Alien Prince: (Bride of Qetesh) An Alien SciFi Romance (27 page)

Or was it?

“It’s done,” he said, “and you are home with me. For good.”

“For good.”

He hugged me close, but after a time he lifted a hand and tucked a finger under my chin to tilt my head back. He bent forward and kissed me then, his tongue probing the cavern of my mouth. Kissing him was the real homecoming, and I gave myself over to the sensation. But the sweetness of it turned desperate, as I felt his hands rove over the peaks and valleys of my curves. “Calder, I—”

“Hush, now,” he said, and pushed my jacket back over my shoulders until it fell to the floor. My shirt came up over my head next, but his fingers were too thick to undo the buttons of my jeans. I helped him, kicking off my boots as I went, smiling all the while. My panties were last, white and plain, and he reached forward to take their band in his fist and rip them clean off my body.

He pushed me back onto the bed and spread my legs so my sex was bared to him and he gazed down at it, running his fingertips lightly over the lips. When he pulled his hand away, his fingertips came away damp with my desires, and I knew I could not last long without the feeling of him filling me up.

He knelt down in front of me and wrapped his arms around my legs, tugging my bottom to the edge of the mattress. Then he bent forward and slipped his tongue between my nether lips, flicking my clitoris with the tip of his tongue. I moaned, gripping my breasts in my hands as he went to work on me. I squeezed my thighs against him and felt the hardness of his horns as they grated against my flesh with every movement.

He pulled away suddenly and stood up, tugging his tunic up over his head to reveal his perfect, beautiful chest, adorned as it was with a myriad of tattoos. He abandoned his breeches next, his cock already at full attention, and gripped his shaft in his fist as he came toward me. Positioning the head of his prick at my wet entrance, he thrust himself home with one long, insistent stroke. I cried out and he gripped me by the hips, fucking me with blissful abandon.

“Now,” he growled as he bucked his hips, “you are home.”

He bent over me and I ran my hands along his back, gripping his ass as he pressed himself as deeply as he could get inside of me. Our mouths found each other and we kissed, connected at two points, until finally he broke away and rolled over onto his back. I climbed astride him then, directing him back into me and setting down until I had taken his full length. I pressed my hands against his chest and rocked back and forth. He helped me along by gripping me by the hips.

“Calder,” I panted as I moved, feeling my orgasm building inside of me. I knew this would be quick, but not quite this quick. “Calder!” My orgasm erupted fast and strong, the muscles in my cunt clamping down around the intrusion of his cock, even as my entire body shuddered atop him. And it was my orgasm that sent him off as well, his body tensing as he thrust up and into me one last time, filling me with his seed as his fingers gripped the flesh on my hips.

We were breathing hard, our hearts beating in time to one another as I leaned forward and rested with my arms on his chest and my chin on my arms. He was still inside of me when I peered down into his face and began to speak. “Calder,” I murmured.

“Hmmm?”

“There’s something I want to tell you.”

“What it is, my lady?” he asked, his tone all sleepy and warm as our heart rates began to slow.

I smiled, brushing a few stray hairs away from my eyes, and said, “I’m pregnant.”

He lifted his head to look at me, searching my face for any sign of mischief. But I could only smile, and he could only reflect that smile back at me. “Oh, my darling,” he said, gently cupping my face in his hand. He rolled, and I rolled with him, until he was on top of me, kissing me, laughing, laughing, and kissing me. “My darling girl,” he said, over and over. “Thank the gods. What a life we’ve stumbled into.”

“Yes,” I agreed. “What a life.”

“Is the princess ready?” Calder asked, coming up behind me and sliding his arms around my waist. He leaned close and pressed his lips to my neck, a sensation that never failed to make me shiver.

“She’s not the princess yet, remember?” I teased, even as I beamed at my daughter where she slept in her basket. “Isn’t that the reason everyone’s coming today?”

