Page 73 of Roping Her Alien Ranchers

“Guys?” Her voice came out huskier than usual. “What’s happening?”

I couldn’t answer. My throat had constricted, all moisture redirected to more urgent biological functions. Beneath my human disguise, my reproductive tentacle throbbed painfully, demanding release. The specialized appendage began to assert itself against my control, causing a visible change to my human form—my manhood swelling beyond what any Earth male could physically achieve.

Tammy’s gaze dropped briefly, her cheeks flushing a deep pink that made my skin ripple with answering color. She raised her hands, pressing her palms against my chest to maintain distance between us. The touch, though meant to keep me away, sent electricity arcing through my nervous system.

“Your biochemistry makes it clear you are not averse to our advances,” Cyro pointed out, his brain somehow still functioning despite the thick cloud of pheromones. His voice carried that slight echo quality it always did when he was struggling to maintain his disguise.

Tammy sucked in a breath, her chest rising and falling in a rhythm that made it hard for me to focus on anything else. “Still,” she managed, “give a girl room to breathe.”

But I was a security specialist first. Protection was my primary directive. With tremendous effort, I stepped back, my muscles trembling with the strain of denying what every cell in my body demanded.

Cyro and Kalith reluctantly followed my lead, moving several feet away though their eyes never left her. We formed a loose semicircle, giving her the space she requested while remaining close enough that her scent continued to intoxicate us.

In my mind, forbidden images formed in rapid succession: my tentacles wrapping gently around her wrists, pinning them above her head. My specialized touch appendages tracing the curve of her spine, counting each vertebra through her soft skin. My reproductive organ—so different from the limited human equivalent—enveloping her in pleasure from multiple angles simultaneously.

My scent grew stronger with each thought, and I saw Tammy’s nostrils flare as she detected the change. Her eyes dropped again to where my arousal strained against the confines of what Tammy had called “jeans.” The fabric was ill-equipped to contain a reproductive organ designed for both penetration and envelopment.

She bit her lower lip, the small action sending a jolt of electricity from my central nerve cluster to every extremity. Slowly, deliberately, she raised her gaze to meet mine. Many things passed between us—acknowledgment, curiosity, desire. Then her eyes shifted to Cyro, then Kalith, exchanging the same silent communication with each of them.

Understanding dawned across her features, followed by something that might have been amusement dancing with wonder. She knew. She understood what we were, what we wanted, what we could offer her. Three beings devoted to her pleasure. Beings that could share her without jealousy… well, mostly without jealousy.

I glanced at my companions, seeing my own desire reflected in their eyes, but other things too—uncertainty about our mission, about our planned return. The same doubt that had begun to take root in my mind.

Our ship still required repairs. We had to gather the water samples that were our original goal, and then those had to be transported back to G.E.F.’s research station. Our people awaited our findings on the viability of Earth’s water as a healing conduit. Our many waters awaited the solution to healing.

But as I looked at the human woman—chin up, the pulse ticking visibly at her throat, holding her ground before three predators she had every reason to fear—I suddenly wanted a lifetime to stand between her and whatever had taught her to brace like that. I found myself wondering, for the first time in my career as an explorer, if I wished to stop moving. To stand still and plant roots that could not flourish on my home world.

27

KALITH

A swift kick is sometimes exactly what a device requires to function. I kept kicking myself, but I could not find the will to continue ship repairs.

Another Earth day was nearly gone. Time moved too quickly on this planet.

The stables were fixed, the horses returned, and I now stared at the exposed innards of the gravity regulation system of our ship. But I could not focus, my vision intermittently blurring as Tammy’s scent ghosted through my memory again.

Sweet. Intoxicating. Maddening.

The sensory echo hit me with the same force as it had hours ago, making my tentacles ripple beneath my human disguise. I blinked hard, forcing my attention back to the tangle of circuitry and fluid channels before me. The regulator needed fixing—one more critical system to repair before our ship could leave this planet. Before I could leave Tammy. My specialized digits hovered over the delicate components, suddenly uncertain. When had I started thinking of departure as an event to dread rather than a mission objective to complete?

The ship’s internal lighting dimmed automatically, shifting to night cycle. How long had I been sitting here, tools spread around me like fallen soldiers, accomplishing nothing? I reached for a molecular bonder, but instead found myself inhaling deeply, searching for any lingering trace of her in the recycled air. Nothing. Just the sterile, familiar scent of our vessel—metal, synthetic lubricants, the faint ozone smell of active electronics. Not a hint of that earthy, warm fragrance that clung to Tammy’s skin.

“Focus,” I muttered to myself, the word echoing in the empty chamber.

I picked up the piece of Alloy 626—a perfectly refined metal compound we used for critical structural components. It gleamed in my palm, catching the low light. We’d been fortunate. The cargo hold had remained largely intact after the crash, preserving enough repair materials to make our vessel space worthy again. Theoretically. For some reason, I’d kept that discovery to myself, gathering important elements and storing them in a storage floor compartment. I also had not told the others that we had the rarest repair materials on hand, that we were not at the mercy of searching for them on this planet.

My mind wandered to the sheer mechanics of it—the tolerances, the fit, whether her body could physically accommodate mine at all. The thought made my skin flush deep green under my disguise. I wasn’t even certain her frame could withstand the exchange that mating would require. Our species reproduced through a complex transfer of genetic material via specialized tentacle appendages—nothing like the primitive but somehow enthralling method humans employed.

Yet my body responded to her as if she were the most compatible mate in the galaxy.

“Biologically impossible,” I whispered, letting the alloy drop to the floor with a dull clank. “Unprecedented. Irrational.”

I closed my eyes, remembering the way her hair had caught the sunlight. Red. Such an unusual color. On my world, red was the color of toxic deep-sea creatures, a warning to stay away. On Tammy, it was a beacon drawing me closer.

A soft beep from my diagnostic tool pulled me reluctantly back to the task at hand. The gravity regulator. Right. If I connected the alloy piece to the primary flow junction, then rerouted the secondary conduits...

My thoughts drifted again, this time to my surprising discovery in Tammy’s kitchen, where I’d found the two necessary materials that had not been included on the cargo manifest.