Nadine's Champion: A Sci-Fi Alien Romance (Icehome Book 8)

by Dixon, Ruby

  "I will be the champion," he declares. "And what sort of prize does the champion get?" He tilts his head at me, waiting.

  "What sorts of prizes did arena champions get?" I ask, remembering that he mentioned fighting in gladiator arenas.

  "A fine, nubile female."

  "Yuck. You won a lot of women, then?"

  "I never won a single one," he admits, his grin roguish. "My owner was usually paid to throw the fight. I got a lot of fists to the face and not much else."

  "I don't know if I'm sorry for you or glad," I tell him, edging toward the ledge. I'm going to distract him and get a head start, I decide. Even if I get to the bottom first by trickery…it's still first. The triumph will be all mine. "I shouldn't be surprised. You're not as strong-looking as Vordis. I bet he won, huh? His arms are bigger."

  Thrand narrows his eyes at me, his expression growing deadly. "We are clones. Why would my arms be smaller?"

  "I'm just saying," I continue casually, pretending to toy with the edge of my hide as I step a teeny bit closer to the edge. "I mean, his biceps are huge compared to yours."

  "Lies!" He lifts an arm into the air and flexes, as if to prove it.

  I take that moment to fling my hide down and push off on my belly, rocketing down the side of the hill. Behind me, I can hear an angry bark of surprise coming from Thrand, and then I'm screaming and squealing as I pitch down the hill. My balance is off because I rushed, and I'm in danger of tumbling off—

  Something heavy crashes into me at the bottom of the slope and I go flying through the air. Not far, just enough to knock the wind out of me when I land on the surprisingly hard-feeling snow. A moment later, Thrand rolls to his side next to me, a red blur. My head spins and my hair is in my face. I groan, coughing, trying to get the air back in my lungs. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Thrand prop up on his elbow and look over at me. "Are you well?"

  "Depends," I manage, sitting up and wincing. I have a few new scrapes and bruises, but they'll be gone by morning, thanks to the khui that supercharges my healing. "Did I win?"

  Thrand's laughter is sharp as it rips from him, and in the next moment, he grabs me by the waist and flings me onto my back again. My hair spills behind me in the snow and then he's over me, gazing down at me as I'm pinned underneath him. His eyes are gleaming bright, not just with his khui but with pleasure, and this is so reminiscent of my dream that hot desire rushes through me like an eruption.

  Oh, dear sweet lord, this man is pretty. Did I ever think he had no game? Men that look as good as him don't need game. He just needs to look in my direction and my defenses crumble like they're made of nothing.

  "You are quite crafty, Nadine," Thrand murmurs, brushing a long curl off of my brow. He gazes down at me, devouring me with another one of those hot looks, and I know he's thinking about kissing. God, I want him to kiss me. I want him to just lose his control and slam his mouth down on mine so I can rip those leathers off of him and see where this goes. Kiss me, I silently urge him. Go on. Do it.

  But he only studies me, breathing hard. His hand slides to my side, and he looks down, then casually strokes his fingers over my belly. I didn't realize my tunic had ridden up in my fall until I feel his touch on my bare skin. I bite back a whimper at that unexpected caress. It's not the kiss I wanted, but it's somehow much more intense and makes me ache so much more. "Crafty and beautiful," he murmurs, gazing down at me. "You would have made a fine prize for any male."

  "Ew," I tell him, the moment broken. I put a hand to his face and shove. "I'm not a prize."

  "No," he says, pushing back against my hand and grinning. "You are the champion, are you not? Nadine, King of the Hill." And he gives me such a mischievous look that it makes me all needy and hungry. This isn't a man who would take fucking totally seriously, I realize. It would be all about play. It would be playful nips and teasing words and testing his partner to see how much he could get away with before she came. He would make it into a challenge, I bet, and just that thought makes me so aroused I can barely stand it.

  If he touches me tonight, he's going to get me. No questions asked. No more waiting and wondering. No more doubting.

  But…will he touch me? On his own? After I told him no kisses?

  Sometimes I hate the things my brain comes up with. No kisses. Damn. I really am stupid sometimes.

