Wrage (Galaxy Gladiators #11) - Alana Khan Page 0,39
is the perfect moment to laugh.
I’m coming and moaning and laughing all at the same time. And Wrage, my Wrage, my mate, is right here with me. He’s coming and moaning and laughing, too.
It ends sweet and dreamy and delicious as we slow, as my muscles stop their exquisite spasming, and we float back to reality, to our bed. Wonder of wonders, though. I still have him. And he has me.
We’ve ruined the covers, our heads at the foot of the bed, so we right ourselves. With our heads on our pillows now, I grab both his cheeks in my palms and kiss him. It’s not a sexy kiss. It’s a statement, a claim, a message that I’m his and he’s mine.
“Yes,” he says as if he knows exactly how I’m feeling—and agrees.
I move my palm to his chest and graze up and down as my dirty little mind plans our next activity. There are so many positions I want to try. So many ways my big strong guy can move me and hold me and rock my world.
“You’re thinking naughty thoughts, I can tell,” he says, a close-lipped smile on his face.
“I’m sorry.” So not sorry.
“Don’t be,” he rumbles.
I think of Analac’s kit and laugh. I guess we won’t have to worry about that. I wonder what he’ll think when we come back to his office, laughing and flirting and in a hurry to get back to our hotel room.
“Do they teach that in seventh grade gym class on Wryth’N?” I ask.
“What?”
“When does a male learn how to . . . scent his female in such a delicious way she would never ever want to be with anyone else?”
“No one taught me that, Elyse. It wasn't necessary. I made this up over many nights in my bunk in the barracks dreaming of a female who would be my mate. And no, Elyse, it was never Sibyl. It's you. You’re the female I’ve been waiting for my whole life.”
My chest tightens as I give and receive so much love. More love than I ever thought possible.
Someone pounds on the door, startling us both. No, it’s not pounding. Someone’s breaking down the door.
Wrage pulls the covers up past my breasts even as he bounds out of bed. He races to the closet and somehow wrests the clothes rod out of the wall to use as a weapon.
Four men barge in, all wearing camo body armor that is vaguely similar to the imperial troopers in Star Wars. Their weapons all point at my mate who is naked, holding a metal bar. Wrage is a gladiator, I think he might be able to take them in a fair fight.
“Put it down, asshole,” one of them orders. “You’re outnumbered, outgunned and unprepared. And we have something else.” He slowly swivels his laser rifle toward me. “I’ll have no reluctance blasting your female into the hereafter. Surrender.”
Chapter Eight
Wrage
I doubt I can take them all. If they were armed with anything but lasers, I’d have no problem. If Elyse wasn’t here I’d try, though. But she’s my life now, and my responsibility. I toss my makeshift weapon to the floor and raise my hands.
“Who are you?” I say as I take a step forward. “What do you want?
“We have our weapons trained on him and he makes demands,” one of them jokes to his comrades. “Must be stupid as well as ugly.”
“Come.” He motions toward the door with his weapon.
“Let my mate dress,” I demand as heat flares through me just imagining these drackers getting even a glimpse of my mate.
He takes the butt of his gun and jabs it into my cheek. A white-hot spike flashes from the point of impact up through my eye and into my brain. I shake my head, but stand my ground.
“Let her dress,” I insist again.
He feints as if he’s going to hit me again, then shakes his head and says, “Okay.”
I pull my pants on from where they were lying on the floor, then encourage Elyse to stand as I keep her covered with the bedspread. She dresses just as she did on the bus at the ocean the other day.
We march out past Elkin who doesn’t appear surprised to see the armed guards forcing us through the tight hallways. Was this all a plot? Was there even a shortage of rooms in the city, or was this all arranged somehow by the evil female who spawned me? Did she send this particular hover driver who just happened