“It will be the most glorious coronation they’ve ever seen. Simple but powerful, and full of promise.” Calder stepped around me to press a kiss to our daughter’s forehead. “It still seems unreal to me at times. You, a human, were able to bring a leader back to our world.”

“It wasn’t all my doing, the blood of all those women runs through her veins…thanks to you.” I stepped closer to Calder, aching for a real kiss, when the doors burst open.

“Where is she? Where’s my granddaughter? I have to see how the gown turned out!” my mother cried happily. She’d been itching to get her hands on the fine fabric that had been presented to our child before her birth, woven by the finest craftsmen and carried to the Spire with a lot of ceremony. Mom had insisted on making her coronation gown, lovingly stitching it all by hand after learning the history of Qulari’s royal traditions.

“Tradition dictates that Calder’s mother would have done this for her, if the woman had lived to see her born,” she’d said at the time. “Taking over this responsibility is the very least I can do to pay homage to the baby’s lineage.”

Calder had been moved to tears by Mom’s gesture, but I knew there was more to it than that. It was Mom’s way of keeping herself busy during the hardest pregnancy anyone could have imagined. It was no secret that all other pairings between species had only resulted in heartbreaking loss, but I was determined to do anything that was required of me—foul herbal brews, bed rest ‘til the bones in my back screamed to move, enduring endless incantations from elders who came to check on my progress nearly every hour—if it meant our child would live.

For his part, Dad had an equally difficult task, one that was just as meaningful to my new family as a coronation gown. He’d worked tirelessly from the Spire, entreating every friend and ally he could think of to intervene on our behalf.

The Echelon was still determined to get its hands on our baby.

“Would it not be better to simply tell them that the baby did not…survive?” Calder managed to choke out one evening as we thought of how we would keep them at bay. They’d already sent an emissary to visit on a “goodwill” mission, but he’d been forcibly removed from the Spire when the topic of taking the baby—with or without me, whichever I chose—back to the
Atria
.

“You must understand the implications!” he’d insisted, sweating under the effects of a particularly spicy banquet prepared just for the purpose of keeping his visit brief. “We have so much to learn from this offspring. Even if it doesn’t make it to term, we can learn so much from the fetus’ cells alone! Think of what it will mean for all species to know that inter-relations that produce offspring are possible!”

My husband had leapt across the table to take the man by throat at the mention of “cells” and “research,” but the guards managed to convince him to remove his nails from the visitor’s windpipe.

After that ill-fated attempt at reason, there had been several strange occurrences that told us the Echelon wasn’t finished with us. My appointed mid-wife, a Europax woman with extensive knowledge of birthing and of Qulari medicine, suddenly disappeared; the brew I was given each morning to quell the violent nausea and strengthen my bones for the emergence of an infant with horns turned rancid, no matter how fresh the herbs they used. Most alarming of all was the possible attempt on my life, only it was my father who was very nearly poisoned when he stole a piece of fruit off my plate when I was distracted.

Now, with the child delivered healthy and three months passed since the last sign of the Echelon—thanks to Dad’s “favors,” no doubt—we were free to celebrate the continuation of the royal family line.

I scooped up Bre’etara and cradled her in my arms (thankful for the hundredth time that Qulari females are born without their horns!) before passing her off to my mother. Mom held her breath as she looked down at her granddaughter, inhaling deeply of her intoxicating baby scent. If I’d had any reservations about either of my parents being less than addicted to their half-alien grandbaby, they were long gone.

“I’ll just take her to the rocking chair and give her a good snuggle while you finish getting ready,” Mom whispered over her shoulder as she left the room and headed to the nursery across the hall. I laughed softly; the scientific part of my mom’s personality had completely been overridden by her nurturing side, and it was adorable.

“Are you nervous about Bre’etara’s big day?” Calder asked, a worried look on his face. “Because there are extra guards in case of any Echelon attempts at—”

“No, that’s not it,” I answered quickly, not letting him finish speaking that sentence aloud. “I just…I still can’t believe everything has turned out so perfectly!”

