even as I suck on the wet cloth over my mouth.
I get a bare glimpse of a cloth-covered chest swell—a teat—on the female before she gets to her feet and moves away. My cock stiffens again, and I’m dimly aware that my trou are wet, cold and sticky, and my cock is still throbbing and aching.
I’m absolutely going to murder Hrrrusek when I’m back on my feet.
I try to lift a hand to wipe a drip of water by my mouth, but it takes me a moment to realize that my hands are bound together. My feet, too. Am I…captive?
I roll onto my back, and the moment I do, the female is there again, planting her foot on my stomach. She hovers over me, a stun-stick humming and less than a handspan away from my nose. “Don’t try to get up. I won’t hesitate to stun you again.”
“You…stunned me?” I stare up at her in surprise. Maybe that’s why my brain is fuzzy. She shocked me so hard she made me pass out. I should be furious. It has to be the noli that makes my dick stiffen at her casual violence. Or maybe it’s the authoritative way she says that she’s not afraid to take drastic action. Whatever it is, my stupid cock likes it entirely too much and I resist the urge to groan.
“You came into my house,” she accuses. “Of course I stunned you.”
“I needed help.”
“I would have helped you on the porch. There’s no need to trespass.”
This female is insane. She thinks I’m trespassing? Chelsea had mentioned that her neighbor was unfriendly, but I had no idea this was what she meant. The woman with her foot on my gut is the opposite of my brother’s sunny-spirited mate. Whereas Chelsea is all smiles and fearlessness, this human female has a hunted look to her face. She’s small-framed, with a cloud of dark hair and an angry expression. But kef, does she smell amazing. Her scent is the best thing I’ve ever scented, and I want to just close my eyes and drink it in for hours. It’s both sweet and sultry, rich and musky and clean all at once.
