Billionaire Romance: MAXIMILIAN (An Alpha Bad Boy Contemporary Mystery Romance) (Mysterious Billionaires Book 3, Anthologies & Collections) (4 page)

His cock pulsed and pounded inside her body. She knew he was right to wear a condom but for a moment she wished, wholeheartedly, that he wasn’t, that she could be able to feel his hot seed splashing all over her inner walls, now stretched and slippery from his organ and her orgasm.

He withdrew from her slowly, then he rolled her over. He sat there, her head cradled in his arms. He removed the condom and threw it in a nearby trashcan, and then he shifted her limp body so that she was lying across him, staring up at his face.

“How do you feel?”

“My ass hurts but otherwise, great.”

He started to laugh. She blinked. “What?”

“You always say exactly what is on your mind, don’t you?”

She nodded. “I do. I really need to learn some tact, I guess.”

“Yeah, I don’t know about that. I like that you say exactly what you think and feel.”

His hand smoothed her hair back from her forehead. The touch was so gentle, and in such sharp contrast to the way that he had touched her earlier, that it soothed her into a drowsy and pleasant state.

Max said, “So, I have to tell you. I meant it when I said I go right after what I want, and I don’t ever back down until I get it.”

“I see,” she said with a small laugh.

He looked down at her and said, “I don’t think you do. You see, what I really want is you. I usually go after things in a different sort of way. I am usually pretty careful. I don’t like to take high risks but this, this thing with you—this is as high-risk as it gets.”

She asked, “Because we work together?”

He said, “No, because I do believe you are the woman I have been waiting a very long time for. I knew there had to be a woman who would want everything I had to give. I know what I like in bed is dark and a little dangerous, but I think you like it too.”

She said, “I do. I don’t know why I do, but I do. It’s… different, that’s for sure. To be honest with you, I never met a man who made me feel like you do, or who did the things you do either.”

“I’m just warning you,” Max said softly. “I play for keeps.”

Her eyes locked onto his. He was very serious. That was obvious. He did play for keeps, and he didn’t back down, not when it was something that he really wanted.

She said, “You should know I don’t back down either, not when it is something I really want, and what I want is you.”

“Then come get me,” he said with a teasing grin.

Their lips met.

THE END

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DANTE
"The first time we met, it was like she was looking at the devil himself."

By the way, have you solved this books’s Riddle?
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SHOW ANSWER!

Blinking her bleary, groggy eyes, Gwendolyn tried to focus her mind on the last thing she could remember.  The shooting pain in her head—where did
that
come from?—did not make it any easier.

              She and her archaeological team had been going through the Sarmian excavation.  The desert around them was gorgeous.  It reminded them of the Grand Canyon and the Painted Desert of North America back on Earth, except the browns and tans and the ruddy and rusty colors were streaked with green and grey.  Being surrounded by all that beauty had made them wish they were tourists instead of scientists.  But they had gotten to work well enough, for each of them was well accustomed to interplanetary travel.  More exciting than Sarma itself was the idea of who lived there and what first contact with them meant.  Gwendolyn and her people were living the dream of not only every archaeologist on Earth, but every biologist, every biochemist, every political scientist and historian, every philosopher—practically the whole of humanity.  They were on the cutting edge of the most exciting thing to happen in human history since the confirmation of extraterrestrial life itself.

              The Sarmians were not merely extraterrestrial—they were humanoid.  They had human forms, human anatomy.  Except for the trail of hair descending from the hairline of the scalp to the bridge of the nose, they could easily pass for human, at least physically.  It was something that science had always deemed biologically impossible, but it turned out to be one of the times when the universe yanked the rug out from under science.  The Sarmians had become Earth's great obsession and people from every discipline were all but foaming at the mouth to have a crack at studying the planet and those who lived there.

              And Gwendolyn Rush had snagged for herself the singular honor of leading an archaeological team to the desert wilderness of Sarma, into the ruins of an ancient Sarmian society, to dig for clues to why the Sarmians were so much like humans.

              What they were seeking was not just insights into how ancient and prehistoric Sarmians might have lived, but also confirmation of the only theory that could explain them, a theory so radical that it could have been easily dismissed if the very existence of the Sarmians were not such a radical thing.  What the scientists of Earth hoped the planet Sarma might yield was any clue to the identity and nature of the aliens who, the theory held, had come to Earth eons ago and abducted prehistoric humans, taking them across the stars to guide and shape their evolution for some unknowable purpose.  The Sarmians were one riddle whose answer might expose a greater one.

