Page 3
CHAPTER 3
VICKI
T he coffee in my cup has gone cold, but I can't bring myself to take another sip. My stomach's full of butterflies as I sit here alone in this dingy diner, waiting for my ride to... what exactly? A new life? An alien romance? A million dollars?
What if he takes one look at me and decides this was all a huge mistake? The thought makes my chest tight. Or worse - what if I'm the one who can't handle it? Living with an actual alien for six months...
My face burns as my mind wanders to more intimate possibilities. Do Vakutans even have... compatible parts? Oh god, what if it's tentacles or something?
"Stop it," I whisper to myself. "Nobody said you have to sleep with him."
But six months is a long time to live with someone. And he's supposedly gorgeous, even in his alien form...
A sleek black limo glides to a stop outside, looking completely out of place next to the rusty pickup trucks in the parking lot. My heart hammers against my ribs as I grab my ratty suitcase - everything I own packed inside.
I glance down at my worn jeans and band tee. "Real classy, Vicki."
"An alien pretending to be a billionaire," I mutter, pushing open the heavy door. "What could possibly go wrong?"
The limo's interior takes my breath away - all gleaming wood and butter-soft leather. As I slide inside, I spot a velvet-lined basket with a phone nestled inside. Before I can even reach for it, the screen lights up with an incoming call.
I jump, my hand frozen midair.
The phone vibrates in my hand, its screen glowing. I swallow hard, my throat dry as sandpaper. Here goes nothing.
"Hello?" My voice trembles, betraying the knot of nerves twisting my stomach.
"Hello, Victoria." The voice is deep, smooth, resonant – it’s the kind of voice that belongs in a whiskey commercial. My face heats up, and I grip the phone tighter.
"I hope you enjoy your gift?" he says, his tone confident and slightly amused, like he already knows I’m flustered.
"My gift? What gift?" I blink, glancing around the limo. There’s nothing here but me and my suitcase.
A sharp knock on the window makes me jump. I press the button to lower it, and a delivery guy stands there holding a bouquet of white roses and a box of chocolates. The roses are pristine, their petals soft and flawless, wrapped in silver paper and tied with a sleek black ribbon.
"Are you Vicki Sloane?" he asks.
I nod, my mouth too dry to form words. He hands me the gifts with a polite nod and disappears before I can even think to tip him. The roses smell divine, their fragrance light and sweet, and the chocolates feel heavy in my hand, the kind that costs more than a week’s groceries.
"The delivery man was late," Rocky’s voice cuts through the silence. "I will have to buy the company he works for so I can fire him."
I let out a nervous laugh, but there’s no humor in his tone. My stomach twists. Is he serious?
"Wait, you’d fire him for being a few seconds late?" I ask, trying to keep my voice light.
"I’ve fired people for lesser offenses," he replies, matter-of-fact.
Oh no. My smile falters. This guy sounds like the CEO from every terrible workplace horror story. Not exactly the charming, romantic alien I’d been imagining. My heart sinks a little, but then I glance down at the roses and chocolates, and a warmth spreads through me. It’s been... forever since someone did something like this for me.
"These are beautiful, Rocky," I say, my voice softer now. "The roses are perfect, and the chocolates – I’ve never had anything like them. Thank you."
There’s a pause on the other end of the line, and when he speaks again, his tone shifts, just slightly. "You’re welcome, Victoria. I’m glad you like them."
He doesn’t say anything more, and I’m not sure if he’s warming up or if he’s just done with the conversation. Either way, I’ll take it.
"Try one," Rokkon’s voice comes through the phone, smooth and commanding, like it’s not a request but an order. I’m surprised by how much I like it. I’ve spent so much of my life being the one in charge—taking care of my siblings, my parents, everyone but myself. Having someone tell me what to do, even something as simple as eating chocolate, feels... freeing.
I open the box, and the sight of the chocolates takes my breath away. These aren’t the cheap, waxy squares I’m used to. These are pieces of art—each one carefully crafted, glistening under the dim light of the limo. My fingers hover over the tray, unsure where to start.
"Which one should I choose?" I ask, my voice trembling a little.
"The Rum-rose chocolate truffle," he answers without hesitation, his tone confident, like he knows exactly what I need. My fingers find the one he’s talking about—a dark, glossy sphere dusted with a fine pink powder.
"Should I just?—?"
"Put the whole thing in your mouth," he interrupts, his voice firm but not unkind. "Let it melt on your tongue before you chew. Trust me."
I do as he says, placing the chocolate on my tongue. The first burst of flavor is rich and velvety, a deep cocoa that fills my mouth. Then the rum hits, warm and smoky, followed by the subtle sweetness of rose. My eyes flutter shut as I let it melt, the flavors unfolding like a story.
"Now, chew," he says, his voice softer now, almost intimate. I obey, and the truffle releases another wave of complexity—a hint of spice, a touch of floral, all blending together in a way that makes me feel like I’ve never truly tasted chocolate before.
"Swallow," he instructs, and I do, the warmth settling in my stomach like a soft glow spreading through me. I feel a flush rising in my cheeks, a heat that has nothing to do with the chocolate.
"Delicious," I whisper, my voice throaty, barely recognizable. "Can I try another one?"
"Patience, Victoria," he says, words so smooth, wrapping around me like a velvet caress. "There are many rare delights I wish to show you, and the night is young."
My breathing stops, and I’m shocked to feel a warmth between my legs, something I haven’t felt in a long time. I shift in my seat, trying to ignore the sensation, but it’s impossible. My heart races, and I’m suddenly aware of every inch of my skin, like I’m hyper-sensitive, electrified by the sound of his voice, the way he says my name.
