Page 36 of An Alien for the Future

I’m a horrible, disgusting male, because my mate is ill and I should be dead inside. Instead, my shaft is hardening in my trouse.

“Tovan?”

My throat goes dry. “I made you something to eat.”

Donna pushes herself up some more and those mounds on her chest bounce. Look away, Tovan.

“What…exactly is it?”

I pause, realizing I have no idea how to describe my creation. “It’s…a nutritious blend of various ingredients.”

She takes the bowl, her brows raised in what I hope is intrigue rather than disgust. Carefully, she uses the small utensil to bring some of the food to her lips. I hold my breath as she tastes it.

For a moment, there’s silence. Then she looks at me.

I don’t expect her soft smile. I truly expect her derision. But no, she’s smiling at me, and oh, does it set my lifeblood on fire. I have pleased her?

“This is…certainly something.”

I feel my scales flush even as I try not to stare at her too hard. “I can try again. If you can’t consume it, I’ll try again or head to town and purchase…” It’s the way she’s looking at me that makes me pause. She’s gone unreadable again and it brings back memories of that sol in the mud. But even if she becomes angry at me, I can’t back down, not this time. “You need to eat, Donna. We can’t have you starving.”

She grunts before gesturing to her body with one of her delicate arms. “Do I look like I’m starving to you?”

There’s a sudden tension in the air, her words carrying a sharp edge that catches me off guard. My eyes involuntarily trace the curves of her body, and even though I’m aware of how inappropriate it is, I can’t look away. Even though I know how frakking inappropriate it is, I can’t stop the hardness still growing in my trouse.

My pupils have narrowed to slits, a visible indicator sign of intent. Of a hunter zeroing in on its prey. And right now, Donna Johnson is the most alluring prey I’ve ever encountered.

“No.” My voice is too low. Much rougher than I intend. “You don’t look like you’re starving at all.”

She grunts again. “Where I come from, some would take offense to that, you know.”

Our eyes lock, and I feel a surge of heat coursing through my body. The air between us seems to crackle with an intensity that wasn’t there before.

“I mean no offense. You look…” How? How does she look? Beautiful? Perfect? Both true, but neither adequate. My eyes trace the generous curves of her body, drinking in every luscious detail. The soft swell of her hips, the fullness of those mounds onher chest, the enticing roundness of her belly—every part of her calls to something raw and deep within me.

Can I tell her that she is captivating? That her fullness speaks of abundance, of life? That it makes me want to worship every inch of her?

My claws itch to reach out and touch her, to explore the plush landscape of what is Donna. I imagine how she would feel beneath my claws—soft, warm, yielding. The thought sends a jolt of heat straight to my shaft. Spend leaks from my tip.

She is irresistible. Her body is a feast and I am starving for a taste.

I see the moment her breath holds. The moment a flicker of something passes through her eyes. It is what pulls me back from wherever I went, places me back in the present as Donna shifts slightly. The movement sends her sweet scent straight into my nostrils and I almost groan as another bead of spend forms at my tip.

Thank the gods my trouse does not reveal this.

“Tovan.” She looks up at me, her voice barely above a whisper. “What are you doing?” For a moment, I freeze. Does she know? Can she scent my arousal? But as she studies me, it’s clear she’s referring to more than just this moment. She’s referring to everything. From the zimi bush to this point.

And I have no solid answer. Only that I’m waiting for a core-rhythm that’s taking too long to sing.

“I’m not sure,” I admit, not bothering to disguise the huskiness in my tone. “But I know that when I look at you, every point in my existence begins to align.”

The tension between us is palpable, a living thing that seems to pulse in the small space separating our bodies. I can almost hear the rapid thrum of her core-beat, or maybe it’s mine. Everything else fades away—the room, the food, ourpast disagreements. All that exists is this moment, this heated, charged connection between us.

But Donna stiffens. “Tovan…”

“I know. I’m not supposed to be here.”

Donna stares at me. “Then why are you?”

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