It takes the lady-like crashing of her spaceship for stubborn Molly to find love.
Attacked and forced to crash on a barbarian planet, Molly must come to terms with never leaving this world and allowing the chieftain to have his way with her, all whi...
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Anzar squeezed himself into the small cubicle, his knees weak.
"Mother, I need you," He hoped Mother would hear his pleading through this strange beast Molly called a jasmine, whatever that was. As he had promised, he hadn't peeked at her bathing. He had been polite, which explained the agony he was in. The see-through walls had tormented him with her reflection. He shuddered, recalling the way her hands had glided over her body, along her hips, under her breasts, holding and touching what his palms itched to do.
Pain gripped his loins and fire burned in his belly. His hands trembled with the urge to grab her, to mate with her. The act had to be the same as his kind since she had the same shape and sexual organs, he hoped, as their adebas. Just softer. Sweet-scented. Irresistible. He pushed the strange button and heated water rained down. He moaned, liking the feel of it flowing over him. He pressed his palms to the back of the shower as he had done to the see-through wall. Doing so seemed to add stability to his crumbling control.
She moved around her room, so he turned under the spray to watch her. She tidied up, grabbing things he knew not the purpose of. Her movements were efficient but no less graceful. She caught him watching and smiled, rushing forward to point out a container. Gathering his hand in hers, she drew a circle on his palm. That much, for his hair and beard. He nodded and did as she had instructed, rubbing the liquid in, and groaned as her scent drenched him.
"Mother! I'm not strong enough for this." He kept his voice low, but the volume didn't matter when Mother heard a whisper as much as a roar.
He rinsed off the white soap and opened his eyes to find Molly admiring him. Her mesmerized gaze traveled the length of him. Good, he hoped she felt even a little of what she inflicted upon him. Pink splashed across her skin, and she glanced away, only to drop her towel. His breath hitched and he had to curl his toes—the urge to lunge for her was that strong.
Once again, he was faced with her nudity, the carved muscles in her thighs, her backside rippling as she tugged on a pair of dark-grey breeches. They were tight and hugged the shape of her legs. She wrapped a strange white garment around her breasts, latching it. Then she raised her arms and tugged on her white tunic. She lifted her hair out from under the cloth before smiling at him. There was no enticement in her gaze, no softening of her eyes as if she longed for his touch.
"Ready for the body wash?"
"What?" Visions of her running her soft hands over his body bobbed his manhood in eagerness.
"The green bottle, and pour the same amount as the shampoo. You rub your body with it." She rubbed her arms in demonstration.
"But I feel clean..." he grumbled, fighting the disappointment which solidified into a new ache in his chest.
"Quit being a baby and wash. Want to try a hot beverage?" she asked, striding toward a wall with many strange objects on the shelf. He didn't answer her, not able to trust his voice.
