Page 50 of Alien Wants A Wife

I freeze, trying to listen over the thumping of my heart.

There!That was definitely a noise. A footstep, perhaps. Maybe Roan is close by and trying hard to keep quiet. Hiding instead of running. Sneaky man. No wonder he disappeared so quickly after rounding the giant tree.

I look up, searching the branches overhead. They’re so large that I bet I could lie down along the length of one and not be visible from the ground. Probably trees are easy to climb if you’ve got four arms.

I stride forward, with every intention of scaling the tree trunk. I mightn’t’ve climbed a tree in nearly two decades, but I’m not giving up. I’m having too much fun to quit.

I’m smiling, I realize belatedly. Really, properly smiling. And I’ve barely spared many thoughts for Mr. Smith. Even now, it’s easy to brush him from my mind.

Well, not completely; I haven’t forgotten where I am or what happened to get me here. But the memory of my abduction isn’t front and center, like usual. And I don’t feel the need to search for cameras.

In fact, I’ve got my fingers crossed that if we are being filmed I won’t find out. I don’t want the magic spell of this moment to be shattered.

Reaching the tree, I hunt for a foot- or hand-hold, thinking that if I can get myself a foot or so off the ground, I should be able to reach the lowest branch.

That’s when I see it: a hollow in the base of the tree. It’s about four feet tall and three wide, looking like a tear, as if there was a branch at the base of the tree but it snapped off, tearing open part of the truck. The wood is paler here, maybe dead… But the rest of the tree is as magnificent as ever, so whatever happened to make the hollow, it didn’t cause lasting problems.

I duck my head and shuffle forward.

Were I in the bush back home, I’d be worrying about snakes and spiders and scorpions. Here, I’m only worried about tripping over the uneven ground.

The tree hollow is even larger inside than I’d realized from outside. I can stand up straight and not hit my head.

I reach out a tentative hand, searching for the walls, and touch something warm.

“Fuck!” I leap back, right as Roan’s four arms catch me, pulling me against his chest.

“Caught you,” he whispers, and his breath tickles my cheek.

“I caught you,” I argue, and to prove my point, I loop my arms around his neck, standing on my tippy toes to make myself a few inches taller.

Leaf litter crunches underfoot, and the scent of musty earth is even stronger here. It’s also so dark that I can’t quite make out Roan’s face. Except for his eyes. They’re doing that not-quite-bright-enough-to-be-called-glowing thing again.

Maybe he can see me better than I can see him.

My theory is confirmed when he bows his head, capturing my lips with his, aiming perfectly.

I sink into the kiss, savoring the warmth radiating off his scales. His scales… I shudder with delight. I never realized quite how amazing scales are until I met Roan. They’re smooth and hard all at once, and when I scrape at the back of his neck with my fingernails, there’s a satisfyingskritchingsound.

He shivers, pushing against me, and I scratch him again. He rewards me with another shiver and a moan that has me wondering if he’s got scalesallover his body. That could be interesting.

I use the tree to anchor myself steady, and Roan thrusts against me. His bulge is back, and I’m feeling decidedly greedy; I worked hard to catch Roan, and I’m getting my reward. I don’t doubt for a second he had this planned and always knew exactly where he was running to.

I’m positive there isn’t a camera hidden in the tree hollow, and so I allow myself the privilege of pushing back against him, thrusting my hips with a reckless abandon I haven’t felt in over two years.

With nobody watching, with nobody judging me, I feel like I can be absolutely and perfectly myself. That annoying voice in my head that’s always telling me to talk quieter or to sit up straighter or to wear flat shoes instead of high heels—it’s silent now. All I can hear are my own breaths, intermingled with Roan’s.

He doesn’t seem to care that I'm sweaty. In fact, he’s pushed a hand into my damp hair and is tugging lightly, massaging my scalp, drawing me closer.

Our heartbeats are racing. I can feel his pulse beating in his throat, and I wrap one hand around his throat, spreading my fingers as far as they will go, squeezing. He growls and breaks the kiss, but he doesn’t pull away.

Rather, yanks at the hem of my sweater, and I gladly help him take it off me, loving the feeling of the cool air on myhot skin. I wouldn’t be surprised if Roan told me there was steam shooting out of my ears. I’m so overheated it’s nearly overwhelming.

I’m hot from the exertion of running.

And I’m hot with desire.

I press my eyes closed, using my hand at his throat to draw his head down. He traces the length of my collarbone with lips and tongue. It’s the most wonderful feeling and almost too much to bear.

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