by Anna Carven
Even me.
That is why she is my mate.
She always jokes that without her, I would quickly become a tyrant. Perhaps she hits closer to the truth than she realizes.
Her world is my world now, and I will not allow chaos to invade my domain. When Jeral finds the organizers of this human trafficking ring, I will deal with them myself.
I cross my arms, surveying the moonlit landscape as I think of my mate and the world we have built together. Unexpectedly. Magnificently.
My amina.
Even now, even in sleep, her body calls to me, and I am unable to completely shake off the lingering effect of her scent; of the memory of her touch, imprinted so deeply into my consciousness it’s as if it’s been branded there by searing hot Callidum.
I yearn for her so badly.
Ah, but my brutal training has made me immune to torture, has it not?
Not this kind of torture, though.
This is different. This, I submit to willingly, because she holds a power over me that galactic Empires and vast militaries could not possess.
And only now is she truly beginning to understand what it means to belong to me. This time, I can afford to be patient, because I do not plan on letting her go, ever.
4
Abbey
Something warm is at my back. Still groggy, I open my eyes and blink. “Unngh.” I groan, rolling onto my side.
“Mhmm,” Tarak replies as he tightens his powerful arm, which is currently curled around my waist.
Oh.
My eyes widen, and suddenly, I’m fully awake. Light streams through the UV-tinted windows, which are specially designed to protect my husband’s silver skin from the punishing rays of Earth’s sun.
Well, punishing to him.
It’s funny how these Kordolians seem so invincible, yet something as simple as plain old sunlight has the potential to be their undoing.
Tarak pulls me close, holding me in an unbreakable embrace. Sometimes, I’ll be hit by a random feeling of awe as the enormity of what I’ve done hits me. Sometimes, I have to pinch myself to check that this is real. My husband is a powerful Kordolian warrior. Vicious to his enemies, yet oh-so wonderful to me, and he dotes on little Ami. He’s so strong he could probably snap me in half with his little finger if he wanted to, and right now, I couldn’t wriggle out of his arms even if I tried.
Not that I want to, because he’s incredibly warm, and he smells good, and he’s naked.
I know this because I’m naked too, and he’s tucked one of his long, muscular legs between mine, and he never, ever goes to bed with any clothes on anyway.
In the midst of my disorientation, it occurs to me that I feel good. For the first time in longer than I can remember, I actually feel refreshed and rested.
But hang on… why am I naked? I usually wear a comfortable old t-shirt, because my arms get cold at night. What happened last night? Why is my memory so foggy?
“Tarak?” I whisper as try to recall the events of last night. I vaguely remember something about a hot shower and being carried to bed and the overwhelming fatigue that swamped every inch of my aching body.
“Mm?” He sounds… growly. His eyes are closed. There’s a stillness about him that’s deceiving; he reminds me of a resting lion.
I study his face in great detail, indulging in the fact that I’m probably the only person in the Universe who can stare at him like this and get away with it.
I never, ever get tired of looking at him.
The hardness never quite leaves his face, even when he’s resting. His features are brutally elegant and unmistakably Kordolian.
There’s nothing remotely human about him.
He clutches me even tighter.
“You’re awake, aren’t you?” I ask suspiciously, trying to figure out his game. A sudden bolt of panic hits me as I glance across the room, totally disoriented. “Ami,” I gasp. “What time is it? Is she awake?”
“Relax,” he murmurs, bringing his head in so that his lips are close to my ear, his warm breath feathering across my cheek. “It is early. She woke in the night, hungry. I gave her warm milk. She will not stir for a few hours yet.”
“You…” I shake my head as his features shift ever so slightly, his expression becoming a tad… smug. Some weird maternal instinct makes me feel guilty that I wasn’t the one to feed her, but at the same time, I’m grateful that I’ve had a proper night’s rest for the first time in…
When?
I can’t even remember.
Stupid tears come to my eyes again.
I sniff.
Suddenly, Tarak’s eyes are open, his brows drawing together slightly, and I’m staring into twin pools of deep crimson.
“Why are you crying?” he whispers. His voice is soft, but it’s threaded through with just a hint of roughness, a precursor to irritation.
“I don’t know.” I sniff again and again. For some reason, I just can’t stop the tears leaking from my eyes. “I shouldn’t, I know.”
My emotions are a mess. I feel guilty and relieved and overwhelmed and happy, all at the same time. I blink furiously, rubbing my eyes.
“Abbey.” Tarak takes my chin into his hand and forces me to look at him. “What is wrong?”
“Nothing. That’s the thing. I feel stupid for even feeling this way.”
“Abbey.”
“Yes, Tarak?”
“I know what you need.”
“You’ve been saying that since last night.”
“Yes. And you’ve been torturing me in your sleep.”
“I-I have? How is that even possi—”
He moves closer, his erection pressing against my lower belly. “This,” he breathes, “is pure torture.” Deft fingers wind through my hair. His powerful legs hold me in place. He captures my mouth, kissing me with a ferocity that surprises me, even though I know perfectly well how demanding he can be when he’s lusting.
And he’s always lusting.
