Alien Warlord's Passion (Warlord Brides Index Book 2)

by Nancey Cummings

  “Your peace of mind? What do you think will happen if I don’t smell like you?”

  “The failing is mine. If another male speaks to you, I will grow jealous. You must smell like my female. Typically this is done with sex, but you have forbidden it for now. So we will share a bed. You will wear my tunics as you sleep, and you will not wash off my scent in the morning.”

  Rosemary frowned at her hands. Sleeping in his tunic sounded nice. Dangerous, actually, like a gateway activity to affection. She showered at night, so that wouldn’t be a problem. “Fine, but no touching. And you wear sleep pants.”

  Mene leaned back in his chair and nodded. “Michael is my son now.”

  “What, like you’re adopting him?”

  “He is part of my clan. He is mine.”

  “That’s fine, I guess.”

  “As a young Mahdfel, he will begin his warrior training.”

  “Wait, no. Michael is not a warrior, and he is not one of you.” Warrior training sounded dangerous, and Michael was just a kid. A human kid.

  “He is my son.”

  “Are we speaking the same language? He’s a kid. About this tall?” Rosemary gestured with a hand.

  Mene’s mouth fell open. “You do know we are not speaking the same language? The translators are very good, but your words are Terran.” He spoke slowly to avoid any misunderstanding.

  “Aliens,” she muttered and grabbed the bottle of brandy to pour herself another shot. “Yes, I know how the translators work, Meanie. It’s a figure of speech. You go on and on about how Terrans are weak with little bird bones, and now you want to, what, enroll him in Mahdfel martial arts?”

  “I understood every word you said, but I do not know why you are upset.” He pushed away from the table.

  “He’ll get hurt!” The problem seemed obvious to her. “You guys are made to fight. You’re like super soldiers. He’s just an ordinary human.”

  “I would not allow—”

  “Accidents happen! What if they’re playing, I don’t know, football, and he’s tackled too hard? Bones break. Kids aren’t exactly careful.” Her own many accidents and childhood spills came back to her. Rosemary always had a sprain, a bruise or stitches. The worst happened after she fell off her bicycle and caught herself on a chain link fence, slicing open a finger on the barbs at the top. Boys were worse. Everyone knew that.

  Mene set his large hands on her shoulders. He peered down at her, eyes unexpectedly soft. "Hear my words, Rosemary Rovelli. I claim you as my mate. I claim Michael as my son. No harm will come to him. I will sacrifice my life to protect him and you. Do you hear me?"

  She nodded. His words hit her with an unanticipated intensity. He would sacrifice him for Michael. For her. "I hear you."

  "You cannot protect him from every bump and bruise." Wow. The rapid change in direction from sweet protector to critic jarred her. Rosemary pulled back, but his iron grip kept her in place. "Hear these words also. He will train with wooden weapons. Wood, not steel. No sharp edges. He will be paired with students his size and skill level, as he is with his sports team."

  "But Mahdfel kids are so big! He's only human."

  Mene pressed his forehead to hers before speaking. "I am learning that there is no such thing as only human."

  "I know him. You let him throw axes—"

  "Dulled. Harmless."

  "But still an ax, Mene. And he'll keep pushing. He'll get a knife or even just a pointy stick and believe he's a master swordsman. He'll think he can take on a giant crab monster all on his own. He'll sneak out behind our backs or in the middle of the night, and we won't be there to save him." The chain of events from innocent activity to mortal peril was long, but Rosemary saw every link clearly. How could Mene not see it?

  "A warrior's training begins with defense. No one expects or wants a child to wield a sword. We want our sons to be smart enough to avoid unwinnable battles and survive."

  "But you are training them in the art of war."

  "Yes, with hand-to-hand techniques to build agility and coordination. With meditation to build patience and control."

  "Meditation?" That seemed unlikely. Nothing about the solid mass of muscles that was Mene suggested he sat in the lotus position and meditated to the birdsong or falling water. Then again, she never saw him lose his temper. Not once. Not even when she shouted or flung mud at him. He had proven himself the soul of patience, time and again.

