Wrage (Galaxy Gladiators #11) - Alana Khan Page 0,36
the collection kit, or the scene in the penthouse. I don’t care whether he’s driven by skin hunger or even the mean words he said to me what feels like ten years ago in a bar on another planet.
What I care about is Wrage. My mate. The male who is good and kind and always does the right thing except when he’s drunk on havaché. I care about this handsome male who just declared his love for me in front of a bar full of patrons. It was sweet and courageous and needs to be rewarded.
And I know just how to do that.
Last night in the malta he said he knew I wanted his cock, but he wanted to wait until I wanted him. I could say the same thing to him, but I won’t. I want to make a statement.
“Tell me again about your mreen,” I command.
His head tips back in question. I guess that wasn’t the smoothest conversation segue I’ve ever made.
“I smell with them. I smell others, and I can scent others with my own scent.”
“And when you scent others, what does that do?”
“It’s a statement of . . . ownership,” he says this last word quietly, his eyes downcast as if he assumes I’ll hate it. And I would have hated it yesterday, but I crave it now.
“And how do you scent someone?” I ask. I keep my tone matter-of-fact even though I’m quivering inside. I’m still not 100% sure I’m ready for this, but I 100% want it.
“Touch. I touch my mreen to someone’s skin.” His golden-green gaze pierces mine, shining more golden by the second. Perhaps he has an idea of what I want.
“You touched me with your mreen in the malta but we didn't consummate. Was the statement of ownership complete?" He slowly shakes his head with his eyes locked on mine.
Something about the deadly serious look on his face and the slow shake of his head causes lightning to shimmer along my synapses. It strikes me that I’ve never wanted anything as much as I want this, right here, right now.
“Sing me the song again, Wrage. Sing it just for me this time.”
He sings the sweet ballad, even slower than we did on stage. His voice is deep and pure and full of sincerity. His eyes never leave mine.
I point to the foot of the bed and wait for him to sink onto it, then I move toward the far wall and swing my hips in time with his slow song. I take the full course of the song, just rocking side to side and moving my arms sensuously. I reach to the sides and up over my head and allow myself to dive deeper into the music even as I consult with myself one more time, confirming that I’m ready for the next step. Oh yeah. Ready, willing, and waiting.
After he holds the final note, I say, “Sing it again, Wrage. Make up your own lyrics. Tell me what’s in your heart.”
He doesn’t hesitate. He launches into an even better version of the song, telling me he loves me in a dozen different ways. He apologizes one last time for his harsh words on Paragon, then tells me what he wishes had popped out of his mouth in his drunken stupor.
There’s the most beautiful female I’ve ever seen
If I wasn’t so big and ugly I’d walk up on stage right this moment and tell her
But she’d never have me.
His words sadden me. I thought he was full of swagger, but he’s full of insecurity just like me.
I want her by my side always.
Even if she doesn’t want me, I’ll be her knight and protect her
I didn’t know I could love her more, but I wake up every day deeper in love with her.
His raw honesty shocks me and makes me fall in love with him even harder.
“I’m in love with you,” he croons softer and softer until he’s done.
He looks at me now, expectantly.
“Sing the song one more time, my mate,” I say, emphasizing the last word.
Without question, he begins again. This time the song is an amalgamation of the original lyrics and his own. Whatever sweet, loving observation comes into his mind flies out of his mouth as he opens his heart to me.
This time I don’t just swing my hips and move my arms, though. I do a striptease. I have to be inventive, since I’m wearing only two pieces of clothing. What I lack in wardrobe I make