Forbidden Alien Prince: Celestial Mates (The Alva)

by Miranda Martin

  "No," the other man concedes. "I am not the Prince."

  "I am glad you realize that. Perhaps you should consider this before you come and try to tell me how to run my own House. I would not want to question your loyalty. That could lead to your household's lucrative holdings being forfeit, you understand. But I only do what is in House Ti'ana's best interest, and if I believe relieving you of your holdings would be, well, I will. I would do so, out of duty." Rathorin says. "Do you understand?"

  There's a pregnant pause.

  "Of course, my Prince." A chair scrapes back and I move down the hall so I can hide behind a corner. "How foolish of me."

  The man takes his leave. I listen to the footsteps in the hall as he heads to the front door then make my way back to my own room. My stomach turns over, acid rising in my throat. How can I be with someone so arrogant and self-entitled? Someone with no regard for anyone else's health, safety, emotions, livelihood... the list just goes on.

  He has no sense of morality or an ounce of empathy. At least, not that I've seen, and I've been looking. Hard.

  It's not like I can avoid him, though. He asks me to eat with him, take walks with him, insists on taking me on tours of the wonders of House Ti'ana. He has also told me not to leave the House Mansion on my own. For my safety he insists.

  And yes, it grates. I'm not a child.

  I say nothing, trying not to rock the boat, feeling like I'm always walking on eggshells. After one such tour of one of the House Mansion's wings, he walks me back to my room. Which I've learned is right next to his. Wonderful.

  "Did you enjoy our day together?" he murmurs, sliding the back of one hand down my cheek.

  I resist the urge to step back. Truth is, he isn't bad company. He can hold a conversation and has a sharp mind. If only he didn't make my skin crawl.

  "Yes, thank you," I say, forcing a smile.

  I have to play the part for now. He smiles, his eyes skimming down to my lips. Oh no. I've been trying to avoid situations like this. Sure enough, he leans down, obviously intending to land on my lips. At the last moment, I turn my head so his lips meet my cheek instead. He pauses, then pulls back. It's clear he isn't happy about the rebuff.

  "I cannot wait forever, my princess," he says, trying to be playful.

  But it comes across as the warning I know he intends it to be.

  "I like... learning of you," I say, hoping what I mean translates. I smile, stepping back to grab a hold of the doorknob. "Goodnight," I murmur.

  His eyes narrow as I open the door and step back. I wonder for a moment if he will insist. He doesn't.

  "Goodnight," he says, giving a shallow bow and stepping back from the door.

  I close it, holding my breath as his footsteps fade down the hallway. I let it out again only when his door clicks shut. Shaking my head, I walk across the room to sit down at the small desk by the window, irritably gathering my dress under my butt as I lower myself onto the chair.

  What I wouldn't give for a pair of pants. But Rathorin provided none, and he has made his opinion of the jeans I wore here obvious. I doubt he'd like it if I asked for a pair of the pants that some of the men wear.

  Rubbing at my eyes, I try to focus on the book in front of me, trying to squeeze more vocabulary and sentence structure into my brain. It's what I've been doing to keep from going insane. I'm learning the language rapidly, testing it out everywhere I can. It gives me a modicum of independence as ridiculous as that sounds.

  I sigh as I give up for the moment and lean back, rubbing at my eyes. What am I going to do? I can't see myself being with Rathorin. Hell, if anyone I knew was dating someone like him, I'd tell them to run fast and hard in the opposite direction, no looking back. I'd much rather be alone than have to suffer through more forced time with him.

  Drevakin's face pops up in my mind's eye and immediately my clit tightens and throbs. The tight coil of desire winds up in my core. No, I can't think about him. I'm stuck here in this mess. It's stupid.

  I shove thoughts of the other prince aside, but I can’t keep him out, imagining again the taste of his lips on mine. One hand slides under my dress, finding my wetness by touch. Soaking my fingers with my silkiness. Slowly, I stroke my opening as I move up towards my hard nub.

  Desire overwhelms me. I want Drevakin. My body cries out for his touch. Spreading my delicate lips apart, I explore the folds with my fingers. Almost on accident I graze my clitoris.

