Alien Embrace by Tracy St. John

“You’re being watched,” Ambassador Vrill whispered to Amelia.

Of course I am. I’m the guest of honor and the only Earther here, the redhead thought. Still, Vrill’s excited tone raised goosebumps on Amelia’s bare arms. She checked the fiery red and gold gown that had been custom sewn for her there on the planet Plasius. It managed to cover her where it should — barely.

She still couldn’t believe Vrill had convinced her to wear the almost non-existent dress. The Plasian must have snuck something in Amelia’s drink. There was no other explanation.

The neck of the sleeveless gown plunged to below her navel. It was bad enough the fabric was whisper-thin; she had to be careful her movements didn’t shift the barely there bodice to expose her entire breasts to the crowded room. Since she was amply endowed, the meager bit of fabric was constantly endangering Amelia’s modesty.

The halter of the dress would have left her entire back naked but for her hair. Her tresses were caught back from her face in glittering combs to flow in a waved auburn river all the way to her waist. Amelia found the feeling of her hair on bared flesh wickedly seductive. It was an unfamiliar if titillating sensation; she usually wore her hair in a ponytail. With a shirt on her back.

Beneath the waterfall of hair, the shadowed cleft of her buttocks disappeared into the intricately laced train, which made up ninety-five percent of the gown’s fabric. It was made of heavier material that swept the floor. When Amelia walked, the drag of the train pulled at the dress, making the front stretch taut against her torso. She felt sure no one was guessing how she looked naked. Every curve of her body must be blatantly obvious.

The worst part of the dress was its scrap of a skirt. The hem in the front was barely a scandalous inch below her sex. Her long, golden-hued legs were framed by the cascading scarlet and gold fabric.

Things here were definitely different from morality-driven Earth. The seductive Plasians knew much about allure and cared little for modesty.

“Who is watching me?” Amelia whispered back to Vrill. Her eyes darted over the crowd assembled in Saucin Israla’s home. High-ranking Plasians of the government and art guild swarmed the ballroom, flirting with one another. In darkened corners where overstuffed couches lined the walls, movement Amelia dared not watch too long indicated coupling had already begun for some lovers. Their soft moans provided a background hum to the other partygoers’ easy conversations. An occasional cry informed anyone who cared that bliss had been realized.

The room was for public functions but still managed to create an aura of seduction. Amber colored fabric swathed the walls, and golden lighting globes drifted across the ceiling, giving the room a soft, dreamlike quality. The gentle illumination provided shadowed areas for amorous activity.

The globes also highlighted the fantastic but pornographic mural on the ceiling.

Amelia had snuck many a glance at the painted figures cavorting overhead, each passionate scene more explicit than the last. Despite the subject matter, there was no doubting the talent of the unknown artist. If Michelangelo had painted orgy scenes, Israla’s ballroom ceiling might have been his work.

Amelia’s scan of the room met many eyes, and all nodded in respect. The party was for her, Plasius’ first Earth artist-in-residence.

Vrill’s eyes, streaked like black marble, smoldered. Amelia recognized her friend’s arousal with amused embarrassment. The willowy Plasian’s bronze skin glistened. The thick olive mane on her head, more like fur than hair, moved as if in a breeze. Her body heat released the perfume globules woven in her scant gown’s ice blue fabric. The air grew heavy with the sharp scent of spice, Vrill’s preferred aroma. Her voice rose to its usual husky tone.

“You’ve caught the attention of a Kalquorian clan. If stares could burn, you’d be on fire now.”

Kalquorians! Amelia froze. For a moment she forgot to breathe. “Are you sure it’s a Kalquorian clan?”

“I’d know and want a Kalquorian if I was blind.” Vrill’s dark gaze ran over the Earther’s face. “That puts you in a spot, doesn’t it? I mean, since Earth refuses to treaty with Kalquor. Your people speak against them at every galactic council.”

Amelia swallowed. Her voice sounded defensive to her own ears. “Our leaders consider them a threat, especially to Earther women.”

Vrill smirked. “That’s because all of your leaders are male, and they don’t want their women running off to join clans. All of you would, if you had just a taste of what the men of Kalquor offer.” Her expression changed to one of concern. “Would your government make you leave Plasius if they knew a clan was here?”

“Not if it’s just one clan and I stay away from them.” Amelia heard the uncertainty in her own voice.

“Good! I don’t want you to go. And if you don’t stay away from them, well I’d never tell.” She tittered.

“Where are they, Vrill?” Amelia continued to look around but only a forest of tall bronze Plasians greeted her eyes.

Vrill pulled Amelia a few steps to one side. “Now you can see them. They’re in the middle of the room, a little behind you and to your right.” She pointed.

Amelia twisted her head to look in that direction. Her tensed neck muscles creaked. She saw the men staring at her immediately. Even from the distance of half the immense ballroom, it was impossible to miss the monumental differences between the Kalquorians and Plasians.

