Submission Games, page 5
part #0 of Krinar World Series
Before I can sort out my complex feelings one way or another, Navur returns. I manage to sit back up in the bed, legs still embarrassingly jiggly and cheeks flushing as I pull my panties back up.
“Now,” Navur says sternly, not acknowledging my post-orgasmic state, and tossing my laptop onto the empty spot on the mattress beside me. “You have a deadline in two hours.”
With Navur’s help, I have my first assignment typed up and submitted in less than ninety minutes. He turns out to be quite skilled at the subtle art of food criticism, describing last night’s meal back to me in not only enough detail that I almost feel as if I can retroactively taste the delicacies, but also providing some clever turns of phrase that make it into my final draft. As we work together, sitting side by side on the enormous bed, both half naked and fully in the zone, I almost forget how we ended up here. Almost.
I get nervous again as I shut my laptop and set it aside, suddenly acutely aware of how closely we’re sitting, naked thighs touching, and of the dull, post-orgasmic throb still buzzing between my legs. Before I can get too deeply in my head again, Navur springs out of bed, grabbing the fluffy robe he was wearing last night and tossing me a matching one.
“You must be starved,” he says, loosely knotting his belt. “Lunch?”
I nod eagerly, slipping into the cream robe and hopping out of bed, stepping over yesterday’s outfit where it lays scattered across the floor and beelining toward my duffel.
“Room service?” Navur asks, plucking the discreet menu off the nightstand. The delicate sheet of paper looks almost comical in his big hands.
“Actually, if you don’t mind, since we’re in the City, there’s somewhere I’m dying to go,” I ask timidly.
Half an hour later, we’re sitting on the familiar curb of Max’s Bodega, eating spicy mushroom rolls. God, I missed this. My old apartment was just up the block from here, and I practically lived off Max’s cheap sushi. Sure, I’ve had meals that cost more than my grocery bill for the month, but price tags don’t really matter when it comes to food. Some of the best meals I’ve ever had were just like this: made with love, paid for in spare change, and eaten on a street corner.
“Not exactly what I expected from the great Noelle Keene,” Navur says dryly, wiping a bit of wasabi off his lip. He looks remarkably out of place in this environment, legs too long to pull up comfortably, shirt too white and crisp against the graffitied neighborhood.
“Good though, isn’t it?” I ask, grinning widely at the K. He looks surprised to see my expression, and I realize I’ve probably never smiled with him before. Self-conscious, I focus back on the tilting plastic tray of my lunch.
“Very,” he says, through a mouthful of rice. “I’d like to see what Max can do with some high quality produce. Maybe even some Krinar ingredients.”
“I don’t think Max technically makes this, it might be his Baba.”
“Baba?” Navur repeats, the word sounding a little silly on his ever-serious tongue. “Do you know this Max very well, then?”
I shrug, savoring my last bite. “I mean, I came here almost every day for half a decade, that’s all.”
It’s not until Navur subtly shifts back into a relaxed position that I realize he had tensed when I mentioned Max. Was he jealous for a second? I know Ks are notoriously possessive, but I thought that the upside of our little no-strings-attached setup would be not dealing with such behavior.
“Do you know a lot about cooking?” I ask, trying perhaps not too subtly to redirect the conversation. Verit was an excellent cook, I loved to sneak by Ari’s apartment and steal leftovers from his drool-worthy creations. Hearing Navur contemplate new sushi recipes makes me wonder if that’s a universal K trait.
“Not really,” he replies, shooting down that theory. “I would much prefer to eat a delicious meal than create it, especially with your human cuisine. Back in Krina, I’m a botany expert, so as a lover of both, I often find myself wondering how the two could be combined. For example, there’s an edible fungus that grows in the northern hemisphere of Krina, it has a very sharp flavor. Not a hot, burning spiciness, but more a loud, harmonic spiciness, like ginger. I think Max’s Baba could do wonders with that.”
