Page 11 of Alien Viking's Passion

“He gave your neck a red handprint,” Craxon said, teeth clenched in anger. “The boy’s act must be reported to his earl.”

“He’s just a child, Your Highness,” Aretha managed, the closeness to Craxon chasing away any anger or fear of the silly little boy. “He was drunk.”

“His youth makes it all the more vital to correct his behavior,” the prince said. “His chief will know how. I imagine it’s not the first time he has had to deal with over-amorous warriors. Aretha, when it’s just the two of us, you can call me Craxon.”

It was the first time he’d spoken her name, and she loved the way he made her lungs tremble with his bass in the middle ‘e’, drawing it out.

Aretha tried to collect herself, but with the prince so close, it wasn’t easy. “You keep saving me, Your… Craxon.”

“You keep getting into trouble,” he countered with a tight smile. “And yet, I can’t find it in me to blame trouble for being attractedto you.”

She looked up at him, the breath catching in her sore throat. “Maybe I do it on purpose, to make you save me.” Well, that was that bridge crossed. It was out there.

His eyes glittered. “Maybe. Is that what you’re doing?”

“You think I would tell you if I were?”

“You think I would tell you if I were hoping you’d get into trouble, so I can save you?”

“Is that what you’re doing?” Aretha echoed, her throat dry and her heart beating like crazy.

He grinned, white teeth shining in the dark. “Of course it is! Why else would I keep saving you at the last moment?”

“As long as you keep saving me without fail,” she managed, reaching up to stroke his bearded chin. Another bridge crossed. But she wasn’t going to fool anyone. She wanted him like she’d never wanted anything.

He stiffened for a moment, then leaned his chin into her hand and closed his eyes for a second. “I will do my best,” he said with a tinge of hoarseness in his voice.

She thought she saw his lower lip tremble, and for some reason, that made up her mind.

“Do it,” she urged, reaching up with the other hand, too. His beard was surprisingly soft to the touch. “Do your best. Now.”

He stiffened and stared at her for a moment as her words sunk in, as well as their meaning. Then he came in close and put one hand on her chin, lifting her face. “Only if you do it, too.”

“I promise,” she said breathlessly. “You’ll have my best. For what it’s worth.”

He let his hand slide softly along her cheek to her ear, grabbed her hand, and led her into the darkness, around the festive crowd and through the woods, towards the hiss of the surf. Aretha was distantly aware of small creatures scurrying around her feet, but her excitement was rising and before she knew it, they were at the grass-covered outlook point and the mild breeze washed over them. The muted sounds of the party reached them from the courtyard, and she saw the warm sheen from the festive torches reflected in the treetops.

Craxon took her into his arms, pulling her to him. Aretha threw her arms around his neck and pulled him down to her, placing a kiss right below his ear, his blond hair ticking her nose.

“It’s my first time,” she whispered, hoping he wouldn’t push her away. “I just never had a chance to… I was on a space station all my adult life. There weren’t any good men.”

“I hope I’m good enough,” he whispered right back. “I have only been in space a few times. And there weren’t any good women there, either.”

She kissed his cheek, clumsily but sincerely. She loved how he had let go of the stilted mighty-warrior-from-a-fantasy-movie way of speaking. Now she was seeinghim. “Good.”

He grabbed the hem of her elastic top with one hand and pulled it over her head while she helped. She had no bra on — the single layer of space-age fabric handled everything.

The ocean breeze tickled her exposed skin, and her nipples contracted and stiffened with the coolness and the anticipation.

His big, warm hands stroked across both of them, sending hard tingles down her front to her very center.

She heard herself mewling in arousal as he gently kneaded her bare breasts. She let her own hands run down his torso, marveling at the silkiness of his skin and the soft hardness of his gigantic muscles. Her fingertips found the two grooves she was looking for, following them down until they met the edge of his pants. She tried to get in under them, but it was awkward and she ended up cupping his big hardness from the outside.

“That’s big,” she whispered, surprised but not deterred. “Be careful, please?”

“I won’t hurt you,” he assured her, loosening the drawstring of his pants with one hand.

“You can hurt me alittle,” she breathed, her own words sending new arrows of heat to her center.

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