Page 56 of Scorching the Alien Empire
“May you die a glorious death,” the soldiers echo in unison, performing their salute once more. “War Chieftain!” they shout before turning abruptly and marching toward the exit.
I’m relieved when the immense door swooshes closed behind them, barely holding myself together against Dracoth’s infuriatingly delightful assault.
I can’t be certain, but I think he’s summonedtwotiny orbs now. One vibrates, sending molten pulses into the crown of my femininity, while the other teases and dances along my slick folds.
Dracoth has reduced me to a squirming mess—frantic breaths, bitten lip, legs clamped together, and knees quivering. Meanwhile, he’s hunched over like Quasimodo with his bell about to be rung, a faint layer of sweat beading on his forehead.
I’m going to win! He’s going to break first!
The warmth within me builds and builds, tingles fluttering through my entire body. My legs part slightly, wishing his orbs of heat would slip inside me, filling me to the brim the way his massive cock does. It’s all too much—the mounting pleasure, the heat, the naughtiness of our sexy hidden game.
“Do you smell something burning?” Sandra asks, her face wrinkling as she sniffs the air loudly.
Yes! Burn me, Dracoth. Burn me with Arawnoth’s love!
An explosion erupts from deep inside me, pulling a muffled squeal from my lips. Waves and waves of ecstasy wash over me, spreading from my blazing core to every tingling extremity. Shuddering jolts ripple through my body, forcing me to grasp Sandra’s shoulder to keep from collapsing into a quivering puddle of molten Lexie-goo.
“Oh my God, are you okay, Lexie?” Sandra asks, her voice soft with concern as she steadies me with firm hands. “You’re burning up.” She rests a hand against my sweaty brow. “I’ll take you back to your room,” she urges, sliding an arm around my waist.
“No, I’m fine,” I giggle, the euphoria still cascading through me. “I just got a little hot under the collar. Thanks, Sandra.”
I fan my face and roll my eyes toward the towering red dragon that is my alien husband. He glares at me, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips, a pale flicker of emotion compared to the amusement and pride roaring through our bond.
His gaze shifts to Jazreal, thinking he’s won, but I increase the tempo of my divine shields to absurd levels, causing his eyes to bulge like the cock he’s struggling to hide.
“Jazreal... and... Sarkoth,” he stammers, wiping a layer of sweat from his brow. “Who is... to be Death Herald?” His wind-tunnel voice cracks under the strain.
“I am Death Herald of the Ravager Berserkers, War Chieftain,” Jazreal declares, his stern voice echoing proudly. He steps forward, slamming the butt of his long spear against the gleaming marble floor.
“Sarkoth... do you wish to challenge?” Dracoth asks, his twitching gaze shifting to the long, brown-haired soldier standing guard beside Jazreal.
“Challenge him?” Sarkoth laughs, the sound deep and rich with camaraderie. “He’s saving me from a voiding headache—”
Dracoth grunts loudly, his fangs clenched. I laugh as he throws his head back, his massive fingers clenching harder, cracking and splintering the huge bestial skulls armrests. All eyes snap to him—high upon his super-important throne for everyone to see—as he trembles and shakes, his orgasm tearing through him.
“Oh dear, you don’t look so well, my Mortakin-Kai,” I purr, my tone dripping with honeyed sweetness, my gaze loaded withmischief. “Why don’t I take over for a bit?” I suggest, taking a step toward my rightful place atop the throne.
“I am well,” he rumbles, halting my advance with a raised hand. “Despite the malignant energies nearby,” he adds, shooting me a withering look.
Malignant energies? The rude prick just got the best divine shield-job ever!
“Good, Sarkoth,” Dracoth continues, his attention turning back to the two best buddies. “Continue to serve me as you served my father, and I will lead you to unending glories.” He nods solemnly.
“War Chieftain,” Sarkoth and Jazreal echo in unison, both slamming their fists to their chests and bowing their heads.
The pair step back into formation along the marble wall as Ignixis slithers forward, his glowing green eyes lingering on Dracoth’s throne.
“Must you break everything, young Dracoth?” my creepy teacher hisses through his fangs, his fingers idly tracing the rough obsidian stone.
“I am the War Chieftain,” Dracoth reminds, a hint of annoyance breaking through his stoic restraint.
Ignixis presses, undeterred. “For two hundred years, this seat has served your father—unblemished, unmarred, a symbol of his power and strength.” He sighs deeply, shoulders sagging as if they carry the weight of fifty Dracoths. “Now, within a day, you’ve already tarnished it.” His green glare cuts through me, disgust and contempt warping the scorched runes on his face into even more unreadable shapes. “And your childish lusts sully its very meaning.” He sniffs loudly.
Oh crap!
My face flushes with the heat of Dracoth’s flames. I resist the urge to clamp my legs shut and cover my crotch from his accusing glare.
“A symbol is only a reflection.Iam the meaning,” Dracoth responds, casually flicking broken skull fragments from his throne to the floor. “This is nothing but material.”
