Page 42 of Claimed By the Alien Prince
His hands roam, fingers threading through my hair, pulling me closer as if I might slip away again. My own hands find purchase on his arms, feeling the tension coiled beneath his skin. I should hate this. I should push him away.
But the taste of him—rich and intoxicating—floods my senses, overwhelming my logic.
“I hate you!” I manage to gasp between frantic kisses.
He pulls back just enough to look into my eyes, a smirk playing on his lips that only infuriates me further. “You don’t,” he counters, voice low and teasing.
“Really? You fucking yelled at me!” My frustration spills over as I shove against his chest, pushing him back slightly—but he doesn’t budge.
“And you ran from the castle like a reckless child!” His voice sharpens, but there’s an undercurrent of amusement laced within it that makes my heart race for reasons I can’t explain.
“I wasn’t running! I was escaping!”
“Escaping?” He leans in again, brushing his lips against mine as if testing my resolve. “From what? A cozy little room with warm meals?”
“I’d take prison over your bullshit any day,” I fire back even as my body betrays me, leaning into him again.
His grip tightens around my waist, drawing me flush against him once more. “And yet here you are.” His breath mingles with mine; it’s electric.
I roll my eyes but can’t suppress a smile. “Don’t think this means anything,” I say defiantly as our mouths clash together again in a mess of passion and urgency.
“You can lie to yourself all you want.” He bites down gently on my lower lip before diving back in with renewed fervor. His hands roam under the hem of my robe, fingers skimming across bare skin and setting off sparks that dance through every nerve ending.
My heart pounds as our bodies tangle together in this reckless argument—a fierce battle of wills cloaked in hunger and heat.
“Let go of me,” I demand weakly against his mouth, even as every fiber of my being screams for more.
He chuckles softly against me, his eyes darkening with mischief. “Not a chance.”
My hands betray me, pulling him even closer.
The swamp’s chill evaporates under his hands.
“Hold still,” Zevran growls, fingers skimming the clasp of my mud-caked field vest. His claws snag on the polymer—frost-blue fabric tears clean down the middle.
I grapple for his belt with swamp-slime still caked under my nails. “Your tailor’s going tohateme.”
“Don't care.” He crushes his mouth to mine, peeling the wrecked vest off my shoulders. The remaining shreds of my shirtfollow, plastered to my skin with cold muck he licks away like some starved thing. I arch into the heat of his tongue tracing my collarbone, lips parting around a gasp when his teeth graze the swell of my breast.
His laugh rumbles against my nipple. “Pathetic human biology.”
“Says the guy whose knees just buckled.” I claw at his tunic’s intricate closures, green geometric sigils glowing faintly under debris. Six different buckles clatter to the moss. “Why the hell do royals dress like they’re allergic to zippers?!”
“Ceremonial—”
“Ceremonial pain in my ass.” The final clasp snaps. His tunic slumps open, revealing those jade-marked abs I’ve accidentally mentally blueprinted six ways to Sunday.
He kicks off his boots in one fluid motion, retractable foot-spurs glinting. “Still talking.”
“Stillwinning.” My thumbs hook into his waistband. The smug quip dies when his erection springs free—all smooth alien granite and flushed violet undertones.
Our remaining clothes vanish in a frenzy of shredding fabric and bitten curses. He lifts me against a moss pillar, hands worshiping every curve like cartography. “Mine,” he snarls against my throat, fingers pinching a nipple. “Every scar. Every freckle.”
"Delusional princeling?—”
His hips snap forward, a swift, unyielding invasion that steals my voice, steals the forest’s oxygen, and leaves me clawing at his shoulders with a desperation that borders on feral. He fills me with brutal precision, every inch of him a testament to the raw, untamed power of Verus itself. He stills, forehead pressed to mine, his breathing as ragged as the terrain that surrounds us.
"Look at me," he commands, his voice a low growl that resonates in the hollow of my throat.
