Alien Reject (Fated Mates of the Sea Sand Warlords, #4)

by Ursa Dax

“Your stomach says what your tongue does not. It is more honest than you are.”

“This is true. You are not my mate.” He pressed the sunglasses into my hands but kept my gaze pinned with his. “Yet.”

“Can you, like, go back to the tents? I can’t pee with you standing so close.” “Why not? Does your human anatomy in that area stop working in the presence of an attractive, virile, mate-worthy male?”

My dude. I wonder what it means. I hoped it was a term of endearment, but knowing the woman saying the words, I doubted it.

She stormed away, and as her tiny form retreated around the rock, I found myself smiling, hanging on the one shining word she’d spoken among all her angry ones. Massive. She’d called my cock massive. This was turning out to be a very good day indeed.

But that cock was already big and bad enough. What the hell did it need spears for? Did it think a vagina was some animal that needed to be hunted down and speared?

She is a collection of unspoken words. I must learn to read her body the way I’d understand someone else’s voice.

“I take responsibility for your happiness, tiny one. But I will accept your hate, too, if that is what you offer. I will take it all. Whatever you have to give. I am ravenous for you, every facet. Every feeling.”

“Alright, weirdo,” she muttered, that last word coming out in her language. It probably meant something along the lines of powerful warrior. Or maybe, my future mate. One could hope, at least.

“What does creeper mean? Bringer of great pleasure? Adored one? Mighty warrior?”