Alien Romance: Rusneon Mates Boxed Set: A Scifi Alien Abduction Romance (Alien Romance, Alien Invasion Romance, BBW) (17 page)

CHAPTER TWO

Cynthia slept.

She didn’t even recall how, but at some point she must have just laid down on the low shelf and closed her eyes – caked in mud, clothing torn, exhausted and turned on and utterly incapable of any kind of reasoned thought.

And yet, she still managed to fall asleep. And while she slept, she dreamed.

She didn’t remember the dreams – not in any great detail. When she awoke, all she could recall was a confusion of images and sensations, explosions of heat and shivers of terror.

But she was rested, at least. Still caked in mud, still wearing torn-up clothing – and barely any, at that – but now her head was a little bit clearer.

Cynthia sat on the edge of the low shelf and tried to think. There was a faint vibration coming up through the floor into her feet – the ship’s engine, she supposed. It was crazy to think she was in space; in fact, she doubted she was even travelling at all. The man – Archon Rushael – had probably just built an elaborate prison to …

To wait for her to stumble across in the woods.

Cynthia bit the inside of her cheek and let out a long sigh. That sounded even less likely, to be honest.

The door slid open, and Cynthia leapt to her feet just as she remembered the state of her clothing. Her bra-strap fell down, and she only just barely managed to cover herself up in time – not that a single hand was enough to cover the curves of her chest.

The Archon stood in the doorway. His eyes flicked downward, and for the smallest of moments Cynthia thought,
my eyes are up here, pal
– and then he met her gaze and she felt herself blushing.

He wanted her. There was no hiding that look. Cynthia took a deep breath and drew her shoulders back, then realised she was basically thrusting her breasts out at him. Her hands tightened on her bra reflexively, and she willed herself into keeping the stance.

Rushael was holding something in his hand – a package of some kind. He stepped into the room and held it out to Cynthia. When she didn’t take it from him immediately, a frown creased his face. She felt a tremor run through her body, and as the heat began to rise between her thighs she took the package from him.

He watched her for a moment, and then spun away and waved his hand at one of the walls. Another door appeared, and he turned back to her as she unfolded the package to reveal a long spill of cloth.

“I thought you might appreciate some alternative clothing,” Rushael said, and Cynthia looked up to see his eyes flick away from her chest again. She clutched the dress to her chest and forced a smile upon her face.

“Thank you,” she said. He gave a curt nod, and then gestured through the new doorway.

“Cleaning facilities are through here. You are familiar with the concept of a shower?”

Cynthia’s jaw dropped. How dare he –

It was a genuine question, she realised. He stood awaiting her answer, and after a moment she nodded.

“Yes. We – we have those on Earth.”

He nodded, and looked just a little bit surprised.

“There is a shower, and an air-dry station. When you are done, put on the dress and I will meet you in the –”

He hesitated, and Cynthia had the feeling he was searching for a different set of words.

“In the dining facilities of my ship.”

Cynthia nodded again, then frowned at herself. She wasn’t really contributing much to this conversation.

“Thank you,” she said.

He was about to turn away from her, but at those words he paused and turned back. His eyes held hers, and his face – his perfect, flawless face, Cynthia thought – did not move at all. It was as though he was willing it to stillness.

“You are welcome,” Rushael said. “I will await you in the – I will await you.”

And then he turned and was away.

The shower was an absolute luxury. It was a cylindrical chamber in the middle of a room about the same size as Cynthia’s – well. It was her bedroom now, wasn’t it? A portion of the cylinder slid down as Cynthia approached, and once she’d undressed completely and stepped inside it slid seamlessly back up behind her.

And then the water started pouring down on her from above and from all around. It was gentle, and warm, and as it ran over her body she followed its path with her hands. She bit her lip as she thought of the Archon’s eyes, and imagined it was his hands on her body. A warmth rose from within, and she began to breathe just a little heavier.

She was about to have breakfast with him. This probably wasn’t the best time to be thinking those kind of thoughts.

Cynthia blushed, and returned to just washing herself. At any rate, it wasn’t right. He’d kidnapped her, and the way he looked at her –

She frowned. There was something in his eyes, something in the way he looked at her that stirred a response, but it wasn’t …

It wasn’t enough, she thought. All he wanted was her body.

She looked down at herself – at her wide hips, at the curves against which she fought a constant battle, at the thighs that could kick her through water like a bullet.

This
was what he wanted?

Cynthia finished up her shower, and endured the experience of the air-dry station. She slipped into the dress, and let out a yelp as it reshaped itself around her. It pushed her up and in and pressed and pulled and pinched just a little too sharply on her legs. She smoothed a hand down over her hips, and felt the fabric move at her touch. The pressure eased, and she spun and grinned at how it felt almost weightless upon her.

She wondered what he would think of it.

He said nothing about the dress. In fact, he said very little at all.

They sat at either end of a long, narrow table and ate in near-silence, scraping utensils across plates and masticating away. To Cynthia’s surprise, the food was actually quite delicious, if entirely unidentifiable. She popped a green oval into her mouth, expecting it to taste vaguely of broccoli or something, and was instead vaguely reminded of some mild Indian dish instead. She smiled, and continued eating, unaware until just this moment how hungry she was.

The food was good – or, at least, it tasted amazing, which meant it was probably not even remotely good for her – but it was not even close to the most interesting thing in the room right now. Cynthia tried not to let on, but she couldn’t resist looking at her captor.