The three aliens towered over the Plasians. Where the Plasians were soft, thin beings, the Kalquorian men looked sculpted from granite. Where the Plasians were slightly curved, the Kalquorians bulged muscle. The Plasians broadcasted their readiness to receive pleasure; the Kalquorians looked capable of taking it by brute force.

Vrill whispered in her ear, “Someone’s thinking naughty thoughts. Your skin is as red as your hair.”

Amelia’s whole body flushed with heat. Her own gown’s scent wafted over her; the aroma of a summer night’s breeze after a thunderstorm. Fresh, new, and somehow electric.

The Kalquorians looked like Earthers who’d eaten steroids from birth. There were numerous differences to be sure; outside of the size difference, Amelia knew from reports they had fangs that folded to the roofs of their mouths when not in use.

Supposedly a Kalquorian’s bite sent an intoxicating substance into its victim, leaving him or her incapable of defense.

Otherwise they were very much like Amelia’s species. In fact the resemblance was shocking. It was whispered, though not around those in Earth authority, that Kalquorians and Earthers might have a common ancestry.

According to historians, an alien race had fled a doomed planet millennia ago and settled on Kalquor. Theories abounded that some of the Kalquorian ancestors had also settled Earth; too many similarities between the two races existed for mere coincidence.

Such ideas were taboo on Earth. Anything that contradicted the Church’s edicts was illegal to consider, much less discuss. Earthers were God’s chosen people; Kalquorians were viewed as poor copies, perhaps even emissaries of Satan.

Amelia privately prided herself on her more open views, and once off Earth she’d discussed the possibilities of Earther/Kalquorian species ties with her alien friends. Her small circle of Plasian associates had been shocked and delighted to meet an Earther willing to entertain the idea in depth.

For her part, Amelia reveled in the freedom of being away from Earth’s religion based regime. She’d seen too much corruption, too much damage done in the name of God on her home planet. While she still believed in a higher power that would punish evildoers, she felt it was more kind than vengeful, more forgiving than damning. It was this view that allowed her to happily reside on Plasius. Despite the sexual decadence of her Plasian hosts, she tried not to judge them.

If only she could get her emotions to agree with her reason, she often lamented.

She was still too conditioned by her restrictive upbringing to be comfortable around the amorous race.

In the brief glance she allowed herself, she noted all three Kalquorians had black hair, wide foreheads and strong jaws. Their skin was dark, like Earthers of Middle Eastern origin. Despite herself, she appreciated the strength of their features, too masculine to be attractive in Earth movie star fashion. Hollywood’s current crop of leading men were sometimes prettier than their female co-stars and androgynous enough to pretend sexlessness.

She jerked her eyes away from the clan’s penetrating stares. Her clinging scrap of a dress provided no obstacle to their evaluating gazes. She looked down to see the erect buttons of her nipples press against the tissue-thin fabric. She blushed anew at the sight of her body’s brazen spectacle and crossed her arms over her breasts. How naked she felt! She shivered.

“I didn’t realize Kalquorians were so…big,” she said. “Are clans always made up of three men?”

“Of course. There’s the Dramok, the clan’s leader. That one’s wearing a government insignia, so he’s an official of rank. He’s wearing the black formsuit with blue trim. Those formsuits are nice, aren’t they? You can tell exactly what you’re getting. That Dramok has a lot to offer a lucky female.” Vrill licked her lips.

“He has a commanding presence.” Amelia thought about the stern features and piercing gaze of the man Vrill identified as the leader. In that brief glance, his eyes seemed to pierce her very soul. She shivered again and wished she could control her body’s reactions. “What about the others? What are they?”

“The biggest Kalquorian wearing the green tunic is an Imdiko, the clan’s nurturer.

That’s an Interstellar Medical Council badge on his shirt. Only the top doctor from each planet can sit on that council. The other man is a Nobek, who’s charged with the protection of the clan. He’s wearing a Kalquor Global Security formsuit. Very impressive credentials,” Vrill purred. “The situation must be dire on Kalquor if such an important clan is searching off-world for a Matara.”

Matara? Amelia wondered. Her excellent grasp of the liquid Plasian language omitted that word. It sounded too guttural for Vrill’s tongue.

Vrill fluttered alabaster eyelashes in the Kalquorians’ direction. She flicked her tongue over her lips again. “It’s nice to see them here scouting for a female.”

Amelia started. “I thought Kalquorians and Plasians aren’t compatible.”

“Our species can enjoy certain pleasures together, but Kalquorian men are too big to penetrate Plasian females in regular intercourse. Of course, there’s always lovely things to do that don’t require the typical; I once used my mouth on a Kalquorian to…”

“No, Vrill,” Amelia interrupted.

The Plasian blew an exasperated breath. “You’re so repressed. Anyway, I’m betting that clan isn’t here for a Plasian fling. I think they’re more interested in finding out what the Earther race can do for them.”

