7. Chapter Seven
Chapter Seven
E lyse
We’re almost done with our final set. This is the most fun I’ve had since my abduction.
I’ve discovered a lot over the last few hours. First of all, he’s so freaking smart. How he learned and memorized all that material in such a short amount of time is mind-boggling. Second, it’s scary how well we mesh. Like . . . freaky.
A casual observer would think two things—that we’re in love, and that we’ve been together for a long time.
Our voices twine together effortlessly. For a male who insists he’s never had a singing lesson and has rarely sung, he understands the complexities of harmony like a pro. Even our bodies sync as we sing. It’s like we spent countless hours choreographing, yet we didn’t even discuss it.
“We’re almost done?” he asks, his lips pressed tight as if he’s disappointed.
“Last song.”
“Let’s do “Deepest Part of My Heart” again.” The look on that handsome alien face is so sincere, his gaze never leaving mine, how can I say no?
“Okay.”
I was never the world’s best piano player, but when I sang in high-end restaurants I brushed up my skills so I could accompany myself. That way I didn’t have to split my pay or tips with anyone. Over the last four years in space, I’ve learned to play the marena , a similar keyboard that’s standard in most bars of this type.
Since we couldn’t download the music for this Earth song from the Intergalactic Database, I sit down to play it. The keyboard faces the audience, and Wrage stands behind me, his hands lightly resting on my shoulders.
I don’t think he’s aware of how his cock whispers against my skin as his hips sway from side to side. Halfway through the song, he gently grabs my wrist and lifts me out of my seat, indicating we’ll sing the rest acapella.
Bringing me to the foot of the stage, he positions us to face each other rather than the audience. This feels almost like the wreathing that happened in the pod, although I know nothing spiritual is going on. Somehow though, the audience fades away and the planet, his mother and this disaster of a trip all fade into the background.
In the foreground, there’s only the two of us and the words that spill effortlessly from our lips. I quit singing for a moment, letting his voice take center stage as he tells me the best part of him is me. It doesn’t feel like he’s singing anyone else’s lyrics. He’s speaking from the heart as he declares his affection for me in front of a roomful of people.
My teeth press into my bottom lip, hot tears sting the back of my eyes, and I feel his tender emotions wash over me. All of my doubts vanish as my heart opens to him like the petals of a flower.
I shake my head to drag myself out of my stupor and join him for the last chorus. We look into each other’s eyes and sing as if we’re the only two people on the planet.
It’s only when the audience rises to their feet, whistling and hooting and clapping like crazy, that I return to the stage in the shabby little bar.
We grab hands, face forward, and bow, then hurry off stage.
The corridor to our room is empty except for the thunderous applause assaulting me through not only my ears, but through vibrations in the floor. Before we get to our room, he stops, presses me against the wall, and brackets his hands next to my shoulders.
There’s one dim bulb lighting the hallway, but I can’t escape the look of tender appreciation in his gaze as he dips his head, one micron at a time. He gives me all the time I need to prepare for a kiss I know is going to be spectacular.
His lips nibble mine, then suck my bottom lip into his mouth before he pierces into me with his tongue. It’s a sweet, erotic statement of possession.
His tongue plunders my mouth as his hands lift me up, split me wide, and press me against him. His cock is notched against my slit as he dry humps me against the wall. My hardened nipples glide against his chest, as sensitized as if they were exposed. Circling my arms around his neck allows me to press even closer.
I’m jammed so tightly against the wall he moves one hand from where it’s lodged near my shoulders and slides it between us.
“You’re dripping for me, Elyse,” he groans as his finger slides into me. His thumb finds my little button and circles.
“Wrage,” is all I can say. My mind is racing yet going nowhere. I can’t follow what’s happening other than to pay attention to my quivering channel and my insistent need to be filled.
Suddenly, he comes to his senses, perhaps remembering we’re in the crappy back hallway of a very public place. My body slides down the wall and he steps back. Our gazes are locked, though. The promise of what’s coming next is postponed, not cancelled.
“Ma’am, Sir,” Elkin says as he approaches. The sheepish look on his face tells me he got a look at some, if not all, of what just transpired. I’m not sure I care.
“I’m prepared to offer you a contract for the next lunar , perhaps longer. The audience very much enjoyed your very excellent performance.” He tips his head in a mini bow.