  He placed a hand on his chest, over his heart, she assumed. "There is much in us that demands blood and battle. Giving over to these instincts makes a warrior reckless and dead."

  Rosemary swallowed. "I don't like the sound of that."

  "So we train our sons early to control these reckless impulses."

  When he said it like that, it didn't sound so scary. "But why Michael?"

  "He is my son." Mene's tone implied that was the obvious answer. The only answer. "He is clan. He will complete challenges and gain standing in the clan. He will decorate his skin with his accomplishments, and my heart will burst with pride."

  "But not really? No one's expecting him to grow up and fight Suhlik." Only seven now, nearly eight, in little more than a decade he'd be an adult. Just thinking about it made her dizzy.

  "He is clan now.”

  Rosemary dumped her cup in the sink and returned the brandy to the cabinet. She wasn’t his first choice. She could live with that. Her heart might be able to navigate the tricky waters of this marriage, but could Michael? He'd grow attached to Mene. Heck, he was already attached. She slumped against the counter.

  Sugar pops.

  "Mene," she whispered.

  "I do not like how you said my name then." He narrowed his blue eyes.

  "Michael won't understand if we fail. I’ve never had a relationship last longer than a few months. What if we break up? It’ll break his heart.”

  "Then we will not."

  "But what if we do?”

  "Then I will not let you leave."

  He gathered her to him, folding her into his embrace. Rosemary melted into the hard planes of his chest, comforted. Safe. His hands rubbed her back. His touch promised that they would figure it out.

  "Come. It is time."

  "For what?" she asked, but she knew. Time to bite and leave a mark.

  Step by step, he walked her back toward the sofa in the living room. He set her down before closing the blinds and curtains, shutting out the night. He adjusted the lighting until the room glowed with warm ambiance.

  "Will it hurt?"

  "It is a bite."

  So yes, then. "But why?"

  "Why must we, or why a bite?" He joined her on the sofa picking her up and placing her on his lap. Pleasantly buzzed from her afternoon drinking, Rosemary leaned her head on his shoulder. She breathed deep, enjoying his clean, soapy scent. He smelled so good.

  "Why a bite?" She snapped her teeth for effect.

  He chuckled and Rosemary's core grew warm at the sound. She liked laughing Mene so much better than stern, lecturing Mene. "The bite releases my hormones to prepare your body."

  "For a baby?" she asked, positive that she already knew the answer.

  "Other males will know you have a mate."

  It didn't sound fun. A bite. A big ol' bite, deep enough to leave permanent scarring, if the mark on Tani's shoulder was anything to go by.

  "Okay. Let's do this." She moved to straddle his lap. Much better. She then loosened the ties of the robe and pushed the material down enough to reveal her bare shoulder.

  A hungry look overcame him as he studied her skin. With a touch far gentler than she expected, his fingers skimmed down the column of her neck to her collarbone. "I will mark you here." He leaned down and placed a kiss on the indicated spot. "It will hurt."

  "So you said."

  "Normally, it is done as the female reaches climax, to mask the pain."

  "Oh." The idea of mixing pain with pleasure did not appeal to her, but it sounded a bit better than straight up being ma
uled and injected with saliva and hormones. Sex was a big step, though. Huge. Important. Too important a decision to make while slightly drunk on half a bottle of wine and brandy shots. "I don't know that I can do that."

  A warm hand rested on her hips. "Are you certain?"

  Her blush was hot and fierce. She knew she looked rather brazen, straddling his lap, with his hard cock just under her. It pressed up against her, and she was just shameless enough to rock her hips, reveling in the sensation. "No sex. Yeah."

  "I think I have a solution." His hips guided her hips as she rocked back and forth. He growled, either from the view or from the sensation. The rumble went right to her aching core. "I will use my hands," he said.

  "You've got my attention. Sell me on it, sugar plum."

  His free hand dug into her hair, pulling her face in. Her hair tumbled free from its confines, spilling around her. His kiss, hot and divine, stole all thought from her. His tongue demanded entrance, and she yielded. He invaded her, filling her senses, and Rosemary was helpless to resist. She didn't want to resist. She wanted more.

