Swept Off Her Feet

by Camille Anthony

  The feel of him against her body and under her hands, all mounded muscle and thrusting man, sparked her natural curiosity. She wanted to know everything about him…the textures of his skin, the depth of his emotions…the contrast of his hard, muscular planes against her soft, hairless silkiness.

  She swept her hands up and down the warm flesh of his arms and chest, her earlier agitation forgotten. While their mouths and tongues tangled, her fingers spread and flexed, measuring, testing and tweaking beaded male nipples. She had never felt anything remotely resembling this firestorm of passion he evoked in her. She opened her senses to the experience, wanting to indulge in everything he did to her.

  The stubborn streak embedded in her core would not allow the total escape she sought in his arms. Even now her inner voice screamed, telling her she should not allow the prince to think she had given in to his heavy-handed seduction. Regretfully, she struggled to pry her lips apart from his searing kisses. Placing a hand between their mouths, she quickly composed a salve for her pride.

  “Don’t think my reaction a tribute to your skill. You take advantage of the fact that I am in pava and not likely to resist even you. As horny as I am, any warm male body would illicit the same reactions.”

  While she spoke, he had been attempting to reclaim her mouth. Now, he paused, a fierce frown distorting his devilishly handsome face. A frown that gradually gave way to a knowing smile.

  Shaking his head at her, he pulled back just enough to brush his chest against the towel covering the aching points of her distended nipples.

  “I am not misinformed by your words, fem. I refuse to be upset by your insult. I know you but seek a way to deny your feelings for me,” he growled, moving his lower body in a way that rekindled her flaming passion.

  “The exchange of pheromones triggers Rb’qarmshi arousal. Without them, we could not take this first step in joining. The smell of your flowering has triggered my own scent, to which you are reacting.

  “The joining has begun. The taste of me makes you hungrier. You want my tongue in your mouth.”

  She gasped, outraged at his words. “I have never heard a more arrogant statement!”

  “I am not arrogant where you are concerned, fem. In fact, I am humbled. I have been ready for you since you danced in your cleaning room. My heart trembled as I smelled your spilled juices.” He nudged closer to her, rubbing himself against her like a big, cuddly teddy bear.

  She’d had a teddy bear. Hugging it had never caused her to react like she did now. Her breasts drew taut; her nipples stiffened and tented the towel, long and jutting. She shivered when he brushed the tips with his thumbs.

  “You fool only yourself with this talk of responding to anyone. My vow…once I seat your nipples, complete our mating, you will no longer make such statements.” His broad masculine hand rubbed intimately across the naked expanse of her hip. One long thick finger caressed the slightly raised mark of her royal birth.

  When had he gotten his hands beneath her towel?

  Shocked free of the dark allure of his sinfully arousing touch, she scrambled to regain control of her self-will. She railed at herself, aghast at his ability to bewitch her to the point where she lost all sense.

  What’s wrong with me? Where is my sense of decency? How does he make me forget the rules of behavior Mom Brewster painstakingly instilled? Why am I allowing a man I don’t even know to make a docile meal of me? After all, I was never tempted or driven to give in to my sexual desires during my last pava—never like this!

  But if he’s telling the truth, I felt no desire for human males because they gave off no pheromones. What do I feel for him, then? Is it the beginning of love or do I desire him only because we’ve begun this joining-thing?

  She shook her head. At the moment, none of that mattered.

  Regardless of how I feel, how much I want this man, I refuse to be my father’s puppet. Let him play his games of empire and dominance if he will. But until I can meet with father face-to-face and get some answers, this mating is so not going to happen.

  Her mind made up, she sought a way to bank her passion, which didn’t prove easy. While she had been thinking, his hands had been caressing her hips, running possessively up and down her flank. His lips had been nibbling her ear and pressing hot kisses into the crease of her neck. She had to find a way to deflect his attention and, at the same time, escape his clutches.

  She decided upon attack.

