The Ugly Dukeling

by Bex McLynn

  He upped his pace, turning his jog into a flat-out run. If he burned enough of his frenesia, perhaps he could return to her in the morning. Be there to bring her tea without rattling the porcelain in his trembling hands.

  As he neared the house, he caught a glimpse of movement on the front stoop.

  Cisnetta rose from the step where she’d been sitting and waved at him.

  Ah, he could be a right bastard and pretend he’d not seen her. Sure, he was easy to spot, running under the bright moonlight, but a normal Mayreni man wouldn’t have noticed her beneath the shadowy carriage porch.

  He didn’t fight the inevitable, though. Cisnetta, for whatever the reason, wanted him. And if he couldn’t answer her base needs, he’d gladly settle for her current whim. Because in the grand scheme, their association was fated to fade, if not fail with resounding finality. But until that inevitability shattered the joy she brought him, he’d be at her beck and call because she was all that he’d ever wanted.

  He meant to veer toward her with an unhurried lope, but he found himself striding out, pumping his arms and legs to reach her sooner. Slowing as he neared the carriage porch, he ran his eyes over her. Her hair was no longer loose, but fell over her shoulder in a heavy plait. She wore sleep pants and shirt, both shapeless sacks that looked comfortable as hell. The ensemble sent a spike of lust through him anyway, because the image of her in bed, even in those sagging clothes, heated his blood. He craved sex with her, but that could happen anywhere. In the back of a lancar. On the couch in the study. Hell, they could tumble in the fragrant grasses of the surrounding fields. But to lie in a bed with her, to be welcomed each and every night, would be sublime.

  Coming close to her, he dragged whiffs of her into his mouth and nose, both taste and scent receptors flaring with her unique signatures. Magone. Musky tang. Sweet, heated skin.

  She ran her brown eyes over him, her brow neutral as she studied him. “I wanted to check on you, Atrates. But if you still need to run, then run. I’d not stop you from easing your frenesia.”

  Interesting. No scolding or ridicule from her. She understood what it felt like to be aroused, driven, and riled.

  She tilted her head as if reassessing something. “Although, Naosim left me with a syringe. Do you want to take—”

  “Want? Take?” He incredulously shot back at her, then silently he cursed his brashness.

  He burned to take from her, and his admission shot from his mouth like a bloody barrage.

  Although, she remained unaffected as she always did.

  “The synten.” She pulled a capped syringe from the pocket of her pajama pants. “Do you want to take it?”

  Before he could reply that he’d rather let his arousal flare—because burning for her was far better than battering himself against the barrier of synthetic bezeten—she tsked, making a disappointed sound deep in her throat.

  She dropped her eyes and shook her head. “No. That’s not fair. To have you put yourself out there.” She opened both hands in offering. “One is the synten. The other is me. I am offering you both, Atrates.”

  His gazed bounced from her open hands—one of which had the synten syringe balanced on her palm—to her face. Her offer boggled him.

  She gentled her tone. “It’s what makes us Gisthean. Offering and accepting, Atrates. I’m offering.”

  His whole life had been spent on one planet, yet he’d lived in two separate worlds. “The Otar take.”

  “You’re Gisthean too. You accept.”

  His frustration flared. He snarled and dragged in another chest-expanding breath. “You smell like magone, Cisnetta. There is not a Gisthean man alive who gets erect when he catches a whiff of magone.”

  She dipped her chin, seeking his gaze. “Atrates, I’m hyper-frenetic.”

  “I know.”

  “Do you?”

  “I fucking know, Cisnetta.”

  But although she produced gallons of bezeten and he’d eagerly taken it all, he would not curse them both with managing his own frenesia. Already, without frenetic-induced restlessness, aggression and arousal, he was a surly bastard always ready to hiss and snip at people.

  Cisnetta deserved a mate who was balanced.

  A silence settled between them, and it frustrated him that she’d stopped challenging him. That she’d stopped engaging in a manner that made sense to his Otaric third.

  But damn him. She twisted him upside-down and inside-out with her atypical responses, and he wanted her anyway.

