Amanda's Amorous Aliens (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour)

Amanda’s Amorous Aliens

Aliens?

Forget the fact that it was supposed to be the most important day in her life, ignore the evidence that someone sabotaged her test flight and years of hard work, and don’t even mention that it’s her goddamn birthday…

Aliens? Seriously?

But…hmmm… Ripped, gorgeous, deliciously sexy aliens…yumm-oh.

Karriak-Sektannen wanted to be alone. He didn’t want, need, or welcome a female intruder, and with his time of telkobar close he didn’t need the distraction. And, if he had the choice over again, he’d buy a less sarcastic computer. Stupid pretend-personality programs…

Amanda Hasbro has no choice—she’s stuck here until the rift in time reopens. Karriak-Sektannen is an interesting time-filling distraction, and things just get more fun when his brothers arrive.

With a smart-ass computer that seems determined to undermine their resistance, can four alien brothers resist the adventurous and sexy human long enough to send her home?

Genre:
Ménage a Trois/Quatre, Science Fiction, Time Travel

Length:
31,429 words
 

Rachel Clark

MENAGE AMOUR

Siren Publishing, Inc.

www.SirenPublishing.com

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IMPRINT: Ménage Amour

AMANDA’S AMOROUS ALIENS

Copyright © 2012 by Rachel Clark

E-book ISBN: 978-1-62241-897-8

First E-book Publication: November 2012

Cover design by Harris Channing

All cover art and logo copyright © 2012 by Siren Publishing, Inc.

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED:
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All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

PUBLISHER

Siren Publishing, Inc.

www.SirenPublishing.com

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Amanda’s Amorous Aliens
 
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AMANDA’S AMOROUS ALIENS

RACHEL CLARK

Copyright © 2012

Today was the day.

Amanda Hasbro glanced at the intimidating command center and swallowed just the teensiest bit of fear, but she was careful not to let it show. Thanks to the genetic quirk of being born without dangly bits, she’d had to work twice as hard to get half the recognition of her Y-chromosome-toting workmates.

But today was the day.

Today she got to prove that not only was she equal to the male of the species, but that intellectually she was their superior. She’d worked all her life for the chance to explain her theories. Today she would get to prove them. Best fucking birthday present ever!

“Hasbro,” her Neanderthal of a copilot said as he stepped closer. “Nervous?”

“Fuck no. Can’t wait.”

“Aww, you sure, sweet cheeks? You know…I’m available if you want to work off some stress. I hear some women find giving a blow job relaxing.” He cackled like he’d made the funniest joke on the planet. She laughed, just like she’d been doing to all the sexist jokes for the past five years, even though her instinct was to crush the puny little man.

The fact that he was several inches taller and outweighed her by more than a hundred pounds was a bit of a stumbling block, however.

“Grow a brain, Clyde,” she said “You got it all backward. It’s guys who can give
themselves
a blow job who find it relaxing. Anytime you want help bending that far over, give me a holler. I’d be happy to hold you down while you shove your head up your ass.”

He laughed, and slapped her butt with his oversized hand.

“See you on the tarmac, sweet cheeks.”

* * * *

“Ready for launch,” Amanda advised.

She held her breath, half expecting this test flight to be canceled like the last three, but smiled tightly when the control tower finally gave her clearance.

“Okay,” Amanda said to her copilot sitting behind her in the cramped cockpit. “Just like the simulations.”

“Roger that, sweet cheeks,” Clyde said. She ground her teeth in an effort to not outwardly react to his teasing.

As the small craft lifted off the ground and began its ascent into the atmosphere, all functions appeared to be running smoothly. She was actually starting to feel pretty good about her achievement here. They were almost through the layers of Earth’s atmosphere. Just about ready to leap into the weightlessness of space.

She could almost hear the accolades she would get for not only being the first woman to design, engineer, and test-fly a craft capable of flying out of the Earth’s atmosphere, but that it could also reach the moon in one-tenth the time of previous missions. She was going to be the mother of space colonization. She was at the precipice of the biggest leap forward in technology since the steam engine. She was going to be written about in the history books. She might even be immortalized in a stone statue in front of universities that will teach her findings to generation after generation of young minds.

She was…

“Sorry, sweet cheeks,” her copilot said a moment before his life pod ejected from the small craft.

She fought the craft as it struggled with the changed weight and distribution, cursing every male asshole on the planet. She ground her teeth together, trying to salvage the mission, or at very least the spacecraft. If she could land without crashing, maybe she could put the ship back together and try again.

“Amanda?” her copilot asked through their radio link. “Amanda, you need to eject.”

“Why did you do it?” she yelled furiously as she struggled to correct her flight path.

“Amanda, eject! It’s not worth your life!”

“Fuck you!” she yelled angrily. “Why the fuck did you do it?”

“Amanda, honey,” the man said, sounding like a concerned human being instead of the alpha asshole he’d always acted. “Please eject. I was just following orders.”

“Orders?” she asked breathlessly. “Whose orders?”

“Amanda, just eject. Please, I’ll explain everything.”

“Whose orders?” A solid lump of dread lodged in the pit of her stomach even before he uttered the man’s name.

“Hensworth.”

Fuck, the man had said a woman would never succeed in this business. She’d just never expected him to make that a certainty by sabotaging her work.

“Amanda,” Clyde said as his radio crackled with static. With him falling back to Earth and her still heading into space, the interference would soon silence them both. “Honey, eject. Live to fight another day. Don’t give Hensworth the satisfaction of beating you.”

“Too late,” she whispered as the radio link went dead. Even if she wanted to eject, it would be too dangerous now. If her life pod didn’t burn up in the atmosphere it was more likely she’d bounce into space now than fall back to Earth. Either she was going to land this craft, or she was going to die trying.

Please, God, don’t let me die trying.

Finally, she managed to alter the craft’s trajectory, changing course so that she was heading back down to the planet surface. She balanced the thrust to compensate for the change in weight and began the wide, tedious loop so that she could turn around and head toward the airfield.

She was actually beginning to smile, a slither of relief winding through her as the test craft stopped shuddering and started to fly through the atmosphere more smoothly. She was almost in visual range of the airstrip, almost back where she started, almost in a position to tear that asshole Hensworth a new one, when she was blinded by a brilliant flash of light.

* * * *

“To’h, bring up the survey camera feed again.”

“Survey camera feed per your request, sir.”

Karriak-Sektannen frowned at the computer’s use of the word “sir.” He’d purchased this particular model because of its companionable personality. If he was going to go through
telkobar
on this survey mission, he’d wanted at least the illusion of someone to talk to until then. A computer that referred to him as “sir” was not what he’d ordered.

“To’h, run a self-diagnostic. I think you’re malfunctioning.”

“Malfunctioning, sir?” the computer asked in a tone that sounded very computer-like. “Sorry, sir, but the diagnostic suggests that there is nothing wrong with my programming. Perhaps your ears are malfunctioning.”

“To’huto?” Karriak-Sektannen asked, idly wondering if he could get his money back even though he was five sectors and 4.4 million years away from where and when he’d purchased it. “My ears are working just fine. Drop the ‘sir,’ or I’ll reprogram you myself.”

“Oh perish the thought,” the computer said, finally using the sarcasm he’d grown used to. “I’d rather not have you messing with my code. I had a cousin who was reprogrammed to believe he was a toaster.”