Close Encounter of the Carnal Kind

by Delilah Devlin

  A throbbing started in his injured leg, interrupting his upward climb, and he eased his weight to his good leg then clamped one hand on the back of her head to encourage her to take more of him, deeper into her throat.

  Her jaw opened wider, and her teeth skimmed his length as he pushed his cock along her tongue until he butted the back of her throat. With his body wound tight as a coil, he closed his eyes and let his head fall backward, groaning as she dipped and bobbed faster—sliding down him, sucking hard on the upstroke. Christ, she had a talented mouth.

  Just as he was ready to let her sweep him along in a frenzied tide, the hand cupping his balls slid farther back, her fingers tracing the cleft of his buttocks.

  Before he could utter a protest, one finger eased inside his ass, tunneling then manipulating his prostate. With a shout of protest mixed with anguished release, his hips bucked, and his body exploded, come jetting inside the woman’s mouth.

  Etienne bit back a curse and pumped twice, weak thrusts now, his body trembling in the aftermath. He curved his fingers around the wooden doorframe and opened his eyes to glare down at the woman. “My ass was off limits.”

  Her lips pursed, and she reached for the belt cinching her small waist, pulling a small vial from beneath it.

  While he watched, furious, she spat his creamy come into the vial, and then held it aloft and tugged her ear. She murmured something unintelligible, and light glimmered around the small bottle before it flickered and blinked out. When the light disappeared, so did the vial.

  Etienne blinked. “What the hell?”

  The woman rose and tugged up his pants, but he shoved her hands away and finished the job, tucking his cock inside. All the while, his gaze never left her.

  As soon as the snap of his jeans closed, he grabbed her wrist and pulled her inside the cabin and into full light. “What the hell just happened?”

  Her gaze met his, her chin raised in defiance. “I sent your sperm ta my ship. We need ta know if you’re potent.”

  “Ship?” His mind skipped over that detail for the moment to return to the one blaring a warning in his mind. “Why the hell do you need to know I’m not shooting blanks?”

  “If you’re potent, Sire, I’m here ta take you home.”

  Sire? “My home is here. I’m not going anywhere.” He raked his hand through his hair, still rattled at seeing his come disappear into thin air. Perhaps Uncle Jacques hadn’t been drunk after all.

  “Sire, if you’re potent, you must return ta fulfill your destiny.”

  “And what might that be?” he asked, half afraid to hear the answer.

  Her wide-eyed gaze filled with dreamy fervor. “To assume the mantle of kingship and lead our forces in the war against the Gracktiles.”

  He snorted, wondering what rabbit hole he’d just fallen into. “Is that all?”

  She bit her bottom lip and shrugged. “Oh, and to beget the next generation of our ruling caste…”

  Etienne eyed her clothing. A uniform of some sort, no doubt. He noted her poreless skin, her perfect features. Aliens weren’t little and green. They were seductively beautiful. And now they had his come. A flash of some emotion, maybe excitement mixed with a little dread, filled him. He hoped he wasn’t sterile.

  Chapter Two

  ‡

  “You! Sit!” The man towering in front of her pointed to a sagging couch.

  Knowing now was not the time to press her point, Marika flounced down on it. Every king was entitled to a rant every now and then.

  “Not another damn word!” he spat at her, anger staining his regal features a magnificent red.

  Marika pressed her lips together, hugging herself with excitement. His Royal Highness, Emperor of the Sister Planets, High Commander of the Kathar Forces, was a fearsome sight to behold as he stomped across the wooden floor.

  Admittedly, his stomp was hampered by his limp, as he seemed to favor his left leg. But the fault only raised his stature in her eyes. A damaged warrior. A scarred but still powerful knight of the court. His wives would be very blessed. She sighed dreamily, a small ache of envy dampening her exhilaration.

  The savior of her species stalked just paces away—so near she could reach out and touch him with her fingertips. If she were foolish enough to try. At the moment, he looked angry enough to eat a crote.