Amelia’s body temperature dropped from hot to cold. “You think they’re here because of me?”

Her friend smiled a long, slow smile. “Why don’t you ask them, my lovely prudish friend? Here they come.”

“What?” Her head whipped around. Her neck cracked, sending dull pain through her arms and hands. The clan indeed walked toward her, their intent eyes riveted on her.

She turned back in time to see Vrill disappearing into the crowd.

“Vrill!”

“Excuse me, Amelia Ryan?”

She started, and not just because the man spoke to her in her own language. The voice rumbled through her very bones. Her whole body seemed to vibrate to the resonance.

She resisted responding to him. She wanted to run away, tried to run away, but the Kalquorian’s commanding tone swiveled her body toward the men. She had always obeyed authority, even when it put her life in danger. Now was no different even though the man was not of her species. Any time she sensed someone dominant to herself, Amelia instantly complied with that person’s expectations.

As she turned, the clan slid into her line of sight: the bare, muscled arm of the Nobek, his wide formsuited chest, and other arm. Then the sleeved, bulging arms and chests of the other two filled her vision. Her eyes lingered over corded necks, strong jawlines and three pairs of eyes.

She thought of the concord grapes that grew on the fence surrounding her childhood backyard. She remembered the tart sweetness that slid down her throat like liquid silk. The Kalquorians’ sharp eyes were that same cool blue-violet color. Their pupils were slit like those of cats.

I should run away, Amelia thought. Earth would not want me to even speak to them. They say the aliens are degenerate, wanting Earth women for unspeakable sexual games. What kind of games, I wonder?

Her body, pinned by their stares, refused to move. Despite her yammering thoughts, her muscles remained locked statue-still.

The Kalquorian standing in the middle, the one treacherous Vrill identified as the leader, spoke again. “Amelia Ryan?”

Her voice floated from her, distant like a dream. “I’m Amelia Ryan.”

He bowed, his sleek, shoulder-length hair swinging forward. His eyes never left hers, and she was riveted by his stare. He’s handsome. They all are, Amelia thought with surprise. With the trimmed mustache and goatee, she decided the Kalquorian speaking to her looked like an old movie version of a Muskateer.

His voice, despite its strength, was soft. “I am Dramok Rajhir. This is my clan.

Imdiko Flencik,” he motioned, and the largest Kalquorian bowed as well, a smile softening his strong features.

Flencik’s ebony hair fell well below his shoulders in soft spiral curls. His face was clean-shaven and not as narrow as his leader’s. He was easily the bulkiest of the three, but his expression was the gentlest. His smile was one of real warmth.

“And Nobek Breft.”

The Nobek echoed the others’ bows. The smallest of the three, he stood a foot taller than Amelia’s five feet ten inch frame. His hair swept from his face in waves.

Amelia caught herself wondering what it would feel like to stroke it. His mustache and goatee were fuller than Rajhir’s, softening the hard planes of his stern but attractive features. The predatory look in his feline eyes suggested he was more dangerous than his larger companions. He looked her up and down, as if wondering how tasty a snack she might be.

They watched her. She realized they waited for her to respond. She struggled for anything to say.

“Um…hello,” she said.

Still they waited. Their expressions seemed polite, even patient. She took courage from that.

“I’m sorry if I seem rude.” She smiled. “It’s just that I’ve never met Kalquorians before. You’re rather imposing.”

Rajhir’s brow creased. He looked at Breft and spoke in staccato bursts. Breft, looking concerned, answered in the same language, his eyes darting from the clan’s leader to Amelia.

Rajhir and Flencik exchanged dark looks, and Amelia’s stomach turned. What had she said to upset the Kalquorians?

Flencik spoke to her in a voice deep like Rajhir’s but even gentler. “Your language to us gives confusion. Says Breft our appearance you are threatened?”

Breft interjected, his tenor diplomatic but lined with steel. “Flencik’s grasp of your language is not very good yet. He meant to say, our appearance threatens you?”

“Oh…well…” Amelia struggled for a tactful tone. “Threaten isn’t quite what I meant. When I said you were imposing I meant I’m not accustomed to your great size.

You’re much taller than most Earth men.”

The clan relaxed, and Amelia mentally sighed relief. If the Kalquorians found her language confusing, landmines lay waiting within any conversation.

Rajhir smiled at her. “Our people have misunderstandings, yes? Earth does no like Kalquor, but we have no harmed any Earthers.”

Speaking of landmines, Amelia thought, feeling her stomach knot again. Why am I even speaking to them? Earth would have my tongue cut out if they saw me right now.

She couldn’t seem to keep her mouth shut though. “Your culture is very different from ours. Unfortunately, Earthers have a long history of not accepting what they don’t understand.”

Her statement prompted another exchange between Rajhir and Breft. After this, Rajhir smiled down at her again as if about to confer a great favor.

