Ar'Tok: Book Ten in the Galaxy Gladiators Alien Abduction Romance Series Read online

  Ar’Tok

  Book Ten in the Galaxy Gladiators Alien Abduction Romance Series

  By

  Alana Khan

  Copyright

  Ar’Tok Book 11 in the Galaxy Gladiators Alien Abduction Romance Series

  P.O. Box 18393, Golden, CO 80402

  www.alanakhan.com

  © 2020 Alana Kahn

  All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

  The story, all names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this production are fictitious. No identification with actual persons (living or deceased), places, buildings, and products is intended or should be inferred.

  For permissions contact: [email protected]

  Cover by Elle Arden

  Acknowledgements

  To Karen H. who helped me with specifics regarding “polymorphic malware” and hacking. Thanks for helping me sound like I know things I don’t. To Lady Susan who had a great idea on how to insert a little hotness into the first chapter. Thanks to Anne-Marie S., Kathleen H., Lori L., Naomi B., and my beloved daughter who always helps with good ideas. Also my wonderful assistant Stephanie A.

  Click here for the glossary which includes definitions of all the slang used in this book (in case you’re rusty). Click here to jump to a Who’s Who, a reminder of who all these wonderful people are.

  Table of Contents

  Copyright

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Epilogue

  Glossary

  Sneak Peek of Wrage, Book 11 in the Galaxy Gladiators Alien Abduction Romance Series

  Who’s Who

  Somewhere in Space

  On the Misfit, a space satellite in the Procul Sector

  Chapter One

  Star

  I don’t need to look at the screens to know what time it is. My internal clock is counting down the seconds until my midnight comm.

  I have ten minutes and a few seconds, give or take.

  Over the past two months, I’ve developed quite the pre-comm routine. After neatening the bridge, although there’s never anything out of place, I check the coils on the heating/cooling system and ensure the solar panels are properly adjusted.

  After my heavy boots clang down the metal steps to the hydroponics room, I turn off all the water valves for the night, then return to the bridge to double-check all the hardware readings. All systems are fine except the oxygenator, which has been throwing wonky readings for the past three months. When I inspect it, the unit is always functioning fine. I’ve concluded it’s the gauge that’s malfunctioning. But I keep a close eye on it anyway.

  If I were a weaker person, I’d have pics of Ar’Tok emblazoned on every screen all day long so I could moon over him. But I don’t allow myself that luxury. Looking at him becomes even more special if I deny myself all day, and just turn the pictures on about five minutes before our comm.

  Even though neither side of our vid-chat works, I check the mirror in the head and make sure my brown hair is pulled into a neat ponytail, then slide into the captain’s chair.

  It’s hard to hide the smile on my face as I finally allow myself to fill every screen in the room with Ar’Tok’s handsome face.

  We’ve been talking every night at 0000 for the past two months. Although I’ve never actually seen him, nor has he seen me, I’ve got a pretty good imagination.

  He says he’s of the Simkin race, so I searched the Intergalactic Database for hours—many, many pleasurable hours—looking at his handsome race. I chose maybe fifty pictures of the most attractive males and watch them on an endless loop as we converse.

  His race all have burnished bronze skin and thick almost-golden horns that rise from the top of their foreheads and curl back. They wear their hair in long dreads and have pointed ears. Their race exudes sexy, masculine energy that does interesting things to my body.

  It’s ridiculous, I know, to moon over a male I’ll never have the opportunity to meet. But our talks are so exciting, and Ar’Tok’s voice is so deep and rumbly and irrefutably masculine that I’ll enjoy this small pleasure for as long as it lasts.

  Every cell in my body lights up when the comm makes that almost-imperceptible click signaling a connection.

  “Star?”

  At the start of our relationship, I tried to ignore the delicious feelings swirling through my body from just the sound of his voice. Now, though, I close my eyes and let the warm sparks roll through me from head to toe.

  “Hi, Ar’Tok. Tell me about your day.”

  We play this game every night. I ask him about his day, and he answers in as few words as possible. Tonight he says, “I did my job. It’s not very exciting. How was your day?”

  When it’s my turn at the game, I answer with just as much detail, “You know, more of the same. Just doing my best to keep the lights on.” I shrug as if he could see me.

  And now we get to talk. Really talk. About nothing and everything. I’ve said more words to Ar’Tok in the last two months than I’ve spoken in the previous four years.

  I never dreamed it could be this way with anyone. We talk endlessly about things I never thought I’d share.

  “I had time to read most of the Philosophy of the Xantian Race, the book you mentioned yesterday,” he says. His voice is so low and intimate it awakens something deep inside me. I had bland sexual feelings before I met him, but for these last few months, I pay attention to the space between my legs during our conversations. Afterward, I notice how wet my panties are and how much I ache for . . . something.

  “What did you think?” I ask.