              And that was what brought Gwendolyn light years from Earth into the heat and dust and undeniable beauty of another planet, supervising other archaeologists and students in the digging and scraping and sorting and categorizing for later study of structures buried in the sand and the objects and artifacts that they contained.  As much as Gwendolyn loved and cared about the work, it made her wish that she were a leaner and lighter woman.  Gwen was pretty—an almost luminous beauty in fact—with a soft round face, bright blue eyes, and an incandescent smile.  When she did not have her hair bound up in a scarf or rolled up under a hat, it fell in loose black curls about her shoulders.  But it was in the mid section that she felt a bit ponderous when she went to work on a dig.  Her hips, buttocks, and thighs had somewhat more of a spread than she would have liked. At times she would watch the female students who accompanied her on digs, note their hips and thighs that lacked the same spread, and think,
A decade and a half ago, that was me. 

              But then, a decade and a half ago Gwendolyn was not one of the youngest leaders of the field of xenoarchaeology, whose perseverance had contributed to humanity's greater understanding of the non-human species of the galaxy.  A decade and a half ago she could only dream of leading the effort to understand the
other
human-like species in the galaxy, something that biology had predicted man would never see.  Even if she was not what the most desirable men wanted to take to bed, there were compensations.

              Work on Sarma proceeded uneventfully until Gwen and the crew noticed a greying of what had been a perfect blue sky, and a low sound like a million heavy breaths exhaling coming in from the distance.  They all looked up from their tools and their excavations and found something growing and looming into view on the horizon.  It was a spreading vastness of ruddy brown emerging over the hills in the distance, and it could mean only one thing.  Gwen cursed the luck.  While modern Sarmian society was as advanced as Earth in many ways, they did not have a lot of the niceties of Earth, such as weather-tracking and severe weather dissipation systems.  On Earth, massive sandstorms rising out of nowhere had ceased to be a problem long ago.  Sarma, damn it all, still had them.

              As the airborne tsunami of sand came rushing in, Gwen ordered everyone to cover up their work, throw on scarves and goggles, and take cover themselves.  She had just gotten her tools into an electric wheelbarrow along with some pottery whose markings and symbols she wanted to study and covered her eyes and her face when everything around her disappeared into flying sand.  She pulled her electrolocator out of her pocket and turned it on, meaning to use it to find her way around by detecting masses and other moving bodies in the low visibility of the sandstorm.  The screen on the device showed the shapes of structures and devices around her and the moving forms of the rest of her party.  It also detected two other moving bodies coming up behind her, which she took to be simply two other members of her team looking for shelter.

              And it was then—ah-ha,
then!
—when that damn pain in her head started.  She wondered now if she might have accidentally backed into something, but no, she remembered that the electrolocator showed nothing in the flying sand behind her but those two moving bodies.  Her next assumption was that one of them had run into her.  What sense did that make, one of them running into the back of her head?  Which led to her next hypothesis: she had been
struck
on the back of the head, deliberately
hit.
  And that was when the sandstorm and everything else disappeared into blackness in her memory.

              Now, opening her eyes and wincing from that nagging throb in her skull, Gwen started to become aware of other things.  There was something unfamiliar under her, soft and cushiony and satiny.  And whatever she had on, it wasn't the durable fatigues that she had been wearing on the dig.  It was soft too, luxurious and flowing.  Getting her vision back into focus, Gwen saw that she was in a circular room with windows from floor to ceiling on every side.  Outside and stretching out all around was a panorama of the Sarmian countryside in which she had been digging, with whirling and billowing clouds of sandstorm whipping through it, thinning here and thickening there.  Inside the room, everything was red and gold and magenta.  It was all silky, satiny fabrics, drapes and blankets and carpets, divans and cushions and Ottomans, and a very large bed on which she was resting.  And Gwen was dressed not for an archaeological dig, but in a flowing gown that suggested activities of a totally different sort.

              After a moment of utter bewilderment taking this all in, Gwen sat up on the bed and blurted out her confusion:  "
What
in the name of
hell
am I doing here?"

              Her voice bounced off the walls and windows of her surroundings, and only silence greeted her outburst.  She half expected she had no answer forthcoming and would have to get up and start looking for one.  That was when a portal at the far end of the chamber hissed and slid open, and
he
came striding in.

