Pregnant to an Alien King Box Set

by Gloria Martin

  “Lucas told me that you’re the only woman he’s ever desired—even before he met you,” Oliver said as he casually began unfastening buttons of the other man’s shirt.

  Violet raised her eyebrows. She guessed that this meant that he had seen her in the movies. She wondered if it had truly been by chance that she had found him in her backyard that evening.

  “He says he wants to paint you,” Oliver continued, as he unbuttoned the final button of Lucas’s shirt. It fell open, and he caressed the other man’s chest and stomach. “Why don’t you show me what has driven my sweet Lucas so mad?”

  Violet understood what he meant at once. All of her inhibitions melted away in the opium haze under the attentive gaze of the two men. She slowly pushed the sheet down, revealing the black lace chemise and stockings that she wore beneath. The feeling of having both men watching her undress, taking her in with a look of absolute hunger in their dark eyes, was a sensation unlike anything Violet had experienced. She felt as if she were teetering on the brink of absolute euphoria. She shrugged one of the straps of her chemise off, allowing it to slip down her shoulder. Oliver’s hand was moving lower down Lucas’s stomach. He was aroused. She could see the outline of his manhood, straining against the front of his trousers as he watched her. Oliver caressed him, and he moaned aloud. He looked as if he might succumb to lust. Violet let her slip drop to the floor. She stood there now in only her stockings, her slender body completely exposed. Her small breasts and soft thighs were for Oliver and Lucas to feast their eyes on.

  “Good girl,” Oliver murmured. In spite of having taken opium, and the passionate scene unwinding around him, he seemed to be in complete control. Violet couldn’t tell if he was enjoying himself or not. His face was neutral and perfect in its ageless beauty. He was undoing Lucas’s trousers now, pulling the buttons of his union suit apart in rapid succession, revealing his body to her. Lucas looked wanton. He pushed his hips against Oliver’s touch, but his eyes were on Violet.

  “Come, Violet, let’s give our Lucas a little bit of what he wants, shall we?” Oliver said with a slight smile as he released Lucas’s manhood.

  Violet dropped to her knees in front of them. She felt it now, the hunger that she saw in the men’s faces. She wanted to taste Lucas. She wanted him to take her in front of Oliver. She wanted to be devoured whole by these men. She crawled to the sofa and nestled herself between Lucas’s legs, taking him into her mouth. He let out a hiss of pleasure and grasped a handful of her hair. Oliver was pinching his nipples and biting at his neck, leaving little red dots across his pale skin. He remained there for an instant, watching Violet on her hands and knees, ass up in the air as she pleasured Lucas. He stood up suddenly, crossing behind her. In a swift motion he dropped to his knees, caressing the smooth skin of her bottom before giving it a good hard slap with the flat of his hand. Violet gasped in surprise. He slapped her again. Her skin flushed red under each assault. He caressed her, and then rested a finger teasingly between her thighs. She moaned and pushed back against him. Lucas was immobilized by her ministrations, his breath ragged as he moaned aloud.

  “Lucas,” came Oliver’s voice from behind her, his voice portrayed complete calm, “I’m going to take your woman. Would you like that?”

  Violet could sense him moving behind her, undoing his button fly. One hand rested on her hip, then she felt him push against her, easing into her heat. She couldn’t help but gasp aloud at the sensation. She braced herself against the couch, looking up at Lucas. His dark eyes were clouded with desire as he watched Oliver thrust into her. He reached for the opium pipe and held it over the flame once more as he inhaled. Tendrils of white smoke drifted up from his lips in lazy spirals. His expression was one of absolute bliss. Violet moaned as Oliver filled her to her core, moving slowly, ever restrained in his desire. She pushed back against him, demanding more, and he pulled away, leaving her wanting.

  Without a word exchanged, Lucas got to his feet and took his place behind her. Violet cried out and thrust against him, grabbing at his thighs as pleasure shot through her, electric and unrestrained.