“Huh,” is all I can say, taken somewhat aback by the sudden depth I’m discovering in my pseudo-captor. “That’s cool. Why don’t you ever give it a shot? Do it yourself, or bring some Krinar ingredients back here for someone to cook with?”
“Not worth the trouble,” Navur says with a laconic shrug, then fixes me meaningfully with his eyes. “Always something better to do.”
I blush at the underlying implications, suddenly fascinated by a scuff mark on the toe of my left sneaker. “Um, so you’re a botany expert on Krina? Is that what you do here, too?”
“That’s what I intended to do, but I quickly grew bored of your planet’s primitive flora. I was actually supposed to return to Krina, the day after we met. I suppose I got distracted.”
“Huh,” I say again. So we were both strangers in limbo, that first night together, looking for a bit of fun before leaving New York City for good. Now, here we are, back in the City, together.
“As much as I enjoyed Baba’s sushi, I would very much like to not be sitting on the street any longer,” Navur says, rising to his feet in one swift movement, then reaching his hand down to help me up. “Ready for dessert?”
His black towncar appears as if by K technology before us, and we climb in. As I sit in the backseat beside the K who temporarily rules my life, without a clue as to what “dessert” might be, I reflect upon the small tidbits I just learned about him. He’s intrigued by the concept of alien/human fusion cuisine, but not enough to actually do anything about it. He’s a botany expert, but got bored of studying that on Earth. He’s starting to sound like a flighty man, my K. I can only hope that this means he will speedily lose interest in me, too.
Dessert turns out to be churros in Central Park. It’s the perfect companion to our street corner sushi lunch, although the image of Navur, in his stern button-down with the sleeves rolled up, sharp, tailored slacks, and perfectly coiffed hair leading me confidently to a dinky little churro cart doesn’t totally compute.
As we walk along the water, eating our sugary snacks, it occurs to me how little we seem to be noticed. Sure, a few mothers tug their children to the other side of the path when they see us coming, and we get a couple disapproving glances from some older ladies—and maybe some jealous looks from the younger ones? Regardless, our outing doesn’t draw nearly as much negative attention as I would have imagined. Certainly not the kind of visceral response we’d incite in Buffalo Creek. As I lick sugar off my fingertips, I can feel myself ever so slowly letting my guard down, millimeter by millimeter.
However, by the time our dinner date at Rose & Daughters comes along, my stomach is in knots once again. Not even their infamous, melt-in-your-mouth charoset, which I’ve found great pleasure in in the past, can tempt my wilting appetite. The dread creeps over me in parallel to the dusk falling over the city. I can’t explain my fear of what I know tonight will bring, not really. Just thinking about this morning’s escapades dampens my panties. No, I have no real reason to feel anything other than overpowering anticipation for a second romp in bed with the hunky creature sitting across from me. Still, I can’t shake the feeling that if I let myself submit to his dark desires even once, I’ll find myself free-falling down a rabbit hole I’ll never return from.
“Ready, little one?” Navur asks, already rising from his seat.
I nod unnecessarily, letting him pull my chair back for me, and standing on unsteady legs. The drive back to the hotel flies back faster than ever, and before I know it, we’re back in our penthouse suite, the tension thick and palpable between us. I set my purse down on the small dining table and slip my heels off, killing time, trying my best to postpone the inevitable, the moment I’m both dying for and dreading.
Navur has no such apprehensions, slipping up behind me, winding one arm around my belly as the other brushes my hair to the side. His breath warms my ear before his words do, sending a cold chill rushing up my spine.
“Are you going to deny me what I’m owed again tonight, Noelle?”
His thick fingers slip just under the waistband of my skirt, not quite touching skin, but close enough to make heat explode across my body. His other hand is still working my hair, but the gentle brushes are no longer. Instead, he’s fisting my long locks, and is pulling my head roughly to the side, exposing the side of my throat. I can’t help but let out a soft moan as he presses his lips to the tender skin there, first with a small nip, then a soothing kiss. The complex juxtaposition of one hand delicately traveling south, the other violently tugging at my hair, of his his teeth and lips making marks on my burning skin… I couldn’t deny him even if I wanted to.
