Page 60 of Sold to the Alien Smugglers

I have to pass Lucius to walk into the kitchen area. I make certain not to spare the full-lipped, gorgeous bastard a glance as I walk forward. Instead, I look for plates to set the table with. The Aurelians might be beastly-warriors, but there’s no reason for us to dine as such.

There’s a huge table in the kitchen section, but it’s bare. For a moment, I half expect the Aurelians to just haul the broiling meat from the pan and tear chunks from it with their big, white teeth.

Then, from the corner of my eye, I catch the little smile spreading across Lucius’s full, sensuous lips. My cheeks flush red as I can senseexactlywhat he’s thinking.

I swear to the Gods, if he makes one crack about me eating from his palm – like I did last night – I’m going to slap him.

I pull one of the huge chairs away from the huge, wooden table. This furniture is built to Aurelian dimensions, and I feel like a child again as I clamber up onto the chair. My feet don’t even touch the ground as I sit there, dangling back and forth, and I can barely see over the slab-like edge of the table.

“Here!”

Lucius barks wryly at me – and before I get a chance to respond, a thick pillow comes flying across the room towards my face.

I snatch the cushion out of the air at the last second – nearly knocked clean off my chair by the force of his playful throw. Yet, a single sniff of annoyance is the only emotion I let the jerk witness – gulping down my instinct to make some biting remark about watching what he’s doing.

I don’t want that irredeemably handsome warrior to know how much he gets to me – and, besides, I’ve got bigger concerns than teaching a brutal alien his table manners.

I push the cushion beneath me and it finally props me up enough to peek over the top of the table. I still feel like a child sitting at my parent’s dinner table – but you wouldn’t tell from my tone of voice. I need answers, and I need answers now.

“What the hell are you three doing on a Toad ship?”

The body language of those three, towering warriors instantly changes. They stiffen, turning to me with appraising glares.

Lucius licks his full lips, and although he’s lounging back across the couch – trying to appear relaxed – his rigidity betrays him.

“We ask ourselves the same question every day,” he finally answers, his voice hoarse.

Bloody wonderful. An evasive non-answer.

The only solace I have sitting here is that at least the Aurelians don’t all seem on the brink of losing control any more – about to rip my dress off and throw me across the floor. Last night, it was as if just a single sigh or gasp could have tipped them over the edge.

But even now, without the imminent threat of a lust-fueled frenzy, there’s still a heady tension in the air around these three. They might not be ravishing me with their eyes, as they had done the night before, but I know they’re imagining taking me right now – and the only thing holding them back is their claim that they ‘need’ to resist taking me. To keep on the right side of that final frontier of their mind’s eye – the line that still allows them to believe they aren’t Rogue.

At least they’re holding back.

That’s what I want, right?

That’s what my brain tells me, but this pleasure dress is relentless in trying to convince my body otherwise. The fabric squirms and tingles against my nipples, playing with every inch of my flesh it touches. Like a radio signal in my brain, I find myself flooded with thoughts of all three Aurelians forcing me down – taking me one at a time, or all together. The images appear in my mind and the moment they do, I witness Quint breathing in deeply – his nostrils flaring.

“Stopsmellingme!” I blurt out, unable to contain my annoyance.

As if in a trance, Quint suddenly blinks, shaking his head. It’s as if he’d tasted my scent without even thinking about it.

Now, however, the hollow-eyed Aurelian runs his gaze up and down my body – finally meeting my eyes. The empty grayness of his stare is disconcerting. All Aurelians may resemble huge, white statues – but Quint even more so.

There’s something so unfathomable about the eyes of these Aurelians. Their gaze is so endless and blank – especially when you realize that they’ve been alive for centuries. To human eyes, they might not look much older than I am – but I know they’ve done and witnessed things beyond my comprehension, lived countless lives longer than my own, and their thoughts must be nothing like mine.

I’ve got to keep reminding myself that they’re not human.

In truth, Aurelians are closer to the Gods of Old-Earth than living, breathing creatures. They resemble the statues of Zeus, and Poseidon, and other deities I’ve seen pictures of, but don’t know their names.

One thing is certain, though – just like Aurelians, the Gods of the Old-Earth were lustful, violent, and achingly human in their Godliness. Pure, white skin doesn’t mean their hearts are pure.

Lucius stands – like a basking lion, pulling himself up ready for the hunt.

“You can’t blame Quint for tasting you,” he murmurs, crossing the room. “You taste sogood.”

It’s typical of Lucius, to answer for his battle-brother. Arrogant as always, the towering Aurelian pulls out the chair at the head of the table and sits down – planting his elbows on the table. It’s not just the oversized furniture that makes me feel small now. His presence is overwhelming.

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