Alien Alphas: Twenty-Three Naughty Sci-Fi Romance Novellas

by Grace Goodwin

  But it was time for us to start over... to start afresh.

  He lifted his glass and tapped it to mine. “Here’s to brothels, bombs, and happy endings.” He grinned, his electric green eyes meeting mine, before he took a long pull from his drink. I followed his lead, the cool, sweet elixir warming me.

  “Oh, that’s good,” I said. “I was freezing my ass off. Needed that.”

  “You cold?” he asked, grasping me about the waist and pulling me onto his lap.

  His heat began to warm me, a gentle reminder that I made him feel when I was with him. I liked that.

  “Freezing,” I said. “I’m not used to these frigid temps.”

  “Well,” he said, leaning in and gently taking my earlobe into his mouth. “I know how to warm you up. In fact, I remember you saying distinctly that your ass was cold. I’m pretty damn good at warming that up.”

  He pushed me back on the sofa where I was sitting, so that my back was flush up against the luxurious fabric on the seat cushion, as he gently laid himself atop me. His warmth and strength overshadowed any coldness I felt.

  “Been a full week since I’ve touched the nettle,” I said, my hands shaking just a bit. They didn’t shake as much as they did at first, but every time they did, he showed me something better.

  “Give me those hands.” His deep voice commanded my attention.

  I nodded, swallowing, and obeyed.

  Gently he nestled my hands on my belly while he unfastened his belt.

  My heartbeat accelerated. “What are you doing?” I whispered.

  His only response was to tug the thick leather. It whooshed through the belt loops with a hiss. Kneeling over me, he looped the leather around my wrists and shifted them above my head. “You don’t need nettle, Sitra,” he whispered, before his warm mouth came to my neck and bit me, gentle enough that it only caused mild pain before my pelvis rose, my nipples hardened, and I welcomed him to do more with an unabashed whimper.

  “No,” I whispered, shaking my head. “I don’t need it.”

  “You need something to take your mind off that,” he said. “Let me help you.”

  He drew my panties down with a firm tug, baring me to him. My mouth was dry as I watched him, so big, so strong, so protective. And all mine.

  We would unite our hopes and dreams. I loved that when I missed my brother or my parents, I could talk to him and he missed them, too. Wedded by our shared history, we were bound together.

  “Close your eyes,” he whispered, lowering his mouth to my navel, making his way down to where I wanted him to go, a quick flick of his tongue at my waist warning me that he was getting closer. I obeyed. He nipped and sucked and teased nearly every inch of me until he came to my thighs and drew them open.

  “Why do you need nettle, when I can give you what will really distract you?” he asked, his tongue probing my folds.

  “Ahhhh,” I moaned. “I don’t. Nope.”

  “Do you want me to help you forget for a little while, Sitra?” he asked, following his question up with another firm, delicious stroke of his tongue.

  “Yeeeesssss.”

  “Then on your knees. Prop yourself up on your hands and arch your back for me.”

  It was clumsy with my wrists bound but he helped me, and soon I knelt for him, my bare ass vulnerable, my whole body so ready for him.

  “Very good,” he said. The sofa creaked as he got up and moved to the other room. I heard a drawer open and then he was back. But I couldn’t see what he held.

  “Stay right where I put you.” His voice dropped to a command. I bit my lip, swallowing hard and nodding, before his mouth came to my ear. “Say yes, sir.”

  I grinned, my eyes closed. “Yes, sir.”

  A whistle through the air warned me. I braced myself before the sharp thwap of the crop, sensual and warm and just enough burn to turn me on. He worked me up, alternating flicks of the crop with strokes of his fingers, my pussy clenching as he fingered me.

  “Oh, God,” I moaned, the pleasure and pain wiping my mind of all that troubled me.

  He spanked me until I couldn’t even focus, my mind a haze of arousal and bliss, the pain mixed with pleasure bringing me to heights the nettle couldn’t even touch. “That’s right,” he said. “That’s a good girl.”

