But I can’t have a human mate—they’ve caused quite the logistic nightmare for the Sontafrul 6 government since we discovered they’re being brought here against their will. We’re in an unwinnable war against the Deenz aliens that brought them here in the first place. That hive-minded piece of shit doesn’t care how many of it’s puppet bodies they lose in battle, they’ll just make more.
All this for bubble dancing?The humans are shuffled around to all the high end clubs in the galaxy, stuffed into plastic security pods and forced to perform. The universe assumed the human species was just naturally more amorous and therefore suited for the task at hand. Only recently have we found out they’re in fact drugged to be the vision of sexuality that the rest of the universe believes them to be.
“Raf’, I’m sick of cocktails—let’s fool around,” Kir’ron lets the complaint fall from her pouty lips. She reaches her dainty hand out for my ass, but I grab her wrist and stop her in her tracks. Her eyes shoot up, startled.
“I’m not in the mood.” I release her wrist and she rubs the joint like it burns. Kir’ron frowns, narrowing her eyes at me.
Tri'ot cocks her head as if my curt reaction to her friend amuses her. Maybe she believes she can finally get me to herself.
“If you're not interested in playing, can I have one of your toys to go? You’ve always got such good taste,” she coos. “Maybe the one that Kir’ron likes, the one with the spinning bit!”
At any other time, before the human, I'd love to take out my frustrations on these two. I’ve always found it calming that I can please females. Maybe their pleasure makes me feel better about the mess that my face has become. I have to stop myself from reaching up to my scars. It’s like whenever I think of the sad state my visage has been left in, I can’t help but run my fingers along the textured skin.
But the thought of even touching them makes my stomach churn with distaste now. I probably wouldn’t even get hard. The bond only begs me for the tiny Earthling mate, asleep in her cyropod and stashed in my dressing room.
“Oh yeah, Duke Daddy, that one is fabulous!” Kir’ron recovers, letting her disappointment slide beneath the sultry mask I’m used to seeing. She even adds a giggle, a little flourish that might once have had the blood racing to my cock.
“If I give you the sex toy, do you promise to leave so I can get some sleep?” I ask exasperatedly. I pinch the bridge of my nose, sighing.
Sleep, I wish.
Instead of sleeping these past few days, I’ve sat with my nose pressed up against the window of the cryopod.
I hate her and what she’s done to me.
“You’re such a grump tonight, Raf’ere. What’s gotten into you?” Kir’ron complains, obviously not pleased with this new indifference I hold for her. Her voice is cloying, and it grates on my nerves even further.
“Work,” I tell her, pushing the hidden door to my closet open. I open it only enough to discourage them from following me.
Despite their cut throat attitudes towards climbing the social ladder, they still understand some of the royal protocol—they’re lucky enough to be in my chambers. They wouldn’t dare follow me into my private dressing room.
But as I edge into the closet, a scent that makes my hair stand on end hits me. The fear scent that fills my closet is intense and unique. It’s something I’ve never smelled before. Although the scent’s central note is acrid and desperate…there’s something sweet and musky beneath it. A nectar I would give anything to taste on my lips.
I sense a figure to my right, and my army training instinctively has me pushing a hand out to block something heavy swinging toward me.
The cool glass shaft of a dildo hits my palm, its weight familiar in my practiced hands even in the dim lighting. The toy in question is one I only use for my more experienced lovers. Its impressive size makes it the perfect impromptu weapon. I trail my eyes from the phallic weapon to the tiny hand that holds it.
Tight black curls, the hair stopping right below her chin in a blunt cut, frame her round face. The woman's skin, once pale and blue in her cryopod, is now olive and tanned. A wild red flush is spreading over her cheeks and chest. The deep brown eyes that stare at me are wide, her mouth agape as she tilts her chin up slowly to gaze at my face.
“F’tee,” I mutter, my body overwhelmed by her nearness. If I thought the mating bond between us was strong before, to breathe in my mate's scent, to be so close to touching her round body—my every cell burns for her.
“I, what?” the human, my mate, stutters. Her expression softens. “Bruno?”
“Who the f’tee is Bruno?” I ask bitterly. Jealousy boils inside me. Does she already belong to another?
I would kill him, wrench his heart from his ribcage, and spit on his corpse.
She is mine.
I grab the toy from her grip easily and place it on the nearby island. I take a deep breath, trying to calm all the emotions flooding my system. My brain feels as though it’s short-circuiting, and I’m no longer in control.
“You weren’t supposed to wake up,” I whisper. As much as I want to know more about her, I don’t want a mate—especially a human female.
“Why…did you think you killed me?” Her face blanches, and she slowly backs away.
She's frightened of me.
“What are you?” she mutters meekly as she slinks into the shadowy corner of my closet.
