Swept Off Her Feet

by Camille Anthony

  Only twenty days into this second, yearlong pava, already she’d reached the level of constant arousal it had taken five months to arrive at during her first cycle. How was she to survive this constant agony of desire without losing her mind?

  “Thank goodness,” she murmured, reaching for the moisturizing lotion, “my biological father never stopped searching for me. If only there were more males like my father… Now, Dad is a major hunk!”

  With a fond smile, she recalled her shocked disbelief when a gorgeous, seven-and-a-half-foot tall man had knocked on her foster parents’ door, asking after the child they had taken in almost twenty years before.

  On him, her height and brilliantly-colored eyes looked damn good. The king, her father, looked entirely too young to have sired her, but there was no denying their relationship once he had shown her the birthmark he bore upon his left flank—the same blood red, three-pronged flower that graced her rounded thigh. The mark, passed down through the royal family, was the mark of a ruler, or a potential ruler. Rb’qarmshi custom, her father had said, allowed only one who bore it to rule.

  No matter how glad she had been to see him, her father had returned to Mars with his hopes of reuniting her with his new family unrealized. She’d refused to leave with him. After prolonged and escalating arguments, he had finally accepted her rejection, if not with good grace, then with diplomatic patience.

  On his second visit, the Chyya sweetened the pot by introducing her to her three half-blood siblings and to their mother, the woman he had married once his grieving period for his lost queen was done.

  At first, intimidated by the new queen-consort’s height—she stood almost eight feet tall—Nnora had been reluctant to approach her, but the queen had proven to be a sweetie. Once past Nnora’s initial wariness, Nnora and the queen had taken to each other, both thankful the other was willing to be friendly.

  For Nnora’s part, she was glad her stepmother was willing to share her knowledge of Rb’qarmshi biology. It was from Queen Rinalli that Nnora learned she had at least two more cycles—six Earth years—to endure before the eldest of the young Rb’qarmshi males would reach sexual maturity.

  The queen had informed a despairing Nnora of the current dearth of eligible males. She blamed the shortage on the stupidity of males in general—and the long, violent rebellion that had caused Nnora’s father to send her and her mother away to safety specifically. Raging over fifty years, the fraternal war had cost the colony greatly in the lives of its viable males. Their loss rendered the settlers ominously short of diverse genes. This lack had placed the future of the colony in grave jeopardy.

  “Heaven help me,” Nnora groaned. “Two more cycles! If each pava grows with this degree of intensity…”

  She frowned as she heard the self-pity in her words. “Damn! I hate a whiner. Get a grip, Nnora,” she fussed, addressing her image, her voice echoing loudly in the steamy bathroom. “What the hell do you have to cry about? You’re luckier than most.”

  She giggled, thinking of what Lori would say should she come in and hear her talking to herself. She didn’t care. She needed this pep talk, needed to reiterate her blessings.

  “I’ve survived a shuttle-wreck, survived losing my real family and history and survived being different. I have weathered being alone in a world of strangers, have overcome the rejection of my childhood peers and on top of all that, I managed to find the best foster family in the world. I have a mother and a father who truly love me, as well as a cherished sister who helped nurture me through those rocky first years.

  “Now I have an adventure to look forward to. In less than an hour, Father’s ship will be arriving to transport me to his kingdom on the planet Mars. What are a few pesky pava cycles compared to that?”

  I can hardly wait to see what outer space is really like! Does the Earth really look like a green and blue jewel, or is that just T.V. special effects? Wonder if I can talk the pilot into stopping off by the Moon for some pictures—I’d like to see the landing site where they planted the American flag.

  She playfully hummed the music from the Twilight Zone series as she finished applying a silky lotion to her long limbs. She switched over to the theme music of her favorite sci-fi show, Star Trek, giving full voice to her excitement.

