The Star Princess

by Susan Grant

  Groaning, he fought to hold off the explosion he knew was coming. But with each one of his fierce, reckless strokes, Ilana’s body responded, clutching him, her inner muscles convulsing wetly. She cried out then, a throaty plea.

  His reaction to her coming peak overwhelmed him. His lower belly tightened; exquisite, excruciating heat clutched at his loins. Frenzied, he squeezed the muscles in his buttocks to hold back, just a few moments more. Where was his self-control?

  But to his mortification, he knew he’d have to go completely still if he wanted to last. “Ah, Ilana,” he said sorrowfully on a ragged breath, lowering his head to her throat. To his shock, Ilana arched her back, climaxing almost immediately, her nails digging into the flesh of his shoulders.

  That was all it took. He could hold back no longer. His acute embarrassment went up in a blaze of pleasure the likes of which he’d never known. He pushed up on rigid arms, his back arching. One, two jerks of his buttocks and he exploded deep inside her. He had no more power to hold back on his release than he did to stop his heart.

  He collapsed on top of her. Somehow he managed to support his dead weight with his elbows and knees. She felt just as limp. Murmuring to her in Eireyan—it was the only way he knew to express his shock and pleasure at what he’d discovered in her arms—he kissed and stroked and nuzzled her, holding her close until her spent body and his stopped quivering.

  “I guess I couldn’t wait,” he heard her say after a long while.

  “Hmm?” He lifted his head. Her cheeks were flushed pink, and her lips were puffy. Damp curls framed her face. Her eyes were so blue that it almost hurt to gaze directly into them.

  “Nor could I,” he said. Great Mother, it pained him to say it. “Heaven knows I tried. I am embarrassed, Ilana.”

  “No, you’re not,” she scolded. She smiled up at him, a soft, wondering smile, and combed her fingers through his damp hair. “You’re incredible.”

  His chest tightened, and an odd feeling of lightness swept through him. “As are you, my sweet Earth girl.” Their mouths came together in a kiss. It was wet, deep, languorous…

  …and it went on, it seemed, for hours, that kiss, Ilana thought.

  It didn’t take much for the heat between them to build from simmering to a slow boil. “That was but the first orgasm,” he promised, rolling her atop him.

  “But the first?” She laughed. “Okay. I’m game.”

  His hands stroked up and down her back. “Now I will give you another, and it will be far better.”

  Ilana smiled at his utter confidence, a smile she knew faded when he lifted her over him and plunged deep inside her. She threw her head back and gasped. Each roll of his hips sent a shockwave of pleasure coursing through her.

  Sweat beaded on his forehead. His body heat radiated his scent, musky and male. She clutched his broad shoulders, her breath hissing. He was an athletic lover, tireless, but it was his tenderness that made her ache with longing. More than wanting him, she needed him.

  It scared her to death. But the fear felt conquerable this time, as her fear of flying did the minute that little airplane rolled onto the runway.

  They tumbled across the big feather bed. Ché pinned her beneath him, pressing her into the soft, red sheets. Lifting one of her legs high over his back, he rocked his hips, gradually deepening his strokes. “Ilana…my sweet,” he whispered, his breath hot against her ear. His English melted into a language she didn’t know. Eireyan? It was a lyrical and sexy litany of words. While she had no clue what he said, the eroticism of his tone wasn’t lost on her.

  “Feel me,” he whispered harshly. “Feel me as I love you.” Stroking her hair back with his palm, he watched her face as he had before. In its incredible intimacy, the gesture rivaled the powerfully erotic way he moved inside her.

  This is what it’s supposed to be like, she thought dazedly. This was why her mother had remarried, and why Ian couldn’t wait to make Tee’ah his wife. This was why people fell in love and took a gamble on spending a lifetime together. No, not only for the sex. For this exchange of feelings, to be able to open oneself to another.

  Trust, reciprocated.

  She pulled him down to her, whispered breathlessly in his ear. “Do you know what Linda once told me? That if I ever opened up, if I ever let a man inside this stubborn, smart-ass head of mine, I might be surprised and like it.”