  I bite my lip to avoid crying out, Rathorin is just next door.

  Working my way back, I make slow circles. Sliding two fingers into myself, I imagine it is Drevakin. The memory of him penetrating me, his fangs grazing my lips, the way he moved inside.

  How did he do what he did? I move my fingers, trying to replicate it. It had felt so damn good. My senses recall the musky, man scent of him and I groan softly.

  There! I find what he did, and a shudder runs through my entire body. Leaning back in the chair I spread my legs wide. Three fingers slide in and out of my pussy while I circle my clit with my thumb. It's close. His fingers were bigger, filling me more, but the sensations are close enough my imagination does the rest. What I wouldn't give to have his lips on my breasts.

  My thumb on my clit circles faster. I drive my fingers in deep as I can, simulating what I'm imagining.

  He'd lose control quickly. Like this. Yes, faster!

  My nipples are hard, pressing against the silky cloth of the strap that serves as a bra. Still pushing in and out with my hand between my legs, my thumb and forefinger grasp and pull on my nipples, stretching them then giving a slight twist, simulating his suckling.

  Pleasure grips me tightly. I bite my lower lip hard, unable to contain my moans of pleasure. Fingers drive in and out, my thumb teasing my clit just as my free hand teases my nipples. Tension builds. My core is so tight I'm going to explode. Driving three fingers to the hilt I circle my clit with my thumb then my orgasm grabs hold.

  My back arches and I bite my lip hard enough to taste a hint of blood. It rips through my body with an intensity I've never experienced before.

  My only thought is screaming his name as I come.

  Drevakin.

  Opening my eyes, I glance around the room. Keenly aware someone could walk in at any moment. I can't imagine being caught. If Rathorin were to catch me, there'd be no getting out of what he wants.

  Standing, I right my dress with quick motions, covering myself before anyone can catch me in a compromising position.

  That was stupid, but damn it was so good. What am I going to do?

  Drevakin can't have me. He doesn't want me. Smart, since he's from a Minor House and Rathorin is the Prince of a Major House. The political implications of that are greater than I realized.

  Knowing it doesn't lessen the sting of rejection, but this line of thought is unproductive. Drevakin is beside the point right now. I have to deal with the situation I'm stuck in. For all their fancy technology and testing, Celestial Mates may have made a mistake.

  One I'm now paying for. Shit.

  I let the ramifications of that flow through my mind. Can I go back to them? There's no way to contact Celestial Mates from here and Rathorin is always watching. I can’t make it out of the House without him finding out.

  I laugh, but there isn't any humor in it. This is a full on, shit storm of a disaster. And I don't know how to get out of it.

  Chapter Twelve

  Drevakin

  I reach House Ti'ana. I'm associating the House with this increasingly familiar frustration and rage brewing in my belly. I am determined to force real action from Rathorin. Spoiled, selfish excuse for a Prince he may be, but he is still the head of House Ti'ana and my grievance falls under his purview. He will address it.

  When I arrive in the courtyard, I do not bother speaking to a servant. Striding to the front door, I double up my fist and bang it on the brightly colored surface, resisting the urge to kick it down. It may yet come to that.

  The same servant who too
k so much joy in turning me away the first time scurries up and clears his throat. Now is not the time to stand in my way. I turn in slow motion and he swallows, his eyes wide as he twists his hands. He doesn't look so smug or disdainful now.

  "Prince Rathorin is not in," he squeaks out under my glare.

  "Oh, he is not, is he?" I say, not believing a word that comes out of this twit's mouth. "Perhaps I could see for myself. This is an important matter."

  I give him an insincere smile that is more just a baring of my fangs and he takes a step back. I turn to the door and use my fist again, the door rattling under the force.

  "He is not here!" the servant cries out again, almost hopping in his anxiety as he watches the door tremble under my blows.

  "Then it will not matter if I continue to knock. This won't harm his delicate ears since they are not here," I say, my voice dripping with sarcasm as I continue to pound.