  “Dum-de-duuum-de-dum-dum-de-duuum-de-duhm…de-duuuhm! Space… The final frontier,” she intoned solemnly, snatching up the hairbrush to serve as her microphone. “These are the voyages of the Starship Enterprise! Its five-year mission…to explore strange, new worlds…to seek out new life and new civilizations…to boldly go where no—me, me!—has gone before!”

  Thrilled to be embarking on her own voyage to the strange new world of her forgotten homeland, Nnora tried to imagine what was in store for her. At last, she would see the home her mother’s great-mother had established after being forcibly exiled from her home world.

  Honestly, she hated the fact that, try as she might, she could not bring herself to forgive her father. Her inability to let go of the resentment of her past challenged her personal view of her character. Having been on the receiving end of injustice and prejudice, she demanded fairness in all her personal dealings, holding herself to a high standard of behavior. She squirmed within at the knowledge that she was not living up to her own expectations.

  Worst, she knew her father did not deserve her censure, knew she should not blame him for acting in the only way open to him at the time. Yet, though she hated seeing the hurt look on his face every time she pulled back or eluded his embrace, she found herself unable to let go her anger and move beyond the hurts of the past.

  Mr. Spock would say it was illogical to blame her father for abandoning her, for leaving her to live as a human. Her father had been forced to abandon the search, and intellectually, she even understood his need to order the destruction of the wreckage to prevent any humans from gaining evidence of their existence. The resulting blast had destroyed the possibility of searching the site for further clues of her survival and possible whereabouts, thus hindering his subsequent attempts at finding her. She still found it hard to believe her father had never given up searching for her, had designated a group of people to do nothing but search for clues for her existence, day in and day out, reading newspapers, analyzing headlines, leaving no stone unturned in a relentless search to find a child…or a body.

  Emotionally, she still held the Chyya accountable for sending her and her mother away. His protective measures had backfired and she had ended up abandoned, deserted and alone, forced to adjust, to hide her alienness. In a harsh world, surrounded only by those unlike her, she had finally learned to view her unique differences—her height, her pava-driven sexuality, her glowing tangerine eyes—as ugly aberrations and genetic mutations.

  Deep down, she knew she would eventually return to her father’s kingdom to take her rightful place as his heir. The Brewsters had instilled a deep sense of duty in both their daughters and she knew her duty as well as the next woman. Much as they might wish her to stay with them, her foster family would never voice that plea. They expected her to do her duty and take up her role as a leader to her people.

  And she would…eventually. But this year, she fully intended returning to Earth in time for the fall school session. This trip, much as her father might wish he could order differently, was a fact-finding visit during which she hoped to learn more of her true culture and heritage.

  Sighing, she clicked off the whirring exhaust fan, gave a final swipe to the shower stall and finished tidying up the bathroom. Tossing her washcloth and hair towel over the appropriate rail and applying the Velcro fastening of her bath sheet under her arms, she flung open the bathroom door—

  And plowed into the massive chest of the most gorgeous male she had ever seen.

  Chapter Two

  His iridescent eyes declared him to be Rb’qarmshi. And Glennora was sure this glorious specimen before her—taller and more broadly formed than any Rb’qarmshi warrior she had ever seen—outclassed the
m all. He literally stole her breath away, left her gasping in instant awe and lust.

  The male towered over her, his head just clearing the eight-foot ceiling. Her neck arched as her head tilted, her disbelieving eyes tracking up and up his imposing body, over long firm legs, lingering on the junction of powerful thighs that nestled a masculine bulge graphically molded by constricting jeans. Her eyes skimmed across the broad chest straining the material of a tight black tee shirt, then roved over a face covered by darkly tanned skin that stretched without wrinkle over a pair of blade-sharp cheekbones. His lips were wide and square, the bottom one fuller than the top, and his eyelashes and brows were thick and heavy, dark as a moonless night.

  Stunned by the visual feast before her, she lifted her awed gaze again to the man’s golden-bronze eyes, finding them as alien as her own when not disguised by the hated contacts…and hotly returning her frank perusal with a heated male stare that reminded her she was covered only by a skimpy towel.