“We will discuss Kalquorian culture with you. We will show you Kalquorian ways. When you know the pleasure we offer, you will understand and accept us.

Mataras do no—-“ he paused and looked at Breft. “Grolic?”

“Fear,” the Nobek said.

Rajhir nodded. “Mataras do no fear clans.”

Matara again. Now Amelia realized why it sounded strange coming from Vrill; the word was Kalquorian. “What are–?”

Saucin Israla’s aide slipped beside her, interrupting the question. The lithe Plasian female inclined her black-maned head toward Amelia before raking greedy eyes over the clan. Once again, Amelia felt herself flush in the presence of overt sexuality. Would she ever relax in this atmosphere of pleasure-seeking decadence?

“Saucin Israla requires Amelia Ryan,” the aide purred, still looking at the Kalquorians. She glided away, casting glances over her shoulder. Her fur waved as if to beckon them to her.

The three men ignored the Plasian. Their eyes remained riveted on Amelia. She smiled an apology. “I must go for the presentation. Please excuse me.”

She turned from the clan, both relieved and disappointed to be escaping. She didn’t lie to herself about enjoying their attention. She was fascinated by how much they resembled her own race. And they were so unabashedly masculine. Even repressed Amelia had to admit a stab of desire. No wonder Vrill had become aroused.

She took one step when a hand slipped around her waist. Before she realized what was happening, Rajhir pulled her backwards and held her against himself. She gasped as the hard muscles of his thighs, abdomen, and chest pressed against her from behind.

Flencik and Breft moved to surround her, blocking her from the view of the other guests. She stood frozen in shock. Rajhir’s hand flattened against her slender belly, his touch hot against the exposed skin. He pinned her against his own body so she couldn’t pull away. His other hand stroked her throat with a feather touch. It drifted down, sliding over one round breast and cupping it. His forefinger and thumb massaged the tip of her nipple. The sensitive flesh hardened into a hungry nub and strained against the thin material of her gown. The heat of his touch shot from her breast in a lightning bolt to her sex.

The surge of desire snapped her paralysis. She gasped and reached to slap his hand away. Breft caught her hands and pressed them to his lips as Flencik stroked her cheek in a soothing manner. Rajhir switched his attention to her other breast, slipping his fingers inside the dress to pinch the naked nipple. Breft held her hands effortlessly, his lips curling under his mustache in a grin as she tried to pull free. She thought of screaming, but the thought of the Plasians seeing her being ravished by the three men made her cheeks burn with humiliation. The amorous Plasians wouldn’t understand what the fuss was about; sexual play in public was as natural to them as breathing. She’d seen many at the party locked in such embraces already, some indulging in outright public sex.

She doubted any would come to her aid. They’d probably cheer the Kalquorians on.

“Be a good girl,” Rajhir breathed in her ear. “We know Earthers do no like others to witness sex pleasuring. Do no resist and none here will know of our little game.”

He’d done his homework on Earthers; more than anything she didn’t want to be seen like this. She stopped her struggles, surrendering to Rajhir’s demanding touch and praying that no one indeed would see her humiliation. Her heart thundered in her chest as he rubbed each breast in turn, testing their weight and fullness in his heated palms.

Flencik’s thumb brushed over her parted lips, his eyes drinking in the sight of his Dramok pulling aside fabric to expose her taut nipples, which flushed rose pink from the attention.

An appreciative growl emanated from Breft who brought her fingers to his lips. He sucked each slender digit into his wet, warm mouth.

Even as she trembled with fear, even as she closed her eyes in shame, Amelia’s insides sent honeyed lava to creep a molten path down her thighs. Desire pulsed through her at the brazen ravishing. She tightened her legs together, willing the flow of moisture to stop. Panties had been impossible to wear; the back of the dress dipped too low and the fabric of the gown molded to her skin so smoothly that underwear would have shown with blatant lines. The Plasians already thought her ridiculously uptight. When she’d dressed for tonight, she’d been willing to go nude under the gown so she wouldn’t have to endure the snickers and pitying looks. Now she regretted it. What if the men decided to explore her there, discovering the nakedness, the wetness of her sex? Would her uncontrollable desire encourage them to do more than simply explore with fingers?

Would they take her right here in front of the Plasians?

Flencik caressed a breast when Rajhir held it up to him like an offering. The Imdiko licked his finger and whirled his saliva over her areola. Amelia’s traitorous body responded against her will. She arched, filling his hand with her breast. Had anyone ever touched her with such gentle knowledge? She moaned. “Please…”

Rajhir’s breath warmed her ear. “You are in great need. We know how your society keeps your people from pleasure.”

“I — I have to go,” she whimpered, wishing her voice sounded stronger. She tried to pull away again. The Kalquorians held her still as if to show her their physical power.

