Stolen: A SciFi Alien Warlord Romance

by Alison Aimes

The way he looked just now, he might.

  Worse, the area between her legs throbbed with every strike of his heel. The image of him behind her, mastering her, while she lay spread before him, bottom in the air, quivering as he dragged her back and forth on his cock, so real she could almost feel the thick, near-painful pleasure of her stretching to accommodate his ruthless demands.

  She didn’t understand. She didn’t have such vivid fantasies. Nor did she usually have such little control over her body and will. She didn’t stare at strange men. She didn’t ache for them or wish to surrender to their command. She didn’t imagine she could feel their lust and their instinct to dominate or the unwelcome surge of protectiveness they wished to ignore.

  And yet…for a moment, when their eyes had locked, a warm glow—even deeper than the fire of lust—had pierced her skin and she’d felt less alone. The sensation eerily familiar and yet she couldn’t place from where.

  Which was likely, she reprimanded herself, because it was a figment of her imagination.

  “I can see another lesson in proper deportment is in order.” Her stepfather’s quietly issued threat ripped her from her thoughts and slithered down her spine. His gaze might have been locked on Volkan, but his fury was reserved for her.

  “I thought he was an old friend of my father’s,” she lied. “It…it was nothing more. If he took it as some kind of invitation it was unintentional.”

  “Everything you need concern yourself with is right here.”

  Her hands fisted at her sides, the violent urge to deny his claim so strong she could taste the reckless words on her tongue.

  “This heat is horrible.” Whetherton’s sister, Lady Cecilia, inserted herself between them, fanning herself with a bored air that matched the somber chocolate brown silk winding around her from chin to ankles, a shapeless mummy-like dress with only the barest of shimmer to the cloth and no gems sewn into the fabric. Her brother had chosen for her to wear it tonight—and Cecilia always followed his orders. “It must be the large crowd almost on top of us.”

  Her aunt’s tone might be casual, but her darting glances gave her away. She was trying to reel her brother in with the reminder of an audience.

  It was a reminder he needed more and more with every passing rotation.

  “I’m cool enough,” he snapped. “Grab a drink off the next floating tray if you’re overheated. It will keep your mouth busy as well.”

  The way Cecilia’s features crumpled tore at Aurora, but she knew better than to offer comfort. Her aunt did not welcome her interference.

  “Good evening.” The husky rumble thundered through her chest and seized her heart in a tight fist.

  The Warlord had arrived.

  Unable to help herself, she looked up and up and up. Gone was the moonlit creature of sensuality she’d watched from the balcony. Towering over her now, so close she could almost touch him, was a hard, arrogant Outer World male whose dark beauty only underscored his danger.

  Hostility poured off him, sparking against her skin and charging the air with electricity, his golden eyes smoldering with animalistic challenge. This close, it was easy to see the curve of the slightly fuller lower lip and fang tips that gave his mouth its sensual sneer as well as a thin scar along his chin and another at his cheek that only highlighted his otherwise flawless features.

  The rumors she’d overheard earlier no longer seemed so ridiculous. He looked like a male who might kill over an insult.

  What would he do to a liar and a thief?

  “Good evening, gentlemen.” Her stepfather issued only the slightest of bows, a message in itself. He would never be so disrespectful if he met the Warlord in a dark alley or on the battlefield, but surrounded by so many élithe he clearly felt emboldened. “This is…unexpected.”

  “But necessary,” answered the man who’d accompanied Volkan. Funny, she’d barely noted his arrival, all her focus locked on the half-Martian and the pictures cascading through her mind. Images of him deep inside her, of her melting at his touch and spreading her legs wide, stole her breath and her logic, making it hard for her to think of anything else.

  An awkward silence descended. Executive Deerfield, another of her stepfather’s flock, coughed into his glove, his grey whiskers bristling against his closed fist.

  Her nerves stretched to near breaking. Her legs trembled with the oddest urge to drop to her knees in supplication before the golden-skinned, hulking male and beg him to take her. To fuck her. Claim her. Protect her.