  He flicked his gaze to her and then away. “All of the hybrids are hyper-frenetic, too.”

  Just like that—just for her—he cast aside his loyalty to the Otar.

  He watched her absorb this damning bit of intel. Confusion wrinkled her brow as her hands slowly returned to her side, the syringe held in her closed hand.

  “I—I didn’t know that.” Then her brows sank into seriousness. “I don’t think anyone knows that.”

  He sighed. “For a reason, Cisnetta. The Otar can’t fix it. They tried, but those hybrids who require normal amounts of bezeten are sterile.” He shrugged. “What good are we if we can’t fully integrate with the Mayreni people?”

  The Otar had announced from the beginning that they wanted to integrate—to participate—in Mayreni society, which meant creating offspring genetically suited for this world. The Otar lacked the ability to siphon. It wasn’t something that they exchanged between their own partners. Therefore, when grafting the hybrids, they’d chosen to add bezeten dependency. Because they’d wanted their grafted children to have families.

  Instead, they created genetically enhanced, hyper-frenetic freaks.

  He watched Cisnetta’s eyes drift upward, over his shoulder, and into the sky. If he turned, he would see the Ark in low orbit, maintaining its geostationary position over Mayren.

  “They made you this way,” she said slowly, and he could tell that her mind was churning.

  “Yes.”

  Though, that wasn’t precisely true. The result didn’t reflect the intent.

  He’d only revealed enough of the truth for this conversation. Perhaps she conjured scenarios of dark intentions or tragic irony. Neither was wholly correct or inaccurate. The Otar labored in their laboratories for a whole Gisthean generation before achieving acceptable results. They either grafted themselves imperfectly to the people of Mayren or faded forever once extinction finished reaping them.

  Gazing at Cisnetta, the Otars’ desperation shook his very bones. His failure to prove himself to her would extinguish him as well, but she needed to know that he’d always be a brash, riled, frenetic bastard.

  He was as the Otar made him to be. He couldn’t transform into a normal Mayreni man.

  He would forever be an ugly swain.

  “Well, then you know.” She bristled and shook her head at him. “You know that magone suppresses symptoms, not production.”

  Was she directing her frustration at him? Perhaps this turn in her was for the best. She’d run him off, berating him and—

  “Atrates,” she drew his name out and extended her hand, palm up. It was the Mayreni gesture of earnestness. “You know what that means. I produce bezeten.” She chuckled, a single sarcastic chuff. “A shit load of bezeten.”

  He shook his head. “I siphoned from you, took my synten, and I’m still riled.”

  “I know you are,” she agreed without infusing her voice with pity—simply accepting him as-is.

  His heart lurched as his muscles coiled. Grab her. Take. Compete. Prove.

  “I don’t wanna siphon,” he grated out. “I wanna fuck.”

  She held his gaze. “I know you do.”

  Stunned to his core, he shook his head, and her name passed through his lips like a benediction. “Cisnetta?”

  The oversized sleeve of her shirt slid back, baring her arm as she raised her extended hand to him. “Here. Take.”

  Chapter 10

  Cisnetta’s skin flared with awareness as Atrates’s hot breath b
lew across her nape. He prowled behind her, her fingers laced with his, as she guided him to her room. He said he didn’t want to siphon, but he kept taking tiny pulls, swiping at her bezeten like skimming the cream off the milk.

  The house was quiet, but not entirely still. She knew some of the women were restless all hours of the day. How would she react should they encounter someone in the corridor? She in her sleepwear and Atrates shirtless with sweat glistening on his skin?

  Well, she wouldn’t duck her head, that she knew. Atrates was a good man crusted in gruffness. He pushed people away, having been torn to shreds when he tried to pull others near. Damn the duke. He’d wounded his son thoroughly. Even the time spent with the Otar couldn’t repair the damage.

  She knew he thought himself unwanted, homely, and strange.

  She, however, found him undeniably desirable, ruggedly handsome, and doggedly earnest.

  She suppressed a wry chuckle. And he was an arse, if she were being honest. But he’d always spoken honestly, even when his defenses had him lashing out. She could respect that bit, that Atrates would never pander to her.