Another bolt of desire shot through her. She trembled and quieted again, not fighting, waiting to see if they would set her free. Only when she surrendered did Flencik tug her dress back into place, hiding her breasts with a rueful smile.

“We will speak again, Amelia Ryan,” Rajhir promised.

They released her and stepped back to let her pass between them. She hurried toward the still waiting aide who smiled at her as if they shared a secret. Amelia’s face flamed anew; the aide hadn’t seen what she’d let the Kalquorians do, but no doubt the Plasian knew something had happened. Amelia prayed the moisture between her thighs wasn’t obvious because of the shortness of her skirt. It took all the pride she could muster to not run from the Kalquorians.

* * * *

Rajhir watched Amelia rush away through the willowy crowd of Plasian elite.

His eyes drank in her lush body, a pleasing collection of soft, pliant curves. Her auburn curtain of hair swayed, offering tantalizing glimpses of smooth skin bared by the backless gown. The tops of her buttocks were round, the shadow between them a teasing invitation. He longed to explore her there, in all the sweet dark places a woman’s body offered. To discover her with fingers, mouth, and sex organs. To uncover all her body’s treasures, to decode its secrets.

He enjoyed the sight of her flesh glowing in the amber light. He thought of how his brown hand had looked in contrast to the golden mounds of her breasts and the pink of her nipples. He couldn’t wait to touch her burning skin again. Soon he promised himself. Tonight, if possible. To bury his dark flesh in her pale sweetness, to let her light, soft flesh enclose him, consume him…

“The poor woman is terrified,” Flencik said in Kalquorian, interrupting Rajhir’s fantasy. The Imdiko’s voice betrayed his disgust. “Her government has done severe damage to her natural instinct for sexual pleasure. She cannot enjoy what her body craves.”

Breft answered. “Totalitarian regimes, especially fanatical religious ones, have a nasty habit of taking the life out of living.”

Rajhir found himself unable to tear his eyes from Amelia. She stood with a group of Plasians next to a draped square suspended on a stand. She spoke to Art Guildmaster Osill, a male with languid, drooping eyes, and the Plasian Saucin herself, Israla. Amelia glanced at the Kalquorians then looked away, blushing furiously.

Rajhir said, “They haven’t destroyed all her carnal instincts. They may have even done us a favor with their repression; did you notice how she immediately submits to authority? Asserting complete dominance over her may be what’s called for. As an Earther female, it’s all she’s ever known.”

Breft licked his lips. “I have no problem dominating such a lovely creature. I scented her desire. She wants to be taken.”

Flencik’s tone grew concerned. “There are limits to forcing someone to submit to anything, even on Plasius. Saucin Israla might draw the line at coerced medical tests.”

Rajhir ran his gaze up the long, lovely line of Amelia’s legs. Was it his imagination, or was there moisture glistening on her inner thighs just below her high hemline? He licked his lips. “It would depend on the manner of coercion. If we can get the Earther to let her guard down enough, we may be able to gain a sample of her eggs.”

“How are we to gain Amelia Ryan’s cooperation if she’s too scared to even speak to us?”

“Who says either she or the Saucin have to cooperate?” Breft said, the grin on his lean face hungry. “We can take Amelia Ryan back to Kalquor easily with no one here the wiser until it’s too late.”

Flencik narrowed his eyes at his clanmate. His heavy brow creased. “Such action might traumatize her. Earthers are much more fragile than we are. We don’t know if stress damages their reproductive abilities. You dare not kidnap this Matara.”

“We don’t know if she can be a Matara.”

Rajhir held up his hand to quiet the argument. They fell silent and waited for him to speak.

He eyed Amelia again. The thought of the lovely creature struggling against him and then surrendering to his seduction threatened to publicly arouse him. He knew the sweetness of such a forceful seduction and felt the possibility given Amelia’s reluctant but eager reaction to their touches.

He kept these thoughts to himself, determined to maintain Flencik’s peace of mind. He said, “Her art has endeared her to the Plasians. To kidnap her from here would strain relations between our peoples. Plausius has been too long a trading partner to risk Israla’s censure.”

He thought for a moment before continuing. “We must also remember that if we force her to take Flencik’s tests against her will and her government discovers it, we risk Earth not letting any more of their females off-planet where we have easier access. We must find a way to gain her trust and compliance.”

Breft scowled. “What if she refuses to cooperate anyway? Then what?”

“Then we’ll have no choice but to gain samples through trickery or force.”

Flencik opened his mouth, protest written all over his face, and Rajhir added, “Only as a last resort and with the hope it does not damage her.”

“I’d rather it not be an option at all,” Flencik said.

“I know.” Rajhir squeezed his shoulder. “Remember, we’re facing the extinction of our species if we don’t find compatible females soon. Keep that in mind, Imdiko.”