  He lifted his head. As he gazed down at her, his lashes only partly shielded the satisfaction glowing in his gold eyes. “And do you?”

  She laughed softly, disbelievingly. “Yeah.”

  Taking full breaths became a lost cause as he brought her closer and closer to the second peak he’d promised. And when that climax and then a surprise third shattered Ilana, her personal epiphany and searing pleasure was only intensified by Ché’s powerful, almost violent release.

  After a long afternoon and evening making love and napping, Ilana woke, sated and drowsy, tucked into and spooned by Ché’s body. He’d fallen asleep holding her. He’d insisted on it, in fact; all but demanding that she stay next to him.

  She didn’t mind. Maybe she’d wanted the closeness as much as he did. It wasn’t just physical; it was something else. Something more.

  She’d never been a fan of cuddling after sex, let alone actually spending the night with someone. But with Ché, the compulsion to distance herself hadn’t kicked in. It felt natural, wanting to cuddle close to him. It felt good, and right somehow.

  Or was she overanalyzing everything, as usual?

  Smiling at herself and her racing thoughts, she made herself relax. Judging by the sound of Ché’s slow, even breaths, he was still sleeping. Carefully she turned in his arms to face him. But he came half awake and drew her to his chest. “Stay with me,” he murmured into her messy hair.

  “I will,” she whispered back, and wondered if in reality she’d promised more than what those few words would indicate.

  You’re thinking too hard, Ilana.

  Right, she thought.

  First she turned off her brain, and that was hard. Her body soon followed in relaxation. Finally, lulled by the sound of Ché’s heart beating, she fell back asleep.

  When she woke again, Ché was up. He walked out of the bathroom, naked, scrubbing a towel over his hair. It stood up in short spikes all over his head. She came up on her elbows. “Hey, lover boy.”

  His mouth tipped in that crooked smile he gave no one else but her. “Blue-eyes,” he said with affection.

  “Blue-eyes?” Her breasts bounced as she rolled onto her belly. She ached all over, but she wasn’t about to complain.

  He nodded, smiling. “Or I can call you luscious bottom.”

  “Luscious bottom!” She supposed it beat fat cheeks. “I had no idea the word luscious was in your vocabulary.”

  It was clear Ché was trying hard not to smile. “I looked it up one day when I was feeling particularly…inspired.”

  “I knew those shorts were too tight,” she muttered.

  His gaze traveled down to her bare butt, lingering there. “Choose whichever endearment you prefer. Now is the time to state your preference, lest I become too used to one or the other.”

  “I’ll take blue-eyes in public.” She winked. “Luscious in private.”

  Lounging on her stomach, she hugged her arms to her chest. The swell of her breasts peeked over her forearms as she watched him dry off. His Greek-god physique was the result of discipline, exercise, and, yeah, genetics. On a superficial level, his appearance attracted her, fascinated her, and made her blood run hot. But the man inside that body was what drew her to him more than anything.

  To his people, he was a peacemaker, an openminded leader who just happened to be from the most conservative of families. A prince wise beyond his years. She’d witnessed all that when his unexpected public support of Ian—at the cost of his brother Klark’s disgrace—did more to keep the Federation stable and intact than any other action could have.

  But to her, Ché Vedl
a was fun, patient, easy to talk to, generous, intelligent, and heroic. More importantly, she admired, and respected him. Deep down, she’d always known that she’d never be able to love a man for whom she felt neither of those things. “So. How long have you been up?”

  “A half of one of your hours, no more. I ordered room service.”

  “You know how to do that?”

  He gave her a dry look. “It is not that difficult.”

  Ché dropped his towel into a hamper and reached for a robe hanging on a hook on the bathroom door. That was when she noticed his tattoo, on the very lowest part of his flat abdomen, just above his groin. She pushed off the bed. “Ah, there it is. The famous tattoo. I want to take a better look. The last time I was close enough to see it…ah, my attention was focused a little lower.”

  His heated gaze told her that he hadn’t forgotten the feel of her mouth. “Indeed.”

  She bent down to study the tattoo. It was small and finely made, crisper in detail than Earth tattoos, a gold, gray, and black bird, depicted head-on with spread wings.