  That thought had her slowing her stride and shuffling to a stop.

  Atrates wanted to fuck, and she appreciated his honesty.

  But she wanted more.

  “Cisnetta?” he whispered into her ear, his lips close but his body not pressed against her back.

  “I’ve not changed my mind,” she hastened to say.

  “Good.” The word carried his relief as he moved closer and snaked his arm around her waist. With his palm flat against her belly, he pulled her back into his hard, hot body as his lips seared the back of her neck. “So fucking glad, Cisnetta.”

  She shivered despite the lust roaring through her, causing a sweet ache in her peaked nipples and throbbing core. Suction and stretching would throw her over the edge. Would have her back bowing as she tightened and then snapped loose with an orgasm.

  Hell, she really needed to get Atrates into her room.

  With an apologetic moan, she moved to step out of his embrace. He hesitated for the briefest second, even tightening his hold on her, before letting her go with a reluctant groan.

  “Come,” she whispered encouragingly as she tugged him onward.

  Her fingers trembled as she wrapped them around her doorknob and twisted. Together they crossed the threshold, and she jolted as Atrates kicked the door shut behind them.

  The echoing slam barely rang her ears. Her heart was racing. The fast beats bombarded her hearing while her adrenaline honed her awareness on Atrates.

  With heat blazing his magone-blue eyes, he advanced on her and gathered her close. One hand palmed her backside, pressing their bodies together as his hard cock prodded her belly. His other hand wrapped about the root of her braid as he gently, yet insistently, had her tilt her head back and present her lips to him.

  He gave her a hard, assessing stare, as if looking for cracks in a porcelain pitcher. “You’ve no demands?”

  Her brain tumbled at that. “Demands? No.”

  He frowned, looking dissatisfied or distrustful of her answer. “No requests, then? Or conditions?”

  “No. None.” She shook her head, the roots of her hair stinging because he’d not eased his grip. “Um, do you?”

  He growled at her question, and she understood that Otaric nuance. The Otar took; they never demanded.

  Well, she was who she was. Being a Mayreni, she would accept him. “Take what you need, Atrates.”

  Atrates’s groan thrummed through her body as his lips captured hers in a hungry kiss. His hips rocked his erection into her belly as he moved his mouth to the column of her neck. With his huge hands cradling her backside, he hoisted her up and strode to her bed.

  When he placed her on the mattress, she eagerly parted her legs, inviting him to settle over her and rock his cock against her aching core. But instead, he straightened to his full height and began removing his clothes.

  Ah. The man was brilliant. Skin-on-skin contact would feel phenomenal.

  She started to shuck her sleep clothes but paused when he growled at her.

  “Take,” he said, his Otaric accent dominating the Mayreni word. “They’re mine to take off.”

  His words shot a thrill through her, leaving her to impatiently squirm, confined in bothersome clothing.

  Atrates pulled his shorts down, stealing her breath as his cut abs, hard cock, and thick thighs commanded her full attention. His cock’s width and girth outpaced her other casual lovers. As her core clenched at the sight, demanding to be stretched and filled, she had a moment of doubt.

  Atrates wrapped a hand around his base and stroked. “You’ll take me, Ciss. I’ve been between your legs. Have tasted you and felt you. You’d be tight as a vise, but you’ll take me.”

  She nodded in a daze. “Take. Yes.”

  Her mind pleaded, Please hurry.

  He kicked his shoes off and his thigh muscles bulged as he balanced on one foot, then the other, to strip off his socks.

  She laughed nervously. “Hell, Atrates. You made that so sexy.”

  “Anyone shedding clothes is sexy.” He settled one knee on the bed, the mattress creaking, as he gathered the hem of her shirt.

  With a swift pull he had it up and over her head. As she flopped back against the mattress, her backside rose as he peeled her pants and panties off in one go.

  Here she thought he’d continue going slowly.

  He crawled onto the bed, staying toward the footboard as he palmed her inner thighs and spread her wide.

  “God, you’re wet, Ciss.” He groaned. “You’re ready to take me.”