* * * *

Osill clasped his long-fingered hands together. “The anticipation has nearly driven me mad.” He eyed the covered painting like a starving man at a feast. Then again, the reed-thin Guildmaster always looked hungry. His marbled black eyes bulged from his sharp-edged face.

Amelia managed to smile despite the Kalquorians’ heated stares. She did her best to ignore them. How naked she felt in her scanty gown! “I only hope I’ve met the Saucin’s and Guild’s expectations.” She inclined her head toward Israla. The Plasian leader’s smooth face remained emotionless as she spoke with her aide, as if she hadn’t heard the Earther’s comment. Amelia’s nervousness turned up a notch.

It wasn’t just Israla’s rank that intimidated Amelia. Despite being three times her age, the Saucin was a beautiful example of her species. She’d make any Parisian model stalking the catwalk envious with her long slender build and ideal proportions. Her clothing was scantier than even Amelia’s, consisting of only a scarf-like fabric draped around the back of her neck and hanging over her small but perfect breasts and another scarf tied about her hips. The fabric was deep red and completely see-through. Nothing was left to the imagination; her hairless sex was easily discerned behind the transparent scarf.

Israla’s legendary appetite for young men of all races and body types was also a testament to her disregard for her age. Tonight two young Plasian men flanked her, wearing small loin cloths made of the same fabric Israla wore. Vrill had confided these boys were young enough to be Israla’s great-grandsons. Their slender penises stood at attention as they unselfconsciously rubbed Israla’s back. Occasionally Israla smiled at them and stroked their eager flesh with pointed fingertips. Amelia couldn’t bear to look at them.

Amelia preferred Israla’s aloofness to Osill’s enthusiasm, as the Guildmaster did little to quiet her fears. He practically panted with anticipation. “If this painting is like your other works, all of Plasius will fall at your feet in adulation.”

She regretted the Plasians expected so much of her. Such attention could only doom her latest painting to failure. It would never live up to their hopes.

The opposite would have happened back home. Earth noticed little of her current work because her style confounded the critics. Not only that, Amelia’s choice of voluptuous, sensual shapes and colors, while not explicit enough to be unlawful, still pushed the envelope of acceptable art in Earth’s Puritanical society.

In contrast, Plasius embraced her art with a fierce passion, importing prints of her paintings by the thousands. Her arrival three months ago had been met with much sensation, although ‘sensation’ in Plasian terms was tame by most interstellar beings’ standards. There had been an endless round of quiet dinner parties hosted by Plasian elite. She learned fast to leave the dinners as soon as eating was done because Plasian parties always degenerated into sex orgies that lasted well into the next day. She was sure tonight would be no exception; as soon as she finished her presentation, she planned to head straight for the nearest exit.

Outside the upper crust of Plasian society she’d received dozens of offers from both male and female fans eager to help her shed the well-known issue of Earther sexual inhibitions. She’d been kissed on the street, pulled onto turgid laps at the outdoor cafes, and on one memorable occasion, nearly undressed in the middle of an art exhibit by four amorous women. For their part, the Plasians couldn’t understand how someone who painted such sensual pictures became flustered when confronted with sensuality itself.

Israla ended her conversation with her aide. She ran her fingers over chimes that tinkled over the murmur of conversation. The hall silenced at once as all eyes turned the quartet’s way.

The aide said, “Attention, please. We will begin the presentation now.”

The crowd surged forward, and Amelia saw the Kalquorians also approach. Their eyes devoured her, setting her skin on fire with their glances alone. It was as if they possessed her body with their stares. She looked away, fighting to maintain an aura of nonchalance. Her burning face informed her of her failure.

Osill stepped forward to address everyone. “We have not long known of Earth. Indeed, the more we learn of our new neighbors, the less we understand them.”

A ripple of laughter greeted his words. He bowed his head to Amelia to indicate he meant the comment as a joke. She smiled, no offense taken. “It is only that our cultures are so exceedingly different. Art, however, speaks one language. Not in many generations has an artist spoken as eloquently as our new friend Amelia Ryan. We are honored to host her on Plasius where we hope she will find much inspiration.”

He stepped back to polite applause as all eyes settled on Amelia. The bronzeskinned Plasians looked at her with as much hunger as the Kalquorians. She took a deep breath, put on a smile, and stepped forward.

“Thank you, Guildmaster Osill.” Her steady voice surprised her. She avoided looking to her right where the Kalquorian clan stood.

“It is I who feel honored to have been granted the opportunity to paint the landscapes and people of your planet. In gratitude for your kindness and hospitality, I present to Saucin Israla and the people of Plasius this work.” She nodded to Israla’s aide.

The aide lifted the velvety drape from the canvas Amelia had labored three months over, sometimes going for days without sleep. The mere memory of her hand cramped around the paintbrush, the agony of effort slicing up her arm to her shoulder and neck, was excruciating. Only pure will had kept her going. Now she would know if the weeks of pain she’d endured to complete it on time had been worthwhile.

