Page 22 of Rescued By the Luxirian

The wind was violent outside the domed dwelling, slamming into the glass windows, which withstood the impact effortlessly. Out on the terrace, I heard something fly through the air, clanging against metalhardand a sharp sigh bit out of my companion’s throat.

“Vrax,” he murmured.

“What was that?” I asked, nibbling on my lip.

“A terrace stone,” he told me.

“Did you know about the storms before you moved here?” I wondered.

“I knew it had a stormy season,” he informed me. “Just not how violent they were. I don’t regret it. The repair work keeps me busy. And the season doesn’t last long.”

Just like Droxan had predicted, the storm had hit shortly after the sun lowered into the horizon, after we’d finished eating the dinner I made him. Along with a soft purple root mash, I’d grilled marinated flank—of an Ullima creature that Droxan simply called ataxa—seasoned in a spice that he said he made himself. His own blend. From his garden, which I hadn’t known he had.

“You have a garden?” I’d asked him as I watched him chew. He liked the dinner, I could see the pleasure on his face as we sat side-by-side at his stone counter, and the knowledge had filled me withimmensesatisfaction.

“I’ll show you tomorrow,” he’d promised. “When the storm lets up.”

Now, as the storm raged outside, I huddled closer to the big, warm male lounging among the cushions beside me. Droxan had a jug ofkrivirowine that he’d brought up from his cellar to pair with our dinner. Another extravagance. And when I had protested him opening it—for I knew it was much too expensive—he’d simply looked at me with a raised brow as he popped the pressurized stopper.

We were finishing the jug as we watched the rain stream down the domed windows.

“It’s like we’re behind a waterfall,” I commented, my head feeling pleasantly light. Anticipation had been building in my belly all night. All day, truthfully. The wine helped steel my courage as I shifted closer, my thigh brushing his own. “Though I’ve never seen one. I watch the nature documentaries on the Nu and there is a planet that isfilledwith waterfalls. A water planet that just looks like it’s filled with mist from the spray.”

He inclined his head. “Bvaro.”

I beamed. “You know it?”

“I knew someone who lived there. They have floating cities, spread out on the water like they are entire continents. I stayed at one of the resorts there once. It’s beautiful.”

I blew out a breath, tilting my head to study the male. Throughout the day, it had become rather apparent to me just how much he’d experienced throughout his own life. He couldn’t bethatmuch older than I was—maybe five to ten years older?—but it was obvious that he was used to wealth. He knew countless well-known merchants throughout the Quadrants. People fromplaces like Bvaro. He was well-traveled, had been to places like Horrin, which I’d heard was a nightmare to secure a visitor visa for. He had connections. Seeminglyeverywhere.

And yet…he was here.

On Ullima.

Truthfully, he intimidated me. To know that this male who I’d been shamelessly flirting with for the better part of the day was someoneimportant. And me? I was just an orphan human girl from Wero. Who only drank half a glass of wine on weeknights and who got excited when the traveling vegetable vendor stopped in at the colony for market day.

But then there wasthisside of him too. The quiet Droxan. The one who sometimes pinned me with a look so hot that I could actuallyfeelthat gaze running over my body. The one whose soft, chuffing laugh filled me with warmth, like I’d won something every time I’d managed to pull it from him. The one who shrugged as he popped open a 5,000 credit jug of wine for me and who frowned whenever he saw me cleaning his tools off on my tunic, as if he couldn’t stand the thought of me lifting my little finger to help him.

Droxan brought his goblet to his lips and I felt a stab of longing go through me as I watched him drink. I was aroused and squirming next to him. There was no way he wouldn’t be able to smell me.

Desperately, I wondered why he wasn’t making a move. I thought I’d made my interest clear.

Is it because he doesn’t want me to feel pressured?I wondered. It made sense. I was a female that was completely dependent on him right now. It was entirely possible that he didn’t want to frighten me.

MaybeIwould have to make the first move.

With that thought, I drained the last bit of wine in my own goblet and leaned forward to set it on the ledge of the firepit. He’d turned it on when we sat down. This was downrightromantic. A fire, wine after a satisfying meal, rain pelting down on the windows, cuddling on the cushions in his sunken living room.

Droxan had bathed while I’d been puttering around in his kitchen. While I was disappointed he wasn’t bare-chested, the black tunic he wore conformed to his body like a second skin. He looked so damnsoft. Maybe it was the wine but all I wanted to do was rub my face against his chest.

His pants were made of a similar material but they did nothing to conceal the obvious tent in his lap. When he thought I hadn’t been watching, he’d adjusted his cock so that it lined up with the waistband, making me squeeze my thighs together.

It wasn’t even that I wanted to have sex tonight. Some under the clothes petting and making out would be perfectly adequate. I just wanted to get my hands on him. Bite him a little. Suck on his bottom lip and hear him come undone. Maybe grab onto his horns while he gave me a hickey.

Was that so much for a girl to ask?

“Question,” I murmured quietly, my voice husky but soft, hushed by the rain and the lack of distance between us.

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