I glance down at my hands, still holding the box of chocolates, and wonder what else he’ll have me try tonight.
The limo pulls up to the mansion, and my jaw drops. The place is enormous—a sprawling estate that looks like it belongs on the cover of some architecture magazine. The front is all clean lines and soft lighting, with manicured hedges and a fountain that sparkles under the evening sky. My ratty suitcase feels absurd in my hand, and I’m suddenly hyper-aware of my faded jeans and worn-out T-shirt.
“Your house is… amazing,” I manage to say.
“Be it ever so humble,” Rokkon quips, his tone dry and amused.
My cheeks burn. Humble? This place is practically a palace. I feel like a peasant who stumbled into a king’s court. I fidget with the hem of my shirt, my fingers tangling in the frayed fabric. Why would someone like him—a billionaire, an alien warrior—want anything to do with me? I’m just a small-town girl with no real prospects, no glamorous life to offer.
I go silent, staring out the window as the limo glides up the driveway. My stomach twists, and I’m thankful for the partition screen between us and the driver.
“Victoria,” Rokkon’s voice cuts through the quiet, smooth and commanding. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” I mutter, too quickly.
He lets out a low chuckle. “You’re lying, but I’ll let you keep your secrets. For now.” There’s a pause, and I can almost feel his gaze on me, even though he’s not physically here. “Until I strip them away from you, one by one. Until you’re bare and exposed to me.”
My hand drifts to my thigh without thinking. My fingers brush against the zipper of my jeans, and I feel the heat building between my legs. His voice is doing things to me—things I didn’t think were possible. I press my palm against myself, the pressure sending a jolt of pleasure through me.
“Victoria,” his voice is husky now, sending another wave of heat through me. “Are you touching yourself right now?”
I freeze, my heart pounding. How does he know? My face flushes, and I’m thankful he can’t see me.
“Answer me,” he commands, his tone leaving no room for hesitation.
“Yes,” I whisper, my voice trembling.
“I can’t hear you. Speak louder.”
I glance nervously at the partition screen, but it’s still up. Still, it feels so wrong to say it out loud, to admit what I’m doing. But the thrill of it is intoxicating, and I can’t stop myself.
“Yes,” I say again, louder this time.
“Say yes, I’m touching my pussy right now, Sir. ”
I’m flooded with a mix of embarrassment and arousal. The words make my heart race, and I can’t believe I’m actually going to say it. But I do.
“Yes, I’m touching my pussy right now, Sir,” I moan, the words spilling out before I can stop them.
He growls, the sound low and primal. “Hearing that makes me hard, Victoria. What are you going to do about it?”
I bite my lip, my fingers moving faster now, the pressure building with every stroke. What am I going to do about it?
"I asked you a question, Victoria," Rokkon’s voice cuts through the silence in the limo, firm and commanding, and my heart skips a beat. The weight of his tone makes me squirm in my seat, my skin tingling with a mix of nerves and anticipation.
"I—I'll sit on it," I blurt out, my words tumbling over each other as the limo glides to a smooth halt in front of the mansion’s grand entrance. My face burns, and I’m glad he can’t see me right now. The thought of him watching me, judging me, owning me…it’s maddening yet delicious.
"You’ll sit on what? My face or my cock?" he demands, his voice low and unyielding. The directness of his question catches me off guard, and I gasp, my fingers twitching against the soft leather seat.
Before I can even think to answer, the heat building inside me explodes. My body convulses, my back arching as pleasure rips through me like a tidal wave. I thrash against the seat, my legs twisting helplessly, and then—I’m falling. I hit the floor of the limo with a soft thud, my breath coming in ragged gasps as I lie there, dazed and trembling.
"You chose to have an orgasm instead of answering me," Rokkon’s voice is calm, almost amused, but there’s an edge to it that makes my stomach flip. "You didn’t even ask for my permission to cum. I’m afraid you’ll have to be disciplined."
I let out a shaky breath, my chest rising and falling as I try to process what just happened. My whole body feels like it’s still buzzing, my skin hypersensitive to the cool air brushing against it. "Is this really happening?" I whisper, more to myself than to him. My voice trembles, still thick with the aftermath of my release.
"It’s real, Victoria," he replies, his tone softer now, but no less commanding. "More real than I could have imagined."
I swallow hard, my fingers curling against the floor as I push myself up onto my knees. My legs feel like jelly, and I’m still trying to catch my breath. "Okay," I say in a giddy whisper, my voice barely audible over the sound of my pounding heart.
"What did you say?" His voice sharpens, cutting through the haze in my mind.
"Yes, Sir," I reply immediately, the words slipping out before I can think. A thrill runs through me as I say it, a strange mix of excitement and surrender. I feel my cheeks flush even hotter, but there’s no time to dwell on it. The door of the limo opens, and I grab my suitcase, stepping out onto the pavement.
The night air is cool against my skin, and I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself. The mansion looms ahead, its grandeur both intimidating and awe-inspiring. I walk toward the entrance, my heels clicking against the stone pathway. My heart races, and I can feel the weight of his presence, even though he’s not physically here yet. Every step feels like I’m moving closer to something I’ve only ever dreamed of.
"Yes, Sir," I whisper again, more to myself this time, as I reach the massive double doors. My hand hovers over the handle, my pulse quickening. I’m about to step into a world I’ve only read about in books, with a man who’s more than I could have ever imagined. And I’m ready—terrified, excited, but ready.