With a flourish, the aide swept the cloth aside, revealing the painting: the landscape of Plasius’ Lisidia mountain range. As it came into view, all the tension leading up to this moment released its grip on Amelia’s gut. Indeed there could be no doubt that it was the best work she’d ever done.

When she’d first viewed the seemingly endless line of mountains, the spirit of the rock and earth revealed itself to her with unguarded abandon. She instantly saw in them the undulating curves of a reclining Plasian woman, lush with invitation. Amelia painted the Lisidias in the hues of bronze and olive, the predominant colors of Plasian flesh and fur. At first glance, the mountains appeared to be a woman lounging in a languorous pose, her black marble eyes half-closed, and her parted lips curved in a provocative smile. It was not only a landscape of Plasius, it was the planet’s very spirit of relaxed, graceful sexuality.

The assembled Plasians gasped as one. For a moment, they gaped at the artwork.

Amelia’s heart stopped.

Then applause crashed over her as the usually indolent race roared their approval.

Osill shook her as he cried, “Beautiful, Amelia Ryan! Absolute perfection! Better than my greatest hopes!”

Most astounding of all, the aloof Israla embraced her, sobbing like a lost child found. “It is beyond expectation! An incomparable gift! I was born in a village in sight of these mountains, but I never saw them in truth until now. You have honored all of Plasius with your art. Thank you.” She kissed Amelia with an open mouth then bowed.

Her mane, dyed red to match her outfit, danced with delight.

Plasians jostled to get close to the painting and its creator. They crushed against Amelia until she gasped for air. They congratulated her with exuberant shouts and many tears. Fingers brushed against her cheeks, throat, breasts, belly and arms. The bodies pressed against hers until she couldn’t draw breath. The room tilted like a funhouse, and Amelia realized she was near fainting. Black spots appeared in her vision. Then someone grasped her hand in an iron grip. She found enough air to cry out as pain shot from her fingers to her shoulder.

The pressure eased as dark muscled arms pressed the Plasians back. Rajhir’s rumbling voice said in passable Plasian, “Please, good friends, give Amelia Ryan room! She needs air!”

Breft eased himself through the crowd to her side. He lifted her into the air as he cradled her in arms of steel. He hugged her close as he carried her from the knot of Plasians. “Relax, little one. I will take you to safety.”

She whooped air into her chest. She lay limp in Breft’s arms as her grateful lungs heaved. Rajhir and Flencik flanked them. Israla, her aide, and Osill darted ahead to peer at her.

“Is she all right?” Osill asked. “I’m so sorry! We didn’t mean to hurt her.”

Flencik answered. “She well, but overwhelmed.”

“We must keep her from the crowd until they have calmed,” Rajhir added. “You will also want to guard the art. They may destroy it in their excitement.”

“The painting!” the aide exclaimed and rushed away, presumably to save it.

Israla waved them to a closed door. “Use this private room,” she said, opening the door and ushering them in. “You will care for her? She is precious to us.” At Flencik’s nod, Israla patted Amelia’s arm. “Rest now. No one will bother you here. I will have refreshment brought to you.”

She swept out, and Osill took Amelia’s hand. His long fingers trembled.

“Forgive our enthusiasm. You have captured the very soul of Plasius with your painting, and we cannot contain our joy. No harm was intended.”

Despite her dazed response to the excitement of the last few minutes, Amelia managed to console him. “It’s all right. I’m glad it was so well received.”

Flencik spoke up. “She rest now must.”

“Of course. I leave her in your capable hands.” Osill bowed to them and left, closing the door.

They left her alone with the clan. Fear spiked through Amelia’s chest, and her heart skipped a beat. She suddenly realized the Plasians’ jostling had shifted her gown to expose her breasts. She jerked the bodice over her nakedness, fresh embarrassment turning her skin almost as crimson as the dress.

“Lounger,” Flencik said, and Breft carried her to the seating area. The Plasian lounger looked like an oversized sectional sofa, perfect for sprawling, relaxing and sleeping.

And lovemaking, Amelia felt sure as the Nobek lowered her onto the deep red billowy surface. She clutched her arms to her chest, a self-protective gesture. The

Kalquorian men had been quick to ravish her in a roomful of people. What would they do to her in private quarters?

To her relief, Breft released her and stepped back. He remained standing as Rajhir and Flencik sat beside her prone body.

She looked about the room, seeking an avenue of escape. Lighting globes drifted across the ceiling, illuminating the room in a soft golden glow. A smokeless firepit crackled in the middle of the room as chunks of scentwood burned. Aromatic fumes scented like the roses back on Earth swirled about the room.

In a corner, the Plasian version of a shower sluiced a waterfall into a bubbling basin. Amelia knew from her own apartment the roiling warm water eased tense muscles.

The room was a sensual retreat, but only one door offered Amelia escape.

