KRAL: A sci-fi alien romance (Mail-Order Brides of Crakair Book 4)

by Ava Ross

  His gaze drilled her hand still held high, and her gaze followed his. She curled her fingers inward, and her arm dropped. “Oh. Yeah.” More pinkness flooded her cheeks. He found the coloring gesture highly appealing. Could she do it at will? It appeared unlikely. “The hand thing. It means…”

  “You would like a kiss?”

  Her gaze went to his mouth, and she slid her tongue along her bottom lip.

  His cock shot to attention.

  “Now that you mention it…” she said.

  Advancing on her, he cupped her face, his thumbs stroking the fine skin along her jawline. Her silky hair teased his fingers, and he ached to bury his face in it while burying himself inside her. But that would go against the “no fucking until after marriage” rule. How could he bear to wait that long?

  She tipped her head back, and her lips parted. He gave her a kiss that hinted at the fire raging inside him. She gasped and opened her mouth, inviting his tongue to stroke hers. Pressing herself against him, she cupped his shoulders and deepened their kiss.

  He trailed kisses to where her neck met her shoulder and bit down gently on the tender flesh. Unable to resist, he stroked her breasts with his naanans, focusing on the hardened pebbles in the center. He wished he could pull off her clothing and touch them again.

  Taste them.

  When he focused the fluttering tip of one naanan on her breast pebble, she moaned and pushed her hips against his. Her head tipped back, and his name burst from her lips.

  Fuck. This courtship was going to be pure torture.

  They pulled apart.

  She traced her fingers across her lips, and he wanted to push them aside and replace them with his mouth again.

  The courtship. He must focus on the courtship, not on his overwhelming urge to spin her around, rip through her clothing, and drive himself inside her.

  Patience.

  With a growl of frustration, he shut the door to the bathroom and opened the final door centered at the end of the hall. He expected to see Al’kieern crew quarters that would consist of hammock-like bunks suspended from the ceiling and pits along the sides of the room where the winged Al’kieern could slither down into sandy soil carried from Mara. The Al’kieern considered the activity restorative.

  Instead, he found what appeared to be the standard Commander’s quarters made up of a bed, a few tables, and a desk. The ship must be crewed by droids, like the one Vork had loaned him to come after Mila, the one the Al’kieern had destroyed.

  Mila strolled into the room ahead of him. “Huh.” She ran her hand along the wooden headboard. “If I didn’t know better, I’d believe I’d been dropped into a romance cliché.” Turning, she smiled and leaned her shoulder against the wall by the big bed.

  “In what way?” He was intrigued by the notion of romance but could not see how this could be a cliché.

  “There’s only one bed. That’s a common set-up in romance novels.”

  “Novels of romance?” He felt a fool for repeating her words, but he still did not understand.

  “I love them. Read them all the time back on Earth.” She sighed. “Do you think the Crakairians threw out my things on the star cruiser? I brought a digital reader loaded with enough books to last a lifetime.”

  “I assume your possessions will be waiting for you on Crakair when we arrive.”

  “Oh, good.”

  “Tell me more of this romance cliché.”

  “It’s a common trope. The story starts simple then gets steamy.”

  “Steam?”

  “Yeah, hot. Since we’re living the cliché, you and I will need to lie on the bed together, because there isn’t anywhere else onboard for us to sleep.”

  “I could sleep in the—”

  She strode to the closet doors and flung them open. “Bingo.”

  “Bingo?” Who was Bingo?

  “Just like I thought.” Though her movements were purposeful, she didn’t sound angry. If he didn’t know better, he’d think she was amused. “Empty closets. There’s nothing for us to wear. But in our romance cliché, you will valiantly agree to sleep on top of the covers and wear your boxers.”

  “What are boxers?”

  “Panties for guys.”

  His naanans flared. He did not have boxers with him. Was this a problem? Perhaps she meant she wanted to box-er. A box-er was someone who battled in a ring. That could not be right. Panties, she had said… Ah. Yes. Small garments Earthling females wear beneath their clothing. She had mentioned them earlier.

