Page 17 of Whisked Away By the Alien

A giggle grabs my attention. I turn to find Golda behind me. Relief at seeing her safe sweeps through me, but I growl, which steals her sweet smile.

“What’s wrong, Sten?”

“My apologies. I’m upset with myself, not you.” I did not see her enter. No one should be able to sneak up on me. I nod my head deeper than usual, not because my growl created a breach of etiquette, which it did, but because I truly do not wish Golda to think I’m upset with her.

Seeing her lifts my spirits. I no longer struggle with missing my family. Well, not as much. I do miss them. But being with Golda, and even her mother, reminds me of home.

“Let’s start again,” Golda says, once again gracing me with her beautiful smile. “How did you sleep? Any problems? Did my mom drive you crazy?”

“This is a comfortable home and I am very grateful for your mother’s hospitality.”

“Yes, it is, and she’ll appreciate that. Hold on to that thought because by the end of the week, you’ll be pulling your hair out. Then again, she’s usually on her best behavior for guests.I’llbe pulling my hair out.”

Without thinking through the consequences, I stroke Golda’s long brown hair which lays seductively about her shoulders. Warriors are supposed to be experts in controlling their impulses. If I wanted, I could pull away and never touch the soft strands, never see her beautiful eyes sparkle or hear her breath catch, but I don’t want to. That’s the problem. I wish to touch more of this female. To get to know her in a way that is not part of my assignment.

“I hope you’re ready for a full day of cooking,” she says as she squeezes past me. The top two buttons on the red shirt are open, giving me a partial view of what lies beneath.

My training tells me to move aside to allow her through. Instead, I plant my feet and enjoy how she wedges herself between me and the shelves in the pantry, brushing her ass against my groin as she reaches for a glass jar of beige granules on the second shelf.

“Tonight’s the first night of Hannukah, so we’ll do the bulk of the cooking today. Yesterday gave you an introduction to the kitchen and how I work.”

Even when she lifts up on her toes, inadvertently rubbing against me, she can’t reach the jar. My instructors at Izoran taught us many strategies to help us survive and defeat the enemy. But none ever taught us how to handle a female who distracts a male with nothing more than her presence.

“Sorry, Sten. Tight space in here. I’ll get the footstool.”

Two choices lay before me. Grabbing the jar for her would take me two seconds. Problem solved for her. But my pleasure cock has never been harder. I opt for the second choice by placing my hands on her waist and lifting her high so she can retrieve what she needs.

She squeals as I lift her. It’s a cute sound and I’m thoroughly enjoying holding her. The moment she grabs the jar that’s smaller than my hand, a huge smile graces her beautiful face.

“So that is what you wanted,” I say, to cover my manipulation of the situation.

“Thanks! You’re really handy to have around.”

When I set her on her feet, she’s once again wedged between me and the shelves in the tiny storage closet. Her scent wraps around me, invades my nostrils, and pulls at me. I don’t want to let go of her. If only I could taste her lips, and—

My pants tighten further, which I didn’t think possible. I cut off another growl, angry at myself for not returning to my ship last night and acquiring proper pants. These jeans are pure torture when I’m near my…

When the wordsholanipops into my head, I shake the thought away and unsnap the button on my very uncomfortable pants. The promise of relief pushes me to continue. Slowly, I lower the zipper so I don’t catch myself in the archaic contraption.

“Whoa, there, Nellie!” Golda shouts, her hand outstretched with a halting motion.

“It’s Sten,” I correct her even as I wish she’d reach farther and touch me. Anywhere. Even my arms. I’d enjoy that very much. With that thought, my drekking pleasure cock turns hard as steel. “You may also call me Stenikov. Or Warrior. Any of these is acceptable, but not Nellie as this does not describe me.”

“At least put on your apron,” she says, tossing the uniform to me. I quickly don the apron, covering my cocks, but not before I notice the smile teasing her lips as she furtively glances at my lower half.

She slaps her palm against my chest, then follows with a few smaller, softer taps before her eyes finally find mine. “Now that you’ve got the boys taken care of, it’s time to start cooking!”

So much of what she says remains a mystery to me, but I’m noting every word, every phrase. One day, I will ask her to explain the meanings, if nothing more than to keep her in my presence as long as possible.

Hours go by in a whirlwind of activity. I learn many things during my time in this kitchen. First, food is as much an art as a science. Second, Golda is an excellent teacher and good at handling several tasks at once. While I use a knife to pluck feathers from the dead bird called a chicken, Golda makes a round food called matzah balls for the soup. After combining egg, cinnamon, and a coarse, toasted breadcrumb, she lovingly shapes the mixture with her hands. I want her handling me like that…

Clearly, I’ve lost my focus.

I avert my eyes and practice a breathing technique warriors use to block out distractions. Except now I’m inhaling all the delicious smells of the food we’re preparing. One scent in particular won’t let go of me. Golda.

She’s standing over the pot of chicken soup, dropping the slippery balls into the pot one at a time. I can’t take my eyes off her, even though I’m supposed to be checking the level of tomato juice in the pan with the slab of meat she set on the stove several hours ago.

“Golda, after the evening meal, would you like to take a walk with me?”

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