Page 45 of Sold to the Nalgar
The robe slipped away, pooling behind her. She sat exposed, shivering. Not from cold. She told herself it was fear. Only fear.
But when his hand settled on her waist, thumb brushing her hipbone, she didn’t move. Couldn’t.
He leaned in.
His breath warmed the hollow of her throat, lips hovering. Threatening.
His hands slid up her back, tracing her spine. Gentle. Still gentle. His touch stirred something she couldn’t control, something primal.
Her muscles tensed. Her breath caught. She braced for impact.
But it never came.
He just touched her. And it was devastatingly sensual.
Sensual?
Seriously?
How could someone like him—a brutal creature who’d stolen her life—be sensual?
Her fingers knotted in the sheets.
This wasn’t right.
He had ripped her from Earth, dragged her into a world of silence and power. And now… now he was being gentle?
Her heart thundered.
He pulled her closer, bare skin brushing his chest. Heat radiated from him—real, alive. Like touching a sun that hadn’t burned her. Yet.
Her mind reeled.
Do his kind even feel this? Desire?
Because this wasn’t indifference.
This wasn’t just blood.
“What are you doing?” she whispered.
“Learning you.”
Two words, low and resonant, vibrating against her skin.
She closed her eyes, afraid of what he might see in them.
He slid his arms behind her and lowered her, slow as gravity, until her shoulders met the bed. Cool silk. Warm hands. She barely registered the shift until she lay beneath him, breath catching at his weight.
He didn’t force her.
He simply placed her there, as if she belonged.
As if she’d never had a choice.
She stared up, heart hammering. Fighting now would be pointless. He was too strong, too fast. She’d already learned what happened when she resisted—the collar, sedation, restraints.
This wasn’t Earth.
