Chapter 6

This is Real

Any man who can drive safely while kissing a pretty girl is simply not giving the kiss the attention it deserves. – Albert Einstein

Gold was awash in the pheromones of sexual interest, beckoning him, letting him know his attentions would be welcomed, were desired, were needed.

Even through the haze of the kiss, he felt her beginning to pull off his jacket and he reached around, managing to help her undo the buttons, so he could shrug out of the garment. It landed on the floor of the living room with a soft thud, crumpling in front of the sofa.

Belle took a step away from him, a step toward the bedroom and he, seduced and mesmerized by her siren call, stepped after her.

Oh yes, this, this was going against years of practice, of habit, of behaving. Knowing what was likely to happen to this primitive, aggressive species, he was struggling with guilt. He so wanted to enjoy this woman even while he planned the path to extinction for her people. He felt guilty, conflicted, but . . . but this female was the most delightful creature he had come across in more than a hundred years. And she was, apparently, quite willing to grant him her favors.

He eagerly followed her into her bedroom and allowed her to push him against the door for another passionate kiss. And this time, he reached up to pull the dress from her shoulders.

"It unzips in back," she managed to murmur.

A zipper. He had one of these devices on the pants that he'd been wearing and had managed to master it. Ingenious invention, but he wasn't sure if it would work the same in a dress as it did in his pants.

He fumbled, not sure what to do and Belle finally reached around and began pulling the zipper down.

Ah, so that's how it worked. Interesting – simple enough. Momentarily distracted, he finished pulling the zipper down. Then he returned his attentions to kissing her. She had refocused her own attentions onto him and had managed to pull off his tie and was frantically trying to get him out of his vest and shirt with little success.

"Ms. French," he had to be sure, "You want this? You sure you want this?"

"I'm sure," she told him, her pupils blown wide with only a tiny coronet of cornflower blue showing.

And it was enough for him to give his entire attention to kissing her.

Belle had begun to doubt her lush memories of their first kisses, but now, now it was coming back, oh, it was all coming back. And her memories had not done his kisses justice. He really knew what he was doing, gently pressing her mouth open, softly teasing her lips, her tongue with his tongue. She could taste something warm and spicy and . . . oh my . . . altogether delicious.

And the tingling started, coming from his fingertips that were nestled in her hair. She shivered and realized she was making little sighing sounds.

"You must know . . ." she struggled to talk between his kisses. "I really don't usually . . . I don't invite men into my bed after knowing them for only a couple of days."

"And I don't usually engage in intimate acts with women I have only known for a couple of days," he responded.

She pulled back a moment, "You aren't married or anything, are you?" she had to ask, suddenly panicked – she really didn't know much about this man.

He smiled. "I was . . . married, but I'm not now."

"Oh good. I'm mean . . . I'm sorry about you not being married anymore, but I'm glad you're not." She closed her eyes, cringing. "I mean, I just . . . oh . . . I'm not saying things right." She looked directly into his eyes, "There's something about you . . . I'm drawn to you. There is something about you that . . . I don't know. I just . . . " she didn't finish. "I don't even know your first name."

"Rumple," he whispered.

"Really?" she was momentarily distracted. "You must call me Belle."

"You are so beautiful, Belle" she heard him murmur, and he finished tugging her dress down so that it pooled around her feet. He stepped back and, in wonder, traced his hands over her arms and then her shoulders . . . and then he slipped his fingers under the straps of her brassiere, tugging these down off her shoulders and, reaching around, with some modest fumbling, managed to remove the sheltering garment.

She couldn't meet his eyes, hoping he would find her pleasing.

"You're perfect. Your skin is like the finest silk, smooth and soft," he told her, pulling her back to him, whispering and kissing her just below her ear. She could feel his hands sliding up her body, coming around to caress her breasts, lifting them, his thumbs running across her hardened nipples.

She leaned into him then and began to kiss him, running her tongue up the side of his neck. So much more pleasant than kissing Gary. She was quite satisfied to hear him groan.

"Pretty lady, you are going to take me out by the knees," he told her. And she gasped when he picked her up and laid her on the bed. She felt his hands running along her body as he stripped off her panties.

"Not fair," she managed to say. "Let's finish taking off your clothes." He paused briefly, but then smiled and shook his head.

"Let me look at you first," he said. And he began to run his hands over her, her legs, her hips, her stomach, drifting up to her breasts, his thumbs continuing to tease her nipples, which had instantly responded to his touch. He couldn't resist the lure of the little rosettes and leaned over to lick the hardened little nubs before sucking one of them into his mouth even while his fingers tortured the other, pinching and pulling on her. Belle had brought one hand to her mouth to stifle her cries and had buried the other hand in the man's hair.

