Wrage (Galaxy Gladiators #11) - Alana Khan Page 0,21
should be attracted to him. He’s an alien. A big, mean gladiator alien who I have nothing in common with—except he’s been surreptitiously working his chemical voodoo on me. “Stop it!” What nerve!
“It’s an autonomic nervous system function, like breathing. I have no control.”
“Yes you do. Hold your breath!” I command.
Shockingly, he does. But of course he has to breath again.
“See?” we both say at the same time.
“Ass,” I accuse. He simply looks at me, those golden-green eyes sweeping up and down my face—he’s in the middle of a fight with me and drinking in my beauty at the same time. I have to admit, the way he looks at me, like he wants to devour me in a good way, makes my nethers quiver and my mouth go dry.
I lean closer to his button, as if a closer inspection will give me the key to counteract his chemical magic. I even slide my nose back and forth against it, tickling myself until I have to stop and lift my head.
“You’re fighting dirty,” I accuse.
“I can’t help it.” His lips tip up in the barest smile. “That’s what they taught me in the ludus.”
I can’t help but smile back at him. Every minute we’re together I find him more handsome.
I suddenly have an epiphany. You know when you’re on a diet and all you can think about is German chocolate cake. You’re in a lecture, but pictures of that slice of cake float through your mind. You’re in your morning shower and instead of singing, you say the words, “German chocolate cake” like it’s your lover.
And finally, you have no willpower left, not a shred. So you go to the bakery and buy one slice of it and maybe you eat it slowly and savor it, or maybe you devour it so fast you have smudges of icing around your lips. But however you ate it, now you’re satiated and you can go back on your diet and be good for days or weeks more.
Maybe that’s what we need to do. We’re in this freaking malta, squished together like commuters on the subway at rush hour. Maybe we should just throw caution to the wind and consume each other. I doubt my malta companion will object.
We could do every freaky thing we’ve been fantasizing since we met. Why not? There’s nothing else to do. And when it’s over, we can march out of here with our hunger slaked.
Although warning klaxons are blaring in my head, ready to tell me ten thousand faults with my logic, I blurt, “So Wrage,” I know he loves it when I say his name. This is my idea of verbal foreplay to get him to agree in case he might have reservations. “Wrage, I know I said we should have a platonic relationship. But what do you think of the idea that we, I don’t know, quench our hunger for each other here in this little pod?
“It’s a time-limited offer. Or think of it like the ads, ‘what happens in a malta stays in the malta’. We could get our freak on and never speak of it again after we land on Wryth’N. It could be ‘one and done’.” I pause for a moment and then realize you can’t have one slice of German chocolate cake for the rest of your life. “Or maybe we could scratch an itch as needed. No guarantees implied or intended. Strictly business.”
I’m glad I jabbered that offer fast. If it wasn’t already out, I’d jam it all back down my throat. I didn’t give it enough thought. By the look on his face, I think I might be in line for the most embarrassing rejection of my life.
He turns on his side and stares at me, his eyes far more golden than green. I think that’s his ‘tell’ that he’s aroused.
“Let’s review the rules,” his voice is matter-of-fact, belying the lust apparent in the firm set of his jaw, the golden suns of his eyes, and the giant tent visible in the crotch of his pants.
“Okay.” Now my tummy’s swirling and I’m not sure if it’s my own arousal or simply cold feet.
“Define ‘freak on’.”
I don’t know much about the Wryth’N race, but damn, they must have been predators at some point in their evolution. I’ve never seen a humanoid who looks so close to eating me up.
“Anything,” I say, then think better of it. “Anything we want as long as it’s consensual.”
His eyes flick from the top of