Page 16 of Claimed By the Alien Prince
What am I doing? Panic grips me as I lean against the door for support. She nearly caught me off guard—a blunder unbecoming of a prince—and my mind spirals into chaos at what just transpired.
“Zevran?” she shouts from behind the door now, voice thick with indignation and embarrassment. “You better not be lurking there!”
“I am not lurking!” The words spill out before I can stop them, defensive and absurdly juvenile. “I brought you breakfast.”
“Breakfast?” Her tone shifts; skepticism cuts through her anger like sunlight through trees. “You think throwing food at me will make this okay?”
“I’m not throwing it!” My hands clutch the tray tighter as if it might shield me from her ire—or perhaps my own foolishness. “It’s on a tray!”
Silence stretches between us for a heartbeat before she bursts into laughter—not mocking but genuine surprise mingled with irritation. The tension loosens slightly within me at that sound; maybe there’s hope yet for this bizarre arrangement.
Without thinking further about dignity or rank or what was supposed to happen next—what political agenda waits outside—I breathe deeply and reply quietly enough for only her ears:
“I’ll come back later.”
I stride out of the room. Every muscle in my body tenses, caught between confusion and a fierce, unsettling desire. How does she manage to stir this in me? I shake my head as if it might dislodge the image.
Her creamy skin glistening under water, dark hair cascading like a curtain, that defiant look in her eyes—it clings to me like a vine wrapping around a tree. I push my fingers through my hair, trying to ground myself as the warmth spreads through me.
I slam the door to my own chambers, looking down at my cock. It's already erect, so hard that it borders on painful. How? I've never been so easily aroused—and by just a glance?
My body thrums with awareness, every inch of my skin flush with need. This is dangerous—more than any battle I’ve faced. A human? I snarl at myself in the mirror, fury mixing with the ache coiling low in my belly. What has she done to me?
A prince should never be swayed by something so unpredictable as lust—especially for someone deemed inferior by many in my court.
But Carys is not just another human; she’s an enigma that rattles every carefully constructed wall I've built around myself.
The tray of sweetbreads crashes onto the floor as I rip at my trousers, leather laces snapping under claw-tipped fingers.My cock springs free already hard, angry and leaking—like some starved beast she’s awakened with a fucking glance.
Jalshagar, that traitorous voice hisses. Bond madness.
"Shut up," I snarl to no one, to the walls that’ve seen me take courtiers and diplomats and not once—never—beg for it. Yet here I am, gripping myself with a groan, imagining her slammed against the bath’s edge. Water sloshing as she struggles.Fight me,I think, thumb smearing pre-come down the shaft.Scream, scratch, fucking bite.Her thighs would leave bruises on my hips, her squirming only driving me deeper?—
"Fuck." I spit the word, pace quickening. She’d taste salt and defiance, her curses dissolving into whimpers when I bend her forward, her hands slipping on wet stone.Beg,I want her to beg in that grating human tongue. Let her mock me between gasps as I split her open, proving she’s as much animal as the weeds she studies.
The fantasy shifts—her on her knees, rainwater from her hair dripping onto my thighs. Eyes locked on mine as her mouth drags over the head, too slow, too human."Hurry,"I’d command, fisting those damp strands. She’d smirk, all venom and heat."Make me, Your Highness."
I’m grunting now, hips jerking into my fist. Green markings writhe down my abdomen, alive with this cursed bond. It scalds—every stroke a violation of my own godsdamned principles.Should’ve bent her over that tub,I think savagely, even as my balls tighten. Vision blurs white when I come across the floor, stripes of semen painting the moss-green tiles.
Panting, I slump against the bedpost.
Fuck. This isn't going to fucking work.
CHAPTER 13
CARYS
The water envelops me, soothing yet electrifying, as I sink deeper into the tub. My thoughts whirl like the swirling patterns in the luminous tiles beneath me. I should be focused on escaping this ridiculous palace or plotting my next move against Zevran and his ridiculous arrogance, but instead, heat curls in my belly, tightening with every breath.
Why did that turn me on?
I can’t shake the image of him standing there—broad shoulders tensed, that sharp gaze piercing through the steam. The way he stumbled back, heart racing just as fast as mine when I’d thrown soap at him—there’s something intoxicating about it. It’s not just his stature or that spine of his; it’s how he seemed so self-assured yet so completely off-balance in my presence. A prince flustered by a prisoner? That thought sends a thrill through me.
What is happening to me? He’s an arrogant Kiphian prince who thinks humans are parasites—a creature of privilege and duty. Yet, I can’t help but feel drawn to him. There’s a complexity beneath that regal exterior—fury and uncertainty simmering just beneath the surface. Maybe it’s because I’ve never hadsomeone like him challenge me before, push back against my defiance with raw intensity rather than just words.
I shake my head and push those thoughts away. Focusing on them is pointless.
I rise from the bath, droplets cascading down my skin as I glance at the clothes laid out nearby. Kiphian style—but not bad for what they are: form-fitting fabric that molds to my curves and accentuates every line of my body without constricting me like my uniform.