  The servant attempts once again to stop me, but before I can brush him off, the door opens. We both turn to the now open doorway. It's not Rathorin.

  Clara looks out, her face serious as she takes in the scene.

  She's wearing a scarlet colored gown made of a thin fabric, the neckline dipping almost down to her navel. The skirt reaches her ankles but the slit on the side is high, well pass mid-thigh. Her hair is up in clips, baring the elegant line of her throat and her delicate collarbones. The thin straps holding up the gossamer cloth showcases her strong shoulders and arms, the feminine strength alluring. I didn't know how attracted I was to strength until I met Clara.

  Her skin looks soft and supple, almost glowing. I want to run my hands over all of it. Slip her out of that nothing scrap of fabric and do much more. I almost swallow my tongue as I look at her, reminded once again why I could not control myself the first time. I know, even now, that given the chance I would do the same again.

  "Drevakin? Why do you not come in?" Clara asks, her words careful, her accent improved from the last time I was here.

  I know I should not accept. She is like a tempting dream and I have already proven I am a weak man in her presence. And I know now that the servant was speaking the truth, Rathorin is not here. If he were, Clara would not be standing in front of me, he would make certain of it.

  My emotions and logic collide until I do not know if I am thinking clearly. I know one thing, this might be my only way inside and Rathorin will have to see me when he arrives. Though I know it is not just that which has me stepping inside after Clara. It is not even most of the reason.

  "Thank you," I murmur as I walk after her delicious figure into a cozy sitting room, my eyes skimming down her beautiful form.

  Her rear end is a work of art, the dress molding to the curves as she moves with easy grace. She gives me an unreadable look as she turns. I raise my eyes, caught in the act. She does not acknowledge my inappropriateness beyond raising an eyebrow.

  "Have a seat," she offers, gesturing to a high backed chair while she moves to sit on a delicate, light blue couch patterned in lush flowers.

  My eyes watch the slit in her dress widen as she lowers herself, baring the length of one long leg. I sit, my eyes still on that limb. She crosses her legs, baring the other. I look back up at her face and she knows she affects me, but she says nothing about it as she turns to the young maid.

  "Refreshments, please," she asks with a smile.

  The maid curtsies and leaves to do her bidding and Clara turns back.

  "Why are you here?" she asks bluntly. "Rathorin and you do not... you are not friends."

  That is quite an understatement and an undeniable observation.

  "Your Alvan is much improved," I comment, impressed by her quick progress.

  I'm also attempting to avoid her question. It may be stupid, but my failing to keep my people safe is not something I wish to bring up with Clara. It makes me feel like a failure, impotent. Something I would not have her know. Idiotic, even though she is not mine, I want her to admire me.

  "Thank you. I am studying," she says. She tilts her head to the side. "Why are you here?"

  She is undeterred and I know she will believe nothing but the truth.

  "They attacked my people. Again."

  My simmering anger flares, along with shame at being unable to protect those who look to me for their safety. Her face softens in sympathy, which is almost worse than any judgment she could level.

  "I am sorry," she whispers.

  "It is not your fault."

  She nods, sighing. "I am still sorry. It should not happen."

  "On that we can agree," I mutter.

  She opens her mouth to say something more, but then holds her tongue as a few maids come in to lay out a small array of refreshments.

  "Thank you. You may go," she tells them with another smile.

  They nod and scurry out, leaving us alone again.

  "Would you like something?”

  "No," I refuse, tired of this proper social pretending we are engaging in. "Why did you invite me in?"

  I want to hear that she wants me as much as I want her. I want her to say she has been dreaming of me as I have been dreaming of her. To tell me she wakes up wet just as I wake up hard, my fist wrapped around my steely cock. She leans back in the couch, her eyes wary.

  "It felt rude to leave you outside," she replies, though I can tell there is no conviction in the statement.

  I shake my head, rising to my feet. She tilts her face to maintain eye contact, tension clear in her body though she does not otherwise move. Her face remains still, but her hands clench into fists. She is not unaffected. Not by far.

  "You know it is unwise to have me here. In Rathorin's home. Alone."

