Page 67 of Invasive Species
Now to make sure I don't fuck up what me and Gara are building together.
They slide the door shut quietly behind them, and I take Gara’s hand. “Don’t worry, I have an amazing Welsh immune system. This cold will be licked soon.”
“You should not lick any cold virus,” Gara says, a stern edge to his voice.
I snuggle closer to him. “I love your strict voice. I could totally imagine you as a severe dom type sometimes.”
“Dom?” He cocks his head. “My shipmate?”
“No, like sub and dom.” I pat the mattress next to me. “Come into bed to warm me up and bring the e-reader. I think book 8 of The Planet of the Pirate Prince has a dom-subcouple. Nothing says recovering from a chill like corrupting the innocent.”
He moves his tree trunk thighs in slowly, then lowers onto the bed. His weight tips it, and I roll right into his arms. Yummy.
He tucks me next to him, left arm cradling my head. “Well, I look forward to being corrupted by you, Arra-bellah.”
I snuggle close. He smells so good, like pure ocean ozone and eucalyptus, and it clears my head like blowing away a fog. “Hey, has your scent changed?”
He sniffs his right forearm gingerly. “I suppose it has. Hm. Is it offensive to you?”
Each in-breath opens up my nose and lungs. “It’s great. It’s like you’re perfect for me,” I say with a happy sigh, then stiffen. Shit, that usually sends guys running.
But Gara hunkers down lower, pulling me closer to his chest. “Good.” He’s still frowning though, perhaps worried about me.
I boop his nose. “Want to read me a few chapters?”
“Yes, of course. Anything to speed your healing.” He pulls the reader out from his pants pockets and flicks it to book 8. He’s adept with those huge fingers, and my mind would absolutely be going naughty places if I felt well.
“Chapter 1, The Prisoner.” Gara’s mouth twitches. “These all start with the females in very precarious situations.”
“Yep, they do. Waiting for their big, strong alien to save them.” I slide my arm around his barrel of a chest. It rises and falls with his deep, even breathing, like I’m being gently rocked.
He glances down at me, the lines around his eyes softening, and starts to read. “The prisoner is led to the throne room…”
I sleep deep and long,but when I finally wake, my body aches worse than before. Every muscle protests, tight and sore.
Gara offers me water. He looks worn, his shoulders sagging, but his eyes remain sharp, ever watchful, protective.
It’s strange, having someone fuss over me. I haven’t had that in years. I don’t hate it. It’s comforting, like I’m not alone in this mess of pain and exhaustion. I do worry though—he hasn’t rested nearly enough, and the shadows beneath his eyes tell the story.
“Now that Ellen and Ilia are back, we can relax a little, go back to how we were before: me creating art and chaos, and you looking after everyone like a stern ward matron. Maybe I should try for a pinch less chaos, though.”
“And I, a splash less stern,” he adds, running his fingers through his chestnut auburn hair. It sticks up like he’s a surfer dude, except his face is tight with worry.
I gently smooth my fingers along the same grooves he made, tracing his scalp. He even has scales here, little ridges all connected in a regular pattern.
His eyes slide shut like a contented cat, a deep rumble rising from his chest.
“Youarepurring.”
Eyelids snapping open, he scowls at the window.
“It's okay, I like it. Relax.”
He shakes his head. “I need to keep watching on you. Your temperature’s too high, it's not optimal?—”
Oh boy, he needs a chill pill. “Come on, let’s get ready for the pizza party,” I say, forcing myself up.
Gara steadies me as my legs wobble. “Are you sure?”