  10

  NADINE

  We take the hides and head inside the cave. Sure enough, the fire is out, and I hang the now-cold and wet hides on a couple of stalagmites in the back so they can dry off. As he rebuilds the fire, I grab my pack and drop down next to him. His cock is pushing against the front of his leathers again, a sure sign that he’s not unaffected by the attraction between us. It wasn’t all in my head…or in my dreams.

  He’s being respectful and distant, though. Maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe we shouldn’t act on this attraction. It could just end up making things exceedingly awkward.

  Thrand is tending to the fire so I drop down on the other side of the fire pit across from him. My skin feels dry and cracked after being out in the weather all day, so I get up and grab my little pot of herb-scented lotion that Harlow made for me. It's not quite the same as the stuff I used to get from the store but it does the job. Plus, it'll give me something to do other than stare at him like some lovesick teenager. I'm not lovesick, after all. I'm just kind of…focused.

  On kissing him.

  And the way he touched my stomach that was somehow more sensual than a dozen kisses.

  Thrand squints at me as I roll up one sleeve and start to lotion the skin underneath. If I was back in the women's cave where all the single ladies hang out, I'd just whip my top off and lotion up, because we've all seen what the others have at this point, but in front of Thrand, it would just be…weird. So I do what I can, getting my forearms and smoothing the stuff over my hands and fingers, and then my face. He watches me as I move my hands, a puzzled expression on his face. "Are you flavoring yourself with herbs?"

  I laugh. "No. I'm putting on lotion." I hold the small bone pot out to him. "It's so my skin doesn't get dried out in all this cold weather."

  He grunts. "I saw Angie with something like this…but I thought it was for food." He touches it with one finger, curious, and then sniffs. "It smells like herbs."

  "That's because herbs are put into it to make it smell nice." I pull my pant leg up, exposing my calf, and begin to lotion it. "And women use this sort of thing a lot."

  "I have not seen this."

  "Well you're just the expert on women now, are you?" I tease. "Besides, I don't care if everyone else back at camp is ashy. I care if I'm ashy." And I make a face at him. "Trust me to know what's good for my skin."

  "I do not doubt you. I just find it curious." He rubs the thick lotion between his thumb and forefinger, his expression thoughtful. "Do you lotion all over?"

  "I try to, yeah."

  When I roll up my other pant leg, he grabs my ankle before I can. "Let me."

  I blink, not entirely sure I heard him correctly. "You want to rub lotion on my leg?" Why is that such an utter turn on?

  "I do." He gives me an utterly wicked look. "I bet I can do it better than you."

  I don't know if I want to groan at his arrogance, laugh at the fact that he's turning this into a game, or grab him and kiss him furiously. Is it possible to want to do all three? Because I do. I keep fighting this silly attraction between us and sometimes I wonder why I'm fighting. Would anyone care if we hooked up? Other than me and Thrand?

  But then I think of Bridget. At first I thought she was just being overdramatic and somewhat hysterical when it came to A'tam. That she was bored and wanted attention, and crying about how bad their hookup had been seemed like a surefire way to get that attention. But I've also been hunting with her a lot over the last while, and I've changed my mind. Bridget's sharp, and funny, and can keep a calm head in most situations. The only thing that causes her to lose her temper is A'tam.

  So what if
Thrand is really, really fucking terrible at fucking? And then he follows me around and beats his chest and claims that I'm his? I don't know if I want to step into a situation like that, as much as I'm attracted to the guy. I'm not a fan of drama. I'm more of a “get shit done” type of girl.

  His fingers slide over my calf, warm and callused and reassuring, and I go still.

  “Let me touch you,” Thrand says, his gaze intense as he watches me.

  Wordless, I hand him the small pot of lotion and he dips his fingers in, then slides them over my leg. After a long day of walking, it feels amazing, and I bite back the moan rising in my throat. I love the feel of his big hands, love the massage as he glides his fingers over my skin. It’s been so long since I was touched—really touched—that it ignites a heat in me that’s impossible to ignore.

  “You only flavor the lower parts of your legs and arms?” Thrand asks me, curious.