"Please, I want to touch you," she begged him.

He stopped, pulling back. "As you wish," and he knelt above her with a confident, smug smile. Belle thought that somehow seeing the man without the armor of his suit jacket, in just his vest and open-necked shirt was incredibly hot – taking off the suit jacket had made him look vulnerable and . . . and . . . she wouldn't have thought it possible . . . so very much more desirable.

She was too nervous to finish managing the buttons of his shirt and he helped, slipping off both the vest and shirt in one movement. Then, locking eyes with her, he reached down to unfasten his belt.

She laid her hand on him – on his very hard, very erect, very male penis - and he froze, "Ms. French . . . Belle . . . I don't know that I can manage very many attentions from you in this particular area."

She giggled. "Really?" feeling a surge of power and she ran her hand up and down his turgid cock. From what she could tell, he was satisfyingly endowed. He grabbed her hand.

"Later, sweet lady," he cautioned her. "I want to . . . uh . . . I want to give you pleasure first."

He dropped his pants, leaving himself in visibly tented boxers and then put his hands on her stomach, shifting himself so that he was positioned between her legs. He slid down the bed and confidently ran his hands down her legs, drawing them open. He began to plant soft kisses along the inside of her thighs, working his way up, up.

"Oh my!" She was trying not to be loud, not to wake Bae, but the man was persistent and very, very adept and she had a difficult time keeping quiet. She had closed her eyes, was biting her lip and moaning. When his tongue touched her very core, she nearly screamed, just managing to keep things down to a whimper. And then he began to do something with his tongue, something Gary had certainly never managed to do, something that was making it hard for Belle to breath, something that was making her eyes cross and her stomach clench and blood to pool between her legs.

She had twisted her fingers into the man's hair, soft, silky hair. "Rumple!" she cried out, unable to restrain herself. She nearly sat up when her body gave over to the waves of pleasure he had granted her.

He did not pull away, lapping and licking at her as she rode out the billows of her orgasm. When her breathing had returned to normal, she felt him pull himself up over her body, kissing her all along the way. He stopped when he got to her breasts, again spending time kissing, licking, and suckling, using his mouth and then his fingers to firmly draw out her engorged nipples.

And now, he was lying between her legs, chest to chest, face to face. "My beautiful Belle."

"My darling Rumple," she said. "Please."

He smirked and quickly promised her, "Soon." And then he surged into her.

Belle nearly came again, so intense and so satisfying was his filling of her, his length, his breadth. They fit together perfectly.

And then he started to move within her and the drag against her overly sensitized feminine nub was too much. There was so much strength there, so much power. He seemed just barely in control, so much force, so much energy. She felt as if he could burst within her any moment, lose control any second and it would all sweep her away in a flood of desire. She felt like she was drowning in his essence and it was only a few moments before she was yielding, breaking against him, crying out, clutching his shoulders, clinging to him.

He didn't last long after she gave herself to him, squeezing him until he drove into her and he groaned as he spilled himself in long, strong waves of release. There was the briefest moment that Belle thought that she was looking into amber eyes, not brown eyes, eyes with vertical slits, not round pupils. And there was skin that was mottled with tiny glittering scales, not smooth tanned skin.

But the impression was gone before she could dwell on it.

He rested on her, holding her close to him, still planting light kisses on her face and her neck, but obviously ready to drop off to sleep.

What was wrong with her? She barely knew this man, but she had invited him into her bedroom, her bed and now she was splayed beneath him, her body having exploded (repeatedly) from his touch. He was nestled against her and she brought her hand up to run her fingers through his hair and rest on his shoulder.

Everything felt so right, so perfect.

MORNING

Gold had heard them. In the night, they had knocked on his door, likely opening it and searching his rooms. Likely those 'men in black' had returned.

The pretty female had saved him. He had lain awake after their coupling, struggling with his thoughts, the requirements of his job, the desires of his heart.

His body had responded to her soft snuggling, her very nearness and, so awash in her scent, he'd turned her on her side to take her from behind, slowly and leisurely, using his fingers to reach around to caress her into a near frenzy before allowing her to reach her climax. And then, knowing she was satisfied, he increased his efforts, harder and harder, tilting her forward to push in deeper, her soft moans driving him on until he let himself go. And he felt her body tighten as she again trembled and gave it up to him yet again.

And then he had dozed, only to wake very early in the morning, their mingled scents filling his nostrils, and, finding himself swollen painfully hard with his own need. She was lying mostly on top of him, on her stomach and, when he'd reached down, he found her wet and swollen, ready for him again. He'd gently turned her onto her back and then, shifting on top of her, had drawn up her knees, and taken her hard and masterfully, gratified when she stuffed the corner of a pillow into her mouth to stifle her screams of release.

