Page 7 of Topping Off the Alien

“The royal family isn’t permitted to seek intimacy outside of sanctioned ritual. There are approved partners. A registry, of sorts. Anyone outside of it is forbidden to me.”

He blinks. “So you can only have sex with someone who’s approved?”

“Yes.”

“That’s… Okay. But the whole genuine desire thing you mentioned. How does that work if you can only pick from a list?”

“They try to match us with someone we like. It isn’t always successful. Royals are chronically undercharged. It’s intentional.”

Weston’s eyebrows draw together. “That’s insane. And cruel.”

“That’s the law.”

“Shit, man.” He shakes his head. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s usually manageable. The problem is that this mission has run far longer than expected. There was no opportunity for… renewal.”

He’s quiet a moment, and then he moves, crossing the tub toward me. I flinch before I can stop myself, my whole body drawing back against the rim. But there is nowhere to go between the stone at my spine and Weston closing in.

“Hey, it’s okay.” He reaches for me and turns me with a hand on my shoulder, guiding me into the space between his knees. My back meets his chest, skin against skin, and I let out a shuddering breath.

“You don’t have to do this.”

“I know.” His arms come around my middle, the current between us already climbing from a hum to a pulse. “But does it help?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

“Sure. No problem.”

The energy moves the way it did when he first took my hand, except now it runs the whole length of where our bodies meet. It settles into me, easing a tightness I’ve carried for months. The cold that has been sitting under my skin begins to recede, and I let my head fall back against his shoulder.

“What are these?” Weston’s fingers hover over the marks on my chest.

“The royal bloodline is born with them,” I say vaguely.

“They’re beautiful.”

I don’t answer that, because I don’t know how.

“So your crew’s out there calling you Your Highness,” he says after a moment. “You’re a king or something?”

“Not king. Prince.”

He huffs a laugh against my hair. “Taking a bath with a prince. Not exactly how I planned to spend my Halloween.”

“What did you plan?”

“Going home early and getting drunk. You’ve upgraded it considerably.” His hand, resting lightly against my stomach, drifts higher.

A rough sound leaves me, and he goes still behind me.

“That okay?”

“Yes.”

He does it again, his palm flattening against my chest and staying there a moment before moving. “How’s that feel?”

“Warm.” It’s true, and also not the whole truth. Each pass of his hand draws the depletion out of me and leaves heat pooling low instead.