Page 3 of Taken By the Devilish King

"Are you new?”

He grimaces.

“No. I’m not new.”

I nod.

“Oh. Maybe…do you not speak English very well?" I ask when he doesn't say anything for some painful moments.

I’m not going to lie, lying with my legs crossed and my clit throbbing between them isn’t helping the situation. It doesn’t help me form sentences or coherent thoughts.

"No," he says. "I'm not speaking English at all."

Now I'm even more confused.

"What?" I shake my head and focus. I uncross my legs as if that will help when I feel sensitive and tense all over. "SFX. Special effects? The people that did your makeup?"

His face straightens and he lets out a hearty laugh and I feel warm wetness spreading across my pussy.

Why the fuck am I reacting like this? I’m not a horny, sex-crazed person. I’m not a player. And I certainly don’t go around lusting over extras.

There's something about this guy. I can't put my finger on it but it’s him. He’s causing this, somehow.

By being all hot and handsome.

"Ah. You think we're on set? You think this is SFX and prosthetics?" He raises his arms and glances at them with an amused grin that makes him look smug. I want to slap him straight. And then…maybe…bite those plump, grayed lips.

"I thought you said you don't speak English." That's good Ayla. Focus on the conversation, the facts, because if I think too much about the thoughts shooting from my head to my clit, they can only lead to a nightmare.

"I don't. I'm speaking Vyperian."

What the fuck was Vyperian? Was that one of the made up languages the diehard fans liked to learn to impress or embarrass us with during signings and Comic-con?

"Oh. I get it. You're in character. Okay. Good. Yeah. That makes sense. Who are you supposed to be? Did they change the script again? Because I've already learned my lines."

If they think they can change the script on a whim every day, we're going to need to have some talks. I don't pour my heart and soul into playing Admiral Calliope, into finding the motivation behind every move, every line only so they can turn the tables on me and force me to parrot stupid words that make no sense to anyone but them and the hardcore fans.

"I am not in character. I am King Lofynyx of Vyperion, Ms. Kyle."

I grimace.

Nothing that's coming out of his mouth is making any sense. There was no planet called Vyperion or any kings in the Battle of the Galaxies. There was no active monarchy in any of the movies.

"You can just call me Ayla. But I still don't understand. Since when do we have a king in the script? We only have three days of shoots left. Are they seriously going to introduce a new character in the final act? Or is this a post-credit thing no one thought to tell me about?"

I search around for Karma again, a crew member, anyone who can explain what the hell is going on but there's no one else. Just the King actor and the two extras standing by the door as if they’re his guards.

"Ms Kyle—Ayla, I'm your biggest fan," the man drops to his knees and searches for my hands, taking them in his and kissing the back of them. "I love your work. You're a very talented actress. And a very sexy woman."

Oh shit.

Maybe I have been abducted, but not by aliens, but by creepy fans.

Fuck!

That would explain the lack of a crew. That would be why nothing makes sense.

"Who...who are you? What do you want from me?"

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