It’s not so much that I care if the duke hears me, or that I’m worried about his sleep—but I just don’t want to deal with that asshole right now. I want to pee and slide back under the covers again.
Halfway across the room, when I’m at the foot of his bed, I pause. I look at his massive body, twisted in his sheets much like my hand was this morning.
Just like me, Raf’ere sleeps in the nude.
His skin is a patchwork of light grays, the mottled coloring lighter on his chest. He’s on his back, one of his muscular arms flexed behind his head.
The glow of the lantern in my room flows into the duke’s chambers. As the light moves, it catches iridescent scales that dot the duke’s high cheekbones. They look like glittering freckles, and I hate to admit that the duke is a strange kind of handsome.
Even the scarring on his face that twists down his shoulder and onto his chest is beautiful. Like the roots of some ancient tree. The injury he sustained must have been a serious one, though, to have left marks that deep.
I can’t help but let my eyes trail lower to his cock. I don’t know much about alien dick, but it’s safe to say he’s hard. The huge shaft stands proudly, engorged and blue. His hand cups his sac protectively as he sleeps—men are men no matter the planet, I guess.
The frills and webbing pattern on its head resemble the delicate design on his ears—his cock kind of reminds me of an umbrella. Maybe aliens also have morning wood, considering it has to be close to sunrise.
Sure, he’s got a weird dick—but can I blame Stockholm syndrome for the tingling feeling between my legs? Or is it just that my orgasm, no matter how embarrassing, felt really fucking good yesterday?
I wonder what he’d feel like inside of me—
“Are you going to stare at my cock all morning then, human?” the duke says at full volume without opening his eyes.
“I…uh.” My feet start moving, knowing I won’t be able to come up with a lie. “I had to pee, I was just making sure you were asleep!”
The bed groans as he shifts behind me. “I’m sure, and the fact that your arousal scent is choking out any other smell in the room isn’t any indication of what you were actually doing.”
Fuck, he can smell that?
I’m closing the bathroom door when I hear him laugh. “Make sure to keep it down if you’re going to touch yourself again. I know the view was motivating enough.” His deep voice booms through the door.
He’s such an asshole,I think as I sit on the alien-sized commode.
* * *
After finishing my business, I sulk back to my closet-slash-bedroom and get all the way under the blankets. I hide my face because I’m still incredibly fucking embarrassed that he can smell me get turned on.
Girl, be for fucking real, you literally jerked off in his arms—how can you be embarrassed that he can smell your arousal?
That was my choice, but having no control over him knowing every time I get the tiniest bit turned on? It makes me want to never show my face again.
Light floods through the weave of my blanket and I pop my head out. The duke turned on the main lights in his bedroom, and I assume he’s getting ready to start his day.
I pray he leaves quickly, to let me stew in my embarrassment alone.
My hopes are dashed when his figure looms in the doorway, blocking every bit of light beyond the glow emitted by my alien lava lamp.
“What did you do?” he seethes.
I pull my chin over the edge of the blanket, narrowing my brows.
“What are you talking about? I got up to pee, you yelled at me, I peed and came back to bed.”
His fist juts out, clenching the intricate robe I wore yesterday. He points to the beading on the shoulders.
“How did you manage to destroy the beading?” He’s actually mad about some stupid robe?
“Listen,” I say, clutching my hand over the blanket where my makeshift cornicello sits on my chest. “There’s this thing, Italians have it, it’s kind of like a good luck charm. Those beads look just like it…”
“You destroyed a four-hundred-cycle-old ceremonial garment for a good luck charm?” A vein pops on his forehead, as if he can’t believe what he’s hearing.
