Page 13 of Dreikx

“Would you like a drink?” I ask.

“Wine, please.”

“Other than wine?”

“Wine.” She turns and smiles sweetly, then slips the strings of flimsy cloth from her shoulders. The bridal gown, which is unlike any other bridal gown I’ve ever seen, flutters around her feet. Tamey’s colorful markings are still dim, which is excellent as I have not entered the mating hour yet. For Teleans, the mating hour comes every decade and for a short period of time that equals about one human hour, which is why I retrieved Tamey now and not before or after. I have only a short time frame in which to procreate. Suppressing our natural functions, such as intercourse, is the price Teleans pay in favor of overdeveloping our brain capacity.

“Wine it is,” I mutter, though I know wine promotes Omega heat. For maximum chance of impregnation, her heat should align with my mating hour. Should I fail, I’ll have to send her back to Regha. I don’t wish her the misfortune of not having children. She doesn’t deserve it, and her bloodline doesn’t either. It is a fine, rare Sewa male Regha bloodline, that of Tayseer and Jewel. Mine is less important. Father was a beggar, Mother a thief, and they paid for my education by signing a contract of lifelong free labor, a currency the Telean president welcomes. I studied extensively, graduated at the very top of my class, received military strategy education, and then I stole everything I could from the president, including the precious space gate we used to discover another planet.

Tamey slides into the pool and swims underwater.

At the bar, I open the wine and pour her a glass, watching her long legs making half circles. She flips onto her back and spreads them, amber eyes open and shining under water. Something splashes my arm. I step back. A red puddle spreads over the counter, dripping down and onto the floor. I’ve poured an entire bottle into a single glass that naturally overflowed. Interesting. As I summon different appliances to clean up the mess, I recall my annoyance with the Regha Alphas and their inability to focus with Omegas around. Perhaps I should reexamine this phenomenon.

I place the wineglass at the edge of the pool, then sit beside it. Tamey emerges, grabs the wine, and sips, big bright eyes locked with mine. “You’re not going to swim.”

“I don’t need the exercise.”

“Do you think I do? Is that why you suggested the pool?”

“Yes, you have spent the day in a sedentary sitting position. A suitable exercise is healthy for your mind.”

“And my body?”

“You’re naturally fit.”

Tamey lifts the empty glass. “Is there more?”

“I’m afraid not.”Because I spilled it all gawking at you.I don’t say that.

She purses her lips, and for a brief moment of insanity, I wonder what she can do with that mouth. A great many things, I’m certain. Sighing, I retreat to the lounge chair and select aJapanese Robotic Advances Reportfor some leisure reading. I read the numbers in one article’s table and the explanation. Finding two flawed conclusions, I make a mental note to correct the twenty-seven-author panel that misinterpreted the data. Annoyed, I look up to check on Tamey, who is swimming back and forth. I read the first sentence of the next research paper, then read it again, not retaining anything. Perhaps I picked the wrong reading material. I put it back on the mini shelf of my recreational reading and pick up a dystopian fantasy novel, then flip it open. I read the prologue—I hate prologues—then glance at Tamey, who is now watching me. She smiles and climbs out of the pool, then walks deliberately toward me. I notice she’s walking on the balls of her feet again. Her hips sway. Her breasts are glorious. I find I could stare at her for the duration of our stay on the roof. The data and the prologue are imperfect. Tameyisperfect. I can hardly believe it, but it is the absolute truth.

She takes the book out of my hand and plops right into my lap. She’s nude, wet, and her skin markings, I note, shine brighter. Likely due to the wine. Her eyes, already glossy, positively glow. She opens the novel and reads out loud, stammering over the words, mispronouncing, skipping. Instead of cringing and correcting her, I stay silent. I have never experienced anything more attractive in my life than a female who reads for me.

I adjust the chair back and lean into a half-lying position. I expect her to stay sitting, but no. Tamey stretches over my body, her back against my front, the back of her head on my shoulder. She continues reading, dropping her voice to a low, seductive pitch, and the dystopian fantasy turns into dystopian smut. With the book spread in front of me, I follow the words as she reads them, not caring about the water from her fingertips wetting the pages.

If she folded the corner of the page, I would not freak out. Tamey is allowed anything. As I mull over why Tamey doesn’t upset me with her mispronunciations and mistreatment of an old printed novel, my hands, as if detached from my brain, roam over her body. As I realize what I’m doing, I pause. Tamey hitches a breath. I marvel at the stark contrast and the coldness of my black gloved hands as they stroke the undersides of her breasts. “Keep reading for me,” I say. It sounds suspiciously like an order, and Tamey’s pussy wets. I smell her arousal. It is so strong and inviting that I take an exceptionally long time to consciously shut off my olfactory sensors.

Tamey reads.

I trace the curves of her markings from the undersides of her breasts all the way to her nipples, which I stroke gently, noting her breathing pattern, namely her heartbeats and the drop and rise of her chest. But more than anything, I like seeing my gloved hands roam her perfect body. It awakes something…something primal inside me, long buried and certainly unbecoming of a Telean male. Still, I continue. I’m curious. I move my hands down her belly and bend slightly to hook my hands behind her thighs and pull her legs apart. Tamey props her heels on the armrests.

I rest my gloved hands over her inner thighs, stroking her skin with my thumbs. Tamey stays quiet, breathing heavily, perhaps letting me explore with no distractions. I glide my palms down and pause at her folds. I pull back the skin. Ah, there it is. Unlike, Regha Omegas, Tamey has a clitoris. I wonder if she also has the Regha Omega markings inside her body. No other way to find out but to search. I stroke her wet entrance. Tamey moans and twists her neck, buries her nose against my cheek. She breathes heavily, spreading her legs wider.

“You are flexible,” I say.

She says nothing but lifts her bottom, encouraging me to continue.

“You have a lovely little clitoris.” I dip a finger inside her and feel the inner walls of her entrance. The markings should heat up, but don’t. Either she doesn’t have them or I can’t feel anything with the gloves on. Taking them off isn’t an option. The danger of falling into the trap every Alpha has fallen into looms over me like a dark cloud. I can’t get lost in Tamey until I’ve secured Mike and reinforced Raven’s alliance, which I lost when I took Tamey, his oldest sister and the jewel of her people.

With a finger inside her, I dip it all the way, my thumb brushing her clitoris. Tamey arches her back, liquid leaking between my finger and her channel. The scent of her arousal breaches my guarded senses, and my defensive wall collapses. I snarl, grab her, and press an arm over her breasts, squeezing one and pumping my finger inside her viciously. Fast. Faster. Tamey claws at my clothes, but I hold her still and pump until she screams. I keep my finger inside. Liquid gushes out of her, her channel undulates, heat soaking through the leather.

Indeed, Tamey has the best of both worlds. Clitoris on the outside, markings on the inside. I slide my wet hand up her body and rest it on her breast and squeeze. “Read for me.”

“Yes, Alpha.”

Chapter 6

Dreikx

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