  More kisses.

  More touching.

  More skin.

  More everything.

  "I will do that until your lips are pleasantly swollen," he said, voice low and sensual.

  "Okay," she agreed. "Do that again."

  He did until she whimpered and squirmed. Her aching, needy pussy rubbed against his erection. Only a thin scrap of soaked cloth remained between her core and his cock.

  Mene unfastened the robe, and it slid to the floor. She thanked the stars she wore a matching set of bra and panties, just in case. Living together would remove all her feminine mysteries but for now, let Mene believe that she wore matching undies every day.

  Then again, he really didn't seem to notice. Eyes fixed on the swell of her cleavage, and his hands fumbled at her back to release the clasp. Growling in frustration, he yanked and ripped it open. He threw the now ruined bra to the floor.

  "That was a good bra," she said. Her arms folded over her chest, shielding her breasts.

  "A good bra would open."

  "A patient man wouldn't have ripped it."

  He chuffed. "Perhaps you are correct." He moved to push her arms aside.

  Rosemary shrank back. The room was too light. Her breasts were less than ideal, and her stomach was still soft from her pregnancy. "Wait."

  "Do not deny me the chance to worship my wife's perfect breasts."

  "They are not perfect." So far from perfect. "I don't want to be the only one undressed. Go on, strip." With her hands covering as much of her chest as possible, she wiggled one to indicate that he should take off his robe.

  He did not protest but removed the garment and tossed it to the floor.

  She had seen his bare chest before, from a distance. Up close, though... Rosemary had trouble forming a coherent thought other than "damn." His pecs were hard, and his shoulders strong, and every inch of his lilac skin was covered in intricate black tattoos.

  Except they weren't strictly black. They glowed silver and pale blue.

  "How are you doing that?" she asked.

  "They glow for you, for my mate, my prefed."

  Fudge her. How was she supposed to continue to be modest and shy about her less-than-stellar mom body when he said sweet things like that?

  His hands covered hers, cupping her breasts entirely. He gave a gentle squeeze, and Rosemary removed her hands. His thumbs brushed over her nipples, pebbling them. Sighing with appreciation, he plucked and strummed each dusky pink nipple. "Do not tell me these are not perfect when they fed your son. When they will feed our sons."

  Her stomach fluttered at his words. His mouth, hot and wet, enveloped one nipple, sucking and pulling. She leaned into him, her hips rising and falling as she rubbed against his rock hard cock. By the time he moved to the other nipple, she moaned. She needed to do something, to touch him, to make him as senseless as he made her.

  Her hand wrapped around the base of his horn and he pulled back, nipple popping out of his mouth. She paused, uncertain if her touch annoyed or pleased him.

  "Don't stop," he said, eyes hooded.

  Pleased, then. She stroked his horns, observing the shiver that ran up his spine. The glow of his tattoos intensified. He shuddered and nipped at her skin, his fangs scraping but not breaking the skin. Rosemary couldn't control her gasp or the way she ground down on his cock. Perhaps there was something to pleasure spiked with pain, after all.

  His licked her shoulder, mouthing where the mark would go, before pulling back. "I would touch you."

  "You're touching me now."

  "Here." His hand slid down her soft stomach and into her panties. He cupped her sex, fingers tugging on her curls. "Are you wet for me, mate?"

  She was. She really was.

  "I will stroke your pretty cunt until you're begging for my cock." His fingers parted her lower lips, finding her slick flesh. She bucked in his hand. His strong, sure fingers worked her clit until her own fingers dug into his shoulders. It was all she could do to hold on. "When you're begging for release," he said, two fingers plunging into her tight core, "then I will mark you."

  He worked his fingers, pressing the heel of his hand into her clit, until she thrashed. Her thighs quivered, and she groped at his horns, desperate to make him as desperate as he made her. She licked and sucked his nipples, tongue gliding over his glowing, flawless skin. Her fingers dug into his side, finding the scar tissue there, but not letting go. Never letting go.