  He launches into a lengthy discussion of every aspect of the book. I’m the one who suggested he read it, yet it’s Ar’Tok who has so much to say about it—deep thoughts, conjectures, speculations, and hypotheses. We talk for almost an hour about the book and tangents and thoughts that we’ve never shared with another living soul.

  Occasionally he places me on hold to do his job. He says he’s the comms officer on a starship. I assume he works for the Intergalactic Federation. When I’m holding for him, I allow myself to pull up images of enormous Federation starships and pour over pictures of their bridges. I visualize handsome Ar’Tok in his red and black Federation uniform, sitting stiffly in his black leather comms chair, performing official business.

  I never hold it against him that he’s in the Federation. Although I’m only twenty-one, I understand that different species and different people have varying feelings about the Federation. I was brought up to hate them. Mom called them imperialists. Dad called them invaders.

  But perhaps Ar’Tok really needed the job, or the money. Or maybe he truly believes the Federation is doing important work throughout the galaxy. Personally, I think they’re evil dictatorial despots, but we’ve never discussed it, which is probably a very good thing.

  I grew up speaking mostly English because of my Mom, but am multilingual, speaking both Universal and my dad’s language—Whelpie. I speak Universal on our late-night comms so Ar’Tok will never know I’m human.

  “Star?” his voice sounds breathless, as if he couldn’t wait to see if I’m still holding for him.

  “Yes. I’m still here.”

 
“I’ve been listening to swacheck music from Cheredon,” he says. “It’s different from any we’ve discussed before. I didn’t like it at first. In fact, I hated it. But it’s grown on me. Care to hear a sampling?”

  “You’ve turned me on to a lot of great new music. Go for it,” I tell him.

  He pipes the music over our comm, and for a moment, I’m glad he can’t see my face. I’m sure my expression is more than skeptical. Shock would be more like it. Or maybe disgust. What I hear is screechy and discordant.

  “I can imagine,” he says over the music, “you don’t like it yet. Here’s what made me appreciate it; listen for the flute melody in the background.”

  Okay. Lovely lone flute playing counterpoint in the background. Then it becomes the foreground, and the beauty of the piece surprises me.

  “I’m in awe. You figured out how to appreciate that?” I say when the piece ends.

  “I assumed there had to be something redeeming in all that dissonance. I found it,” he sounds proud of himself in his humble way.

  I like him more every time we talk. I wish someday we could meet, but a Federation officer and an illegal human in an off-the-grid satellite who makes her living performing criminal hacks, most of which are against the Feds, is a relationship doomed to failure.

  I’m going to enjoy this while it lasts, though.

  “I wish I could see your face, Star,” he says, his voice rougher than before.

  Glancing at the timestamp on my screen, I see we’ve been talking for more than an hour. We’re getting to my favorite part.

  “I know. I wish I could see you, too, Ar’Tok.” I scroll through the Simkin pics until I’m at my favorite one, then blow it up to just the face. The bronze warrior is so handsome he takes my breath away. Although he’s muscular and masculine, his expression is tender. It’s always this image I look at when we’re toward the end of our comm.

  “I imagine you when I’m alone in my bunk, Star; I can’t lie. Tell me again what you look like.”

  I close my eyes and pretend he’s right next to me, whispering into my ear.

  “Long brown hair I pull into a tail at the back of my head. I’m humanoid . . .” I can’t even tell him I’m human. Humans are prohibited in space. If the Feds apprehend me, they’d steal everything I own, then sell me. “My skin is beige, and my eyes are brown. And,” I blush a bit, but force myself to say it, “I always wear a smile when I talk to you, Ar’Tok.”

  “Mmm.” I hear him breathe for a moment. “I always picture you with a smile, Star. Not a wide one with lots of teeth. Your teeth are white, correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “I picture you with a small smile, as if it’s meant for me and me alone.”

  Oh yes. He always says something toward the end of our comm that makes the tips of my breasts tighten and gives me swirly feelings down below. That was it.

  “I wear that smile a lot, Ar’Tok. A small smile that’s just for you.” Gods, I wish we could meet in person someday.

  “And what do you picture that gives you that smile, Star?”

  I suck in a breath and have a long debate in my mind. I want to tell him things I’ve never said, but I’m afraid to speak them out loud.

  The way I imagine him, in his Federation uniform, reminds me we’ll never meet. I can say what I want. Even if I scandalize him, I’ll never have to see the shocked look on his face.

  “I . . . read books—not just books like the Philosophy of the Xantian Race. I read romance novels. I’ve found some very . . . compelling ones from planet Virago. There are things I imagine from the book, things I picture us doing, that put a smile on my face.”

  He’s silent for so long I wonder if he’s terminated our comm. But I hear him breathing through the connection from millions of miles away. He has to know what I’m alluding to. Is this disgusting to a Federation Comms Officer?