  And then I was soaring, climaxing so hard I nearly fell off the couch, but he held me tight. I hadn’t even finished, my body spasming with pleasure when his warm cock filled my entrance.

  “Such a very good girl,” he said, thrusting into me. “A good girl who does what she’s told. That’s it, Sitra. Ride it, baby.”

  I built again, another spasm building on another, and when he climaxed, I followed with another, not able to hold back, and not wanting to.

  “I love you,” he said, bending down to plant a gentle kiss on my temple, moving my damp hair over my neck. “And I always will.”

  “And I love you, Cy,” I said, smiling.

  He didn’t just make me forget my pain. He turned that pain into something beautiful.

  The End

  About Jane Henry

  Jane is a bestselling erotic romance author in multiple genres, including contemporary, historical, sci-fi, and fantasy. She pens stern but loving alpha heroes, feisty heroines, and emotion-driven happily-ever-afters. Jane is a hopeless romantic who lives by the ocean with her houseful of children and her very own Prince Charming.

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  Under Contract by Jaye Peaches

  Chapter One

  Brax

  On my world, there are few laws. Chaos is held in check by military might and respect for honor. We have a reputation for being both tough and fair in business deals. So, if anybody on any other planet wants something done that can be bought, my people will do it. We’re a planet of contractors, good ones and bad. We are the galaxy’s least favorite species, but the most popular when needed.

  My specialty is extracting those in trouble, in particular females who have gone rogue. Whether they marry without permission, hang out with the bad guys, spend all of Daddy’s money, or just forget to brush their teeth and wash behind their ears, I’m the man who finds them, sorts them out, and returns them home, preferably contrite and back in line.

  That’s what I do—I extract bad girls, whether they like it or not. They might want independence more than anything; I’m the one who persuades them otherwise. Unfortunately, problems arise when they don’t agree with the terms of the contract and if that happens, those particular females need a firm hand, one like mine.

  Kleo Nikara is my next target. I have spent some time reviewing her record and I keep coming back to her picture, which is posed naked and probably used for the purpose of finding her a mate. She’s small for a Nachev, which makes me wonder why she’s up for an extraction as she isn’t typical for their kind. Her species usually have broad foreheads, curly hair, thin lips, and narrow butts that I can span with one hand. This female has a different kind of beauty: an oval face, translucent eyes, wavy hair down to her shoulders, and full lips that are perfect for kissing. The shots of her curvaceous body show real breasts and a genuine butt. It’s amazing how many females on my world have these things enhanced or reduced to ridiculous sizes. Her eyes sparkle with a vitality that invites me in and it’s as if she knows I’m gazing at her. In contrast, her lips are frowning and her hands clenched into fists.

  I guess she hadn’t been happy when they took the image. It doesn’t matter; I get hard every time I look at her. It’s not how I usually react—natural cravings don’t come easy to a man like me. When it comes to dealing with disobedient females, I rely on devices designed for a specific purpose—my pleasure, their pain. However, it helps the process run more smoot
hly if I find them attractive. Perhaps what I see in this Kleo is something different, something that might make this contract special.

  Kleo’s guardian, Tyan Nikara, is a trade diplomat and lives on the Golden Planet in the Chorion Nebula. In what seems to be a lax attitude, he let Kleo loose for a spell and she absconded with another wealthy Nachev to the Opar Cluster. Two young females, both in their early twenties, aliens to the Oparians, enjoying the sights and mingling with the natives. The Oparians are notorious party animals who spend more time on their backs lazing in the sun than they do working hard. According to Kleo’s enraged guardian, she’s gone native and is still on Opar Prime and refuses to budge her ass.

  So, the extraction contract comes up for grabs. My pitch goes well. It seems my plan is exactly what is needed, according to the agent representing Tyan Nikara. I guess he should know. My clients are usually some of the most powerful of the galaxy’s alpha species, and just like on my world, they have a reputation to uphold.