  “Hey, get your hand off my ass, buddy! I never gave you permission to handle me like that!” She made an abortive attempt at dislodging his wandering hands.

  “Your kisses and full participation led me to think otherwise, fem.” His husky voice rumbled next to her ear just before his tongue dipped and swirled into the sensitive opening. His hands resumed their devastating course.

  Shivering and gulping, she bit back a scream of frustration. She wrestled with the surging lust that roared through her, battling herself more than him.

  She so needed to end this swiftly…lest she give in.

  Sighing dramatically, she went boneless against him, letting her considerable weight rest fully on him. She waited for his gallantry to kick in, for him to shift his hold to support her sagging body. He didn’t disappoint her.

  The moment he moved to secure her, she twisted out of his grasp and skipped away, tightening the fastening of her towel. She couldn’t resist the victorious gesture of sticking her tongue out at him. The look in his eyes had her scurrying towards the door.

  “I have a better use for that tongue, fem.” Glendevtorvas flashed a marauder’s grin as he lunged after her and caught the trailing towel edge. He gave it a hard wrench.

  With a cry of dismay, she gripped her scant covering and refused to let it go. Holding on with grim determination, she pulled in the opposite direction. Her feet slid on the slick tiled floor and she fought for traction as she was dragged inexorably towards him.

  His arm, a band of iron, tightened about her waist. He held her in place by fisting his left hand in her long hair.

  “Do not make me hurt you.”

  “Let me go!” She twisted wildly, snarling.

  “Stop fighting me! I don’t intend to harm you.” Tightening his grip on her, he nonchalantly brushed aside the vicious kick she aimed at his genitals. “I only want to know what changed your mind, so I can change it back.”

  She didn’t deign to answer, too busy using her breath to fuel her struggle. Seeing she couldn’t break his grasp, she knew she certainly couldn’t win this battle of muscles. Yet she refused to quit trying.

  They wrestled. She pushed at him. He shifted his grip and held on. She turned within his grasp, used her body to slam him into the furniture.

  They struggled back and forth in the narrow space between dresser and bed. He controlled her easily, allowing only enough room for her to brush her body all along his. She vigorously kicked her legs and rocked her body, managing to knock over every lamp and table in the small bedroom. She had occasion to be thankful for the strong Velcro fastening of her towel, since she almost lost hold of it several times.

  She couldn’t believe how weak she felt in contrast to his easy strength. Always before, her denser molecular structure enabled her to best any opponent. She’d surprised Ron by tackling him and holding him down, the one time he’d attacked her after an especially bad session in bed. Against the prince, she could not hold her own. She shuddered, thinking what her fate would be if, instead of merely restraining her frantic struggles, he truly wished to hurt her.

  A surprised cry flew out of her mouth as she felt herself falling backward. He had flung her backward across the dark wood-grained surface of the dresser. His hard body came down over her, pinning her down. Her toweling rode up in the skirmish, and his bulging crotch pressed intimately into the cradle of her splayed thighs. Her pussy throbbed with need.

  Despite her body’s insistent urges, she was still not prepared to give in. She would not live her life at her father’s whim.
She would never allow him to hand her over as goods in a trade deal. “Let me go! I’m through playing.”

  “I am not. Not yet.”

  He groaned then placed a stinging string of kisses down her jaw. His hand slid up from her knee, his fingers teasing the pouty lips nestled between her thighs before dipping inside her to test her honeyed interior. His fingers re-emerged, dripping with her juices. He licked them clean then delved back inside. His lips nuzzled at her shoulders as his fingers probed deeply.

  Her hips arched up into his touch. A primal cry of need rang from her gasping mouth. He applied two more thick digits, stretching and playing her with his large fingers. The pleasure went off the scale, spinning her into a sudden climax. Her spine bowed, belly tightened, legs jack-knifed as she came, screaming. “Devtorvas!”