  To think that she, fightership commander ordinaire, had held His Most Glorious Highness’s cock in her mouth! And any moment now, Carillon would transmit the message that would turn the tide in their war with the Gracktiles. The test would only confirm what she already knew.

  The man reeked of potency.

  From his broad, heavily muscled shoulders to the tensile strength of his trim abdomen, power radiated from his majestic form.

  And he was as handsome as a god! His dark hair, worn close-cropped like a warrior’s, shone blue-black under the light. His skin was burnished brown where it was bare but pale as starlight at his hips. His eyes were dark, his nose a sharp blade, his mouth…

  Marika shivered. When he’d grabbed her and blessed her lips with that odd, breath-stealing caress, she’d felt like she’d sprouted iridescent Glimyr-wings and floated away.

  Her body still hummed with the wicked way he’d pressed his body against hers. Stars! Her clothing felt too tight, and the room warm. But it was best not to linger over those memories for long. The joys to be found within his arms were not intended for the likes of her. Besides, he looked anything but amorous at the moment. Magnificently enraged was a more apt description—and she was the cause.

  She shrugged philosophically. He might be muttering obscenities and casting veiled insults her way now, but she understood his anger. He couldn’t grasp his importance, and he wasn’t in the mood at the moment to hear about it.

  She tugged her translator and switched from Cajun to Katharian. Better to give him a little privacy for his rant—besides, she tended to have this effect on men. Why should His Royal Highness be any different?

  For the moment, however, the sight of him was hers to savor. Her reward for his return would be enormous. Her wealth would eclipse many a landed family’s. Her name would be recorded in the tombs of future kings.

  She had done what trackers, seers, and mages had been unable to do—find the last reproducing male in the ruling line.

  Her destiny had begun so humbly, with a transport mission to deliver an aged mage to the Queen’s palace. A mission she’d resented because it was far beneath her fighter’s status.

  The old man had muttered to himself throughout the flight about something he’d misplaced. Marika hadn’t paid him any mind until he’d mentioned the Gracktiles and their plot to render every heir impotent, knowing that while technology could reproduce replicas of the ruling class, their beliefs would forever deny them its use. The Gracktiles had succeeded with their plot, poisoning each of the male heirs, destroying their seed—and the future of the Empire. The Gracktiles had only to wait until the last of the ruling class died out to recapture the worlds they had once ruled over themselves, before the Revolution, which had cast them off the Sister planets.

  Once she’d grasped the significance of the old man’s mutterings, she’d pressed him for details, recording every clue that surfaced from his age-diminished mind. Working with her science officer, Carillon, who himself was sadly aging, she had pieced together his journey, which had spirited away the Queen’s newborn son to the Mother Planet, to hide him until the danger had passed.

  With the old mage’s influence in the Queen’s court, she’d managed to depart, her ship fully provisioned and without having to file for approval. For all she knew, her command believed she’d deserted her post.

  But other than the one embarrassing misstep with Jacques, her treasure hunt had succeeded beyond her dreams. The embodiment of all that was precious to her worlds stomped just feet away.

  She should have known Jacques was not the king. No matter he had swum his little boat right past the very cabin where the foster mother sa
id the king would be upon the mage’s return. Jacques had screamed like a woman when she’d transported him to her ship, had fought off her attempts to convince him to give her his sperm voluntarily. Not until Carillon had strapped him to a gurney, and she’d used the little trick the mage had told her to ignite his passion, had he rendered her his sperm. But she’d stuck her finger up a commoner’s ass for naught.

  “Rika? Are you sitting down?” a querulous voice broke into her reverie.

  “Yes, Carillon.” She closed her eyes, wishing with all her might the news would be what she hoped.

  “My girl, you’ve done it! It’s him! And he’s potent!” His voice held such glee she could almost see him dancing a jig as he read the results from the ship’s bio-analyzer.

  Tears filled her eyes, and she blinked to rid herself of them. She was a fightership pilot for stars sake!