He tastes faintly of something sharp and cold—almost like mint, but not quite. There’s nothing remotely sweet about him right now. He’s hard and relentless, giving me no quarter, no opportunity for escape.
I know this feeling.
He’s come to take what’s his.
A spark of arousal flares within me, but it’s tempered by the thought of my sleeping daughter. I can’t let go completely, because I fear that she’ll wake and start crying at the worst possible moment.
“The baby,” I whisper, breaking away from his kiss. “What if she—”
Whoosh.
The sheets rustle as he moves, scooping me up off the bed, carrying me in his arms as he moves silently across the floor. “Downstairs,” he says softly, “like we always do at times like this. She will not wake anytime soon. I can tell by the sound of her breathing.”
“Ah.” He steals my breath away, carrying me effortlessly as if I’m lighter than a feather—which, after having Ami, I definitely am not. Sometimes I forget that he can do things like this; can tell how deeply someone’s sleeping just by the sound of their breathing. “You’re scary sometimes, you know that?”
“Yes. But never to you.”
My husband’s not exactly the modest type, either. But then again, he has no reason to be.
We glide down the stairs, me curled up against his broad, muscular chest, my arousal growing with every passing second. “This is one hell of a wakeup.” My voice has become husky. I look up at his stern face, feeling wickedly ecstatic as a tiny smile hooks one corner of his mouth.
How delicious.
We’re both naked, and my bare skin brushes against his, generating tactile bliss. He’s hard and gentle all at the same time, and the feeling of being held in his arms is pure magic.
“You need it,” Tarak rumbles as we enter the spare downstairs room, which he’s turned into a kind of makeshift office. There’s a curved desk in one corner—deep grey in color and Kordolian made, of course. Various mysterious Kordolian tech de
vices are arranged on the desk, lined up with military precision. My husband, I’ve discovered, is a bit of a stickler for neatness; in fact, he gets a bit obsessive about order and tidiness and having things in their correct place.
The total opposite of me.
“Abbey,” he rasps, dumping my bare butt on his big, imposing desk. He kicks his chair out of the way and looms over me, his lips slightly parted to reveal the points of his fangs, his eyes glinting in the dim light.
What a sight he is.
He’s on the brink, barely holding it together.
Heat pools between my legs.
“Yes, husband?” I’m surprised that the words coming out of my mouth sound even remotely coherent. In the space of a few minutes, he’s drawn me out of sleep and completely scrambled my brains. Anticipation makes my heart hammer wildly as he strokes my cheek, my jawline, my neck, tilting my face up until I meet his searing eyes.
Even after all this time, the thrill of being needed by him never goes away.
“You should never cry when I am here,” he growls, running his fingers through my hair. His tender caress over my scalp sends a little shiver down my spine.
“Well, I don’t feel like crying anymore, so whatever you’re doing, it’s working.” Stupid hormones, or whatever. For a Kordolian who’s used to being obeyed and feared, Tarak is tolerating my mood swings remarkably well.
But then again, he has an ulterior motive, doesn’t he?
That’s the thing about being married to a former general of the Kordolian Imperial Military. He has a strategy for everything.
Even seduction.
“Abbey,” he says, and this time, his voice cracks, betraying a sliver of the tension he’s kept so tightly contained all night.
I know Tarak all too well. If he’s reached the point where his outward composure is affected, then he’s under immense strain indeed.
And to think he actually waited so I could rest my exhausted bones.
I don’t care what anybody else says. My husband is the sweetest man.
But he’s also a man who gets what he wants, each and every time. The way he’s looking at me now… stars. It’s as if he’s about to devour me whole.
That’s the end of talking.
He leans in and kisses me hard, his honed body pressing against mine, all taut, flexing muscle and flawless silver skin, and his unmistakable masculine scent surrounds me; a heady mixture of male musk and alien spice.
Driving all the tension and worry from my mind.
Sending me wild.
He leans in, just a little bit more, and his erection presses against my lower belly, leaving me breathless and aching. The feeling of his hard length against my bare skin makes me ache to have him inside me; all of him, all at once.
But I know he won’t do that straight away. He takes his time, his lips on mine, his tongue hot and probing, dictating the rhythm of our kiss. I go limp and boneless as he slides his hands down my back and gently lays me down on the desk.
The surface of the Kordolian-made desk is neither cold nor hot. It’s slightly pliable; not-quite soft, not-quite hard, and surprisingly comfortable. I only notice such things because my senses are on fire right now, and everything is hyper-real and hyper-acute.
Then he comes into focus, and everything else is irrelevant. Tarak’s movements are perfectly controlled as he rains hot, insistent kisses down upon my cheek, my neck, the sensitive spot just above my right collarbone. He inhales deeply, tasting my bare skin, savoring me.
And his hands are curving appreciatively around my thighs, sliding down toward my ass.
He comes to my breasts, which are full and slightly tender. Thankfully, they aren’t engorged and painful right now. Ami and I have settled into a good rhythm, and my supply is just right.
Tarak takes my left nipple between his lips. It’s more sensitive than usual, and just the slightest pressure is enough to push me into the next level of arousal.
