Page 35 of Stolen By Her Alien Mate

Yeah, I probably am.

Because Lorraine is right.

He’s so hot and so sexy, and ohmygod is he a fantastic kisser.

Not to mention all those other amazing things he did with his mouth.

My skin prickles at the memory and butterflies scatter in my belly. Well, in truth, it feels more like a herd of elephants. And even more worrisome are all those other feelings he stirs up. The way he makes me… yearn for something just out of reach.

And believe you me, I am not a yearner.

I got rid of that urge when I was a kid. After longing for something that never appears, you learn pretty quickly to just not want anything.

And if I’m honest with myself, I think that’s why I agreed to go home with him tomorrow. Not just because I want more amazing orgasm, but because I’m almost afraid not to go home with him. I have to just do it and get it over with.

I can tell deep in my bones that if I don’t sleep with him, I’ll regret it for the rest of my life. I’ll yearn for him, the rest of my life.

I refuse to let that happen. So tomorrow night, I’ll go home with him. I’ll have my first and only one-night stand. I’ll have as many orgasms as he can give me in one night. And then I’ll never have to see him again.

chapter

ten

JOEY

Lorraine’s guest bedroom isn’t big, but it’s tidy and homey. I step into the bathroom to wash my face. Quickly, I put my red curls in a messy bun to get them away from my face. I don’t wear my hair up[JS1] often. I’ve always used it as a shield to hide my ugly birthmarks. The ones that so similarly match Kael’s.

I lean forward, getting closer to the mirror, and peer at the wine-red splotches. First one side and then the other. What the actual fuck? I swear that I only had three such marks on each side, and now there are more. I run my fingers over the skin, and in doing so bring my thoughts back to Kael. The way he kissed me. The dirty things he’d said. The way he’d gone down on me as if it had been his life’s greatest honor.

Clearly, I’m not getting enough sleep. Between the diner, the daycare and all the studying I have to do for school, I don’t get much actual rest. Lately, it seems that my dreams are fitful, though I never remember them when I wake up. But obviously the lack of sleep is affecting my brain or something. Awesome, another thing to worry about.

I finish washing my face and brushing my teeth, paying no mind to the spots on my neck. Then I’m crawling into the full-sized bed with the clean, but aged sheets.

Always before bed, I take a few minutes to scroll through social media. I don’t ever post anything, but I do like to check in on friends. One in particular who has been missing since she went on a trip to Europe right around the time of that big earthquake. I click over to Cressida’s account, but there are no updates. Surely if something had happened to her, I would have heard. I hope she’s okay wherever she is. She was my only real friend growing up, and though we haven’t seen each other in a long time, we’ve always kept in touch.

I send her another private message letting her know that I’m worried and would love to hear from her. After double-checking my alarm, I turn my phone off and close my eyes.

Sleep takes me quickly. I’m pretty sure I’m dreaming, but it’s unlike any dream I’ve ever had. I’m floating above a palace or stronghold of some sort. The sky around me is not blue, but I’m too close to it to properly determine the right shade.

And then it’s as if I’m sucked down into the palace. I stare, looking out a window. From this position, I can easily tell the sky is a pale lavender, almost glowing in the bright afternoon sunlight. At the horizon, the lavender sky meets the deep violet of the ocean. Slashing across the sky at a sharp angle are the rings of Perse, a stunning line of deepest purple to charcoal gray.

It’s so beautiful, I can’t look away. And I don’t want to.

I have seen this scenery nearly every day of my life. This is my view. My favorite spot in the palace. And I don’t want to leave.

Not just because the view is so lovely, but because it’s my home.

Behind me, a door opens.

A voice—my mother’s voice—calls to me. “Elandra, it’s time.”

“No,” my voice is quiet. Unexpectedly husky.

“We’ve been over this.” There is tension in her voice. Anger, maybe. “We don’t have time to waste.”

“I’m not going.”

“Elandra,” her tone sharpens, and I jerk my gaze from the window to look at her.