“Sorry, Elkin,” I tell him. “We’re leaving the planet tomorrow. But thanks.”
We slip into our room and Wrage locks the door behind us. This room could be in a palace or a hovel, it doesn’t matter, because we’re in it together.
I banish all worries. I don’t care about Analac, or the collection kit, or the scene in the penthouse. I don’t care whether he’s driven by skin hunger or even the mean words he said to me what feels like ten years ago in a bar on another planet.
What I care about is Wrage. My mate. The male who is good and kind and always does the right thing except when he’s drunk on havaché . I care about this handsome male who just declared his love for me in front of a bar full of patrons. It was sweet and courageous and needs to be rewarded.
And I know just how to do that.
Last night in the malta he said he knew I wanted his cock, but he wanted to wait until I wanted him . I could say the same thing to him, but I won’t. I want to make a statement.
“Tell me again about your mreen ,” I command.
His head tips back in question. I guess that wasn’t the smoothest conversation segue I’ve ever made.
“I smell with them. I smell others, and I can scent others with my own scent.”
“And when you scent others, what does that do?”
“It’s a statement of . . . ownership,” he says this last word quietly, his eyes downcast as if he assumes I’ll hate it. And I would have hated it yesterday, but I crave it now.
“And how do you scent someone?” I ask. I keep my tone matter-of-fact even though I’m quivering inside. I’m still not 100% sure I’m ready for this, but I 100% want it.
“Touch. I touch my mreen to someone’s skin.” His golden-green gaze pierces mine, shining more golden by the second. Perhaps he has an idea of what I want.
“You touched me with your mreen in the malta but we didn't consummate. Was the statement of ownership complete?" He slowly shakes his head with his eyes locked on mine.
Something about the deadly serious look on his face and the slow shake of his head causes lightning to shimmer along my synapses. It strikes me that I’ve never wanted anything as much as I want this, right here, right now.
“Sing me the song again, Wrage. Sing it just for me this time.”
He sings the sweet ballad, even slower than we did on stage. His voice is deep and pure and full of sincerity. His eyes never leave mine.
I point to the foot of the bed and wait for him to sink onto it, then I move toward the far wall and swing my hips in time with his slow song. I take the full course of the song, just rocking side to side and moving my arms sensuously. I reach to the sides and up over my head and allow myself to dive deeper into the music even as I consult with myself one more time, confirming that I’m ready for the next step. Oh yeah. Ready, willing, and waiting.
After he holds the final note, I say, “Sing it again, Wrage. Make up your own lyrics. Tell me what’s in your heart.”
He doesn’t hesitate. He launches into an even better version of the song, telling me he loves me in a dozen different ways. He apologizes one last time for his harsh words on Paragon, then tells me what he wishes had popped out of his mouth in his drunken stupor.
There’s the most beautiful female I’ve ever seen
If I wasn’t so big and ugly I’d walk up on stage right this moment and tell her
But she’d never have me.
His words sadden me. I thought he was full of swagger, but he’s full of insecurity just like me.
I want her by my side always.
Even if she doesn’t want me, I’ll be her knight and protect her
I didn’t know I could love her more, but I wake up every day deeper in love with her.
His raw honesty shocks me and makes me fall in love with him even harder.
“I’m in love with you,” he croons softer and softer until he’s done.
He looks at me now, expectantly.
“Sing the song one more time, my mate,” I say, emphasizing the last word.
Without question, he begins again. This time the song is an amalgamation of the original lyrics and his own. Whatever sweet, loving observation comes into his mind flies out of his mouth as he opens his heart to me.
This time I don’t just swing my hips and move my arms, though. I do a striptease. I have to be inventive, since I’m wearing only two pieces of clothing. What I lack in wardrobe I make up for in creativity.
I make love to him standing up and from five feet away. I thrust my pelvis toward him, blow him kisses, face away from him, bend down, and wiggle my ass at him like he did to me on the bus at the shore.
When he gets to the final stanza, repeating ‘I’m in love with you’ over and over, I wriggle out of the sparkly blue dress that clings to my curves, then pull off my panties and throw them at him. My homage to the man and his voice.
“Scent me, Wrage. I want to belong to you.”
He visually inspects me, controlling himself from asking if this is truly what I want. No, his gaze flicks up and down my naked body, then lodges at my face as he takes my full measure. I beam him all my love, and he smiles a sexy close-lipped smile, telling me he believes me.