              He was a Sarmian, no question about that.  But in Gwen's unscientific opinion he was the most jaw-dropping specimen of manhood ever to appear before her wondering eyes.  He was tall, like a pillar on a monument to masculinity.  He wore nothing but loose-fitting silken leggings and thin, solid-gold armbands on a body built to be naked.  It seemed to her that nature had taken on the role of a sculptor and hewn the most perfect body humanly imaginable from solid marble, then rendered it into flesh.  The face was as chiseled as the rest of him, with a handsomeness that appeared to command without words,
Submit to desire.
  Short brown hair crowned his head.  Eyes the color of the desert sands blazed hotly at her.  In his expression was no violence, no threat, but the unspoken understanding that he was accustomed to being obeyed.  But even in this tone, the words that he poured out in a low voice like a desert wind were surprisingly gentle:  "Gwendolyn, you are awake.  It is good.  I have been most anxious to know you.  I bid you welcome."

            Gwendolyn squinted at the awesomely sexy stranger addressing her by her first name.  "You've got me at a disadvantage, whoever you are.  And by the way, who are you?  And what am I doing here, and where are my clothes and what am I doing wearing
this?
"

            The tower of sex before her said, "There is nothing to fear.  My people brought you here, out of the storm, at my command.  This, of course, is one of our royal bedchambers.  And I am Dantar of Sarma, your liege and king and future husband."  This he said with a smile devoid of irony.  Gwendolyn blinked at him.  He actually
meant
it.

            She leaned forward to shake a demanding finger in the air at him, and her sudden motion sent a hot spike of pain into the back of her skull and made her wince and grow dizzy.  But even through this she held fast to her shock and indignation, enough to challenge his patently ridiculous claim.  "What the hell do you mean,
future husband?
"  Grimacing, she fell back on the bed a bit and watched him through a squint.  His expression was her next surprise.

            This Dantar actually wore a look of gentle concern.  "Are you injured, my bride?  Did they hurt you?"

             "I am not your bride," she winced back at him.  "And someone came up behind me in the sandstorm and clocked me over the head with something.  Is that your idea of courtship?"

             Dantar's expression now turned to wrath.  "I instructed the guards who brought you here that you were not to be injured.  This infliction of pain upon the person of their queen shall be summarily punished.  I'll have them chained in the chamber of hot stones for this."

             Rubbing her head and carefully studying this man she now understood to be her captor, Gwen said, "Do whatever you want with your guards, but I'm nobody's queen.  I'm a citizen of Earth and you're going to let me out of here or risk an interplanetary incident."

             But this Dantar person was adamant.  "I have selected you as my royal consort and chosen you to be my bride.  As such you shall be Queen of Sarma with all of the duties, powers, and privileges of your title, and as such you shall be my lady wife."

             Gwen now no longer cared about the pain.  She was hearing no more of this madness, and rose to her knees on the bed to underscore it.  Raising her finger to him once again, she said, "Listen, Dantar, or whatever you call yourself.  I am Dr. Gwendolyn Rush of the planet Earth.  I am an archaeologist doing a survey of this planet.  I appreciate your help with the sandstorm, but I have unfinished work waiting for me out there and I'll thank you to let me get back to it.  So show me where my clothes are and I'll be on my way, understand?"

              Dantar folded his arms, calmly and confidently, and replied, "'Tis you who do not understand, my bride.  Your duties are no longer what they were.  Your duties as Queen of Sarma now do supersede them.  This is to be the night of our prenuptial consummation.  Our royal wedding will follow directly, and our nights of First Coupling as King and Queen."  He stepped forward, moving his hands to the waist of his leggings.  In his gesture and his look, his intentions were crystal clear.  Gwen watched him disbelievingly.  He was giving her an actual copulatory gaze, not the look of an assailant or a rapist, but the look of an expectant and ardent lover.  This was getting madder by the minute.

             Gwen thrust out her palm toward him in a gesture that she hoped would translate from Earth to Sarma as meaning
Stop right there, Mister!
  "Are you insane?" she cried.  "Do you actually think I'm going to let you have sex with me right now, and I'm going to marry you, just like that?"

             Dantar halted in his tracks, his hands frozen in the gesture of stripping off his leggings.  His bush of pubic hair was already exposed and he looked eager to show her what hung and pulsed beneath it, when her demand for him to stop left him bewildered.  In a curious voice he answered, "Yes, my bride.  This, our first intercourse, will let our bodies know one another, to prepare for our marriage.  What do you not understand?"

             She shook her head, wondering,
What do I not understand?  Where do I even start?
  And aloud, she asked, "How about the simple question, 'Why me?' "

             As if perplexed by her ignorance, Dantar answered, "Because I am newly ascended to the throne and I am thus in need of a queen."

             Whatever rejoinder she might have made to this caught in Gwen's throat.  She looked off for a moment and considered the current political realities of the planet Sarma, to which she might have failed to give due attention because of her focused interest in its past.  "Newly ascended to the throne...  Wait, that would make you the son of—"