She looked at the trio of men who regarded her in silence. What could she say to them after the way she’d surrendered to them earlier? Surely they believed her to be a slut, a whore, a wanton creature eager to couple at the slightest provocation.

Still, such behavior was the norm on Plasius. Many times she’d dined in a restaurant with Vrill while fellow diners pleasured each other right at their tables. Early on, Amelia learned to keep her eyes on her meals.

Had the Kalquorians really acted inappropriately? Not in the least by Plasian standards, though Plasians usually had the courtesy to ask before they grabbed.

Another misunderstanding, Amelia thought with relief. That’s all. They simply don’t know how to act with an Earther.

She tried to smile. She pretended her heart wasn’t pounding. She ignored the voice in the back of her mind whispering, You know it has nothing to do with misunderstandings. These brutes want something from you, and it’s not lessons in Earther etiquette!

She said, “Thank you for the rescue. I thought I would be crushed out there.”

Rajhir stroked her shoulder, and she held back a shiver. His hands were so warm.

“The Plasians are passionate for beauty,” he said. “Your painting excited their senses to overwhelm. Tell us–”

A knock at the door interrupted him. Breft whirled; the next instant he was at the door. Amelia blinked. The Nobek was incredibly fast, too fast to follow with the eyes.

It brought her fear of the Kalquorians up another notch.

He opened the door. A Plasian servant stood outside with a tray of goblets and a pitcher filled with azure liquid.

Amelia tensed as she heard the loud voices of excited Plasians. “They’re still reacting to the painting.”

“Relax,” Flencik said, squeezing her hand ever so gently. “We will no enter give to them.”

Amelia nodded her understanding of his halting English as Breft took the tray and shut the door, closing the servant and noise out. He carried the tray to the lounger.

Flencik nodded approval as he filled a goblet from the pitcher. “This leshella good drink is. You try it to drink,” he said, handing Amelia the goblet. “It will you calmer.”

“What is it exactly?” she asked, sniffing the sapphire liquid.

Rajhir and Flencik turned to Breft. He poured a goblet for himself. “Like the Earth drink called wine, I think.” He drank his serving in one swallow.

“Try it, Amelia Ryan,” Rajhir prodded.

“Just Amelia, please. Earth people have two names, sometimes more, but we’re usually called by just the first.”

“Amelia,” Rajhir said. He smiled. “Easier.”

She smiled back, liking how the expression softened his stern features. She took a sip.

The drink tasted smooth and buttery, and yes, similar to an expensive white wine.

The knots in her muscles loosened. It went down easily. Too easily. She took the glass from her lips and noted with shock she’d drunk half of it.

“You started to ask me about my painting?” she said to Rajhir to hide her embarrassment. A slut and a drunkard. What a wonderful impression she must be making.

“I have seen the Lisidias. I know that is what you painted. The woman resting in mountains…the colors you put to paint. They are no true, but they look — correct?” He struggled. “I do no have Earther words. The painting was wrong reality but perfect.

How did you know the mountains wanted to be those colors, that woman?”

She swallowed more wine without realizing it until the warmth made her tingle all over. She felt very relaxed now. The lounger beneath her was like a cloud.

“I paint subjects not how I see them on the surface but how I feel their soul appears.”

“Soul?” Rajhir’s brow furrowed. He looked to Breft who shrugged his own confusion.

“A soul is a person’s life force. Or in my painting’s case, the mountain’s true inner self.”

Her explanation only made them look more perplexed. Amelia gave up. “It’s

hard to explain. As you say, I don’t have the words.”

She raised the goblet and saw it was full again without her noticing one of the Kalquorians refilling it.

“Is it good?” Breft asked.

“Wonderful.” Languor spread through her body like a balm. She was relaxed but not fatigued; indeed, her senses felt so alive. Her body flushed with warmth, and the lounger felt to her skin like the softest cashmere. She longed to kick her heels off and dig her toes into it, if she could summon the effort. Her limbs lay heavy, melting into the cushions. She wanted to purr. The top of her gown had shifted again; one breast was in danger of exposure. What did it matter? she thought lazily. The men surrounding her had seen the show already. It no longer seemed like such a big deal.

Rajhir leaned close, and she looked into his blue-purple cat eyes. His scent wafted over her, a pleasant cinnamon-y smell. She felt his warm breath on her lips as he spoke. “Are all Earther women so desirable?”

Fingertips — Flencik’s? — brushed over her throat. She caught her breath. The flesh felt sensitive there. Flencik’s fingers drifted down to her breastbone, leaving a trail of heat.

“You think I’m desirable?” The fingertips moved to her breasts, flattening so that his huge hands covered them. She moaned, the heat from his touch spreading to her sex.

Warmth trickled between her thighs. Rajhir’s hypnotic gaze held her captive as his face drifted closer. She closed her eyes as his moist lips brushed hers. “You are very desirable, lovely Amelia.”