  “My beautiful Violet,” Lucas was murmuring as he grasped her hips.

  Oliver sat back on the sofa, watching the two of them. He had never seen Lucas so passionate about a lover before. This Violet Miller—a famous muse from New York City—would she want to stay with them? The love that Oliver felt for Lucas was one of father and lover combined. He couldn’t bear the thought of what his unhappiness might be if Violet left Louisiana and returned back to her charmed life up North.

  Violet was lost in ecstasy now. It was as if she had fallen into a trance again. Her hands were braced against the couch as she offered herself in nothing but her stockings to the man behind her. It was strange that she trusted him implicitly. The rest of her life faded into obscurity as Lucas thrust against her, hands around her slender waist as he increased his pace. She could feel pleasure building inside her, threatening to explode.

  Oliver was undressing now. Letting his white linen drop to the floor as he pulled off his shirt and trousers. Violet took in the sight of him hungrily, admiring his powerful build. His white skin was covered in black tattoos. Voodoo symbols and coats of arms. An elaborate cross was tattooed on his chest, which rose and fell rapidly, betraying his desire as he moved to embrace Lucas from behind. Without a word, Lucas withdrew, and Violet moved up to the couch, spreading her thighs apart and resting a hand there as she watched as Oliver kissed Lucas’s cheeks. He nibbled his neck from behind as he stroked his manhood and slipped a skilled finger inside of him. Lucas was beside himself with arousal. He surged forward, thrusting into Violet as Oliver spread him apart, pushing inside of him—taking him whole. He let out a strangled moan of pleasure and bit down hard on Violet’s neck. Oliver thrust hard into him, and his face transformed into a mask of ferocious desire. Each thrust drove him closer to the edge—closer into Violet’s heat. She writhed against them. Lucas was sucking at her neck now, and the pain of it mixed with the pleasure, as he drank of her body and soul. She was barely conscious of Oliver whispering.

  “Take her. Take her, Lucas,” he was murmuring over and over again in the younger man’s ear as he thrust into him. “Together.” He was taller than Lucas, and he leaned over him, sinking his fangs into the other side of Violet’s neck. She writhed and moaned at the mercy of the men. Lucas pushed into her one final time, bellowing into the crook of her neck as he came to his crisis, filling her with his seed. Violet bucked against him, lost in a haze of absolute pain and pleasure, losing control as her orgasm crashed over her. Her eyes rolled back, and the room went dark.

  When she awoke hours later, she found herself nestled in between Lucas and Oliver in a large four-poster bed. Each man had thrown a protective arm across her as they slept. She was surprised to find that her neck was free of pain. Her teeth felt unfamiliar and strangely oblong. They were sharp. And then she knew. Her heart swelled with a strange happiness as she felt the steady breathing of the men beside her. She had fallen in love with them. She had fallen in love with New Orleans.

  THE END

  Bonus Story 33 of 50

  Highland Mist

  The news of the laird's death spread quickly, and so it was that Gavin Loudain, only just turned twenty-seven, stepped up to take his late father's place. A second message was sent out of Alasdair's death across the highlands and moors; there were to be games and a great hunt held in the former laird's honor, and many were invited to stay in the manor during the festivities. For the first time in his life Gavin felt truly free, but it came at a terrible price. He could only hope that the funeral celebrations would do much to put his mind at ease.

  He was no stranger to the house of which he was now the sole owner. His childhood had been spent inside its walls, finding every nook and cranny that the old wood and stones harbored. The world outside, however, still carried a mystery. He knew the words the witches on the moors had said to his parents, but the witches were long dead, o
r else gone somewhere far away, and now his parents were gone as well, and he had survived. With the hunt he had planned, he would make his name. No longer would he be the cursed child of the Loudain clan, fated to die almost before he had drawn his first breath. He would be a strong, fearless leader, his name known throughout the land. No longer would he be a prisoner inside his own home.

