Page 72 of Bonded Queen: to the Alien Warlord Triad

“Not really.”

“Okay. We’ll start with cutting veggies,” she says, and I follow along, trying my best to learn.

It takes twenty minutes before Nash stops barely suppressing winces at my technique, once audibly gasping when the razor-sharp knife slips on the skin of a tomato and nearly chops my finger off. But soon enough, I get into the rhythm and find that it’s relaxing to do the repetitive movements.

I share a smile with Nash and thank her—and we move on to cooking. I’m resolved to be able to whip something together by my own hand the next time the Aurelian triad comes home.

Home—is that what this bunker has come to be?

25

Rachel

“So who gives the best massages?” Orr is growly as I lie on the huge bed, his hands working their magic on my feet. His coarse black beard tickles my body when he leans in too close. I like to grab his beard and run the tip over my stomach, like it’s a paintbrush.

“Still Raneeda,” I say with a little shrug of my shoulders, my head against the pillow. Kriz chuckles from the bed on the right, where he’s lounging back, reading a yellowed tome of a book he had delivered from one of the archives. It’s written in High Aurelian, the beautiful script in tall, thin letters, on some antiquated battle tactics from thousands of years ago on the use of the Planet Killers, the banned, world-rending ships that nearly destroyed all sentient life so many thousands of years ago.

The two of them are in dark grey shorts, with Orr shirtless and Kriz wearing a white t-shirt. It makes them look so much more normal than the imposing black togas. If it wasn’t for their marble skin, ominous brands, and huge bodies, they could almost be mistaken for humans.

Orr runs his hands up my calves, pressing the cream in with his thumbs. He kneads them until I smile in bliss. “Who wins now?” he says, his hand resting menacingly on my ass.

“Hmm. Still Raneeda,” I say, and wince as he raises his hand up, spanking me firmly on the ass. I grin into the pillow. “Now it’s definitely Raneeda. You lost points for that, mister.”

He growls, and a wave of heat floods between my legs. He trails his hands up my legs, into my inner thighs. “And now?”

I moan in anticipation. “You’re about to take the top spot,” I say, and he grabs my ass cheeks, squeezes them, and spreads me open. He brings his mouth to my sex from behind, his breath hot against my slit, and I arch back against him as he runs that huge tongue of his up and down, massaging my ass while he pleasures me with his tongue.

The last five days were nothing but bliss. We got into a routine, if being the Fated Mate of three alien generals could ever be called routine. When the triad is out in the palace, they are steel, their auras devoid of all emotion. They are cold, focused, and under intense pressure.

When they walk into the bunker and the doors close off the outside world, the stress melts off them. They become who they’re meant to be. I thought Orr would always be terrifying, but though his desires are raw and brutal, when he’s (finally) sated, he’s a big bear. Orr’s tongue slides up and down, tasting me, his aura burning brighter and brighter with his lust for me. Since the pleasure room, when I was tied up so tight I couldn’t move an inch and brought to his mouth, he’s been addicted to lavishing me with his tongue, and I’m not complaining.

I’ve got a thousand questions. I keep them locked inside. We get precious few hours together, sometimes just one or two a day, and they’ve only slept over once, our bodies tangled up in bed. I woke up at three a.m. needing to pee, and they were already gone.

I asked them where they slept the other nights when they returned. Ra’al just shook his head, explaining they didn’t have time. They’ve been up near non-stop since they arrived. I saw Ra’al in the bathroom, splashing cold water on his face, and for a moment, when he looked into the mirror, I saw the lines around his eyes, and the weight on his shoulders. Our eyes met in the reflection, and he gave me a light smile, before coming back and lying with me in bed for a precious few minutes before he had to leave.

I’m burning to ask when I can see the other servants, especially Summer and Lola, but I know how the triad would answer my request:When it’s safe.If I pushed, it would cause tension in the few hours we do have.

I let my mind melt under Orr’s hungry tongue, all frustration leaving my body, as Kriz puts his book away, licking his lips, unable to resist me. He pulls off his shirt, and I stare at his muscled body, his taut, hard abs, those delicious V-lines that lead the gaze down to his shorts. He reaches into the jar of lotion and coats his hands, and stands in front of the bed right in front of my head, leaning so his hands are on my back. The two Aurelians massage me as Orr’s tongue moves faster, his hands clenching my ass cheeks possessively.

They’re pure dominance—and that means when they want to worship me, they do. It’s impossible to deny them. They ignite my own lusts, and when the Bondthrumsin my mind, I ache to do nothing more than give in to the three brutal beasts.

Kriz pulls down his shorts, his huge, downward curved dick flopping down on my head, the weight of it on me. I move aside before it can spurt Aurelian pre-cum in my hair, and wrap my lips around the huge head, everything disappearing except the two men.

An hour later, the three of us are in a sweaty, satisfied pile. It is only Ra’al who is tense. He’s in the gym, and this time when he and his triad returned to the bunker, he didn’t leave all his stress at the door.

I shower off and pull on a yellow pleasure dress. “I’m going to go check on Ra’al,” I say.

“Stay here. He’s training,” says Kriz, his brows furrowing.

“I can’t relax when he’s like this. I’ll be back,” I say, slipping out before they can stop me.

As I walk to the gym, my pace slows. There’s the ringing metallic sound of blade clashing against blade, and it’s like walking through quicksand towards him. He didn’t leave the real world at the door. I bite my lip, because I need this bunker to be an escape—for them, when they return, and for me, when I can forget everything in their arms.

I walk to the threshold of the training room. Ra’al is in the center of the square, three robotic combat figures surrounding him. His blade is dull and black. The first robot swings wildly, and Ra’al ducks, getting under the blade and driving his own weapon into the throat of the combat droid. It deactivates, falling to the ground, as he spins, and his Orb-Blade hums to life, blue-black energy coating the black blade and sucking up the light of the room as he cuts down the other two robots. Ra’al’s black toga swishes in the air in the violent movement, the light of the room glinting off his black tattoos.

My heart pounds as the broken bodies of the combat droids fall to the ground. He steps over them, his aura alert, as if looking for his next opponents, when his eyes find me.

When he fights, his opponents won’t fall into broken pieces of black metal. It won’t be sweat drenching his powerful body.

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