  “I am here, cherzda’va and I like the sound of my name screamed from your sweet mouth. Take more, grasp more pleasure…then scream my name again.”

  His hand mashed against her mound, his fingers pistoned in and out of her, driving her swiftly to another, higher peak.

  She tossed her head, desperately trying to throw off the escalating fireball. She feared the magnitude of her response. Her mind whirled under the powerful thrusting of his fingers, shocked to feel her body reaching for another flashpoint.

  She convulsed, almost sobbing from the intense overload of sensations flooding her. Her nipples stabbed at the sky, the diamond-hard bits abraded by the terry cloth towel. Every muscle in her body clenched then released as she bucked under the power of the enormous orgasm. The muscles in her neck gave way, dropping her head against the dresser.

  A cold wave of shame washed over her, icing her flesh. Humiliated that he had won her willing participation, she determined he should not realize just how much she had surrendered.

  Eyes tightly closed, refusing to look at him, she groped sightlessly for something—anything—she could use as a weapon. Her scrabbling fingers closed over Lori’s heavy silver hand mirror. Breathing an apology to her foster-sister, she brought it crashing down on his head.

  His eyes closed, his grip went slack and she quickly darted out from under him. He dizzily reeled away, hands clutching his head, cursing in both English and his native tongue. He recovered almost instantly from the blow and, in a move too fast for her to counter, intercepted her escape.

  “Fem, that hurt!”

  Two grinding orgasms had weakened her legs and left them shaking. She managed only a few steps before he easily recaptured her. He quickly relieved her of the shattered mirror, growling a string of imprecations under his breath. He caught her hands from behind and looped them across her chest, using her own arms to shackle her. With each of her frantic breaths, his muscled forearms rubbed the up-tilted, painfully erect tips of her breasts.

  “Ooohh!” The moan escaped her parted lips against her will.

  He grinned, baring his teeth in a mocking smile. He deliberately brushed her sensitized crests again and again. His cock, solid and huge, pressed threateningly against the swell of her buttocks.

  “You want to play rough?” His raspy whisper tickled her ear.

  It wasn’t laughter that shivered down her spine. She gasped, shaking her head no. He lifted her in his arms anyway.

  Relentless, he walked over to the bed. Brushing aside her half-hearted attempts to deter his will, he forced her down onto the mattress, throwing a muscled leg over her thighs. He secured her with his greater weight. His engorged penis nudged her belly and thigh, its distended length heavy on her sensitive flesh.

  Holding her gaze, he sent his hands roving over and under her terry-cloth cover, seeking the closure. His fingers snagged on the opening, and, undeterred by her defiant glare, ripped the towel away.

  Chapter Five

  “Chyya! Hoden bra’qu…? Malau ne macinee?”

  A man sporting an immense weapon stood in the open doorway, his head bent to clear the bedroom’s eight-foot ceiling. A frantic spate of words tripped from his well-shaped lips. The hilt of his wicked-looking sword familiarly clasped in one gigantic hand, the warrior appeared alert and ready for any contingency.

  Over the loud thundering of her heart, Nnora hadn’t heard the newcomer’s entry nor did she understand the questions he asked the prince, since he spoke them in his native language. When he first came in, she’d been grateful for the interruption. Now, having recalled the predicament she was in, she found herself wondering whether this new intruder would prove to be friend or foe, one of her father’s soldiers or one of the prince’s warriors.

  From his garb, he did not appear to be one of her father’s men. Since her father’s warriors tended to blend in with Earthlings as much as possible, they wore clothes that were the norm for the locale they guarded in. In other words, Levis and tee shirts, covered by trench coats to conceal their weapons.

  This man’s loose, belted tunic resembled those once worn by ancient Roman soldiers. The short skirt cut full to accommodate ease of fighting, ended well above his knees, exposed miles of hair-roughened legs and thighs.

  Why was he here? And what had he asked the prince, something along the line of, “Is it my turn yet?”

  She shuddered.

