Page 5 of Alien Jeopardy (Mated & Afraid #1)

CHAPTER

FIVE

Ellison

We are flying.

Flying .

All of my irritation with Poppy has drained away thanks to my brain catching up with the sheer impossibility of the moment.

My fear melts away too, turning into awe as I chance a glance between his shoulder and my cheek.

My eyes widen, my hair whipping around my face, my ponytail holder hanging on for dear life.

This place is beautiful.

Untouched.

Green pine forests stretch across the land below, broken up by rocky, mountainous terrain complete with steep cliffs and more than one river foaming between sharp-edged banks.

I blink, trying to keep my eyes from drying out as the wind buffets us. I’ll need some of those goggles aviators used to wear if we’re going to be flying often. A stylish choice to be sure. Eat your heart out, Poppy.

A shiver wracks my body, the temperature dropping more the longer he flies. My teeth begin to chatter, and I bite down hard to keep them from clacking.

Still slightly nauseated—whether from the reality of flying bareback with an alien or the devastatingly large number of margaritas last night, I couldn’t say—I cling tight to the green alien’s body, trying to reposition myself slightly.

Only to encounter what feels like miles of rock-hard muscles.

Whew.

Suddenly, the cold high-altitude air and my lack of proper clothing stop bothering me.

Liquid fire sears through my veins, turning my skin hot and flushed as if I have a fever. The nausea fades too, replaced by something else.

Desire.

And not like, oh shit, I’m crushing on the massive alien I’ve wrapped myself around.

Nope.

More like, if I don’t touch myself right now, immediately, I might spontaneously combust. And if the alien touches me there, I might also spontaneously combust.

I’ll put the come in combust.

The mere thought of him touching me is enough to make a fresh wave of fire burn through me.

His nose nuzzles my forehead, and I turn my face back towards him, my eyes widening in embarrassment as moisture seeps through the thin, silky pajama shorts I’m wearing.

What.

The.

Fuck.

I bite my lip, staring into his golden eyes, unable to do more than hang on for dear life as he flies us to lord only knows where, confusingly aroused, sweat beading at the back of my neck.

I need to think about something else.

Anything else.

Work.

Work will do. Excel spreadsheets. Pivot tables.

Oh god, his breath feels good against my forehead. Is that a fang?

I squeeze my eyes shut, worried that if I look into his gorgeous eyes again, I’m going to embarrass myself by coming from that alone.

What the hell is going on with me?

Shit. I’ll never look at pivot tables the same way.

Okay, focus, Ellison! This is not the time to get horny. Absolutely not. Sure, he’s jacked, but he’s an alien, and what’s more, you are being flipping filmed.

Embarrassment takes the place of some of my cuckoobird bananapants lust, and I latch onto that for dear life.

How much second-hand embarrassment did I feel when those two World’s Most Eligible contestants hooked up on camera and the damn producers provided subtitles of their moaning?

I do not want that.

Nope, I do not want any of my moans to be subtitled.

Besides, I don’t just hook up with people.

Or aliens.

Subtitles. Dubbed moaning.

Me, writhing in his arms, using his alien dick to get myself off over our pants.

No! Bad brain.

I inhale, my lady parts absolutely aching.

Excel formulas. Having to tell people to turn their mics on during video calls. Telling people to turn their mics off. The Microsoft paperclip help icon.

I squirm, trying to lessen the sensation… and only succeed in moaning again as his fang scrapes against my temple.

Shit. What the hell is going on with my body?

Think, Ellison, think.

Sweat stings my eyes as my alien ride shifts in the air, and a glance down tells me we’re descending.

I swallow, tracking the way the ground simply seems to rise up to meet us, too fast. I whimper, and this time, it has nothing to do with the blazing mystery lust trying to make me bone the jolly green giant alien and everything to do with the fact we’re coming in too fast.

We have to be coming in too fast.

Our angle changes as the alien starts to dive, and I screech, self-preservation taking the reins and my arms scrabbling at him, attempting to climb to his back.

A tiny rational voice in my head tells me this is a bad idea, that trying to ride him like a rodeo clown won’t help, seeing as how his freaking wings are on the same damned back I’ve suddenly attempted to scale?—

His tail clamps around my hips, the tip of it between my legs, making my mind go blank with need as it stops just short of where I want it. He rumbles something sharp, the vibration of his voice starting in the lowest part of his chest.

The part my legs are currently spread over.

