The Breeding Prize - Aya Morningstar Page 0,21
pieces of metal around, just to have muscles to look good with, but not to use in combat?”
“Yes, exactly.”
“That is ridiculous.”
“Not everyone can have such big arms and cut abs from being an actual warrior. Maybe if you settle down and find a job like Kula, you’ll realize you have to do something like that to keep in shape?”
“I have sixteen questions prepared for you, Annabelle. Should I ask them in ascending or descending order of invasiveness?”
“Let’s go with ascending.”
“How many children do you want to have?”
“Didn’t I say ascending? That means you start with the least invasive question, right?”
He grins at me. God, this is the least invasive question?
“I don’t know. I never thought about it. I’d never used the word ‘fertile’ to describe myself. I still think the Ulkar might have made some kind of mistake by choosing me as the fertile prize.”
“At least two children?”
I bite my lip and blush. I didn’t take Raiska as the kind of man—or alien—who was gungho about being a father. I figured the whole “breed” and “seed” thing he’d been going on about was more about the act of doing it than the end results.
“Two would be good.”
“Excellent,” he says. “Next Question. Using standard Earth measurements, what is the circumference of your hips?”
“Uhh...I don’t think I’ve ever measured.”
“Preferred gender of future offspring? Assuming two children.”
“One of each.”
It feels a lot easier to just answer his highly invasive questions rapid-fire than to think too hard about it, or to feel embarrassed.
“How often do you ovulate per month, and when was your last ovulation?”
“Not answering that one.”
“This is a date, Annabelle. I answered your questions.”
“Look, Raiska, there is a thing called a line, and you crossed it a long time ago. I’m okay with you going a little bit over that line, but there are things I’m not going to talk to you about. Date or not. You’re not even halfway into the questions, and you’re already being too invasive, so you may want to save all sixteen questions for later.”
“Apologies,” he says. “This wasn’t one of my questions, and I’m nearly certain it’s not the case, but humans do not eat their young, correct?”
I burst out laughing. ‘My God, why would we ever do that.”
“Certain species do so. I also heard of humans eating placenta, so I thought it was possible that—at least in some cultures—you may consume your young.”
“Would you be okay with that?” I pray to God that he tells me he wouldn’t.
He shakes his head. “It would be unacceptable to me. I would have needed to insist that you didn’t eat our child.”
“You’re not going to eat our child—I mean—if we hypothetically had a child, you wouldn’t eat it, right?”
“Valittu will never eat children, or any humanoid species. I have more questions. I will try not to break eggs on you with them.”
“What?”
“It’s a human expression.”
I just smile and nod. “Okay, go ahead.”
“I remember reading articles about human mating customs and procedures—”
“Please don’t call them procedures.”
“I read a magazine for women, and it—”
“What? Were you just like, reading Teen Vogue in the grocery story or something?”
“I don’t remember the exact magazine, but women were discussing how and when they fake their orgasms. Are Earth men truly so inept that they cannot bring their mates to orgasm?”
I think back to a few of my ex-boyfriends. “Umm, yeah.”
He furrows his brows at me. “Do they not use their tongues, or are their penises simply too small?”
I avoid looking down at his legs as he asks me the question. I’ve been wondering if his dick is as big as the rest of him. If it is, I’m actually a little bit afraid.
“Well, Raiska, I feel a little bit awkward talking about this. I’ll just answer your question with ‘yes.’”
He shakes his head and mutters something to himself.
“Did you have more questions? That wasn’t sixteen.”
“The rest are most certainly over the line. I’ll hopefully find out the answers to them through personal experience.”
He puts a hand on my leg, just above the knee, and squeezes. His eyes meet mine, and a devilish smirk fills his face.
I smile like a giddy school girl and lick my lips. “That was actually really smooth, which surprises me, Raiska.”
He tilts his head at me. “Why does it surprise you?”
“Because you’re usually abrasive—no wait, maybe I used the wrong word. You’re usually obnoxious.”
He runs his hand further up my thigh. My skirt starts riding up my thigh. I look down and watch his blue hand on my soft