  She realized the stomping had halted, and her King was glaring at her again. She tugged her ear and switched back to Cajun.

  “You haven’t heard a word I said.”

  “Forgive me, Sire. Dat was my Science Tech. He was deliverin’ the results.”

  “Stop it!”

  “You must let me speak, you don’ understand da importance of my mission.”

  “Stop with the Cajun-speak! Why are you using it?”

  “Oh,” Marika shrugged, caught off guard by his comment. “I thought you’d be more comfortable hearin’ it.”

  “Get rid of it, now.”

  “Yes, Sire.” Whew! The man hadn’t found out he was royalty and already he was slinging commands. She tugged her ear. “Replace Cajun wit’ middle continent dialect.” She schooled her face to hide her irritation. “Is this better?”

  “Now get out,” he said, his body held rigid.

  “I can’t do that.”

  “Get out, or I’ll throw you out.”

  Marika rose from the sagging sofa and faced him. “Sire, you aren’t safe here any longer. I’m only the first to find you. Others may follow. You and the family that raised you will be at risk if you don’t come with me now.”

  His chest rose and fell rapidly, his fists clenched by his sides. “I’m not who you think I am. I’m Etienne Lambert. I was born and raised here.”

  “Raised, yes. But you were born far from here.” Marika added softly, “Call your mother. She will tell you.” She walked to the door. “I’ll wait outside.”

  Beneath the shelter of the crude awning, Marika listened to the faint rumblings inside as Etienne spoke with the woman who had raised him.

  While her heart went out to the man for the shocking news she had delivered, she couldn’t still the impatience tying her stomach in knots. She had to quickly get him to the ship.

  The door opened behind her, and she turned. Light spilled from the interior, revealing his strained features. His mouth was a straight, stern line. “So, you were telling me the truth.” He stared out over the dark water. “I don’t give a damn. I’m not going.”

  Marika made a decision. One she knew could have severe repercussions in the coming weeks. She walked to him and gazed into his impassive face. She reached up and ran her hands across his chest. He had seemed to soften toward her the last time she touched him. Perhaps it would work again.

  His eyebrows lowered. “Look, I know this is important to you, cher—”

  She shook her head but didn’t reply. Instead she stepped closer and encircled him, sliding her arms around his back. “Would you give me another kiss, before I leave?”

  Etienne’s expression didn’t change—but he growled deep in his throat as his mouth descended toward hers.

  At the last possible moment, Marika turned to give him her cheek and tugged her communicator. “Carillon, transport now!”

  *

  Hours later, His Highness, Etienne Lambert, was still in a royal snit.

  Marika had given him a wide berth, leaving it to Carillon to acclimate the king to his new situation. She’d locked herself away on the ship’s bridge, checking and rechecking their coordinates—any excuse not to think about what had transpired between them at his humble cottage.

  For weeks she’d been so focused on the task of finding the king, that when she’d finally been confronted with him, she’d acted like a Glimyr-monkey. He’d thought her a Pleasure-Giver! When she’d returned to the ship, she’d immediately accessed the on-board computer to verify the translation of that hideous word he’d used, only to be mortified when its true meaning was confirmed.

  And how had he come to that conclusion? Had it been her immediate insistence that he surrender his seed? Or had she betrayed the instant attraction she’d felt for him?

  Somehow, bedazzled and nearly tongue-tied with star-struck awe, she’d managed to make him believe she’d been after sex. Mutual, consensual, sweaty sex. Something she was denied as a fighter due to the direct correlation between sexual activity and the loss of reflex and focus under the dizzying influence of an over-stimulated libido. Ridiculous!

  Already she suffered the aftereffects. Her mind was consumed with that…kiss. She replayed it over and over—how his lips had felt and tasted as he slid them over hers, how his body had rocked against the cradle of her thighs, and how she’d flowered beneath his attentions.

  Only she wasn’t feeling so fragrant now. He’d thought her a whore!

