Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 83946 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83946 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
“It’s only a little tender now,” Selina says, barely above a whisper.
Good to know.
I flex harder into her, until our bodies meet and press tightly together, and a high, broken sound escapes Selina. Still, she clings to my hand and wrist, rolling her hips into mine and already losing herself in the pleasure again.
It only hurts a little.
It may even hurt again tomorrow.
In that moment, I can tell even the pain feels good. That, too, she will eventually learn.
“Please, Bo,” Selina gasps.
I pick up the pace. Just enough to give us what we both want. For now, it’s more than good enough. She whimpers and whines her way through an orgasm that takes longer to reach than her first two, but stretches on and on until she milks the cum right out of me, too. It’s a relief like I’ve never felt.
“Stada,” I swear, a curse I wouldn’t dare let my mother hear me say. Wet with my mate as I pull my still-hard cock from her to watch my seed mix with the bit of blood at her slit, it’s the only word that feels appropriate.
“Fuck,” Selina breathes heavily.
The translator in my ear doesn’t pick up the word very well, but I’m too distracted to ask her about it as she drags her fingers through the mingling fluids as she touches herself cautiously, almost like she expects it to hurt.
I smile when she barely flinches, but I hum out a pleased growl when she leaves a bloodstained trail of our fluids up her belly. I like the sight of her, marked with us both and this thing we’ve shared. I gather more of the same red-tinged wetness, leaving a mark on each spot I kissed and stopping last to make a crescent on her forehead.
“Did you just … paint me?” she asked.
I grin, pleased. “Yes, with us.”
Selina observes me through lowered lashes, but her smile tells me she doesn’t really mind. “You’re a strange one, Bothaki.”
No.
I’m just enamored with the perfection that is her.
And that she is mine.
THIRTEEN
When I awake, the bed is empty, but when I slide my hand across the sheets, I find them still warm. Bothaki must have just left me, although I can’t imagine why. Because if I had awoken before him, nothing could have gotten me out of this bed. Nothing could have pulled me away from simply lying there just to stare at him. To marvel at the fact that he is mine.
This all still feels so surreal. I’m on a ship, heading away from the only home I’ve ever known to a planet I couldn’t have even imagined. And all with a mate that fate has designed just for me at my side. And then I move, my thighs rubbing together, and the other surreal part fills my mind. I close my eyes, and every moment from last night replays behind my eyelids. Each touch. Every kiss. All the sounds I heard pass his lips. The way he looked as he marked me as his. Soreness between my thighs does not at all stop warmth from spreading there, or desire from rushing from me at the thought of having all of that again.
The door suddenly opens, and I hurry to grab the sheet to cover myself, but stop when I see it’s Bothaki. A part of me, from the false beliefs drilled into me ever since I knew what words were, tells me to cover myself, anyway. That no wife should appear so lewd, even with her husband, lest he think less of her. Lest it give way to her being lewd outside of her home. But I am not a wife, but a mate. I am not on Earth, where such things are taught, but on a Hallan ship, where the males bow their heads to a woman. I don’t need to adhere to the things I learned before. So, even though I won’t deny the trepidation filling me, I remove the sheet fully from myself, exposing my body to Bothaki.
He has watched me silently all this time, as if he knew I was having some internal debate and needed the moment to make a decision within myself. But with me moving the sheet, he licks his lips before smiling. Then, he begins walking over to me, a silver tray in his hands.
“I went to get us a meal,” he says.
“I can eat anything you can?” I ask.
He nods. “You ate the fruit I offered in the basement. Plus, us being mates should mean that we are compatible.”
He offers me a plate and I look down to see fruits, breads, and some type of what I would call porridge.
“What else does us being mates mean?” I question as I begin eating. Good thing he didn’t start talking yet, because I might have missed his words with me being so shocked at how incredible the fruit tastes. From the bit I ate in the basement, I already knew Hallan fruit was a lot fresher and sweeter, but this one, turquoise in color, about the same size as a grape, is even better. The moment I bite into it, a juicy honey-like sweetness bursts over my tongue. I’m reaching for another before I’m even done eating the first.