Page 9 of Ready for Her Alien Husband

What Trixie hadn’t imagined was her feeling soft and mushy inside, and her alien giving her a look filled with tendernessand pride when she turned to face him. Oh, there was heat there as well. But their honest conversation had shifted things away from pure desire. There was an emotional connection between them now, and Trixie's concerns weren't weighing her down anymore. And whatever an experienced warrior like Vrixiel feared, she was sure they could overcome it together.

“Your turn,niel.” She winked at him and reached for the collar of his red jumpsuit. “May I?”

He took her hand in his and, never breaking eye contact, he guided her fingers down the middle of his clothing. The stretchy material parted under their combined touch to reveal the smooth expanse of his green chest.

Welcome back, burning desire.Vrixiel’s tight green pectorals were adorned by silver piercings. His glorious chest led to abs for days, with a happy trail of darker-green skin disappearing into his pants. He was magnificent! Trixie hoped there wasn’t drool at the corner of her mouth.

But she had to remember her own decision: there wasn’t going to be anything else but showering tonight. Just innocent touching with soapy hands… She had to make sure he was soaped all over though, right?

While her mind was busy computing ways to keep things innocent between them without her ovaries combusting, Vrixiel got up and out of his uniform entirely. Leaving him in nothing but a pair of tight-fitting red boxer briefs.

“Come, my bean.” He extended a hand to her, palm down.

Smiling wide, Trixie placed her hand on his with a flourish. Being walked like a fine lady toward a shower cubicle while wearing nothing but panties? Priceless.

One press of Vrixiel’s palm against the center of the glass dome, and a door-shaped outline appeared on the glass. A tap, and that section opened slowly upward like the door of a sports car. One low step later, they were inside the spacious dome, and it sealed itself shut behind them automatically.

Vrixiel went down on his knees on the white spongy floor and sat on his heels. “Will you turn around, please? I wish to start with your hair.”

Trixie nodded enthusiastically. She loved having her hair touched.

“The cleansing dome is fully automated,” Vrixiel explained while she assumed position between his thighs and facing away from him. “When you’re short on time, or don’t feel like washing and drying yourself, you can use that function. Now we will do this in the ways of old.”

“Yesss,” Trixie all but purred when his long fingers slid among her curls. And she had thought her hair an innocent place to start from? Scratch that.

Vrixiel tapped a nearly indistinguishable panel on the wall, and a gentle mist enveloped them. He tapped another panel, and a shower head emerged. He used that to get her hair wet, then she stopped paying attention to anything else but the feel of his hands massaging her scalp.

Did Gaenthians use shampoo for their commercial-worthy long hair? How could the floor absorb the running water instantly with no drain in sight? How come some mist could keep her body both dry and toasty warm while her tresses remained wet? Fuck if she cared. He was so good at the massage that she could come from his fingers in her hair alone.

“Tell me,niela…”

“Yes?” Her voice came out breathy.

“Is pink your favorite color?”

Trixie gave herself a mental slap. Here he was, trying to get to know her as she’d asked, and she was contemplating how green would look on top of her.

“I adore pink, yes. I haven’t been a brunette since high school. I have this saying, ‘If it ain’t bright, it ain’t right.’ Dull colors suck the joy out of me, so you better be ready for bright dresses.”

“I don’t mind.” He put more foamy stuff on her hair and kept running his fingers along her scalp, carefully untangling any knots with his claws. “Brightness is much needed in space.”

“Aw, I’m going to lure you to the pink side in no time.”

“Perhaps I will lure you to the green side,” he rumbled behind her.

Trixie laughed. “Perhaps.”

“And the jumpsuit,” he went on as he washed the might-be-shampoo off, “you made it yourself?”

Trixie fought the temptation to lean back against his chest and leave herself entirely to the magic of his touch. How could hair washing reduce her to a puddle of goo on the floor?

“I made the jumpsuit, yes,” she spoke, in the hopes of distracting herself from what her body demanded. “It’s among the few pieces of clothing I’ve designed and sewn myself. I stay after work to make those.

“It’s what made me delve into fashion in the first place: I wanted to make stylish clothing for little people, because the fashion choices for us are limited in my country. My boss thinks those clothes are unprofitable, so he lets me make them with company equipment only after my working hours.”

“That is impressive. No 3D printer, just your hands… I wish to watch you as you sew. If that’s okay.”

Trixie bit her lower lip. He made sewing sound so hot. “Once your colleagues on Earth send my belongings here, you can watch me sew all you want.” Most people wouldn’t leave their stuff in the hands of strangers, but Trixie hated packing with a vengeance. Since Gaenthians offered that service for human mates moving to space, they could touch her tampon boxes any day.

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