  “No. I do my entire body.” I pause, then add. “Usually.”

  His eyes gleam, hot. “I want to help with more, then. Take your clothes off.”

  This feels…

  Alarming.

  Sexy.

  Hot as fuck.

  Do I dare?

  I hesitate, and then when he scoops out another fingerful of lotion and rubs it between his hands to warm it like he’s some sort of pro, I decide we can compromise. Those oiled-up hands look like they’d feel pretty good on my back, and I’m a sucker for a massage. I pull my tunic over my head and keep it pressed to my breasts in one fluid motion, so they remain hidden. My back is open and exposed, though, and the inner voice that’s chiding me that this is a bad idea shuts up the moment he slides behind me and puts his hands on my back.

  Then, I absolutely do groan aloud. God, he feels good.

  "You are so soft," he murmurs as his hands glide over my skin. "I did not imagine you would be so very soft."

  I bite my lip, because I'm near to panting with how good it feels. I can't say a thing, because it won't come out as coherent. It'll come out as needy and get me into all kinds of trouble. Just a massage, Nadine, I remind myself, even though I'm picturing his big red hands sweeping over my skin.

  He kneads my muscles, moving along my spine and then to my shoulders, caressing and touching. His movements aren't fast or perfunctory like an impersonal massage would be. He's taking far too long with every brush of his fingers. He lingers over certain spots as if studying them, and it only adds to my arousal. Does he like what he sees when he looks at me? Is he comparing me to alien women? Other women? Fucking Angie? That thought irritates me. He explained how he felt about her, but my mind still goes there even when it shouldn't. It's dumb to be jealous of a woman who's been nothing but nice to me. A woman who has a mate now, a baby in her arms and one in her belly. It shouldn't matter at all, because I don't have feelings for Thrand.

  I totally don't.

  And if I keep telling myself that, I might start to believe it at some point.

  "You are tense," Thrand points out from behind me. "Your shoulders are like rocks. Why?"

  I shake my head, grabbing my long, wild, natural hair and twisting it over my shoulder so it doesn't stick to my lotioned shoulders. "My mind was on unpleasant things."

  "Then I am not doing a good enough job," Thrand says. "I must flavor you better so you think of nothing but my touch."

  It's on the tip of my tongue to tell him I shouldn't be distracted by his touch at all when he moves forward ever so slightly, and those oiled-up, strong hands slide to my front, pushing aside my tunic and cupping my breasts.

  I'm shocked at the bold move, and even more shocked when he presses a kiss to the back of my neck.

  "I want to be the best at pleasuring you, Nadine," he murmurs, his breath hot against my skin. His fingers glide over my nipples and he toys with them, his hands slippery and hot and so good it makes me want to writhe against him. "Tell me what I can do to make you feel good."

  I moan again, letting the tunic fall to the floor. I lean back against him, resting against his big chest as he kneads my breasts with the most experienced, most delicious hands ever. "Where'd you learn to do this?" I manage, curling a hand around his neck and holding onto him for dear life. "Thought you were a virgin."

  "I have never shared furs with a female, as they say here, no. But I have an imagination." His lips brush against my ear. "And it is focused on you and your body very, very often. I have dreamed of touching you like this for long nights on end, Nadine." He presses another kiss to my skin. "I have imagined how I would touch you, and what you would smell like, and taste like. I have wondered if you would sigh with pleasure if I teased your nipples." Thrand's fingers pluck at them as if to prove a point, and I've never been so damn aroused in my life. "And then I wondered if you would be angry, because I did not wait for you to give me a kiss again. That I have taken from you without asking." His teeth graze my earlobe. "Because I have been patient, but I cannot wait anymore to touch you."

  My fingers curl in his thick, soft hair, chopped short against his nape. His sexy words are doing crazy things to me, and I've never wanted anyone as much as I want him in this moment. All the sex I've had in the past seems like a very, very pale memory to the man touching me right now. "What would you do to me if you had me?" I ask, panting.

  "Touch you all over," Thrand says immediately. He teases my already hard nipples, plucking at the tips again before palming the globes of them. "Touch your breasts, your belly, your thighs, your cunt…all of you would be mine."