“Why should it not?”

“I don’t know, maybe because it all started by being taken captive by slavers and almost being sold into prostitution?” I joked weakly. “It could have all gone so horribly wrong, a hundred different ways. Instead, I have everything I ever wanted. My whole life on board the
Atria
was all supposed to lead to this.”

“Then I suppose I have to be grateful to the Echelon for that, at least,” Calder said, coming to me and pulling me into his strong arms. He pressed his lips against mine and lit a new fire inside me, one that I would never tire of.

Alien Alpha

(Qetesh Warrior)

By Juniper Leigh

Copyright 2015 © Enamored Ink

Okay, just hit “send.” Hit “send.” It’s not a big deal — It’s a text. Everybody texts.

Dating in New York City is probably the worst thing in the entire universe, apart from obvious things like genocide and disease. You would think that the high population density would mean a larger selection of viable options, but in my experience, it actually makes finding the good ones all that much harder: the proverbial needle in a haystack. And some days, it just feels totally overwhelming.

I finally put Tinder on my phone when my manager told me about how her cousin met his fianc
é
e on it. I uploaded a profile picture that highlighted my round, blue eyes and pouty pink lips, and maybe slightly downplayed my unruly mass of brown curls. I included another image that was a full-body shot because the absolute last thing I wanted was for someone to think I was anything other than what I am: curvy and Rubenesque, an hourglass with a prominent backside. I slipped into the back alley behind the bar on my breaks, scrolling through the endless menagerie of men that fit within my search parameters.
No, no, no, no, yes, no, no, no
…
I thought of it kind of like a game instead of a dating site, and was slightly unnerved when I received my first message.

Hey
, it read, alongside a tiny picture of him, blond and smiling.
We
’
re a match!

I looked at his profile, scrolled through his pictures. He was a Celtics fan, working in engineering, a vegetarian who lived with his brother. He was handsome, with striking blue eyes and long blond hair that hit his shoulders. It wasn
’
t a hard decision to respond.

Yay
, I typed,
you
’
re my first one!

No, that
’
s dumb.
Delete, delete, delete.

So we are
, I tried again.
Hi
.

But I didn
’
t send it right away. I felt paralyzed. In quantum mechanics, there is a theory that holds that all possible futures exist somewhere, in different dimensions. This felt like a diverging moment: if I responded, one future was certain; if I didn
’
t, if I deleted the app off my phone, then another future altogether would come to pass. Little did I know then how wise I was to hesitate.

After a prolonged moment of consideration, I went back into the bar and spent the night slinging cocktails to a collection of reliable regulars who didn
’
t use more words with me than absolutely necessary. They never shared any details of their lives and never asked me for any details of mine. I
’
d taken the job because I thought it would allow me to talk to people, you know? The bartender is supposed to be something of an ersatz therapist to her customers. But the seedy Alphabet City dive that hired me didn
’
t exactly have a chatty clientele. I was sick of the silence, sick of the isolation. When I wasn
’
t tending bar, I was in school, working toward my BA in Mythology. Can you even think of a less useful major? But the heart wants what it wants, I suppose. When I wasn
’
t working or in class, I was doing homework, or I was asleep. Not much of a social life to speak of. After my shift, I thought I might actually go insane if I didn
’
t talk to someone, a real live person, and soon. So I took a deep breath, opened the app, and hit
“
send.
”

It was only a matter of days before I found myself in a cozy little Italian bistro, sitting across the table from my match. I
’
d opted to wear a black dress and flats, an ensemble that was easily dressed down with chunky, colorful jewelry and natural makeup. Plus, it was breezy, allowing my body to better regulate its temperature in the muggy New York City summer. My date, Tymer, was dressed nicely in slacks and a long-sleeved collared shirt, but he also wore a knit beanie and had a blazer slung over the back of his chair, like he was prone to getting cold. Not that I was really looking at his clothes, not when I had those eyes staring back at me. I swear, they seemed to glow with their own inexplicable light.