  She clutched the terry wrap against her chest with nervous fingers, accidentally scraping the rough material across her jutting nipples. In spite of her recent orgasm, need sparked along her nerve endings and she fought an involuntary shiver as prickling, tingling sensations rushed over her greedy flesh. In the strained stillness of the room, she became acutely aware of the man’s pointed attention, felt his stare zeroing in on her stiffening crests.

  She twitched her towel higher, her dry throat working to swallow the lump of lust threatening to choke her. Against her will, her gaze flicked down towards—then quickly away from—the stranger’s jeans-covered groin where the thickening evidence of his maleness proved the sexual interest she was feeling to be mutual.

  For an endless moment, she basked in a fantasy world where this huge male found her attractive, perhaps as attractive as she was finding him. Then her euphoria was shattered as she abruptly realized there was a mature male standing in her bedroom.

  An uninvited man, a very big man, who had invaded her private space…and she had no way of knowing if he was friend or foe.

  Backing away from the intruder, she assumed her haughty look—the one Lori called her “Royal Princess expression”. Her voice not quite steady, she asked, “How dare you violate my privacy and enter my chambers without permission?”

  Her question seemed to go right over the man’s head. She wasn’t even sure he had heard her. He was too busy growling something in his dark, husky voice, his eyelids slowly closing as his nostrils flared, chest rising on a deeply inhaled breath.

  Good Lord! Was he sniffing at her?

  He continued to speak and she found herself ensorcelled by the sheer loveliness of the sounds pouring from that beautiful mouth. Even his gruff, masculine tone could not detract from the splendor of the otherworldly cadence of—

  A momentary panic dumped ice water upon her enchantment with the liquid, musical language pouring from the stranger. My father’s edicts expressly forbid our language—Rb’qarmli—to be spoken anywhere but on the colony world, and his commands have the force of law, binding on all loyal Rb’qarmshi. Who is this stranger? Why does he flaunt his king’s command?

  Her mouth tightened as she shook off her unusual bemusement, her eyes angrily narrowing at his daring affront. “Who are you and how dare you insult and dishonor your Chyya by ignoring his laws?”

  The man’s mobile lips stretched into a slight smile while his eyes twinkled. His coloring was very like hers. Dark hair and softly glowing tangerine eyes proclaimed their distant blood connection. A flushed heat warmed her cheeks when she noted his gaze, riveted on her mouth. The heat moved lower, brushing her nipples and pussy with a tingling warmth when he licked his lips. His broad tongue smoothed over his full bottom lip then made the reverse journey on the curved highway of his top lip.

  She experienced an almost uncontrollable urge to feel those intriguing lips crushing her own…a burning desire to taste more than his damp lips. There were, literally, miles of skin she could explore and sample, given more time than she had available now.

  She gave her head a quick, thought-clearing shake and sternly reined in her lust. She strove to keep her outward stance towards him cold—frigid as Ron had often accused her of being, though she wagered this male could heat her quickly enough, if she gave him leave.

  “Forgive, Princess, the unavoidable intrusion of your privacy.” The male’s stiffly formal phrasing sounded as if he struggled with an unfamiliar language. “Assured be, I mean to Chyya Glenbrevchanka, no disrespect. Your father, Lady, is not my sovereign. His edicts are not my rule.” He frowned. “Do you speak no Rb’qarmli at all?”

  She shook her head. “Nope, I only understand fragments from before the crash, a baby’s vocabulary. I do remember the word for ‘mama’, though.”

  The stranger made a disapproving noise and his frown deepened, darkening his handsome face when he heard her nonchalant statement. “That is a…shame, yet, fixable. You will learn quickly. We have medicines that will assist. Until then, I continue to say words in this planet’s barbaric tongue. You would understand my words of greeting to you?”

  She was sure her expressive face informed her uninvited visitor how unhappy his choice of words made her. She didn’t much care for the way he disparaged her adoptive planet, not to mention his matter-of-fact assumption that she would be learning the language just to converse with him. Not living likely!