  His mouth was at her throat, her breasts, anywhere but her shoulder. She grabbed his horn, squeezing at the base. His head snapped up, eyes feral with need.

  Her brute. All hers.

  She shoved his face to her shoulder. The heat of his mouth and the wet, provocation of his tongue, brought her to her peak. She climaxed with an intensity that seized her entire body and emptied her mind. His fangs drove deep, sharp and stinging, and it was only a minor chord to the symphony of rapture that poured through her body.

  "Rosemary," he said, voice reverent. He licked at the mark, soothing the sting.

  She slumped against him, soaking up his heat and his strength.

  Then he removed his fingers from her pussy. With a greedy grin, he licked his fingers clean.

  Her pussy clenched at the sight.

  Things just got complicated.

  Chapter Ten

  Mene

  The evening ended with them in the same bed. Rosemary kept to the edge of the mattress to keep as much distance between them as possible, but it was the same bed.

  By the morning, however, his arms were wrapped around his mate, and his hard cock dug into the soft flesh of her ass. She squirmed against him as she slept. The bed held the same fresh, floral scent as her. He never wanted the morning to come.

  "Rosemary," he murmured, mouth at her ear. She shivered but did not pull away. "My fearless, perfect mate."

  "You're a real sweet talker in the morning." Her ass pushed back against him, and he ground against her. Last night, he found his release just from her rubbing herself against him. Perhaps this morning, he could convince her to let him taste her. Or even have her taste him.

  His hands gripped her hips, and he pulled her back to him, relishing her softness against him. Moving his hands over the expanse of her belly, he rolled his mate onto her back. He prowled over her, arms caging her in. He laid a hot and heavy kiss in the hollow of her throat and moved down, forging a trail through the valley of her breasts, down to her stomach. He lavished attention to the pale stretch marks at her sides, the evidence that she had created life.

  His hands went under her ass, and he lifted her, face in the juncture of her thighs.

  She tensed. “What are you doing?”

  “Seducing my wife.”

  “With your face in my pussy?”

  “Yes.” He raised his face and looked up at her. “Is it working?”

  She chuckled and squirmed in place. Her laughter f
illed him with such joy. He wanted more of it.

  He hooked his fingers under the elastic of her panties and tugged. “I’m going to eat you for breakfast.”

  “Mene—” He heard the yearning in her voice. She believed she should push him away and say no, but she wanted to be convinced. Seduced.

  He accepted the challenge. “I think I will have you for breakfast every morning. Your taste on my tongue.” He dipped his head and pressed his nose to the fabric of her panties. It was damp. His tongue lapped at the fabric, and he moaned. Her taste blossomed on his tongue. He couldn’t wait to lap up every drop of her cream. “So good, Rosemary.”

  Her hips bucked up, demanding more.

  He raised his head. “Yes? In the mood for breakfast in bed?”

  She brushed the tips of his horn, sending a spike of desire down his spine. “You are literally charming the pants off me.”

  “So, yes?”

  “Yes!”

  Now that he had her on the hook, he wanted to see his fierce, perfect mate writhe with desire. He wanted her to demand his tongue on her cunt. He pulled the panties down an inch but paused. “Tell me what you want.”

  “Mene, you know.”

  He pressed his mouth back against the gusset of her panties. Her back arched and her thighs opened slightly wider. “Tell me.”

  “I want you to lick me.”

  “Here?” He licked her inner thigh.

  “Higher.”

  “Here?” He licked the opposite thigh.

  Rosemary arched her back in frustration. She grabbed him by a horn and placed his face directly where she wanted it. “My pussy! Lick my pussy!”

  His lips pressed against her soaked panties and the rumble of appreciation from him only intensified her need.

  He rolled the panties down, exposing her dark golden curls, already damp. Such a pretty cunt. He’d take his time and explore every silken inch of her inner folds. He’d discover the best way to lick her clit and suck. He’d determined how many fingers would make her moan and how to reach all the spots inside her. And he’d repeat it every morning until he was certain he had it right.