  It would take some time for all of the messages to be sent, but it would not be time idly spent. For all his faults, of which Alasdair had many, he had been a good man, and was worthy of the highest burial honors he could be given. His body was placed in care of the kirk and its priests, who tended to it and placed it on display for his tenants from the nearby villages to come by and offer condolences and their own small stories of whatever kindness Alasdair had shown them and their families. Gavin bore it all with his head held high, even as the pain of having lost his second parent in an untimely manner bored a hole into his heart. The games would prove to be a considerate amount of work for everyone in his household, but Gavin knew that they would bring cheer to all his new renters and to himself.

  The first to arrive were family, a good week or so ahead of when the other guests would likely show, to make time for the burial and a moderate amount of grieving. It was a somber affair, as all funerals were. Gavin wore his best and watched as the casket bearing his father's body was lowered into the ground next to his mother. Despite his grief, it was almost as though a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. With both of his parents gone, there was no one to warn him against doing the things he wanted to most. The whole of the world was now his to explore, and the games and hunt were just the beginning of the life Gavin wanted to have for himself. The life he was sure that he would have already had, if it hadn't been for some old women in a croft in the middle of nowhere thinking they could control people's fates. He was never as superstitious as his parents had been. Words were only words. His destiny was in his own hands.

  The manor swiftly grew crowded. The only place Gavin could have any peace was in his father's old study, a room that he had forbidden anyone save himself to enter for the foreseeable future. The last thing he wanted was one of the servants thinking they could take something, or mess around with the estate's accounts. Never a particularly neat man, Alasdair had left quite a mess for his son to sort out. He was only lucky the family wasn't in any debt. At least he had the hunt to look forward to, a chance to show that he was just as much a man as the next despite his unusual childhood. They would catch a fine stag and have a feast that would be talked of for years to come. The thought made him smile even as he faced the momentous task of sorting through his father's unfinished affairs.

  At first guests arrived in small groups, but then a wave of them arrived. Gavin didn't envy his kitchen staff the burden of having to feed the entire house, but it was only temporary. The stables were stuffed full, and a hasty paddock had to be set up to accommodate the extra horses. Many of the guests brought their own attendants, which considerably lessened the stress on Gavin's own staff. He was ever grateful for his butler, a man called Gregory, who had an impeccable memory and dutifully reminded Gavin of all the names he forgot, of which there were several. He couldn't help but wonder if his father had ever managed to keep them all straight or if Gregory had performed the very same job for him as well.

  It was at the feast that he held the night before the games and hunt were to commence that he first saw her, and it felt like he had been punched in the gut. Sheltered as his childhood had been, even he had heard tales of the great hunter Isaac MacGregor. The stories and boasts had failed to mention that he had a sister, or that she was as beautiful as he was handsome. In a hall filled with dozens of people it was she that his eyes sought, and he sucked in a startled, excited breath when he realized that she hadn't stopped looking at him since she and her brother were announced.

  Her dark hair was pulled back in a single braid that fell down her back, her dress a simple affair of green that hugged the shape of her hips, and a slender necklace of diamonds accentuated the length of her neck and rise of her bosom. Gavin was far from the only man staring at her, but they all made way as he pushed through them to stand before her and her brother and offer them a low, respectful bow. The two of them returned it, then Reagan offered Gavin her hand. He delicately pressed his lips to the warm skin of her knuckles.

  “It is a pleasure tae meet ye, Miss MacGregor,” he said, holding her gaze for a handful of seconds that seemed to stretch into an eternity before Reagan reclaimed her hand and placed it on her brother's arm. Gavin turned his attention to the famed hunter and gave him a smile and a firm handshake. “And ye as weel, of course. I am honored that ye hae answered ma invitation.”

  “Yer father was a good man,” Isaac replied. He was as dark as his sister, and only half a head taller. When he smiled it was bright and friendly. “I’m honored tae hae been invited. Besides, how would it look if a great hunter such as myself refused tae answer such a call?” He guffawed, and those around their group joined in with polite laughter. Reagan caught Gavin's attention and rolled her eyes, a small smile curving her full lips. Gavin returned it, feeling his chest expand and his heart thump away madly behind his ribs.