  The fascinated attention she paid to the area so close to his privates embarrassed Ché not at all. He was as comfortable in the buff as he was clothed. “It is a sea-raptor,” he explained, looking downward. “An ancient aerial predator. It lives only on Eireya, and feeds only on creatures born in our seas. It is the symbol of my family.”

  “Do all the Vedla men have these tattoos?”

  He shook his head. “Firstborn sons only. You may have noticed that the other clans, like you B’kahs, use signet rings to identify the heirs. We don’t. This is why. We are marked at puberty like this, instead.”

  While she’d been playing girls’ soccer and suffering through braces, Ché was enduring eons-old coming-of-age rituals. It was at times like these that she realized how different their upbringings were.

  Ilana bent forward, touching her fingertip to the sea-raptor. Ché’s stomach muscles contracted, and his penis gave an interested twitch. “Oops,” she said, smiling.

  He took her by the shoulders and pulled her close. Her stomach pressed against his damp, freshly washed skin. “Not ‘oops,’” he corrected.

  Heat pooled in her lower belly, carnal anticipation of what was to come, as he lowered his mouth to hers and—

  Beep, beep, beep. Ché’s damn comm call chimed from somewhere in the other room.

  They groaned and moved apart. “Haven’t you called them back yet?” she asked.

  “No.” He sighed. “I was going to wait. But they are persistent.”

  Her heart skipped a beat. “Maybe something’s wrong. Your family. Someone might be sick.”

  He shook his head as he searched out the comm device he’d thrown out of the way earlier. “Ian would have relayed the message, if that were the case, and he would have at least tried to call your cell phone. Any illness or death, or birth or marriage for that matter, in any of the eight families is immediately reported to the Great Council, and then forwarded to the B’kahs. Trust me, whatever this is will be something that could have waited. And should have,” he added irritably.

  “I hope so,” Ilana said under her breath, noting the reluctance with which he drew on his underwear and jeans.

  He opened the comm. His face formed immediately into a frown. “Yes, Hoe.”

  Ilana backed up. “I’ll be in the shower.” She had the feeling that while he wouldn’t demand it, he’d rather have his privacy. Taking her clothes with her, she ducked into the bathroom.

  One long, luxurious, steamy shower later, she emerged dressed in a fresh robe, a thick towel wrapped around her hair.

  The room-service attendant had come and gone, apparently. Ché sat in one of the chairs at the dining table, the one with the vase of sunflowers they’d almost toppled. He was the picture of laid-back sophistication as he sipped from a glass of red wine, staring into space.

  Her glass waited, full. She took it, sat in the chair next to him, and sniffed the fragrant air. “Mmm. Smells like steak.”

  “Filet,” he confirmed. “With baby asper…aspar—” He sighed. “Those little green stalks with the odd tops.”

  “Asparagus,” she supplied.

  “Yes.” He seemed preoccupied. “It was the meal they were serving the guests in the dining room tonight. It was all they would serve.”

  “Then we lucked out. I love steak, and I love asparagus.” She lifted the lids off the plates. Delicious smells made her mouth water. “Ooh. The chef has a hollandaise sauce fetish. I love him.” She began to serve the food as Ché watched absently.

  She put down the utensils, folded her arms, and leaned forward. “It’s the comm call, isn’t it? Your advisor. What did he want?”

  “He asked me to come home.” Ché lifted his halffull glass of wine to the overhead light, studying the color. Then he downed what remained in two deep swallows before he turned back to her. “It seems they have found me a wife.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  “Ché refused to return home?” Klark demanded when Hoe burst into his chambers the next day with the news. “He wishes to remain on Earth?” As hard as he tried, Klark couldn’t imagine Ché abandoning Eireya for good, his tolerance toward the frontier barbarians notwithstanding. Klark knew his older brother better than that.

  “Banish the thought, sir.” Hoe rubbed his hand over his face. “But he wants to delay his return journey. He wouldn’t tell me how long he wants to remain…there. ‘We have plenty of time left,’ he told me.” Hoe dropped his hand and added, “I was afraid of this, my lord.”

