He could feel her breath panting raggedly on his chest in time with his steady motions, but he wanted to see her face, to read the effects of his labors in her calescent eyes. He rolled to his back, swinging her above him, and groaned as she immediately took up the lead. She rode him wildly, her entire body alive with kinetic interplay, testing every shred of discipline he possessed to keep her in the throes of her ravenous desire.

He knew her climax by the telltale fire in her eyes and the sudden frenzy of her movements. His own was not far behind, roaring through him with an intensity and power he had never experienced. It felt it might go on for hours, searing his senses until he fell into ash, but it faded gentle and warm as the summer wind that blew over them.

Then she lay beside him, one leg comfortably slung over him in a familiar gesture of possessiveness that he minded not at all. Her hand rested on his chest, her breath came soft against his neck, and even if it was too hot to lie together this way beneath Earth’s sun, it was too pleasant a thing to end.

“You understand,” he said eventually, “if we remain here very long, I am going to go into Heat.”

He felt her lips curve against his flesh in a smile.

Ah, she was right. Let the sun shine down.

*

The day lengthened. The sun moved. Eventually, they were lying in the shade. It was still hot, but there was a hint of a breeze now and then, and it was just nice to be outside. The grass was dry, but still soft beneath her. And when Tagen was touching her, kissing her, moving inside her, well, it was just too hard to worry about bugs in her hair. Even when he was in Heat and his needs more urgent than tender, he had a way of knowing her, of coaxing her to abandon that left her weak and helplessly clinging to him. She had never known such powerful sex, such intensity and control. She had never realized how wild she could be, or how capable she was of experiencing such thrilling joy and release.

But now, in the shade and in this course of the little breeze, Heat seemed to be done. Tagen lay beside her, his arm around her and his hand still drifting along the curves of her body. She watched the pattern of trees on sky and he dozed, growling low now and then and sometimes nipping at her shoulder or her neck. He made it impossible to pretend he was anything but what he truly was, and the longer he lay beside her, the less she found she cared about his inhuman nature. She wasn’t quite sure what that said about her, the willing lover of an alien, but she didn’t much care about that either. She was happy. It wouldn’t last forever, but it was enough for now.

“I suppose this is a little late to be asking something like this,” she murmured, and Tagen made a drowsily inquiring sound. “But have you got someone waiting for you back home?”

“Someone…? Ah. I see. No.” His arm tightened on her waist and he drew her back against him, his leg sliding possessively through both of hers.

“No wife? No ex-wife?”

“We do not marry.”

“Ever?”

“Mm.” He nipped at her shoulder. “A female may choose to keep a mate for many years, but there is no ceremony such as you have. And it is a rare thing in any case.”

“No girlfriend?”

“Why should there be, if there is no marriage?” he asked reasonably.

“No kids?” she pressed.

“No.” He paused and raised his head. “Yes,” he said.

She looked at him, startled. “Yes?”

“I have not taken a son,” he told her, “but I have been bred.” He gave her a look that was distinctly roguish, as though he expected that to be a turn-on.

“Is it a boy or a girl?” she asked.

Tagen blinked, drawing back. “Males, I should think,” he said. “I do not know for certain. She was close when my term of on-world service ended. The birth happened while I was away, and she was transferred to another station before my return.” He gave his claws a casual flick. “We have fallen out of contact. What little we ever had between us, that is.”

“She didn’t even tell you what they were? You’ve never even been to see them?”

He gave her a quizzical look. “Jotan do not often keep their young,” he said. “And sires, never.”

“Well, that’s—” fucked up, was how she wanted to finish, but she managed not to. “Different,” she said lamely.

He shrugged and lay back down. “Females frequently raise the young of their first birth,” he said. “Or any daughters. But understand, there are few females and Heat is unwelcome and painful. Females are…ordered to breed.” He was quiet a little while. “That is not the right word, but I have no other. What I mean to say is that save for who she would take for sire, a female may have little choice when it is given her to breed, and it is a considerable disruption to one’s career.”

She sat up and stared at him. “Are you talking about government-sanctioned rape?” she asked.

It was his turn to lie still for many minutes, his claws scratching lightly at his chest as he considered the question. “So some have called it,” he said finally. “But I do not agree. A race has a responsibility to propagate itself. For us, it is less easy and less pleasant than it is for you. But it is not rape the way you think of it. I have never known a female to refuse. She will have known her duty from childhood and, if not entirely enthusiastic, she will be resigned.”

“But she can’t say no, can she? If the President tells her to get pregnant, she has to do it.”

“We have no President,” he said.

“Don’t change the subject, Tagen.”

“I do not know how to answer. There may be laws in place that allow a female to refuse to breed. I am not aware of them, but I am male, and as I have said, I have never known a female to refuse. She who bred to me was certainly not happy when her orders came to her, but it had more to do, I think, with time lost from her work than with the orders themselves.”

“Well, what about the males?” Daria challenged. “Could you refuse?”

“Why would I want to?” he asked, so sincerely puzzled that Daria actually laughed in spite of her growing outrage. “It is a tremendous honor to be chosen as sire,” Tagen continued. “I accepted the pains of Heat gladly.”

That gave her pause. “You can’t have babies at all unless you’re in Heat?” she asked.

“Unless we are both in Heat,” he agreed. “No.” He looked into her face and nodded. “So you can imagine how often we seek it out voluntarily. Hence, the orders that come to our females.”

“Sorry,” she said. “I’m not trying to offend you. It’s just very different.” She reached out for the remains of her clothing and began to dress.

“It is.” Tagen lay back down and laced his hands behind his head, watching her. “I have seen on your tee-vee families of humans with many children. Six. Ten. Even more. All at the same time.” He said this solemnly enough to ring a smile back to her lips. “I cannot imagine raising such a family, and yet it is routine here on Earth.”

“It’s not that easy,” she said.

“It seems to be. On Jota, a man is encouraged to take sons whenever he can. A family is certainly a favored environment over the…” He trailed off, spoke a word in his language, and frowned. “The place,” he said awkwardly, “where the young are taken after birth. Where they are cared for until they are…”

“Adopted,” Daria supplied.

“Just so. Or until they reach their…full age.” He was quiet a minute or two. “I was ten.”

Something in his voice, something buried low beneath the mild tones, made her turn around and look at him.

He stared up at the sky, expressionless, his body in the posture of relaxation but every muscle tensed. “My father put a gun in my hand the day I came to him,” he said, still in that idle, just-passing-time tone. “He would not let me unpack my things first. He gave me ten targets and told me to hit eight. It was a test. His first. And I truly believe that if I had failed, he would have sent me back. My father did not love me. He trained me. And that, Daria Cleavon, is Jota.”