The wait is almost unbearable, as Navur’s fingers dance their way down my hip bone, teasing at the edge of my cotton panties. Suddenly, I find myself wishing I’d packed something sexier, something lacy and flashy, instead of stubbornly convincing myself that such an act would be asking for trouble. By the time Navur dips between my legs, I’m soaked with anticipation, gasping with relief as his thumb flicks over my clit, two thick fingers sliding into my tight channel. Even that is too much. My knees threaten to give, and I reach out and grab the table for support, accidentally pressing my ass against Navur’s hips in the process. The K growls at this, and I can feel him, rock hard and enormous, through his pressed slacks. Oh my god. If his fingers are this big, how the hell am I supposed to take his cock?
I don’t get a chance to worry much about it. In a matter of seconds, he has my skirt pushed up to my waist, and my panties pooled around my feet. My naked ass feels flushed and naked under his hungry gaze, and cold and exposed in the brightly lit room, and I find myself wishing we’d taken the time to hit the lights before getting down to business. Then, I hear the deafening sound of a zipper, and feel the broad tip of him brushing against my entrance.
“Wait!” I cry, the word slipping past my lips before I have time to even think it.
Navur freezes, and I can feel the pain in his restraint, feel his cock begging to enter me.
“What is it, little one?” he asks. I can’t see his face from this position, but I can hear the grit in his teeth nonetheless.
“I don’t…” I trail off, feeling embarrassed to voice my hesitations too plainly, but hell, I’m already ass-up on the dining table. “I don’t like it like this. Like… from behind.”
Saying the phrase out loud sounds ridiculous, but it’s true. It’s degrading, impersonal, the position of anonymous liaisons between drunks in bar bathrooms. And the hair pulling? Call me boring or vanilla, but I’m just not into that scene. After a few failed experiments, I’ve always put my foot down on the issue, but in this case, I’m afraid I might be wasting my breath.
“You know I’m not like any other man you’ve been with, right?” Navur asks, and this time, I can feel a certain brand of cockiness in his voice, even as he presses closer against me. When he pulls my hair tighter, I quickly assent. “No one’s ever done you right before, Noelle, so you don’t know any better. But I won’t do anything to you that you won’t like. Do you trust me?”
The tip of his cock is just inside me now, teasing and stinging at the same time. I squirm against him, moaning quietly at the painful yet pleasurable sensation, but that only pulls him deeper. “Do you trust me, Noelle?”
I shouldn’t. I have no reason to. I can feel the strength in him as he holds me close, I know he could snap me in half if he wanted to. Still, some very small, very foolish part of me, implicitly trusts this deadly creature to protect me rather than destroy me.
“I trust you,” I say, in a voice barely above a whisper, and just like that, Navur plunges into me with one swift thrust. I cry out loudly, vision fuzzing at the edges at the sudden intrusion. The K gives me just a moment to adjust to his girth, then thrusts in again, establishing a steady rhythm. From this angle, his thick cock hits a spot deep within me I didn’t even know existed. The feeling of such fullness is almost unbearable, and I groan as his hips slam against my ass ferociously.
“You really are a dirty girl, aren’t you?” Navur purrs as I unwillingly buck back against him, inviting him deeper. He grabs my hair tighter, pulling me impossibly close. “Behind that pretty face and that prim attitude, you’re hiding a filthy, nasty little slut.”
His words are hideous, and his aggressions are brutal, yet somehow, I find my legs threatening to give out beneath me as the prelude of an orgasm begins to overtake me. How is this happening? I’ve never come like this before, with no stimulation besides penetration, and certainly not with a monster manhandling me and calling me a slut. I fight it, gritting my teeth and clenching my inner channel, but that only adds fuel to the fire. I come violently, choking out a cry, cursing my tormentor in both anger and ecstasy.