  Like most Crakairians, he wore nothing underneath his pants and furs. He had not anticipated courting Mila and had not thought to bring a garlong—a loincloth-like garment Crakairian males wore when they courted their future mates. He could improvise, however. “Never fear. I will be quite willing to—”

  “So, we’ll lie in bed for a long time, each of us unable to sleep. We’ll listen to the other breathing. I’ll try not to touch you. You’ll do the same.”

  He stepped toward her, frowning. “Are you sure about that? Because I am happy to touch you. Lick you.”

  She fanned her face. “Eventually, we’ll fall into a restless sleep.”

  Actually, this did not sound like fun. Boxing, lying while listening to breathing, followed by a night of restless sleep. Earthlings sought out stories like this for pleasure?

  “Somehow, during the night,” she said. “I’ll seek out your mostly naked body, because—”

  “You will?” Perhaps this romance cliché could be a good thing, after all.

  She shook her finger at him as if chastising a child. “I’ll seek you out because I’m cold.”

  “I see.” He waved his hand to the circular half globe mounted on the ceiling. “We can adjust the climate controls, and you will not be cold.”

  “That’s not the point, and it doesn’t fit the cliché.”

  “I see.” He did not. He did wonder how he could facilitate the she is cold so she seeks out his nearly naked body component of this cliché, however.

  “We’ll wake up with me snuggling on top of you. You’ll have a hard-on, and it’ll be pressing against my thigh.”

  “Would you like me to press my hardness against your thigh?” Earthling females were more complex than he had assumed. Romance clichés and pressing hard cocks against thighs must be part of Earth courtship rituals. He would do this if she wished.

  “Pressing it against my thigh isn’t the point.”

  He frowned. Then what was the point? He felt as if he floundered in a pool of shartins, lulled by the warm waters and unaware one was about to glide over and bite off his leg.

  While the idea of pressing hardness against her thigh had merit, the hint of a tease in her voice told him he was missing something in the conversation. But he rushed to reassure her. “I must mention this one thing. If we are together in a bed and you lie naked on top of me, I cannot promise I will not have hardness…on my body. I also cannot promise not to press it against you.” Frankly, he’d have rip-roaring steel between his legs if he woke up and she lay sprawled on top of him. What else could be expected of a matebonded male? “And you already know I will be spreading your thighs and giving you the pleasure you deserve.”

  “Perfect. That’s in the romance cliché, too.”

  “Then we shall continue this romance cliché.” One day, he would read one of her novels of romance. They sounded intriguing.

  “Guys and morning hard-ons seems to be a thing,” she said.

  “If you would like, I can sleep in the Commander’s chair,” he said. “Then you will avoid me pressing my hardness against your thigh until you tell me you are ready.” He took comfort in the fact that he had learned something about cock hardness and Earth courtship rituals.

  “You don’t have to sleep anywhere else. We can share the bed.” Her eyes sparkled. “I promise I’ll behave myself.”

  What if he was not capable of behaving? His matebond blood surged through his veins, eager to drive his every action
. Add to that the blood of his raider Vikir ancestors. This talk about cock hardness and pressing it against her only made him more eager to tumble her onto the bed and strip off her clothing.

  “I will not fuck you until after our courtship is completed,” he said.

  She strode close to him, and the scent of her arousal hit him in the forehead like the kick of a wildarn’s hoof. “Tell me the steps of the courtship and let’s see how close we are to the good stuff.”

  They were very close. The warmth of her body made him eager to get there this seclar. “A zither bath.”

  “You joined me in my bath when we met.”

  “There were no zithers.”

  “How vital are the zithers?” she asked, her head tilting. Her tongue dipped out to touch her lower lip, and he stifled his groan.

  “We can dispense with the zithers. Many times, there are none available and the Crakairian male must make do with other…species.”