He’d put Adonis to shame, Cynthia thought. He was wearing form-fitting clothes made of the same material as her dress, although she suspected there was absolutely no need for support in his case: his body looked like it had been carved from stone by some ancient Greek artist, it was so perfect. If it hadn’t been for his muscles bunching and shifting as he ate – even that small movement sent a ripple across his entire body – Cynthia would have been able to convince herself he was, in fact, a statue. He was certainly a work of art.

And his face was much the same. A strong jaw, full lips, a perfect nose, and eyes so dark they reminded Cynthia that she was aboard a spaceship.

His eyes. They were on her right now.

He was watching her eat.

Cynthia slowed down, suddenly self-conscious, and made an effort to take smaller bites. He frowned – the first emotion she’d seen him show at all.

“The food is not to your liking?” he scowled, and she hastened to assure him all was well. Even as she stammered her way through a half-formed and fumbling compliment, she wondered at herself. He was as cold to her as the jackals that had chased her through the woods – so why was she so eager to please him?

Her words ran out and, with nothing else to do with her mouth, she took another morsel of food. She smiled around the mouthful and made an optimistic noise, intending to show just how much she was enjoying the meal.

Rushael did not react, and Cynthia’s spirits dropped.

He coughed, and then made an elaborate show of dividing one of his portions in half, then half again. He took one of the quarter-portions and popped it into his mouth, then chewed it very slowly and thoughtfully. Their eyes met down the length of the table, and he nodded.

Cynthia may have been fooling herself, but she could have sworn the corner of his mouth twitched just a little.

They continued the meal in silence. Sometime later – just as Cynthia was scraping up the last morsel and wondering if she could find an excuse to linger after she’d finished it – Rushael coughed and laid his utensils down. He laid his hands down on either side of his plate and spent a moment looking at his food. Cynthia hesitated a moment before imitating his gesture. The only difference was that she kept her head raised, and even tilted it to one side.

Rushael took a breath, then raised his own head.

“I intend to present you to my people,” he said, and something opened up inside Cynthia. She couldn’t identify it, but it roiled and churned through her – a mix of fear, lust, and something else. Even as calm as he was, there was something in the flawless perfection of his face that made her body open up.

And he was … presenting her?

“You mean … you mean you’re going to show me off?” she asked.

He frowned and shook his head.

“No.” He paused, and turned his head away as he thought. When he turned back to her, something had softened in his face. There wasn’t quite the same callous disregard there any more.

Cynthia wondered if he even realised how he was looking at her.

He spoke again.

“You are … a spoil. I have claimed you as my own –”

Cynthia let out a sound that was halfway between a gasp and a laugh, and Rushael’s mouth snapped shut.

“I stumbled in here by mistake –” Cynthia began. He didn’t let her finish.

“You offered yourself to me!” His voice was like a whip crack, and Cynthia found herself shrinking back in her seat. He saw her reaction, and made a visible effort to pull himself back – sliding his hands back toward his lap, drawing in a deep breath, and dropping his shoulders.

“Is there no Earth equivalent to this?” he asked. “When you cross the threshold of another’s domain – if you are unarmed – you are declaring yourself theirs. Surely you have something like this?”

Cynthia shook her head, then realised that wasn’t really enough.

“We … we knock on the door to let someone know we’re there,” she said. Rushael opened his mouth, closed it, and then tried again.

“I see,” he sighed. “Well, under Rusneon custom, you are mine, and once we arrive home I intend to present you to the Assembly and declare you my trophy.”

Trophy
. He saw her as a prize. That thought sent a flash of heat through Cynthia’s body that over-rode her outrage at the other connotations – albeit only for a moment. She glared at him and starting hunting for some challenge to offer. A denial, perhaps, or even a demand to be returned home.

But it was too late. He was already standing and gathering up the cutlery. The meal was over.

CHAPTER THREE

He cleaned up around her. She went to gather her own cutlery, and he made a sound of annoyance and brushed her hands back.

“This is my ship,” he said. “I will take care of this.”

Cynthia nodded and folded her hands back into her lap. There was a spark of resistance deep in her chest, but it was being drowned by the wet heat that rose once again from between her thighs. He was standing right over her, close enough that his scent filled her head and left her dizzy and swooning. It was rich and heavy and earthy.

Cynthia giggled, then clapped her hand to her mouth. Rushael paused, the cutlery still gathered in his hands, and Cynthia wished she could turn back time and take back that sound.

But she had to admit, the idea of an alien from another planet smelling
earthy
was still pretty funny.

He turned and placed the cutlery on a low bench behind him. There was a hum and the plates and utensils sank away out of sight, but then Rushael was kneeling next to her and Cynthia was suddenly focused on something else entirely.

His eyes really were dark, she thought. Almost entirely black, but somehow that wasn’t actually terrifying.

“What is wrong?” he asked. He raised a hand, and a bolt of electricity shivered through Cynthia’s body. Was he about to touch her?

But he caught himself. The hand lowered back to his side, and Cynthia dropped her shoulders just a little.

He was waiting for an answer.

“I – I’m just a little light-headed,” Cynthia said. And it was true – his musk was overwhelming her again, and her body was betraying her as well. The room was, in fact, gently swirling about her.

He frowned.

“Have you been injured? Was there something wrong with the food?”

Cynthia shook her head – a mistake. The room began to spin just that much faster.

“No …” she began, but her voice was slurring. “I’m … I’m just a little frightened …”