Everything is a little bit sore, slightly raw, and insanely sensitive. Recognizing my little predicament, Tarak smiles as he uses his tongue, and I close my eyes, losing myself to the fact that I’m completely under the spell of this powerful creature. He knows my body inside out, knows my trigger points and my sensitive spots. He knows what I like, and what drives me crazy.
He slips his finger between my slick folds, eliciting a low moan. I squirm a little bit. “You’re impossi—”
Tarak looks up, his deep red eyes glinting wickedly. He presses a finger against my lips.
Do not speak. Let go. I am in control now.
That’s what he’s saying. He always teases me, saying that I talk too much, that sometimes I need to just shut up and let him do his thing.
I’m not planning on shutting up anytime soon, except for during times like this, when…
Ooh.
What the hell is he doing with his fingers now? And his lips are still caressing my taut nipple as he sucks on it lightly, tenderly, with just enough force to elicit that toe-curling, spine-tingling sensation of pleasure.
Pure pleasure.
Perfect restraint.
How does he do that?
I’m writhing. My bare back is slick with sweat. He ruthlessly lets me twist and whimper, completely at his mercy. He tantalizes me with the promise of a climax that is still a long way off, because he’ll decide when I get it, and how I’ll receive it.
He’s always like that.
He should be the one begging, not the other way around. He’s the one who’s been suffering all night with a damn hard-on that’s as thick as my wrist.
But one little touch and I’m a quivering mess, and there’s nothing I can do but let him have his way with me, even as he trails hot kisses down my belly until he reaches the throbbing, aching pearl of my clit.
He enjoys this part, being in control.
Making me climax is an aphrodisiac to him. I can sense it in the rough growls that issue from his throat, in the way his shoulders flex and tense, in the increasingly frantic movements of his hands, in the sheer power radiating from him.
His tongue is magic. I’m on fire. I close my eyes and let go of all the tension and worry and stress that’s been building up inside of me.
I reach out and run my fingers over his fine cropped hair, feeling for the subtle bumps of his severed horns.
All Kordolian males have horns, but because of tradition or inconvenience or some other such nonsense, they cut them off at the stumps and have them sealed, letting the skin grow over.
To my amazement, I’ve discovered that the horns of a Kordolian male are an erogenous zone, and even the stumps are incredibly sensitive. As I make tiny circles with the tips of my fingers, his growls become deep and throaty, turning into an animalistic rumble.
The sound of his voice sends a wicked little thrill through me as I revel in fact that I do have some power over him after all.
He responds to my touch, and he likes it.
Tarak tenses as I move my fingers faster and faster, and my fingers begin to tremble as he sucks my tender little clit until I lose all sense of time and place, and suddenly a blissful tremor courses through me.
“A-aah,” I cry as the tremors come in waves, building and building until…
Orgasm.
Perfect.
Bliss.
Of course he makes me come, each and every time.
Of course he makes me scream, making it look far too easy when in fact he’s the only one who can make me respond this way.
For one short, mind-blowing moment, I’m in absolute heaven.
Then I float back down to earth, and when I’m at a point where I’m coherent again, I dare to look up.
I meet his crimson eyes, burning like embers in the dim light, and stars, he looks hungry.
I know that look all too well.
He’s at the very edge of his limits.
“Come here,” I whisper, laying myself bare.
He cocks one silvery eyebrow and obliges,
rising to his full height. A uniquely Kordolian expression crosses his stern features—a mixture of dark intensity and desperate need.
For a moment, I just stare at him, appreciating every inch of him; his flawless, chiseled body, all rippling muscle and taut sinew and luminous silver skin.
My heart races. I’m flushed and breathless. I rise up off the desk, my legs still weak and wobbly in the aftermath of my orgasm.
In a trance, I go to him. I place my hands on his chest and look up at him; this hard, dangerous man who’s standing as still as a statue, tension written in every line of his body.
His breath hitches. He’s about to crack.
You’re playing with fire, Abbey.
I glance up, meet his eyes, and smile.
He’s always been able to coax my body to do whatever he wants it to. He never fails to make me come, even when I’m in the shittiest of moods. In charge. Supreme confidence. That’s just who he is.
But now I want to call the shots, and all that time he’s spent holding back…
I’m going to make it worth his while.
I run my hands down his powerful torso, dropping to my knees. I take his cock into my hand, feeling the fleshy ridge that runs along the top from tip to base, that slight anatomical variation that’s capable of generating an insane amount of pleasure.
I stroke him, and he tenses.
I do it again, and he growls, threading his fingers through my messy hair.
And when I take his cock into my mouth, tasting his salty sweetness, a great tremor courses through him, and he applies gentle pressure to the back of my head, guiding me onto him.
Always in control, even now.
“Abbey.” Except that when he says my name like that, he’s definitely not in control anymore.
And only I can make him feel this way.
5
Tarak
At last.
I am buried inside her, and it is pure bliss.
At first, she gave me pleasure with her lips, pulling me away from reality, into a place where there is only us.
She brought me to the precipice, and when I couldn’t take it any longer, I took her into my arms and rolled her over, burying my cock inside her sweet little heat.