  She fought it with every ounce of her being.

  “I suppose introductions are in order.” Her stepfather’s reluctance was insultingly transparent. “Executive Grayson knows everyone in our little party, but I believe Warlord Volkan hasn’t yet been honored with an introduction.”

  Her world slowed. Sound receded. The weight of the necklace a brand against her thigh. This was it. This was when the half-Martian would reveal what she’d done on that balcony. All her planning…all her risks…about to crumble.

  Steeling herself, she looked her accuser straight in the eye, wading past the slash of thick, dark lashes to lock on the starbursts of yellow and green floating within his golden orbs. Martian eyes. Predator eyes.

  But if he thought to see her cowed, he would be disappointed.

  She might not be Martian, but she could be just as fierce.

  “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Executive Deerfield, Ladies.” With a perfunctory nod, Volkan proffered his greeting with a minimal bow. Grayson followed suit.

  Huh?

  Blinking rapidly, she tried to absorb what had just happened.

  The Warlord had barely looked at her.

  After nearly devouring her with his gaze across the ballroom, he gave her no more than a cursory glance before moving on to the others.

  But he had to have recognized her. There was no earthly way he hadn’t seen her quite clearly on that balcony.

  Touch yourself, female. Get that curious pussy wet and ready for me.

  Cheeks flaming, she risked another glance. Just as before, his attention was on her stepfather. As if she didn’t exist. As if he had no interest and no awareness whatsoever about who she was. As if he definitely did not feel any of that same unwelcome, impossible-to-resist connection and overwhelming lust that threatened to drag her down.

  That—that couldn’t be disappointment swirling beneath her skin, could it?

  The same lock of dark hair slipped over his horn and into his eye. He batted it back, the rough calluses on his fingertips and the turgid veins snaking along his hands and wrists impossible to miss.

  Without warning, the image of his palm slipping beneath the woman’s skirt seared through her. Her belly contracted. Her skin tingling as if she could feel his hand gliding up her thigh as well.

  She ripped her gaze away.

  She needed to get a hold of herself. She needed to clear her head and stop imagining she felt his determination and anger pulsing beneath her skin and to understand just what kind of game the audacious Warlord was playing by coming over and pretending not to recognize her at all.

  “Grayson and I were just saying how nice it is to be back in the dome.” The Warlord’s words were innocuous, but there was an undercurrent of tension beneath, a subtext she didn’t understand.

  “Yes. Very good.” Her stepfather’s lack of enthusiasm was obvious. “Though, no doubt you’ll be returning to the wilds soon enough. Some creatures are just meant to roam and I assume someone with your reputation won’t be here long.”

  “Whatever my travel plans or my reputation, rest assured this creature intends to fulfill his duties to his people, including protecting his shares and his Earth employees.” Volkan’s features hardened, the small scar at his jaw suddenly whiter against the gold of his skin. “Anyone who hopes otherwise will be disappointed.”

  Awe whispered through her.

  The astonishing male was standing up to her stepfather. Not with a hard crack to the jaw or a dagger to the bell
y—though he was clearly capable of that too—but by playing her stepfather’s game better and shoving his bigoted presumptions back in his face. Just as she’d always dreamed of doing.

  “I will be backing him in whatever capacity he needs.” The Earther male, Grayson, was just as fierce.

  Could the two men actually be friends? Not simply convenient acquaintances or useful associates, but actual allies? Her gaze flitted between them, cataloging the similarities in their stances, the way they stood shoulder to shoulder, clearly comfortable in each other’s presence.

  “Your determination is obvious, Volkan,” Her stepfather’s cool response drew her back to the conversation, “but that doesn’t mean it will happen. There are many who would prefer Peller.”

  “Too bad. The title, shares, and land are rightfully mine.”

  A wild shriek of relieved laughter bubbled in her throat, totally inappropriate for the moment.