  But, I’m surprised, because I don’t come cheap and I’ve no redeeming qualities. I have my own rules and I expect no interference from the client. The female, once she’s under my protection, is mine until I deliver her home. Mine to rehabilitate. Mine to punish. It’s not just about extracting her and slapping her wrist. It’s so much more.

  Kleo Nikara is in trouble. Big trouble and I’m on my way to find her.

  * * *

  Kleo

  “Any minute now that sun is going to set.” I kick off my sandals and flop onto the sunbed. Across the expanse of blue sea, the sunlight casts its blood-red rays. Opar Prime is the best place for glorious sunsets.

  Vaneza yawns. “Yep, and then it’s time to go.”

  I can tell she’s not keen. “You don’t have to come,” I say for the umpteenth time.

  “I guess,” she says, unconvinced by my assurances.

  She’s been pretty much in my pocket all the time. Slowly, I’ve been wriggling my way free of Vaneza’s claustrophobic friendship. Small doses are fine, but traipsing behind me everywhere is dampening my style.

  “You hated Borsten’s last party. So I’ll go and you go back to the apartment.”

  She screws her face up. By the time she’s made up her mind, the sun has set. The sky goes eerily dark and the air instantly cold. I pick up my bag and slip on the sandals. Vaneza follows me along the beach front to our apartment block.

  Once I’ve showered and changed into the strapless, thigh-hugging dress, which Tyan would never had let me buy, I’m ready to go. Vaneza is sprawled over her bed, chewing on something.

  “See you later,” I say. Much later. It will probably be nearly dawn before I come back.

  “Be careful, Kleo.” She stops eating and starts looking guilty about abandoning me. Time to go.

  Borsten is the host for the open party. He has this huge habitat on a pier jutting out over the sea. The fish swim by underneath and are clearly visible through the glazed floor while the murals on the walls change scenery every few minutes. Rhythmic music hums in the background and food floats around on hover trays. Hundreds go to Borsten’s parties, which are a magnet for the whole neighborhood. He’s taken a shine to me and introduced me to his friends. So far, two proposed formal mating ceremonies. Tyan would be furious if he knew. I’m flattered, but politely declined both. It’s not rude to refuse; Oparians treat proposals as noncommittal until after the couple has had sex twelve times, then it’s binding. So I’m happy to play along and keep count. After eleven I find an excuse to end it.

  I love this place. Every day I’m here I forget who I am and the miserable future that awaits me. Opar Prime is a drug I can’t resist. The Oparians are so unlike the Nachev. They’re sexy, fun-loving, and utterly uninterested in protocols. You can dress how you like, chat up anyone, male, female, or androes—the ones that don’t care who they fuck—and best of all, they don’t expect me to scrape and bow, lower my eyes and say yessir, nosir.

  I’m liberated, which is why I’m still here. Tyan has bombarded me with messages, telling me to get home and perform my duties, which means mating with a delegate in the Trade Federation. I ignore them. He’s not happy. Do I care? No! Tonight, I’m going to tease the pants off every young, eligible Oparian. They’re going to be feeding out of my hand and willing me to slip into some private room. It’s the one thing Oparians do respect: privacy.

  Within minutes of arriving, familiar faces surround me. I let them kiss my hand or cheek; I flutter my eyelashes and laugh at their jokes. All around me are men and women drinking, dancing, and laughing. Nobody is miserable at Borsten’s. Except one man. He emerges from a corner and sips on a drink. His expression is one of boredom mixed with unimpressed. Then, he sees me and as he focuses in on me, his eyes narrow into slits.

  He’s not Oparian. He towers above the local guests with muscles that bulge in every direction. He’s tinted his hair to fit in with the fair Oparians; however, his eyes are like black matter—bottomless pools of darkness. He continues to eyeball me, tracking my movements as I weave between people. I have this awful feeling in the pit of my stomach that his fascination with me isn’t a good thing. I swallow hard, take a few steps backward and try to put bodies between him and me.

  Someone grabs my arm. “Kleo?”

  It’s Hort, one of the half-naked dancers I met at the last party. I vaguely remember dancing with him, and some other things I shouldn’t have done.