I’m still gasping when his fast fingers find my sensitive nub. My hands grab blindly at the table as he works my body, my hips writhing wildly against his. Our moans dance together as he pounds into me, and I can feel myself already climbing fast toward another climax.
Unexpectedly, Navur freezes, our bodies still pressed tight together, his hand between my legs. He pinches my clit tightly between his fingers, and I yelp. No one’s ever done that before. The sensation is an unfamiliar mix of pain and pleasure, something I think I’ll become well acquainted with over the next thirty days. Still, while the sharp touch keeps me aroused, it holds me on the brink, merely teasing at orgasm.
“What are you, Noelle?” Navur growls into my ear, and I can barely hear him, much less answer him, blood storming through my body as all my nerve-endings scream for release. I try to writhe against him, forcing the sensations I’m dying for, but he holds me punishingly still, pinching harder. I cry out loudly, but the K merely repeats his question. “What are you, little one?”
With my hair fisted in his hand, my entire body under his ruthless possession, my climax in his demanding control, I suddenly know the answer. I know that exactly what I promised him, is what he will claim.
“I’m yours, Navur. All yours.”
And with that, he releases my clit, and pumps into me one more time, and that’s all it takes. I’m screaming through my orgasm as Navur holds me steady, and I feel his hot seed jetting into my spasming body.
I’m all his.
The next day, we make the milliseconds-long trip back to Buffalo Creek, after a morning quickie and a room service brunch. I can barely make eye contact with Navur, after the filthy things we did last night. I can’t imagine facing my family later.
Navur seems to sense my need for a little space to process everything, so he has his driver take me straight home. When I arrive, my parents are champing at the bit for stories of my jet-setting weekend, which I gladly provide, weaving tall tales of seeing old friends and definitely not getting my brains fucked out by a dangerous alien. When they’re sufficiently satiated, I truthfully admit my exhaustion, and head upstairs.
I crash hard, knocking out for an uncharacteristic three-hour nap. I wake up groggily around sunset, feeling somehow even more tired, and a little lonely. Only two nights, and I’m already attached to the idea of sleeping wrapped tight in my K’s arms. I hadn’t realized how much I hated being single until now.
No. I crawl out of the sagging twin bed and flip on my little pink bedside lamp. In the dusty mirror over my dresser, I pause and give myself a stern look, after quickly wiping away the smeared mascara under my eyes. Stop being such a girl, and letting your heart get soft for a man you know is bad for you. Think with your brain, not your heart or your pussy.
The latter is a motto Ari taught me, but she’d be mad at me for using “girl” as an insult against myself. Suddenly overcome with longing for my best friend, I open my underwear drawer and fish out the secret special device she left me with way back when. Finding one of two contacts, I press the call button and wait for a hologram of her cheery, usually freshly-fucked-out face to fill the air above the thin, metallic tablet. Nothing. I wonder what time it is on Krina. Intergalactic time zones still aren’t the kind of thing you can google. I hide the K tablet again, and head back downstairs.
Mom is puttering around the kitchen, fitting the dinner plates into the dishwasher. I bet Dad is in their room already, watching the evening news from the comfort of their bed. Even with aliens on Earth and technology that can take you from West Virginia to New York City in a breath, they’re stubbornly stuck in the grotesquely outdated gender roles of old.
“Honey, you missed dinner,” Mom says when she sees me standing in the kitchen door. “I didn’t want to wake you, you seemed so tired, but I can warm up leftovers if you’d like.”
“Thanks, but I’m not super hungry,” I say, not untruthfully. “I’m going to take Baby for a walk, I can get myself a snack when we get back.”
“If you say so,” my mother says, stifling a yawn. “Well, I’m beat. Lock up before you go to bed, will you?”
“Of course, Mommy,” I say, giving her an uncharacteristic peck on the cheek. My insides are in turmoil, and I desperately want to crawl into my mother’s arms like a little girl, but that won’t do. Instead, I grab the worn leather leash and whistle at Baby.