  She barely managed to tamp it down. The Warlord’s reason for approaching was now ridiculously obvious—and it had nothing to with her. A realization she would have come to earlier if her mind hadn’t been clouded by lust, her thighs wet with arousal.

  He’d come because of his title.

  He either knew nothing about her part in linking him to the thefts, or didn’t care.

  She’d put herself center stage in his drama when the truth was she was inconsequential.

  Goddess, she was becoming as vain and paranoid as everyone around her.

  Telling herself she was relieved, she risked another glance in his direction, determined to make it her last. It was past time to reset and pull herself together. To rub out whatever foolishness had spawned this sharp, hot burn in her chest and cast aside all distractions. To behave as indifferently toward him as he was to her.

  Except there was a faint crook to his nose she hadn’t noticed before, as if it had once been broken. And his hands were even bigger than she’d realized, and covered in scars that made her ache to think of his pain. Her body trembled with the craving to run her tongue along each mark until all he remembered from them was pleasure.

  Goddess what was happening to her?

  And could it truly be that she was weathering this storm of lust and need alone?

  Frantic, her gaze swept over the rest of his too-beautiful face for any sign of distress—and collided with smug golden eyes.

  Her breath stuttered in her lungs.

  Caught staring. Again.

  Her nipples went tight and hard.

  So much for pretending indifference.

  As if it was the sign he’d been waiting for, he crowded closer, his wide shoulders blocking out everyone else, the tantalizing scent of black licorice and spice filling her lungs. Making it impossible to think. Leaving her shaking with the need for him to bend her over the nearest surface and fuck her hard. “Doesn’t feel too good to be ignored, does it princess?”

  “I—I’m not a princess.” She was surprised at the undercurrent of hostility, until she realized he’d likely lumped her in with her stepfather. “And please, ignore me all you like. I’d appreciate it.”

  “What a little liar.” He shook his head, his expression knowing. “I see the way you watch me. I feel your need. No amount of fighting will make it go away.”

  Her heart tripped over itself. “Your arrogance is astounding.”

  “But deserved, I promise.” He leaned in, his warm breath a caress against her ear, his exotic scent enveloping her. “Dance with me.” His words held more command than invitation. Her body softening and preparing for his cock as if he’d whispered spread for me instead.

  “I don’t think so.” But Goddess, he smelled good.

  “Don’t think. Act. Obey. Like before.”

  She stiffened, some semblance of survival instinct returning, the furious glare of her stepfather’s gaze burning a hole in her back. If she was a normal female and this was just about lust, she might have given in. But her situation was far from normal and, while under the thumb of her stepfather, she wasn’t free to be so bold.

  “I-I can’t.”

  The Warlord’s nostrils flared. “You will.”

  As if pulled by invisible strings, her body hurried to obey his command, her feet dragging her closer to his hard heat even as the sane part of her fought it, the bruises from her stepfather’s punishments throbbing in reminder of what happened when she displeased him. But for some inexplicable reason that ache was suddenly not nearly as powerful as the one between her legs and at her chest, her hunger to submit to the Warlord trumping all else. Then, out of the corner of her eye, a flash of scarlet caught her attention. Lady Everly—and she was headed this way.

  Sanity returned like a splash of icy water.

  “You’re right.” Ending her resistance, she lurched the rest of the way toward the half-Martian, her fingers digging into his forearm, a shock of heat that rippled to her spine and burned straight to her core. It left her shaken once more. How could such a simple touch at the worst of possible moments with the worst possible male feel so right? Inevitable? Familiar? She shoved the thoughts aside with a shake of her head.

  Her stepfather would not be happy, but preventing a revealing conversation with Lady Everly was paramount. “Let’s dance.”

  8

  The Warlord’s eyes flared and then turned considering. Like the contrary male he was, he didn’t budge. Only held her stare.

  Though Aurora had no idea how she knew, her mind understood exactly what he required. “P-please.”

  That one word of supplication was all it took. Gaze flaring, he turned toward the others. “Excuse us. Lady Aurora has granted me the pleasure of this dance.”

