Page 82 of Sold to the Alien Smugglers

Suddenly, there’s a knock on the door.

“Jamie?” It’s Marcel’s voice. “It’s time.”

I shiver. Even through the door, I can sense that Marcel is grave. Underneath his formality, however, is something more.

Hunger.

He wants me.

He wants me so badly he can barely hold back. It’s genuinely a mystery how he managed to hold on this long. The Aurelians’ loyalty to their code of the Empire is the only thing that has proven more powerful than the allure of claiming their Fated Mate; but with my insistence, that barrier has now been removed.

This is happening – and I don’t think Marcel or his battle-brothers could hold back now even if they tried.

“I’m coming,” I promise, as I stand on wobbly feet and reluctantly slip the pleasure dress back over my head. As I wriggle into the form-fitting gown, the fabric comes alive once again – tingling and teasing my body with almost sadistic sensuality.

At least I know they’ll try to be gentle…

…at first.

I know they’lltry.

But once the mating frenzy overwhelms them, there’ll be no more rational thought left in their sex-soaked minds. This is my fate, and I’ve condemned myself to it.

Smoothing down the front of my dress, I open the door.

The three Aurelians stand tall and proud on the other side – dressed in their ceremonial togas.

Thank the Gods, at least their cocks have softened – so I don’t have the constant visual reminder of how painful this is going to be.

Unless…

Unless somehow, IamBonded to them.

I’ve heard all about the Bond. Only that mysterious connection would allow me to endure the roughness of the three of them without pain.

But what if I’mnottheir Fated Mate?

Or more terrifyingly, what if Iam

“Where’s the main hall?”

I say it to distract myself from what’s going to happen.

“In the middle of the ship,” Marcel answers, with the haste of a man attempting to do the same thing. “I’ll carry you.”

I gulp. Being flung over his shoulder – like he’s a firefighter, saving me from a burning building – is more than I can handle right now.

Then, there’s a feeble knock at the door.

Lucius grunts something in the Toad language, and the AI opens the doors. In the corridor outside stands a Toad, quivering in fear. He’s sat in the driver’s seat of some hovering contraption – kind of like a hover-bike with a floating cart attached. The cart has seats, pillows, and blankets – which might have sounded exciting, except each of them is glistening and damp from the extreme humidity of the mothership.

I’m utterly confused, until Lucius throws me a look which seems to answer all my questions.

Lord Oblog apparently wants us to arrive for our ‘spectacle’ without having exerted ourselves from the walk. Perhaps he wants to keep the Aurelian’s togas looking crisp and fresh, instead of forcing the warriors to wade through the ankle-deep water.

The Toad driving the contraption speaks in his guttural language, his voice croaking with fear. He winces as he delivers his message, closing his eyes tightly in expectation of a violent response.

In truth, he’s rightfully worried. After the Toad guard lost his head just a day earlier, it’s fair to be concerned that these three Aurelians might rip his head off merely for being part of this obscene display we’re expected to participate in.

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