Page 20 of Claimed By the Alien Prince

ZEVRAN

I stride through the palace halls, a small box cradled in my hands, its silk ribbon glimmering under the ambient glow of the ion-stone sconces. My heartbeat is steady, though anticipation thrums beneath the surface. I stop in front of her door and knock.

“Carys,” I call softly, adopting the gentle tone that’s become second nature since our bond ignited.

“Come in, Zevran,” she replies, her voice warm but laced with fatigue.

I push the door open to find her lounging on the bed, a handheld fan fluttering before her face like a makeshift shield against the oppressive humidity. The sight stirs something within me—an urge to protect and comfort.

“No sample studies today?” I ask as I take a seat on the edge of her bed, trying to read her expression. “Are you feeling unwell?”

She sighs dramatically. “It’s the heat.”

I nod, understanding all too well how relentless Verus can be. “I’ll arrange for your room to be properly cooled,” I mutter, irritation flickering at the thought of someone meddling with her comfort without permission. “It’s unacceptable.”

As I glance at her again, something urges me to offer more than just practical solutions. “Would a gift make you feel better?”

Her eyes widen slightly—a spark of curiosity igniting amidst her languor.

“What kind of gift?” she asks cautiously, tilting her head.

I don't flirt. Not exactly. But when I watch her unbox the sheer wrap, embroidered with delicate vines that mimic the very flora she studies, my hands twitch. They flex like I’m fighting the urge to rip it back off her shoulders as she drapes it over herself.

The fabric clings lightly to her skin, accentuating curves that should distract me but don’t.

“Beautiful,” I murmur, and the word tastes foreign on my tongue.

She glances at me from under her lashes, a sly smile curling her lips. “It’s only a wrap, Zevran.”

A laugh bubbles in my chest but doesn’t escape my lips. Instead, I simply watch her as she sways slightly, testing its weight. It seems like such a simple moment—yet something in the air thickens with unspoken promises.

Tonight, I linger longer than usual. The deep plum Kiphian wine fills our glasses, each sip shimmering with flavors of starlight and ripe summer fruits.

As she teases me about my serious demeanor—some remark about being the most humorless prince in history—I find myself unable to rise to her bait.

I just watch her, absorbing every nuance of her expression as if she were the rarest specimen in the galaxy.

Dinner arrives: a feast fit for a king—smoked meats drizzled with tangy sauces and vibrant vegetables that dance across the platter in an explosion of colors.

My instinct to spoil her has grown sharper each day we spend together; every meal shared feels like an act of defiance against tradition and expectation.

“Try this,” she urges, leaning closer, offering me a piece of candied fruit from the tray.

I hesitate only for a moment before taking it from her fingers. The sweetness explodes on my tongue, but it’s not the taste that leaves me breathless; it’s how close she is now—how familiar our interactions have become.

Her gaze flickers down to my lips before meeting my eyes again.

I brush a crumb from her lower lip with my thumb—a soft touch laden with intention—and time stretches taut between us like one of those vines outside.

I can feel something shifting; gravity pulls us together even as reason whispers for restraint.

“I should go,” I say, my voice low and rough, though I don’t want leave this moment behind.

“You should,” she whispers back. “But you won’t.”

And there it is—the challenge hanging between us like ripe fruit begging to be picked.

So I don’t move away; instead, I lean closer until there’s nothing left but space for our breaths to mingle and blend. When our lips finally meet, it’s tentative at first—a brush of curiosity—but soon ignites into something urgent and hungry.

I kiss her like she's a decision I've already made long before today—a choice that feels both inevitable and reckless at once. She responds without hesitation; no more teasing or doubt lingers in this shared moment.

Pulling back slightly, I search her face for signs of regret or confusion but find only determination etched across her features.

“I thought you didn’t believe in mates,” I tease softly, still caught up in the aftershocks of our connection.

Her brow furrows playfully as if debating whether or not to maintain her stubborn stance against what fate has delivered us both. “I don’t,” she replies defiantly. “But that doesn’t mean that my hormones aren’t telling me that I need you.”

Something tightens within me—a fierce satisfaction mingled with trepidation over what we’ve begun to explore together.

With one hand resting on the curve of her waist while the other brushes back a stray curl from her cheek, I lean in and devour her lips without restraint.

She needs me. She needs me.

Fuck.

I need her, too. I need to taste her. Right fucking now.

Her thighs quiver under my palms as I sink to my knees, her sharp inhale louder than the fountain bubbling in the corner of the chamber.

“Easy, little thief.” My thumbs dig into the soft flesh above her knees, spreading her wider. “Stealing flora and propriety now?”

Her heel digs into my spine—impudent terror —and I snarl, teeth grazing the trembling muscle of her inner thigh.

“Fuck you,” she pants, but her hips lift, her damp heat stinging the air between us. “Always so judgmental about?—”

The words shrivel when my tongue licks a long, wet stripe through her folds.

“ Fuck , you’re drenched.” I drag my textured fingertips up her slit, savoring her convulsive jerk. “All afternoon, isn’t it? I'm sitting in council chambers with dignitaries while you're… dripping .”

Her fists tangle in my hair. “Not. My. Fault.” Each syllable frays.

I chuckle against her clit, blowing cool air across the swollen bud. “Liar. You wore no panties to torment me. Admit it.”

Her thighs slam around my head with a crack of defiance. “The weather’s?—”

I bite.

Her scream splinters into breathless giggles, hands shoving at my shoulders. “Asshole! That’s my —ohnonono?—”

Too late. My tongue spears into her, fucking her in rough, shallow thrusts that smother her insults. Her taste—crisp, metallic, like those storm-bloom petals she catalogs—explodes across my senses.

She claws at the couch cushions. “Zevran, I swear if you stop?—”

“Beg,” I growl, flattening my tongue against her clit. “Properly.”

Her hips stutter. “Go to hell.”

I withdraw, blowing across her glistening cunt. Her groan scrapes raw. “Zevran?—”

“Beg. Now .”

Her heel grinds between my shoulder blades, spine-lock reacting to her touch by flaring molten heat down my back. “ Please. Please, you insufferable prince — fuck ?—”

My mouth crashes back onto her, sucking her clit until her thighs crush my skull. She comes with a shattered cry, drenching my jaw as I lap at her pulsing flesh.

“Again,” I grit against her, finger circling her entrance. “I’ll have you twice.”

Her sweaty palm slaps my cheek—half-hearted, trembling. “Tyrant.”

I capture her wrist, licking her salt from my lips. “Mate.”