Sweat beads on my forehead, and my body decides it doesn’t give a flying alien fuck about anything but getting off.

I grind against him, whipping my hips up and digging my heels into his back, trying to get him to dip that tail just a liiiiittle bit lower.

Darkness falls, and I squeak in surprise as we accelerate.

Not darkness, no—his wings, the tips of which are now digging into my butt.

My eyes cross as we tumble into the ground, and the force of it is enough to make me climax as he rolls with me tucked up against his chest.

The ability to hold onto him leaves me, and I splat against the ground, my chest heaving, body completely limp.

The alien tilts his head, frowning at me as he stands up.

His tail is still around my waist, and my hips rock up once more before something zooms across my field of vision and I come back to what’s left of my senses.

A drone camera.

We’re on reality TV. Intergalactic reality TV.

The fact is I just orgasmed against his chest when we hit the ground.

Not to mention the fact that the middle of my pajama shorts now has a damp, darker blue stain spreading across it, and I’m lying spreadeagle on an alien moon.

In the dirt.

“What the hell just happened?” I ask. My gaze tracks over his face until I land on his eyes… which are staring straight at my crotch.

My damp crotch.

Because I just came from falling out of the sky with him.

His nostrils flare, and I clench my teeth together to keep from whimpering. He stands over me, huge, his muscles twitching, his tail locked around me. In the next breath, he’s lifting me to my feet.

My legs wobble, and my brain seems to be likewise short-circuiting.

“What is happening to me?” I ask him, practically pawing at his chest in a bid to stay upright.

His tail clamps around me tighter, and I go stock still as he drags his nose down my neck, his breath whuffing across my skin. Claw-tipped fingers tug at my shirt as he works his way across my shoulder.

A shiver goes through me, fresh need coursing across my skin as if the act of him breathing on me is scrambling my brains.

I back up from him on unsteady feet.

“What the actual hell is going on?” I ask.

I literally came in my pajama pants after falling with him, and now I want more?

Nuh-uh. Not even on my horniest of cycle days is that possible. My poor mental math tells me that I’m not close to that part of my cycle, either.

So something is definitely up, and not just the rock-hard alien boner in his pants.

My eyes narrow to slits, and I cross my arms over my chest, grateful for even the mildest support of my comfiest sleep sports bra.

He steps closer, and I hold up a hand, trying to stop him.

“Do not take another step unless you can tell me why I feel like I’m going to crawl out of my skin if I don’t diddle myself right here on the dirt.”

I try not to cringe at my poor choice of words.

The winged alien just smiles at me, then says something in his low, growly voice that should not do to me what it does.

I blink, the significance of what I’m hearing finally registering.

“I can’t understand you.” I shake my head, then poke at my ear. Surely they gave us a translator when they were doing the whole medical check shebang on the flight here. Must be mine’s not working.

He says something else, all syllables and consonants that don’t mean a single damn thing to me.

Oh, oh no. I was down with the idea of finally getting to try my hand at a set of reality-TV-style challenges. I was even semi- okay with the idea of being paired with an alien instead of one of my friends.

“We can’t communicate?” I squawk.

A frown turns his lips down as I continue to put space between us, holding both hands out now.

“We’re supposed to do some alien version of all the most ridiculously over-the-top survival shows and we can’t even communicate?” It’s a screech, and a flock of rainbow-colored birds takes flight in protest.

Shit, shit, triple shit.

I pinch the bridge of my nose, keeping one hand extended as I attempt to calm myself down with deep, cleansing breaths. Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do to calm down? Breathe?

A delicious, spicy, earthy scent fills my nostrils, and a low moan slips out of me as desire surges. Then a warm, hard stomach presses against my outstretched palm, and I startle.

The smell is coming from him.

The huge, green, winged alien, with a toothy, cocky grin. And a tail. Did I mention the wings?

I cannot believe I signed up for this shit.

Worse, I cannot believe how much I want to knock the green dude in front of me to the ground and have my way with him.

I grind my molars together, a terrible habit that’s sure only to give me a fresh headache.

Solving problems? Nope.

Giving myself a headache? Yep.

There’s got to be a way out of this, because I’ll be damned if I’m gonna rub all over myself or him while being filmed. I don’t care how horny I am, that ain’t on the freaking to-do list, even if Clippy himself shows up and tries to tell me to get down and dirty.

“No way, no how, paperclip demon!” My back hits something hard, and I sputter as pine needles drop onto my face.

“De-mon?” the alien repeats.