  “Allow me tae show ye tae yer seat,” he said, and gestured towards the table behind him with one hand. Isaac and Reagan followed him to empty seats halfway down the table. He would have sat them closer to him, had there not been family to consider. He himself had barely managed to retain his place at the head of the table from his elder uncle, and only on the grounds that he was both the host and laird of the manor. Slowly, the remaining guests found or were shown to their seats, and the quiet roar of conversation ended when Gavin stood, full wine glass in hand. All eyes were on him, but the only pair Gavin cared for were Reagan MacGregor's. He searched and found her staring intently at him, the lamps and candles lighting the room casting shadows over her blue eyes.

  Gavin raised his glass. “Tae ma father,” he said. “May he rest in peace, and may I be as good a man as he was. Slàinte mhath.”

  Around the table the toast was echoed. They drank, and then the food was brought and the feasting began. Gavin was separated from his guests by family, but he wasn't at a loss for conversation. Many of his relatives he hadn't seen in years and they were all quite interested in learning what he had been doing in the meantime. Gavin, however, was distracted by the woman sitting a handful of feet away from him, past a group of his cousins. He was pleased to find that she was captivated by him as well.

  There was a tugging low in his stomach, not the pull of arousal but of something deeper. Reagan smiled at him over the lip of her wine glass. Gavin returned it and made a vow to get her alone so they could talk without being limited by the constraints of having so much company. His intentions, of course, were purely noble. He simply had a curiosity that needed to be sated. Meeting Reagan once hadn't been enough, and from the looks she had been giving him, it seemed it hadn't been enough for her either. There were still several courses to sit through, and dessert besides, but after that Gavin hoped he could catch her before someone else spirited her away, and take advantage of the copious amounts of alcohol that had started making rounds up and down the table.

  As delicious as the food being served was, Gavin hardly noticed a bite, so fixed he was on the beautiful woman watching him from further down the table. She blushed at his staring but didn't look away, and raised her glass to him and him alone. Gavin returned the gesture then drank, holding Reagan's gaze until his name being loudly called pulled his attention back to his family.

  Still, he stole glances at Reagan throughout the night, and maybe it was just his imagination, but it seemed that she was as eager to speak to him as he was to her. Cursed child, he thought with a mental scoff. He was the luckiest man in the world to have the attention of such a beautiful woman. He kept one eye on her the entire meal, tracking her movements, and slipped away as soon as he was able. Entertainment had been set up for both men and women,
mostly rooms reserved for cards and smoking. Gavin slipped through the room until he was at the side of Reagan and her brother and gave a short, formal bow.

  “Might I escort yer sister tae the game room?” he asked of Isaac.

  The hunter had a giddy smile on his face that spoke of too much wine, and he waved his hand dismissively.

  “Of course,” he said. “I'm off tae play cards myself. Perhaps ye will join us?”

  “I would be delighted tae,” Gavin replied, but his gaze was on Reagan and he had already offered his hand to her. She took it without hesitation and squeezed her brother's shoulder in parting before slipping her arm around Gavin's elbow and resting her other hand just above his wrist.

  “He likes ye,” Reagan said, smiling again as Gavin steered her around the table and out of the dining room.

  “Either that or he has drunk too much tae care,” Gavin replied.

  Reagan blessed him with gentle laughter. “Maybe it's both,” she said. “Isaac is protective, but I'm ma own woman. Dinna be surprised if ye see me amongst yer hunters tomorrow.”

  “I would be honored and glad tae hae ye,” Gavin replied.

  He walked right past the crowded game room, down the hall to where a number of other rooms had been left open. Reagan cocked a brow at him, but said nothing. Gavin looked over his shoulder, checking for any sign of Isaac, and gestured for Reagan to enter the room directly to his left. She breezed past him, leaving a trail of perfume in her wake. Gavin slipped in after her.