  Funny how his fantasy matches up with mine. His fantasy isn't to touch himself or for me to touch him—but to touch me. How can a girl refuse? "Are you going to lotion me everywhere, then?" I ask, my voice a mere whisper. It's an invitation, one I feel strangely shy about making. It’s like I'm about to jump off into the deep end and I don't know if I should…but I also know I want it like crazy. With his hands on me like this, I don't care what the rest of the tribe thinks. I only know if I walk away from this now, I'm an idiot.

  And my mama didn't raise a fool.

  "Kiss me now," I whisper to him, turning my head as I lean against his shoulder. "You can kiss me as much as you want, because I want it, too."

  No sooner do the words leave my lips than his mouth is there, hungry and caressing on my own. He nibbles at my lips over and over, tasting in sweet, repeated kisses that just make me even more needy. His hands continue to work my breasts, teasing them over and over, his fingers feathering over my nipples in a way that makes me arch against him.

  It occurs to me that I never showed him how to French kiss when his tongue brushes against my lips. I moan, opening for him, and then he slicks it into my mouth, and we're kissing so deep that it takes the breath from my lungs. He's a natural, his kiss erotic and questing without being too wet or awkward. I love it. I love the way he flicks his tongue against mine, I love the way he breaks the longer, more sweeping kiss with smaller, flirty ones. And I love that his hands are constantly teasing my breasts as he claims my mouth, as if he's determined to own all of me.

  When I'm dazed from the onslaught of kisses, he lifts his mouth from mine and presses his mouth to the tip of my nose. "I need more flavoring."

  It takes me a moment to realize that he means more lotion, and then I imagine him seasoning me like a haunch of meat. It's kind of an appropriate comparison, given that when the meat's prepared back at camp, herbs and spices are rubbed in. This is a similar sort of thing, I suppose…except no one's going to take a bite out of my haunches.

  Unless I'm lucky.

  I hand the lotion over to Thrand once more, and he takes a large dollop and smooths it between his hands. He's using up my entire supply but I can't find it in me to care. This moment is too wonderful and more of the thick cream can always be made when I return to camp. I moan when Thrand places one hand on my belly, gliding up and down, and then eases under the waistband of my leather leggings. I know exactly what he has in mind, and I am so ready for him to touch me, for him to
make me come. I'm aching for it, and I whisper encouragement as I slide my legs apart.

  "Are you soft everywhere?" he murmurs, his mouth hot against my ear. "Shall I find out?"

  "Do it." There's no going back now, not that I even want to.

  His big red hand slides into the loose waist of my clothing and then surges downward. He pauses over the curls of my mound, then goes lower and strokes a slick finger over the seam of my pussy.

  I gasp, sliding my legs further apart even as I push back against him. I want to writhe with how good it feels, but I don't want to stop him. Not when he's so close to touching my clit and making me come.

  "Soft," he agrees, his tongue flicking against my earlobe. "Soft and wet here. You feel so good, Nadine. I have imagined touching you dozens of times, but in my dreams, it was never this sweet. Never this right."

  I whimper as he caresses one breast with one hand, his other stroking lightly over my pussy. He gives my wet folds a light tap with his hand out of nowhere, as if spanking me, and that is so damn hot I nearly lose my mind.

  "Tell me how I touch you to make you erupt," Thrand commands, his voice hot and urgent. "Because my cock is so hard that I will spill soon, and I want to make you come first."

  I move my hand over his, biting my lip as I carefully guide his fingers to my clit. "Rub me here," I tell him, gasping when he immediately does so. "Lightly. It's sensitive."

  "You like it when I touch this little bud?" he asks, and my whimper is the only response I can give. He takes to my instructions like a pro, his oiled-up fingers lightly skating over my clit in little touches that make me ache deep inside. His fingers are on my nipple, too, and the dual pleasure sends me skittering toward a release faster than I thought possible. I ache deep inside, hungry for him to push a finger into me, but I don't dare, not with his hands oiled up like this. That'll be for another time, and that realization makes everything in me clench with hungry need.