  My voice drips with lust.

  The last word hangs between us, filled with implications. She licks her lips and I watch the movement, mesmerized.

  "Perhaps," she concedes, her voice raspy, making my cock twitch.

  Careful. This is a dangerous game we are playing.

  "Then why do it?" I demand, taking a step closer, my blood rushing in my ears, my heart beating faster.

  My anger is fast transforming into something altogether different, something much more dangerous. She swallows and I watch with fascination as her delicate throat moves.

  She averts her eyes. "I do not know."

  "Another lie," I mutter, coming to a halt with my boots in front of her, the delicate fabric of her dress skimming their scarred and well used surface. I study the contrast of the feminine, pretty cloth against the rugged, beaten boots. There is something very tantalizing about the picture. She looks up at me, her eyes defiant and frustrated.

  "Because I want you," she blurts out. "I don’t know why, but I am... pulled." She shakes her head, frowning and breaking eye contact, as if she cannot bare to look at me after making her confession. "Are you satisfied now?"

  Satisfied? "Not nearly," I growl.

  I don't know if I will be satisfied even with my length buried deep inside her. Her eyes meet mine again, wary, even as the heat in them is undeniable. The tension is thick between us, lust an undeniable presence in the room. This is irresponsible, wrong. It is beyond reckless to do any of the things I want to do.

  I know it would be a mistake.

  But the thought is distant, removed, a pale concern compared to the raw sensuality of the moment. A shadow compared to the temptation that is Clara.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Clara

  Drevakin’s massive form looms over where I sit.

  I hold his eyes with mine, watching as he reaches out to skim a finger across my shoulder. The narrow strap of my dress slides over at his touch.

  My breath comes faster as he deliberately does the same on the other side, his eyes not leaving mine, the contact searing. The top of my dress loosens, hanging loose over my breasts now. I watch his face and know his lust.

  His gaze lingers on my bared curves then he drops to his knees, making our faces level with each other. This isn't a good idea. I know it
isn't. Despite every attempt I've made to keep him out of my mind, I've thought about him every night since we first met. His gorgeous eyes, his unique taste, his clever fingers, his jacked body.

  His hard cock.

  I've dreamed about him and all the things I want to do with him, to him. Everything about him attracts me. Now I'm alone with him and he wants me as much as I want him. I can't hold back. My desire is overwhelming. My pulse pounds loudly in my ears as my nipples harden, scraping painfully against the cloth of my dress.

  This is happening. I will cross the line again.

  Leaning forward to meet his kiss, my fingers slide into his silky hair as I make a small sound, meeting his tongue with mine. He kisses me back voraciously, the floodgates well and truly opened.

  His fingers hook into the lax top of my gown and tug the fabric down to my waist. My skin prickles at the cold air against my naked skin. I have a moment to I remember that we're not in a private area. The room is open to the hall and the latticework windows to the area outside.

  It isn't enough to stop me. Lust combined with the unrelenting stress of the last few days leaves me reckless. Dangerously so.

  I slide my arms out of the thin straps one at a time, not moving my mouth from his. A trickle of wetness slides down his thighs as his hands find the warm weight of my breasts. His thumbs caress the hardened tips and that small touch sends a sharp tingle through me.

  Drevakin pushes me back against the cushions as he leaves my mouth. He kisses his way down my throat, his fangs scraping against my delicate skin. Shivering in reaction, I moan as he moves down farther to nibble at my collarbones.

  I would never have thought fangs were hot until I met him.

  He moves down farther to my bare breasts. My chest rises and falls, my breathing rapid. He licks the sensitive crease underneath each curve, tasting my skin and I clench my hands on his hard shoulders, fingernails digging into the supple leather covering them.

  He carefully scrapes his teeth across one stiffened peak. I gasp, shock and pleasure ripping through me as he takes it into his mouth, soothing it with his tongue. I turn my head to the side as he moves to my other breast. Taking it in both his hands, he repeats the delicate scrape and suck, his mouth closing over me and settling in for longer, until it’s so good it almost hurts.