Being a sex goddess should be my dream come true—as much sex as I want, with magic powers to heal people, too. Until I realize the enormously strong human I desire most is completely off-limits. My people will put me in prison if I’m caught with a human.
But one encounter together leaves me panting for more. So I kidnap him and take him to an alien sex retreat. I soon discover not only is my big strong human a virgin, his bio-engineering might have made him the largest person I’ve ever seen, but also it made him unable to feel any sensation on his skin.
We’ve got three days to try to heal him with my sex powers before I risk someone discovering us. Then I find out his biggest secret…
I watch her make love to them—because that’s what it is. Every kiss of her mouth, caress of her body, and undulation of her hips is an expression of affection. I watch from behind a pillar, like the voyeur that I am. No one knows I’m here. Not that they’d care if they did know. She lifts her head and winks at me.
I freeze in my boots. Staring at her in astonishment, I wonder how she knows I’m here. The corner of her mouth lifts in a licentious smile, and she licks long and languorously up the center of the male’s back who lies beneath her. But she watches me while she does it, waiting for my reaction as though mine is as important as one of her lover’s—or I guess one might call them patients rather than lovers.
When I asked someone her profession a few days ago, her occupation was translated to me as “sex doctor.”
Who knows with these aliens? The Fellamana, they call themselves. Their skin tones change colors with their emotions. Hers is a sensuous, calming sky blue, weaving in swirling patterns across her back and voluptuous curving hips. She isn’t human, that’s for certain.
Gods, I could watch her all day.
She is. A sex goddess. At least, she is to me. This is my cue to leave.
But she looks at me again, as though she saw me move. She gives a subtle shake of her head, and her eyes send me a soft invitation, as if to say, Don’t go.
I stay, as though commanded. I am so under her spell. I couldn’t disobey her if she ordered me to jump in front of a blaster.
I back away, hoping maybe she will have forgotten about me, but she puts on a sheer robe of glistening material that does nothing to hide her nakedness and is merely a decorative garment, then steps outside the door and beckons me with her hand.
“Come,” she says with her singsong Fellamana accent.
My brows go up, and I don’t know how to respond. “I—um—”
She walks to me, and I watch her finger stroke my bare arm. Though I see it, I can’t feel it. I’m incapable of feeling her touch. My body doesn’t function right, not since the Ten Systems military experimented on me. I haven’t had any sensation on my skin in years. But still, she’s touching me. I gape at her like a teenager enamored with his first woman. It’s embarrassing, but I can’t help myself.
She’s smaller than me; everyone is smaller than me. I’m bioengineered to be large, a colossal weapon, but she holds the power over me. Her lush body is a dream, with full large breasts that flow into her broad hourglass hips. I’ve stared at her rounded, beautiful ass so many times in the last few days, I have to clench my hands against the desire to reach around her and cup it.
She leans close to me, her robe swirling around my legs, ensnaring me, drawing me toward her. “You are male, yes?” she asks with a lowered, seductive tone.
Many of the Fellamana have taken the time to learn some of our human language since we landed here on their planet a few weeks ago. I’m grateful she has, so I can speak to her. “Yes,” I manage.
“What is your name?”
“Graven,” I murmur, staring into her bright green eyes, mesmerized and memorizing them, certain this is my one and only chance to ever be this close to her.
ROBIN LOVETT enjoys trips to alien worlds to avoid earthly things, like day jobs and housework. When not reading romance with her cat, she’s busy writing sexy books, which may or may not involve anti-heroes, aliens, or both, but almost always enemies-to-lovers. She’s a big fan of her husband who regards writing romance as far more important than practical things, like paychecks. Her favorite surprise in the world, or the universe, was finding out by some miracle other people want to read the same kind stories she loves to write.
In a past life, Robin worked as a professional opera singer who grew tired of playing dying heroines and took up writing Happily-Ever-After instead.
For the writers, check out her weekly posts on #RWChat, a Twitter chat for romance writers every Sunday evening. She also writes a monthly romance writing column on diyMFA.com and was a contributor to the former Heroes & Heartbreakers blog. She is represented by Rachel Brooks of BookEnds Literary Agency.