  I use him as a barricade. “Hort, let’s dance.”

  We swirl into the center of the vast room. I lose sight of the strange alien who’s tracking me with his eyes. Feeling relieved, I decide it’s probably my overactive imagination. But then unfortunately, Hort switches to a different partner, leaving me dancing alone.

  My arm is targeted again. This time the hand doesn’t let go when I turn. I jump. It’s the black-eyed alien.

  “What the—”

  “Kleo Nikara?”

  I nod. My tongue cleaves to the roof of my mouth. He has a deep voice and stares at me down the end of his straight nose.

  “I am Brax Trasker. I’m authorized to extract you.” He tugs on my arm. “Let’s go.”

  I freeze to the spot. I could challenge him, but I know he’s telling the truth. An extraction is just the kind of thing Tyan would do to get me home.

  “Don’t play games with me, Kleo,” he growls.

  “Or what?” I snap back. What could he possibly do that would have me scurrying along next to him?

  “You really want to find out?” He loosens his grip a little. My confidence rises.

  “Sure, go ahead. I don’t think you’ll do it.” I stick my chin out. So far, everyone nearby is unaware of our hushed conversation.

  His fingers tighten again and he propels me toward the wall showing palm trees. He sits on a low chair and with a swift yank, pulls me toward him.

  Before I can protest, he tosses me face down over his knee and flattens me down by pressing on my shoulders. When numerous pairs of feet turn to face our direction, I screech in alarm.

  My short skirt rises up and now it barely covers my ass. I squirm and kick in vain. The sheer weight of his hand keeps me locked down. To my horror, he starts to spank my upended butt with a ferocity that knocks the breath out of my lungs. The noise attracts little attention; the music drowns out the beat of his hand as he drums in time to the rhythm. I try to scream, but all that comes out my mouth is a pathetic string of whimpering ‘ow’s.

  “Getting the message, Kleo? You are coming with me, and now.” He adds a wallop to each word. My ass is really hurting and I twist about on his lap.

  “Get off me, brute!” I holler.

  “Brax, not brute. If you want me to stop, just say, ‘please, Brax, I’ll be a good girl and go with you.’”

  The whispering voices of our growing audience grow louder, somebody is calling for Borsten, but nobody interferes. Do they think this is some new party game? Tears wet my eyes. I’m too embarrassed to lift my head and look at those f
aces. There is nothing I can do but end it his way.

  “Please, Brax, I’ll be a good girl and go with you.” I nearly choke on the words.

  He stops instantly, and swings me around so I end up sitting on his lap. I smooth down my skirt, trying to pretend the spanking never happened.

  “What’s going on?” Borsten asks. He waves the semicircle of voyeurs back.

  Brax stands and I stagger up onto two unsteady legs.

  “I’ve a contract for extracting Kleo Nikara.”

  Borsten’s eyes widen. “A contract?”

  From the farthest point of the nebula, throughout the Oparian system and beyond, contracts are sacrosanct. It’s the only way to do business. Species are wary of each other, trust is hard to find, but a contract has to be honored.

  “It’s for her immediate extraction. She refused to come with me.” A simple explanation for my humiliating spanking. It’s accepted without comment.

  Borsten holds out his hand. “The contract, show me.”

  I’m left on the sidelines as Borsten checks Brax’s credentials. They’re on a disk no bigger than my thumbnail. Borsten slots the disc into his wrist reader and taps on the small device. Everything about Brax, his contract and me is relayed to a tiny earpiece in Borsten’s ear. He listens, frowns, and hands the disk back to Brax.

  “Sorry to see you go, Kleo,” he says with an apologetic shrug.

  I gape in disbelief as my friend dismisses me.

  “What about Vaneza?” I ask, bewildered by the abrupt change in my circumstances.

  “I’ve only the one name.” Brax slots the disk back into his pocket. He has no webbing between his fingers, further proof he’s not Oparian. Where does he come from?

  “I’ll let her know you’ve gone.” Borsten speaks with awful finality.