  The man’s unearthly neon-green gaze swept the dim corners of the room as if searching for an intruder. He turned, taking in every aspect of the disruption caused by her tussle with Devtorvas. She cringed—he’d probably heard everything that had occurred earlier, too.

  Abruptly, the big man stiffened. Nostrils quivering, he swung his massive head about and turned sharply toward her, zeroing in. He shuddered, eyelids drifting to half-mast as he inhaled deeply.

  Her face flamed as the man’s cock jerked erect, rising hard and fast to tent the loose skirt of his tunic.

  Oh, my god! She ogled the thick lengthy pole rearing against the thin material. If that’s his cock, the thing is astronomical in proportion! No one has dicks that big…do they?

  Frightened, she curled into a small ball of cowering flesh beneath the prince’s bulk.

  As her struggles against the prince had brought home to her, these homegrown Rb’qarmshi men were strong enough to force her against her will…to hurt her badly. The possibility stole her breath.

  Does the prince intend sharing me with this behemoth and the other soldiers I hear milling about in my living room? I know he said he wanted me for himself, but after he finishes with me…what then?

  “Stand down, GanR’dari. As you can see, there is no intruder here.”

  She sighed with relief when the prince shifted his body, gallantly shielding her nakedness from his man’s interested gaze. She also gave him silent thanks for speaking in English, clearly intended to alleviate her anxiety. He had to be aware of her fear as she had tucked herself under him so tightly her body practically melted into his.

  “You may leave. I have the situation…the princess…well in hand.” His gently mocking glance dared her to contradict his statement as his thumb insolently brushed her beaded nipple.

  Though she had to grit her teeth to do it, she remained silent. The pompous ass rewarded her with a softening of his predatory smile and another flick of his marauding thumb.

  “Contact the surgeon for the injection I ordered.” His autocratic voice sounded over her head. “If it is ready, have it brought to me. Here.”

  His massive cock boldly erect and swinging beneath his skirt with every step, the giant nodded his head curtly, and then eased from the room. The sound of raucous male laughter told her the other warriors had noticed their captain’s lost control. She glanced over to find Devtorvas smiling in what looked like rueful sympathy. Was his sympathy for her or for his man?

  “Excuse the intrusion of my warrior, Nnora, it was not intentional. Also, forgive GanR’dari’s…condition. My followers and I have been without a fem’s easing for far too long. We cannot prevent our bodies’ natural response to the sweet smell of pava-flowering. You need never fear they would harm you, or that I would ever allow you to
be harmed.”

  “It is you I fear, not them.” Her uneven breathing sounded loud in the quiet room. “And do not think I wi—will allow you to cart me off or rape me without a fight!”

  A tear slipped down her cheek. “Why won’t you let me speak with my father?” Hiccoughing, she fought to contain the sobs rising against her will.

  The prince caught the fallen tear on the tip of his tongue, delicately lapped at the others that followed. “Let there be no more talk of rape. When I take you—and I will—it will be with your full consent. With your eager participation. As for speaking with your father, I cannot…that is not possible right now. Perhaps later, when we are in route—”

  “I want to speak with him now! How much later will it be?”

  He sighed. “Nnora, when you make contact with your father, who contacts first?”

  “He does.”

  “Yes, because any attempt at communication is not easy this close to Earth transmissions. Always there is a danger the communication will be captured.

  “Intercepted?”

  “There is danger of interception—thank you for supplying the correct word—if I try to bring communications with your father’s colony now. It would be the worst course of action I could take. My ship and my people might come in danger and that I will not do. Not even for you.”

  Before she could ask another question, a knock sounded on the bedroom door and the same hulking warrior stuck his head round the portal. He was very careful not to look in her direction as a flow of liquid syllables cascaded from his mouth. He opened his hand, and she caught a fleeting glimpse of an ampoule glistening on his outstretched palm.

  With a relieved sounding comment, Devtorvas eased away from her, rose and went to the door.