  “We read to each other all the time.” He pauses as if he’s choosing his words carefully. “Why don’t you read me your favorite passages?” Ar’Tok’s voice is quieter, deeper, like he’s murmuring right into my ear.

  “You want to hear me read that type of book?” my voice has morphed into a high, embarrassed squeak.

  “I’m going to close my eyes and picture a pretty humanoid with beige skin and brown eyes and brown hair that’s pulled into a tail. At first, I’m going to listen to your book, and then I’m going to imagine you’re the female in the book. Unless you tell me that would offend you.”

  Gods! He knows exactly what type of book I’m talking about, and he wants to picture me as the heroine. My face heats in embarrassment even as I feel quivering between my legs. We’re really going to do this!

  “And you, Ar’Tok?” I blurt. “How should I imagine you?” I’m flirting! I didn’t know I could do this.

  “Picture a Simkin male, Star. Performing all the actions you’re going to describe.”

  My mouth is so dry I need a long pull on my water. I take a fortifying breath as I cue up my favorite book on the computer station in front of me.

  “You’re alone on your bridge right now?” I ask. “It’s just you and me?”

  “Yes. I’m alone and waiting to hear your favorite part of your favorite book.”

  I pull up the passage I’ve bookmarked, the one I’ve read almost daily since Ar’Tok and I accidentally discovered each other on comms late one night. The one I’ve acted out in my imagination with him a hundred times, not just when I’m reading, but when I’m picking vegetables in the hydroponic garden, or re-wiring the orbital tracking device, or when I’m using the food synthesizer to make dinner.

  “It’s forbidden to have friendships between males and females on this planet,” I explain, “but the heroine, Avaleigh, and the hero, Ka'Ron, have developed one. They sneak to the barn one evening and are alone for the first time.

  “Ka’Ron looks at me as if I’m not wearing any clothes, as if he’s seeing me naked,” I read, my voice husky from embarrassment. “That searing look, as if he can’t wait to touch me, heats my skin. Then his gaze is on my lips, his arms surround me, and he dips his head, lowering his mouth toward mine so slowly I feel impatient.”

  I wait, trying to read his mind. Maybe he’ll say something to stop me from making more of a fool of myself, but the comm is silent on his end.

  “Should I keep reading?”

  “I’m doing just what I said, Star. I’m picturing you as Avaleigh, imagining you naked just as Ka'Ron is doing,” his voice is so deep and rough he barely sounds like Ar’Tok.

  A zing of excitement arrows through me as I realize it’s pictures of me in his head that are having this effect on him. I like it.

  “His kiss is tender as he brushes softly against my mouth, then his tongue slips out to taste me. I open myself to him and revel in the feeling of him spearing into me. He moans, telling me with that deep, hungry sound just how long he’s waited to be inside me, to enter me, to breach me.”

  I clench my legs to stem the tide of arousal rolling through my body. I’ve read this passage a hundred times, but knowing Ar’Tok is listening, knowing he’s imagining doing these things to me, is making me burn in a way I’ve never felt before.

  “The tips of my breasts have become hard points as they brush against the rough cloth of his shirt. I can’t wait for him to touch me there. I’ve decided tonight’s the night I’m going to give myself to him. Whatever he asks, he’ll receive.

  “Grabbing his broad shoulders, I pull him closer. My tongue, emboldened, presses inside his mouth to taste him. He’s sweet as warm honey. His hand, swift and sure, slides under my bodice and finds my . . .”

  Can I say these things to Ar’Tok? We’ve never talked like this. Although we’ve shown each other glimpses of our deepest thoughts, we’ve never spoken of sex.

  “If it was me,” his voice rumbles into my earpiece, his timbre so deep it sends shivers up my spine, “I would cup Avaleigh’s breast, holding the weight of it in my palm. Delighting in the feel of it,
hoping to hear her moan in pleasure.”

  My eyes flare at the intimacy of his suggestion. I turn up my headphones, not wanting to miss a word he says.

  “I would look into her eyes and make certain her glance said ‘yes’ and then pluck her nipples until I pulled a gasp from her throat. A good gasp, a gasp of pleasure. Then I would slip her blouse off her shoulders and gaze upon her lovely breasts, taking my fill of her before I’d bend my head to suckle at her breasts—first one and then the other. Close your book, Star,” I never heard his tone so forceful before, “and tell me what you would do if you were Avaleigh.”

  Clever Ar’Tok. We can talk so intimately and pretend it’s all fiction.

  I have to clear my throat so my dry mouth can make noise. “If I were Avaleigh, I would revel in the feeling, knowing I was allowing the male I cared for to explore me in such intimate ways. As I was waiting for him to lift me up and carry me to the soft pile of nearby hay, I’d sneak my gaze down the front of his body to see if I was affecting him as deeply as he was affecting me.”