  “I have to say that I anticipated it, too.”

  “It’s all because of the Earth princess.”

  “Of course it is.” Klark rolled his eyes. “Did you think that he went there for the coffee?”

  “My lord?”

  “Never mind.” Stroking his chin, Klark regarded Ché’s agitated advisor. “We must not let emotion overcome us. The Treatise of Trade tells us that the unexpected brings opportunity. Let us discern the opportunity in this, and take advantage.”

  At Klark’s admonition, Hoe visibly forced himself to relax. “Prince Ché is like a son to me. I want only the best for him.”

  “And that is what we will win for him.” Klark clasped his hands behind his back. Confidence swelled inside him as a plan unfolded—in detail. It seemed his brother had unwittingly simplified his task. “First, Hoe, we let our heartsick Prince Haj continue to divert everyone’s attention in the Great Council while we think this through.”

  “Yes! While everyone’s attention is elsewhere, we will act. You need not do this alone. We share a common goal, do we not, my lord? As Prince Ché’s advisor, I have much to offer. Tell me your plans. I…I can help.”

  Hoe sounded both eager and nervous, as if he didn’t fully trust Klark. Which was too bad. But Klark didn’t quite trust Hoe either. “All right, then. Let us take time to think. Return here tonight, and we will discuss what options our meditations have illuminated.” Then, with a wave of his hand, Klark dismissed him.

  Something about Ché’s advisor made Klark’s senses prickle. It was the feeling he might have in Bajha with an opponent who didn’t parry as predicted. It told Klark that, as yet, he shouldn’t be certain on which side of the line the advisor fell when it came to ensuring that Ché’s future took its proper course. Was Hoe his ally or enemy? Before Klark divulged his true intentions regarding the Earth princess, he’d have to be sure.

  “A wife.” Ilana let her back sag into the wicker chair. The meal didn’t look as yummy as it had a minute ago. “So, what does that mean?”

  Ché steepled his fingers on top of the table, gazing at them as he spoke. “It means we must talk.”

  “Ah, the big talk,” she said flatly. It had always been she who gave the kiss-off speech when ending a relationship. It was weirdly nauseating to finally end up on the other side. She tried to sound light and cheery, but she felt about as buoyant as an old brick. “I mean, we knew this was coming. We knew
you’d have to marry.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Then we’re done. We’ve talked. Now, let’s eat.” She chose the bigger of the two filets and speared it with a fork. “Hand me your plate.” At the dangerous look in his eyes, she lowered the fork. “What is there to talk about? Nothing’s changed.”

  “You are right. The feelings I have for you have not changed. Nor have yours. I know—you have given me the proof. If what happened in that bedchamber, the lovemaking, had been a lie, you would not be trying to change the subject.”

  “Yeah…well.” Sheepishly she stuck her hands in her lap. “Why do I suddenly feel like the kid caught with her hand in the cookie jar?”

  Ché shook his head. “Cookie…jar?”

  “It means you’re right. I was trying to avoid this talk.” She braced herself. “So do it. Say it. They found you a wife, and now they want you to come home.” She forced herself to ask, “When are you leaving?”

  “I did not say. I merely accepted the information as it was passed to me and left matters vague as to when I would return to Eireya.”

  “Vague? I bet your advisor had a cow.” Before Ché could call her on her slang, she said, “Isn’t your advisor upset?”

  Ché jerked his hands in the air. “Let him be! For all the good it will do him.” Ché’s outward emotion surprised her. He wasn’t one to let show what he felt inside. “I did not say I would refuse to marry. I only declined to scurry home at their command. I did that to give us time, Ilana. Time to think.”

  Think. Ugh! She already analyzed everything to death. Ché was as bad as she was. “Everything was fine until you got involved with me, and now you don’t know what to do. Right?”

  “I know one thing: I do not want to marry Princess Jienn.”

  “Ah. The lucky girl who won the lottery.” The bitterness underlying her light tone surprised her. She had never been the possessive type, but the idea of giving Ché over to another woman lit the fire of jealousy in Ilana’s stomach.