  Her fingertip traced down his throat to the top of his furs. “Then let’s call your zither bath a success.”

  “Perhaps.”

  “What comes next?”

  “I must emulse your feet but we have no boodler.”

  “How about a foot massage instead? Fingers work for me.”

  Mesmerized by her every movement, he found himself nodding. “I will do this. Massage your feet.”

  “After the emulsion comes…”

  “You.” It was all he could do to hold on to his mind. Mila had swept into his life and sent him spinning.

  “Oh, orgasms.”

  He gulped, confused. But he soon realized she was teasing. She had fallen apart in his arms. He knew she had found pleasure. “You were fully satisfied,” he growled.

  “I’m not sure I’ll ever be fully satisfied, but you’re right, we can tick off that part of the Vikir part of your courtship.” She frowned. “What else?”

  “I must make a sacrifice in your honor.”

  “Done. Back on the space station, you were prepared to die to keep me safe.”

  He tugged her into his arms. “I would do it all over again.”

  “Kral,” she whispered against his chest. “We were so close to losing each other. I don’t want anything like that to happen again.”

  There may be no way of preventing it, but he would try.

  “Is there anything else you need to do to complete the courtship?” she asked.

  “I must prepare you a traditional meal while wearing a garlong. Which I do not have with me.”

  “But you said you love to improvise.”

  “I will dream up something.”

  “If it involves skimpy clothing, I can’t wait.” She winked.

  “And I will sleep in the bed with you tonight, to fulfill that part of the Earth romance cliché courtship.”

  She blinked a minar before her face cleared. “Sure. I’m not complaining. We can skip the bundling board.”

  He frowned.

  “It’s an Earth courtship tradition from hundreds of years ago. A dating couple would get into bed together, but since they weren’t supposed to have sex, they put a rolled blanket or even a board between them to keep them from touching.”

  “But then the woman cannot have an orgasm.”

  She smiled. “Exactly. Some people still use the practice today, like the Amish.”

  “What is the purpose of this board of bundling other than keeping the couple apart?”

  “I think it was common because it was so cold when they were dating. This way, they could stay warm underneath the covers without touching. They’d talk and get to know each other.”

  “We will not bundle,” he said firmly.

  “Because we’re in a romance cliché!” She wiggled her eyebrows, and he wished he could interpret what that meant. “Are you planning anything other than sleep tonight?”

  He couldn’t. Not until the courtship was finished. But he liked the idea of incorporating Earth courtship traditions into Vikirian.

  He strode to the small room’s sole closet and peered inside. Empty as she had said. Turning to Mila, he watched her face. “You accept that we will not wear clothing in the bed?”

  She nodded with a smile. “Yup. Sure. After all, no fucking, right?”

  “I am to lie on top of the blanket while you lie beneath.”

  “That’s the romance cliché plan but we can…” She smirked. “Improvise.”

  He advanced on her, and she stood her ground. “Then prepare yourself for the final phase of the courtship. Soon, I will prepare your meal while wearing a substitution for the garlong.”

  “And I’ll happily eat the meal.” She rubbed her hands together. “Then comes the best part.”

  “The proposal. You will say yes.” His words were only half-teasing.

  “Cocky, but I’m going to roll with it, because I’m sure I will.”

  “You do not sound completely confident.”

  “Maybe I’ll need more examples of what you can deliver.”

  He nudged her against the wall and trailed kisses along her jawline. She shivered in his arms and released a moan. “I am happy to show you.” He bit down on her shoulder.

  “Kral,” she said, gripping his arms tightly. She pulled him closer, flush against her. “Don’t keep me waiting long.”

  “I will not. Because soon, we will begin the fucking.”

  Fifteen

  Mila

  He backed away from her and started for the door.

  “That’s it?” she said, deepening her voice to make it sound like his. “I will propose, my mate, and you will say yes. I will wear the garlong and prepare the meal and you will eat and enjoy it. And then we will fuck.”