  She nodded enthusiastically because Atrates told the truth. When he’d opened her legs, her inner thigh muscles had gotten a delicious stretch. The air had nipped her slick-coated pussy lips as they parted and her hips reflexively rose in offering.

  He raised his gaze. “You’ve been taken before?”

  “You mean have I had sex? Yes.”

  He made an angry sound. “Glad for your sake, Cisnetta.”

  “You are?” He certainly hadn’t sounded glad.

  “Told you. I wanna fuck.” He slid both hands toward the juncture of her legs and swept his thumbs through her arousal, brushing and lightly tugging on her slit without penetrating her or touching her swollen clit. “I want to take you hard. Rut like a beast.”

  She grasped his thick wrists and tugged him, urging him forward. “I’m here for you, Atrates.”

  But he was rooted like a tree and said nothing as he continued to coat his thumbs in her wetness, brushing her clit and then sliding his thumbs inside of her. He set himself on repeat, rimming her slit and grazing her swollen bundle of nerves. But his touch was too careful. Too considerate. She bit on her bottom lip, suppressing her pathetic whimper because her core contracted and wept more slick with each pass of his coarse thumb pads. It wasn’t enough, though. She craved penetration that would spread her and fill the aching void. That would give her something hard and thick to grasp.

  She tested his hold on her legs as she closed them and blocked his exploration.

  He leaned back with a resigned sigh and nodded, appearing thankful for that brief moment of access.

  Oh, she wanted to tackle him and kiss him. She wasn’t rejecting him.

  Rather, she turned over, settling on her knees and offering herself as she lowered her brow to the mattress.

  A notching rumble rolled from him as the mattress dipped behind her.

  “Ciss.” He heaved. “Oh, Ciss.”

  His huge palms caressed the globes of her backside, spreading her. Once again, the cool air nipped at her dripping sex.

  The mattress shifted again and she yelped, jerking forward when his tongue lapped at her pussy. He reprimanded her with a growl as he dug his hands into her hips and dragged her back to his ravenous mouth. His tongue went to work again, probing inside her as her neglected clit throbbed with bliss and agony.

  Desperate for on
e flick of his tongue on her bundle of nerves, she tried to tilt her hips and adjust the angle. Atrates reared back, removing his lips.

  Oh, he had her whimpering.

  He groaned softly and smoothed his palms over her backside again. Then the rounded head of his cock was there, sliding between her pussy lips. She panted in anticipation as, pass after teasing pass, as he coated himself in her slick.

  He sank into her, hissing long and low, and Cisnetta sucked in air as her pelvis floor lit up with duplicitous bliss. Her body struggled to accept him. As Atrates continued to work her open with short, assertive thrusts, a balance was struck. Each stroke became a promise that every bit of discomfort would give her a reverb of pleasure. His thick cock would stretch her swollen, grasping pussy, and in return, his strokes would have her bowing her back as she voiced her gratification.

  “Fuck. Take me, Ciss.” He heaved into her neck as he gained ground. “Take me. Take me.”

  The final plunge that seated him fully had her sagging as she relinquished to him the fulfillment of their lust. As if he knew she’d passed the reins, he immediately went to task. He pulled out, and when her swollen pussy clutched at a void, he plunged and pushed her open again.

  That stroke set her back to square one—resetting the empty ache, enabling him to blissfully stretch and fill her once more.

  He did again. Then again.

  With an astonished, huffing gasp, she realized that Atrates was, indeed, taking her. He would thrust into her, brusquely pressing her acceptance, then withdraw. He would depart long enough that her body would resume its empty aching, then he would stroke into her again. Stretching her. Claiming her. Taking her.

  With her skin alight and her mind soaring, she panted. “Want you, Atrates. Want you so much.”

  She meant it, too. Bliss might be muddling her brain, but her heart beating against her ribs swelled with longing and adoration for him.

  Oh, she loved him.

  She was desperate to declare her feelings, but her lungs were starved for air. Her thighs and arms trembled. Her needy clit cried out for relief as she babbled nonsense and moaned.