  A sharp rap sounded on the door panel. “Open the door, Marika.”

  She froze, and her heart skipped then galloped inside her chest. Oh why couldn’t he just accept his destiny and leave her to her own?

  She stood and waved her hand in front of the lock. The door slid silently open.

  Immediately, he filled the narrow doorway with his broad shoulders. She wished she hadn’t noticed that.

  His dark gaze bored into hers. “Your science tech has told me everything I need to know.”

  Marika nodded. “Good. That’s good.” She cleared her throat. “Then you understand now why I had to—”

  “And since I’m not getting off this ship anytime soon,” he said, stepping nearer, “it’s time to get to work on the primary mandate of my rule.” He stepped deeper into the bridge, crowding her back against her chair.

  Swallowing the panic his proximity aroused in her, she squeaked, “Which mandate would that be?” She didn’t like the feral smile that stretched his lips—not one bit. Nor the gaze that seemed to strip her of her clothes in a single glance.

  He leaned closer, his chest brushing hers. “Why, the begetting of heirs,” he said, his voice a deep, growling rumble.

  “Oh…Oh!” Feeling a little giddy and very out of her depth, she said, “Well, we do have receptacles aboard the ship for that purpose. But gentlewomen really do prefer going about the…begetting…the old-fashioned way. It builds bonds of affection.” I’m babbling! He’s going to note the similarity between a Glimyr-monkey and me when he finally sees one!

  “Do you really think we have time to wait to reach your planets?” His head lowered, and his mouth hovered over hers.

  Drugged by the musky scent of his skin and the heat that rolled off his body in waves, she managed a breathy, “No?” She shook her head. What was he saying? “Yes, you should wait.”

  “I’m afraid I won’t be sufficiently stimulated squirting into another vial.”

  “Squirting?” Her cheeks burned as she realized his meaning. “Do you require…assistance? Carillon is knowledgeable…”

  His smile turned into a smirk, and he tsked. “As charming as he is, Carillon’s assistance would have an adverse effect on my success.” He nudged a leg between hers. “I need you. Beneath me.” He pressed his lips to hers, a kiss so brief she moaned. “Now.”

  He’d framed his desires in a command. How could she refuse? His mouth slid along her jaw. “For the sake of our species…I suppose…” she said, her breaths coming in pants.

  “Not for our species…for me. I desire it.” He raised his head and glanced around the cramped confines of her cockpit. “If you’re otherwise
engaged, perhaps you could grip your controls while I carry out my destiny.”

  The picture he drew was one she’d rather never have seen. For the rest of her life, she’d view a captain’s chair in quite a different light. Stars! How was she ever to regain her focus? “The ship’s computer has the new coordinates. Here would be a little awkward, I think,” she said her voice thin. How was she expected to breathe when every inhalation rubbed her nipples against his chest?

  “Then in the science lab?” He raised a wicked brow. “Carillon could take notes, estimate trajectory, count the minutes between regenerations—”

  He intended multiple regenerations? “Not the lab,” she said, feeling dizzy from lack of air. When had the bridge become so hot?

  “Then where?” he asked, his voice silky and so deep her body wept.

  “My quarters—” He pulled away so quickly she grabbed for the chair to steady herself.

  “After you,” he said, with a sweep of his brawny arm toward the door.

  Shaken, her tummy trembled like a thousand little argnats beat their wings inside her. She slid past him into the corridor, achingly aware of him following closely on her heels. Her pace picked up—she needed space, a moment to review what had just happened and regroup her failing intellect. Think! “You know, this really isn’t a very good idea. Few children are born out of wedlock—”

  “I’m not asking you to marry me—only to receive my seed. But who am I to buck a tradition? When we arrive at whatever the name of your planet is—”

  “Euphrazha?”

  “—we’ll take care of the formalities.”

  He couldn’t mean to marry her! “But you already have a stable of wives available to provide you service—hand-picked by the Queen Regent herself.”