He stands and hums the song as he does his own striptease for me. His hips slide from side to side as he pierces me with his gaze and pulls off his t-shirt. This male has trained all his life to be a warrior. He’s muscle from the tips of his toes to the top of his handsome horned head.
His upper body is a beauty to behold, rippling with hard, defined muscles that writhe under his skin with even his slightest movement. He pulls down his pants and toes off his shoes while gyrating his body, spearing me with his gaze and humming the love song.
The sparkly blue fabric he’s tied at his throat which drapes down his chest, the only piece of clothing he still wears, is sexier than if he were completely naked.
He strides the few steps separating us, his gaze predatory as he devours me from afar. Wordlessly, he presses my shoulders against the wall, then slides his toes against mine until my heels are pressed against the baseboard. With one foot between mine, he gently kicks his foot back and forth until my stance is wide.
As I wait for his next move, a jolt of electricity sizzles up my spine. I didn’t know what to expect, but I’m surprised when his knees hit the floor between my feet.
Looking up at me, his eyes almost completely golden, he holds my gaze for long seconds.
“You’re sure Elyse? This can wait.”
“Yes,” I say, the finality in my voice leaving no doubt.
He bends and presses his lips to the little bone on the inside of my ankle. It’s not a kiss really, it’s . . . I think he’s paying me homage. He plants soft kisses up the inside of my leg, confirming with his lips what he’s been singing to me all night.
His path is slow and languorous, as if we have all the time in the world. When his nose hits the apex of my thighs, he gives me the sweetest kiss and swiftest lick on my clit. Although he knows exactly how to delight that little nub of flesh, that’s not what he’s doing. He’s bestowing affection.
Then he bends lower, dipping his head to the ankle bone where he started, and nuzzles me. I feel his buttons pressing against me as he retraces his path up my inner leg.
Sometimes it’s the buttons from his temples, sometimes his cheeks, or the ones on his collar bones that rub against me. I picture the scent as a smokey purple emanating from his mreen , I imagine the color marking me. I like the image of being claimed one square inch at a time.
When he arrives at the juncture between my thighs again, he skips across my sex and mimics his actions down and up and down the other leg.
His ritual takes the better part of an hour as he lavishes me with his scent and his . . . there’s no other word for it than adoration.
I want to touch him, to snake my fingers through his hair, or grab his horns to hold on, but this seems almost like a sacred rite. I don’t want to interfere.
At times he’s silent except for the muffled sounds of his kisses. At other times, he hums or repeats the refrain about loving me. I like that the best.
Maybe it’s his scent. Maybe it’s the kisses or the reverence or the physical and emotional intimacy, but I notice my arousal is ramping.
“I want to mark you, Elyse. Not just on the outside, but on the inside,” he husks.
My knees bend an inch as I sag, my body overwhelmed from his provocative statement. For a moment his words render me speechless and weak.
He’s finally worked his way up my body. He’s standing now, his huge muscular body surrounding me as he plants a string of kisses around my neck followed by the soft brush of his mreen .
Their scent is subtle, but by now the room is filled with it. It’s musky and spicy. If it’s designed to turn me on, it’s doing its job.
He’s close enough now, his naked body next to mine, that I steal the opportunity to rub against him. I allow my nipples to graze his chest when I tilt my head back in appreciation as he sucks one earlobe and then the other.
Swiveling one knee to the side, I lift my leg and press my heel into his ass, pulling him harder against me.
He slides my leg back down without scolding me. “Pretty Elyse is impatient,” he observes, then gets back to his task.
He even slides his face through my hair, combing his scent into the very strands themselves.
“I want you, Wrage. You’ve been a surprise, a gift, an epiphany.” I try not to question my feelings or the swiftness with which this occurred. It’s here and it’s now and it’s real and I feel fully alive for the first time in my life.
“Lick,” he coaxes as he puts the button on his chest in front of me. My tongue slips between my lips and slicks against the soft suede. He hisses with pleasure, then presents me with the matching mreen from the other side, then the four on his face.
“ Drack ,” he hisses in pleasure as he throws his head back.
Lifting me up in the bridal position, he dances me the few steps to the bed and sets me on it as if I’m precious cargo.
When he dips his head to my ankle again and works his way up toward my core, I beg, “Please Wrage, no more foreplay. Not unless you want me to die right here, right now, from desperation. Your cock. Please.”