  “That is correct.” He bared his fangs.

  Jeez. She fanned her face. Panty-melting smile right there.

  Her knees shook, and it wasn’t solely because she’d spent days running on the ship or even that they’d had to do the Stairmaster on the way out.

  “So where do we go from here?” she said.

  He stroked her hair. “You are tired.”

  She yawned. “You’re right. I could probably crash right now, but for all I know, it’s mid-afternoon. I could barely keep track of time while outrunning the Al’kieern.” The days had blurred and only the sun rising over the planet below the station gave her a sense of morning versus night.

  “It is nearly time for the evening meal, and I will prepare it for you in the traditional Vikir courtship way.”

  “Really looking forward to the improvised garlong.” He’d be nearly naked. Could she keep her hands off him long enough for him to cook, serve her, then get down on one knee to propose?

  Assuming Crakairians got down on one knee. Well, Kral had come close earlier, when he’d gone down between her knees. Her head spun as she remembered. She wanted that again, and there was one way to make sure it happened. She had to behave herself long enough to let him finish his courtship.

  “If you would like to lie down,” he said. “I will let you know when the meal is ready.”

  “Perfect.” A little nap would perk her up. Her synapses weren’t firing as they should.

  He left the room, and she took off her pants and flopped on top of the bed. Curling on her side, she stared blindly at the wall. The picture hanging there blurred, and she drifted away…

  She woke when the mattress shifted and flowed underneath her, oozing up around her arms and legs. Pinning her in place.

  Shit. An attack bed!

  Shrieking, she scrambled off the surface and backed as far away from the beastly bed as she could get. She watched with wide eyes as it smoothed out again.

  Kral leaped through the doorway, his sword in his hand, poised to slice and dice. He crouched inside the room and peered around, his gaze feral. “Where is the threat?”

  Her jaw dropped. Holy hell, what was he wearing?

  “What are you…” She shook her head. At this point, it didn’t matter what he was wearing. The bed had attack
ed her. She pointed. “Stab the bed. Stab it hard.”

  He straightened, and his sword arm dropped to his side. “You would have me wound the bed.”

  “Do it fast before it leaps on me again!”

  “The bed will not leap on you.”

  “It’s alive. It’s some kind of creature and it tried to smother me.”

  He sheathed the sword along his spine—his naked spine—and strode over to the bed. She tried not to be distracted by his prime butt cheeks sashaying in front of her, but damn… Would he notice if she touched them?

  He was green all over, and completely hairless. And scaled, each segment about the size of her thumbnail, though his shoulder sekairs were larger. She already knew his scales were softer than they appeared.

  Where had Kral found the strip of leather, and why was he wearing it? Not that she would complain, because he looked incredibly lickable wearing only a scrap of leather.

  Leaning forward, he pressed his hands on the bed.

  Fuck. Now she could see hints of his cock. The way he was standing created a shadow that made it seem like it was the size of her forearm, but that couldn’t be true.

  He turned to face her, and the front of his skimpy garment twitched.

  Double fuck. It hadn’t been an illusion. No shadow cock. She’d caught a glimpse of the real thing.

  It was the size of her forearm.

  His lips quirked up on one side. “Mila.”

  How was he going to fit that inside her? And why was she wet at the thought of the effort it would take to get it in there?

  “Mila.” He strode across the room, his thigh muscles flexing, and stopped in front of her. With a soft chuckle, he lifted her chin with one finger. “Mila.”

  “Yeah?” His muscles went on forever. He didn’t have a six-pack. He had a full case of ridges across his abdomen. What would they feel like beneath her fingertips?

  “Mila.”

  “Where did you get that outfit?” No one could call it an outfit. It looked more like a scrap of light brown cloth he’d tucked between his legs. The material wasn’t wide. It must’ve taken some creative effort on his part to stuff his cock inside the suggestion of a pouch. A strip of material encircled his waist like a belt, holding the other scraps low on his hips.