If he'd had the choice, he would've prefer to stay with this woman, feeling a warm welcome in her bed that he'd never felt anywhere before. Her trembling response, her surrender to her own passions, her surrender to him, was exhilarating and intoxicating.

How could he now carry out his mission?

He had volunteered to come here but recognized that it was felt by most of the Klaatun that Earth was a lost cause. The inhabitants were very bright and very creative (an unnerving combination) but hyper-aggressive, killing their own species without hesitation. It was not felt that they were capable of change, certainly not the level of change required by the civilized systems.

But Rumple himself had evolved from a hyper-aggressive people and he knew too well how his people struggled sometimes with the old, demanding impulses. Since being on Earth, he'd felt the draw of the old ways more strongly than he'd ever felt them.

It must be something in the air perhaps all those free-floating pheromones.

Before he came here, he had thought he would make an earnest, heartfelt request, be rejected and then have to quarantine the planet – confining them to their own space and allowing nature to take its course, it would take less than ten generations for the population to wipe itself out. But he'd felt that he'd had to try, even a token request for disarmament was better than not even making an attempt. He'd sleep better if he, at least, tried.

But now things had changed. Now, how could he take the female and then essentially just stand by as her kind reaped the results of their self-destructive behaviors? And what about the boy? He genuinely liked the boy, saw some real genius in the child, some real potential.

He could hope they would be agreeable to change, but he knew this kind of people. They would become frightened and likely say they were going to change, but then promptly renege.

There was the other option. Not a particularly promising one, but one that might work, that would give them the opportunity to learn, to grow.

It was a demanding option and one that he didn't think the Earthlings would want.

He leaned over and kissed the sleeping beauty and slipped out of her bed. He had things to do.

He whispered, "Best night of my life. Thank you."

TUESDAY

Belle stretched. She felt . . . wonderful - invigorated. She reached over and immediately realized she was alone in the bed. She had a vague memory of the man giving her a morning kiss and telling her 'thank you,' and then leaving the bed.

She stretched again thinking she ought to be tired, after all, the man had awakened her twice more during the night to have his way with her. Of course, both times she had enjoyed every minute. Both times she'd been swept away, the last time, stuffing the pillow into her mouth to stifle her screams of pleasure.

She'd never experienced anything like this with Gary.

Not even close.

Best night of her life.

She got up to get ready for work, grabbing a shower, noting her nipples were a bit sore, not quite recovered from the lavish attentions of his mouth and fingers. There were also a few faint bruises on her arms from where he'd held her as he had pummeled her – so wonderfully well.

She got Bae up, breakfasted and off to school.

Bae was looking her closely and she wondered if he had heard something or had figured something out.

"You look really pretty, Mom," Bae had told her.

She blushed, "Why, thank you." Probably still had that après-sex glow.

"Mom, are you all right?" Balfour had asked as he walked out the door. "Mr. Gold came and talked with me this morning. Did you get a chance to talk with him?"

Belle felt herself blushing. "Yes, I . . . I . . . talked . . . with him. He's going to be careful."

TUESDAY – NEAR NOON

He did it again – just appeared in her office, no sound, no sign, he was just there right before lunch time.

"We need to talk," was all he said.

"I think so," she agreed and closed out her computer to go with him. Her entire body was tingling, like her very cells remembered what this man had done to her, for her.

They got in the rickety elevator and, as the door closed, Belle pressed the button to go up to the ground floor.

"What is it you want?" she asked him.

He hesitated. "Perhaps, before I ask you to be honest with me, I should be completely honest with you," he started. "I need to let you know about who I am and . . ."

The elevator came to a jolting, jarring stop and the lights went out. Belle was startled and dug into her pocketbook to retrieve her phone. It would not turn on.

They were standing in absolute darkness.

"Wha . . . What's going on?"

"What time is it?" Gold asked her.

"I don't know. It was almost noon when we left my office."

"Oh, then I'm afraid we'll be stuck here for a little while," Gold told her. "About thirty minutes."

"We should try pushing some of the other buttons. One of these is an alarm," Belle told him.

"It won't work," he told her patiently.

"Why not?" she asked suddenly concerned. She felt herself shrinking back from him as much as she could in the dark small enclosed space. She wanted to trust this man after what had passed between them, especially after what had passed between them, but suddenly things seemed . . . alarming.

"I've . . . neutralized . . . all sources of energy, all that you run your machines with . . . over your entire planet."

"So . . . it is all true then?" she asked in a whisper. "You are the spaceman." It had been one thing to play around with the notion, but this – this was real. Her sexy, hot, mysterious Mr. Gold was indeed the spaceman.

And he had done something to her home world.