He smiles, his eyes a deep, glowing gold, and positions himself on the bed. I expect missionary or doggy style but he sits, knees bent and pointing at the ceiling, his arms behind him, palms on the bed.
“You too,” he says as he points his chin at me.
I mimic his position and immediately see why he wanted this. We are equals in this, no one is in charge. No one is invading the other. We can come together in our own way as we look into each other’s eyes. And, I realize as we begin to inch our bottoms toward each other, our genitals getting closer, we’ll be able to see our penetration.
“My Wrage. My mate,” I whisper as we inch toward each other. My eyes drag from his to the fascinating sight of us merging into one. He slips in easily—I’ve been dripping wet for him for an hour. No, more than that. Our vocal sets tonight were foreplay.
He rocks into me gently, each thrust amping me up. I love seeing us together, merged. Just as when we danced among the stars, we’re no longer separate—we’re one.
As much as I love the intimacy of this position, though, I want him on top of me. When I lean back, he doesn’t need an invitation to follow me.
I moan. I’m enveloped by this big male. He surrounds me, yet puts none of his weight on me. We gaze at each other as he thrusts into me, each invasion hard and pounding. The dots are doing their job, massaging my channel as his pelvis massages my clit with each plunge.
The sweetness of our initial joining is long gone. We’re having hard, hot, passionate sex. My core feels every thrust, the tips of my nipples glide along his mottled blue skin. His mouth covers mine, absorbing my moans and owning me at the same time.
“Oh,” the word is torn from my mouth as my muscles coil in anticipation of release.
He changes his angle, presses harder, and pushes me over the precipice into bliss. When he follows me, we’re wreathing again. We’re flying among the stars—connected. I somehow feel wind on my face, ruffling my hair.
Just like before, time loses all meaning. It’s Wrage and Elyse. Only this time we’re one. One soul even if it’s just for this sublime moment. One soul flying and loving and orgasming together.
I don’t know why, but my body decides this is the perfect moment to laugh.
I’m coming and moaning and laughing all at the same time. And Wrage, my Wrage, my mate, is right here with me. He’s coming and moaning and laughing, too.
It ends sweet and dreamy and delicious as we slow, as my muscles stop their exquisite spasming, and we float back to reality, to our bed. Wonder of wonders, though. I still have him. And he has me.
We’ve ruined the covers, our heads at the foot of the bed, so we right ourselves. With our heads on our pillows now, I grab both his cheeks in my palms and kiss him. It’s not a sexy kiss. It’s a statement, a claim, a message that I’m his and he’s mine.
“Yes,” he says as if he knows exactly how I’m feeling—and agrees.
I move my palm to his chest and graze up and down as my dirty little mind plans our next activity. There are so many positions I want to try. So many ways my big strong guy can move me and hold me and rock my world.
“You’re thinking naughty thoughts, I can tell,” he says, a close-lipped smile on his face.
“I’m sorry.” So not sorry.
“Don’t be,” he rumbles.
I think of Analac’s kit and laugh. I guess we won’t have to worry about that. I wonder what he’ll think when we come back to his office, laughing and flirting and in a hurry to get back to our hotel room.
“Do they teach that in seventh grade gym class on Wryth’N?” I ask.
“What?”
“When does a male learn how to . . . scent his female in such a delicious way she would never ever want to be with anyone else?”
“No one taught me that, Elyse. It wasn't necessary. I made this up over many nights in my bunk in the barracks dreaming of a female who would be my mate. And no, Elyse, it was never Sibyl. It's you. You’re the female I’ve been waiting for my whole life.”
My chest tightens as I give and receive so much love. More love than I ever thought possible.
Someone pounds on the door, startling us both. No, it’s not pounding. Someone’s breaking down the door.
Wrage pulls the covers up past my breasts even as he bounds out of bed. He races to the closet and somehow wrests the clothes rod out of the wall to use as a weapon.
Four men barge in, all wearing camo body armor that is vaguely similar to the imperial troopers in Star Wars. Their weapons all point at my mate who is naked, holding a metal bar. Wrage is a gladiator, I think he might be able to take them in a fair fight.
“Put it down, asshole,” one of them orders. “You’re outnumbered, outgunned and unprepared. And we have something else.” He slowly swivels his laser rifle toward me. “I’ll have no reluctance blasting your female into the hereafter. Surrender.”