Page 69 of Alien Wants A Wife

The look of happiness and pride he gives me is nearly too much to resist, and I’m so close to kissing him, cameras bedamned. Abruptly, I grab our plate, intending to clean up to distract myself, except that Roan takes over.

“This right here,” I tell him with a grin. “This is real romance—when the man cleans the kitchen after dinner.”

“Yes?” Immediately distracted by compliments, Roan abandons the dirty plate and practically skips toward me. “Do Human Males not clean?”

I laugh. “None that I’ve met.”

“Piff!” I think he’s annoyed, but then he makes a dive for me, and I only narrowly miss getting caught by scurrying around the table. More Catch and Kiss. He follows, and I dart through the closest open door, too late noticing it’s his bedroom. He lunges toward me. I’ve got nowhere to escape to, and it’s not like I’m trying all that hard to get away. He wraps his arms around my waist and twists in the air so that we land on his mattress on our sides.

I can already feel the hard bulge at my back that’s his growing erection, and now I know how to open his slit, I immediately want to turn around and start feeling him up.

But… cameras.

Roan must be thinking the same thing, because he releases me, rolling onto his back. He’s got his lower hands not-too-subtly covering his bulge, and he slips his upper hands behind his head like a pillow.

If there was one critique I was going to make about Roan’s room, it would be the lack of blankets.

Oh, and there being no wardrobe for me to hang up clothes.

I’m tempted to use the cameras as clothes hangers, blocking the lenses, but I’m pretty sure Mr. Smith would consider us tampering with his cameras a criminal offense.

“Give me a second.” I press a kiss to one of Roan’s perfect biceps and fetch my cocktail gown off the kitchen table. Quickly returning to Roan’s side, I throw it over our heads, pretendingwe’re characters inThe Simsdoing the WooHoo. I imagine what our audience might see when this clip’s played—fireworks over a bouncing bed, with our feet sticking out the end because my dress isn’t nearly long enough to cover our heads and our legs all at once.

On second thought… I empty all my clothes onto the bed, creating a fabric fort under which Roan and I are lying. If we move too vigorously, they’ll undoubtedly slide onto the floor, so I breathe shallowly, not wanting to tempt fate.

“Better?” I whisper, because there’s something about being under a pile of clothes that makes whispering the proper way to talk.

“Not exactly…” Roan grimaces, probably hating the feeling of having his scales covered by fabric, so I slide across until I’m lying on top of him, ‘protecting’ him from my clothes.

“Much better,” he agrees earnestly, wrapping his four arms around me and burying his nose in my hair. “Much better,” he repeats, but it sounds more likemunch beddabecausehis words are muffled by the kisses he’s distributing down my cheek, over the curve of my ear, along my throat.

I sink against him. This is probably a terrible idea, but despite all the reasons I should jump off Roan and run for the hills, I can’t bring myself to stop touching him.

Roan had such big dreams when he applied for the show; if I can make even a few of them come true, maybe I can salvage something of LOVE GALAXY—regardless of what our future ends up being.

“Try not to move,” I whisper. “And don’t make a sound.”

Poor thing, I’m already thinking of all the ways I could pleasure him that don’t involve him moving, and I’m loving it. We’ve hardly even started and I’m already getting back that feeling of confidence I’d first felt when we’d hidden in the tree.

Under these clothes, hiding from the cameras, I’m in charge. Me. Harlee Jun.

I skate my hands over his body, wishing I had four hands instead of two so I could touch twice as much of Roan at once. He’s got his bottom lip trapped between sharp teeth, and I free it gently with a kiss, not wanting to risk him accidentally hurting himself.

Unsurprisingly, it’s hard to disrobe when you’re trying to remove the clothes on your body but not the clothes covering your body. This would be so much easier if Ril’os used blankets. And I might have made a slight error in judgement telling Roan not to move before I’d undressed, because he makes no move to help me.

It’s well worth all the muttered swearing and panting and effort, though, when I’m lying completely naked on top of Roan, skin to scales. I rub myself slowly over him, relishing the feeling—a massage of scales on skin. Not a sports massage, of course; a relaxation one. Awareness of all the places we’re touching races over my skin.

Like before, it’s excruciatingly easy to forget about everything but Roan. At this moment, nothing else matters but him and me and how we’re feeling. He moans, and I feel an echoing moan slipping from my lips, like we’re tied together by an invisible string. What feels good for him feels good for me. And vice versa.

I would hide in our fort for eternity, if I could, avoiding all our problems. Avoiding the inevitable heartbreak.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Roan

Staying still is the hardest thing I have ever done. My cock throbs with heat, my body alive with desperation and longing. I have never, in all my life, wanted anything as I want Harlee.

She is my everything.

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