  It almost sounded as if his friend Grayson groaned.

  She didn’t dare look at her stepfather.

  “Come.” Unwelcome tingles seared through the silk of her dress as the large calloused hand she’d already imagined claiming her body and her cunt peeled her fingers from his thick forearm and tucked them into the crook of his elbow.

  She barely came to the Warlord’s shoulder. And the brush of his thigh against her leg only drove home how muscular and hard every inch of him was. She felt safe. She felt threatened. She felt more than she had in a long time.

  Pummeled by a hundred conflicting sensations, she let him lead her silently through a crowd that scattered the moment he prowled forward.

  Soon they were on the dance floor. A giant, horned behemoth in black and her, dwarfed by his size and width, in shimmering white. All eyes locked on them. A strange sensation for a thief who’d done her best to avoid the limelight.

  The Dometh waltz began.

  She tried—and failed—to still her trembling fingers as she placed her hand in his, the rough pads of his hands sending a shiver down her spine, the decadent scent of him making her head spin. She drew another dizzying breath into her lungs, her nipples tightening against the bodice of her gown.

  “These people.” His tone was a near growl. “You’d think they’d never seen a virgin sacrifice before.”

  Her gaze flew to his, her steps faltering.

  His expression remained blank—and intimidating as ever.

  “W-was that a joke?”

  “What do you think?” Covering for her misstep, he twirled her around the dance floor.

  Her lips quirked upward. “I think your sense of humor could use some work—and that tongue of yours is way too free with strangers.”

  “You won’t be saying that later. My expertise with that particular instrument is undisputed.”

  She fought a surge of blinding lust. She’d expected grunts and growls and barked commands. She’d never expected him to have a playful side.

  “Do you intend to keep quiet about…earlier,” she forced herself to focus on what mattered, “or do I have to worry you’ll be using it against me?”

  He stilled for an instant, then resumed dancing, his jaw tighter than before. “Such a cynic behind that pretty face, kitten.” The brush of his stro
ng thigh between her legs sent a jolt of pleasure through her. Along with a flash of nerves. He couldn’t discover the pocket strapped to her thigh.

  She tried to shift back a step, but the muscled forearm around her waist held fast.

  “But I promise you,” he continued, his voice dropping to a menacing rumble, “I don’t need to resort to blackmail to obtain dance partners—or any other kind of partner I require. A fact you well know.”

  Oh, how she knew it. “I’m sure it saves time just calling every woman ‘kitten,’ but I have a name and I’d appreciate it if you’d use it, Warlord.”

  “DaKar.” Temper simmered in his golden eyes. “Only my enemies call me Warlord—and you don’t want to be one of those.” At her raised eyebrow, his eyes narrowed further. “You’re right, though. You deserve a different name. I’ll call you Balcony. It will help me distinguish you from all the rest.”

  Cretin. “Perfect. I’ll call you beneath me.”

  His golden eyes flared. “I’m more than fine with you being on top.”

  “If you think that’s happening next, you don’t know me at all.”

  “But you’d like it to, Balcony, wouldn’t you? You’d like me to know exactly what you taste like and how you’ll scream when I bend you over and make you take every inch of my cocksto in that wet, aching pussy.”

  “Are you always this outrageous?” Her voice came out huskier than she’d have liked for one trying to pretend indifference. “Because I can promise you they’ll never let you near the title if you continue to behave so recklessly. The élithe are sticklers for propriety.”

  “Don’t worry yourself on my account. I grew up among your kind.”

  She wanted to protest these people were hardly her kind, but he’d already moved on.

  “I had the same tutors, civility instructors, and overall worthless upbringing as any other entitled so-and-so here tonight.” His steps were sure as he whirled her around the dance floor, his black hair and crown of horns a slash of sleek black against all the frippery and wild neon of the élithe crowd. “I know exactly what I’m up against.”

  “That can’t have been easy.” The words popped out before she could think better of it. As if she knew he’d been lonely.