Total pages in book: 119
Estimated words: 110600 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 553(@200wpm)___ 442(@250wpm)___ 369(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 110600 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 553(@200wpm)___ 442(@250wpm)___ 369(@300wpm)
My terrifying neighbor is handcuffed in my living room…and more confusing than that, he’s not acting terrifying. Weird, yes. Blatantly sexual, yes. But I haven’t felt…threatened? It’s like he watches me trying to figure me out, rather than watching me like he wants to bury me in a shallow grave somewhere. Instead, I’m the one thinking of shallow graves.
How far I’ve fallen. I used to be a preschool teacher. Now I’m contemplating murdering my neighbor. I turn on my side and hug my pillow to my chest, sad for what I’ve become.
A moan makes me jerk awake.
I sit up, bleary and confused, and scrub a hand over my face. I guess I fell asleep after all? I look around my room, wondering, and another pained moan makes me jump to my feet.
The praxiian. Shit!
I tighten my robe around my waist and look around my room for a weapon. The only thing I have is an oversized pottery vase that one of the other human farmers made me in exchange for adding a character that looked like her to my storyline. I grab the vase and toss the blooming flowers onto the bed, then pour the water into the sink in my bathroom. When it’s empty, I clutch it in my arms, ready to cosh a particular cat-alien over the head if I must.
I hear another pained, low moan come from the living room.
Sucking in a breath, I open the door and creep out.
The first thing I notice is that the praxiian is still in the chair I left him in. He’s covered in sweat, his tufted gray fur damp and clinging to his brow. His head lolls back against his big, sweat-slick shoulders, and his legs are sprawled out in front of him, spread wide. The enormous erection is back—or never left—and to my chagrin, the entire front of his trousers is entirely soaked, and I suspect not all of it is sweat. Has this man been jizzing on himself all night?
Why are aliens SO weird?!
He groans again, big body shuddering, and it sounds like pain more than anything else. I creep forward, clutching the vase, and the moment I move toward him, his head snaps up. His eyes open and he stares at me.
“I didn’t know you hated me so much,” he says, voice cracking, as if his throat is parched. “How can you do this to me?”
“I…I…” I pull my shoulders back defensively, skirting wide around those long legs. His accusation makes me feel so guilty. How am I possibly going to kill him in the morning? But how can I possibly let him live? “Look. It’s not about hate. It would just be a killing to save myself. It’s not about you.” I think for a moment, and then add, “I promise I’ll make it an easy death.”
“Easy?” He huffs with that strange, hissy laughter. “You’re torturing me. Just kill me now and end this.”
“Torture? What are you talking about?” What is it that I’m not getting, here?
His hips flex again, his eyes squeezing shut. As I watch, his hips jerk once more, and then a fresh wet stain spreads across the lap of his pants.
I suck in a breath. I can’t believe I just watched that happen. It feels indecent…and slightly fascinating.
“Noli poisoning,” he mutters, and another pained groan escapes him. He pants hard. “Pure…torture…cruel…”
Cruel? Me? I move toward him, concerned despite myself. He looks terrible. Feverish. “Are you sick?” I go to his side and put my hand on his brow, then touch his cheek. He feels hot and flushed.
Before I can pull my hand away, he turns his head and nuzzles my palm, licking it. “So beautiful.”
I squeal, pulling away, and clutch the front of my robe. Even now, I can still feel the slickness of his tongue against my sensitive palm, the gentle scrape of his tongue against my skin, and I’m rattled. “What are you doing?”
“It’s the flowers. You think I want to be like this?” A harsh laugh huffs from his exhausted throat. “Fun ended…hours…ago…” And his hips jerk again.
The flowers? What? I stare down at the vase in my hands, then the vase full of bright, pretty blooms on the table. They’re pretty but…oh.
Ohhhhhh.
Oh shit.
The aphrodisiac. It only works on his race. When I thought about the noli, I thought it had to be powdered and dried, like catnip. Or ingested. I didn’t realize simply being around the flowers was going to make him crazy.
Oh dear lord…this explains a lot.
“Oh my god.” I grab the vase on the table near him and hurriedly toss it outside, flinging it as far as I can out the door. I toss down the “weapon” vase, too, because it’s covered in smears of cheery yellow pollen. “Oh my god.”
“Just…wanted…” My praxiian neighbor lets out another pained groan. “T’be with you…Kim…”