  “Well, don’t make me wait all day,” she snapped irritably. “If you have something to say, spit it out.”

  Even before his brows drew together in a look of reprimand, she modified her words, appalled at her rudeness. She’d been taught better. Just a few years ago, Mom Brewster would have served her a dose of manners applied to her backside with a long wooden spoon.

  “Forgive me. Yes, I would like to understand what you said to me.” It wasn’t the thought of her foster mother’s swift discipline that had her scrambling to apologize. Even as she heard her placating words, she marveled that a disapproving look from this man had her changing her attitude, striving to please him.

  Glendevtorvas narrowed his eyes as he assessed the reactions from his future consort. She was proving to be a feisty fem, but he liked that about her. It would not do for his queen to be a fem easily led or controlled. Hers would be a supreme voice of power on two worlds, second only to his, and it was imperative she become accustomed to wielding authority.

  It was easy for him to read Glennora’s guilt-fed irritation. He’d been informed of her negative reaction when her Chyya had first suggested she learn Rb’qarmli, how she had stubbornly refused, choosing instead, to continue nursing her resentment towards all things Rb’qarmshi. He also knew of her intense curiosity involving all things new and out-of-the-ordinary. Her father had informed him that Glennora instructed younglings and like her charges, had an insatiable hunger for information.

  Now he wondered if she wished she had been more receptive to her father’s wishes. Not speaking the language would make communicating with her future subjects a difficult feat. Luckily, her sister, Dohsan, whom he knew had visited with Glennora numerous times during the last two earth cycles, spoke English like a native and would be an able translator. She had volunteered to accompany Glennora to Rb’qarm, and he had permitted this since he wanted his bride to settle quickly into her new life.

  “Mere words cannot express your impact upon me. You are beautiful beyond my wildest dreams of womanhood, fully mature and ripe for mating. Even from across the room, the hot smell of your pava’s flowering, your recent pleasuring, is drawing me to you—”

  “What?”

  “The smell of your spilled juices is ripe upon the air. You danced alone in the cleaning cubicle for the last time. From this moment, I will be the one, now and always, to ease your need.”

  Chapter Three

  As the lyrical cadence of his accented English washed over Glennora in sensuous waves, her instincts for survival awoke, and she squinted in sudden suspicion.

  W
ho the hell was this guy? How could he know she had masturbated earlier? She wanted to sink into the floor from embarrassment, yet at the same time, knowing he knew of her actions and had expressed the desire to join her made her hotter and more aroused then she’d ever been in her life.

  She should send him on his way; refuse to tolerate his intrusive, sexually threatening presence a moment longer. She should demand he leave, yet…she couldn’t bring herself to do so. Just the low rumble of his voice engendered a sensual trembling response in the pit of her stomach.

  Even while she cursed her instant attraction for this luscious male eye-candy, cursed her ever rampant curiosity, she could not deny how desperately she wanted to know everything about this stranger. She found herself driven to find out what his uninvited male presence in her bedroom meant, to explore his reasons for being here, to find out if he were eligible! And if he were?

  His words did wonderful things for her ego; still she well remembered how Ron—the only man who had ever complimented her so effusively—had done so with a hidden agenda. What was this man’s agenda? After all, she was a royal princess, in line to rule an entire planet, harsh and un-giving as it was. What were his intentions?

  The insurrection that had caused the Chyya to send away his vulnerable infant daughter had ended in defeat of the opposition two years ago. Yet, she knew, there remained a small number of rebels at large that refused to accept her father’s rule and had recently threatened to attack him at his weakest point—his family. The Chyya, fearing for the safety of his children, insisted upon guarding all his children at all times. She’d balked at his attempt to surround her with bodyguards, certain she would be safe while away from Mars since she had never been bothered or approached before. She’d lost that one battle, and had since resigned herself to her new shadows—