Page 15

REILY

T he phone buzzes on the counter as I’m stirring the grits, Clem’s voice crackling through the speaker.

“You really think Susan’s going to play along?” he grumbles. “She’s got her own agenda, Reily. Always has.”

I glance at the clock. The caregiver’s due any minute, and I haven’t even brushed my hair. “Susan’s agenda is exposing Hoag. So is ours. That’s enough common ground for now.”

“Fine. But if those biker freaks start something, I’m not just gonna stand there and take it.”

“Clem, I’m serious. No weapons. You go in there looking for a fight, and Hoag wins. Just… cool it, alright?”

He sighs, the sound like a tire deflating. “Alright, alright. But if this blows up, it’s on you.”

“Noted.”

I hang up just as the doorbell lets out its tortured screech. Out of habit, I yell, “Mom, don’t get up!” even though I know she’s not moving from that bed today.

A woman in scrubs stands on the porch, her smile as crisp as her uniform. “Hi, I’m Janet. Mr. Irons sent me.”

“Right, come on in.” I wave her inside, trying to ignore the way my stomach flutters at the mention of him .

Janet’s eyes sweep the room, taking in the threadbare carpet and the photos of Dad. “Cozy place.”

“Thanks. My mom’s upstairs. She’s having a rough day, so she’s in bed. She’s got her meds, and I just made her some cheesy grits.”

“Got it. I’ll take good care of her.”

I grab the bowl of grits and head upstairs, Janet trailing behind. Mom’s propped up against her pillows, her face pale but her smile bright.

“Hey, Mama,” I say, setting the bowl on her nightstand. “This is Janet. She’s gonna hang out with you for a bit.”

Mom’s eyes twinkle. “Another date with Mr. Billionaire?”

I freeze, the spoon halfway to the bowl. “It’s not a date. It’s… strategy.”

“Uh-huh.” Mom takes the spoon from me, her smirk widening. “You know, your father used to get that same look on his face when he was trying to hide something. Like when he bought me that saddle I didn’t want for Christmas.”

“Mom.”

“Just saying, sweetie. Be careful with that one. He’s got ‘trouble’ written all over him.”

I kiss her forehead, my face burning. “I’ll be back soon.”

Downstairs, Janet’s already making herself at home, flipping through a magazine like she’s been here a thousand times.

“Call me if you need anything,” I say, grabbing my bag.

“Will do. Have fun on your… strategy session.”

I glare at her, but she’s already engrossed in an article about celebrity diets.

As I head out the door, my phone buzzes. A text from him .

Gary: Don’t keep me waiting.

I roll my eyes but can’t stop the grin spreading across my face.

“Be good, Mom,” I mutter under my breath, heading for the car.

Whatever this is, it’s definitely not just about the dam.

The garage door clatters open with a mechanical hum, and I roll the POS inside, the engine coughing its usual death rattle.

My phone buzzes in the cup holder. I grab it, the screen lighting up with a text from Guvan—no, Gary .

I have to remind myself to think of him that way, even if the alien underneath the disguise is becoming harder to ignore.

Park in the garage this time, and get dressed before you come inside.

Get dressed? My stomach does a little flip. “What’s he got in store for me today?” I mutter, glancing at the rearview mirror like I might find answers in my own reflection. “Oh god, I’m going to end up with a broken heart when this is all over. I just know it.”

I maneuver the car into the garage, the door grinding shut behind me.

The dim light filters through the dusty windows, casting long shadows across the concrete floor.

And there he is, sitting in a leather wing-backed chair like some kind of alien king.

His three-piece suit hugs his frame in all the right places, but the hologram is off, and his true form is on full display.

Dark red scales catch the light, his ridges sharp and unyielding.

And those eyes—those red, piercing eyes—lock onto me the second I step out of the car.

“Get dressed for your day’s duties, Reily,” he commands, exhaling a plume of cigar smoke.

The amber glow highlights the planes of his face, making him look even more otherworldly.

He nods toward something behind me, and I turn to see the maid uniform, pristine and pressed, hanging in a clear garment bag.

I swallow hard, my pulse quickening. He’s going to watch me change. Of course he is. It’s a power play, one I’m not about to let him win. Not without a fight.

“You know,” I say, crossing my arms, “most employers don’t make their staff strip in the garage. But hey, I guess when you’re a billionaire alien with a god complex, you get to make the rules, right?”

His lips curl into a smirk, the cigar perched between his teeth. “Do you always talk this much, or is it a special talent you’ve decided to showcase today?”

“Only when I’m dealing with overgrown lizards who think they’re the center of the universe.”

“Careful, Reily. Push me too far, and you might find yourself with more duties than you bargained for.”

I grab the garment bag and unzip it, the sound loud in the quiet garage. The uniform is just as ridiculous as I remember—skimpy, tight, and designed to make me feel exposed.

I don’t take my eyes off Guvan as I peel off my tank top, letting it drop to the garage floor.

His chair creaks as he shifts forward, the cigar smoke curling around his scaled face like a halo of sin.

My nipples harden under his gaze, but I don’t touch them—not yet.

I’m in control here, even if he thinks he is.

“Getting comfortable?” I ask, popping the button on my jeans. His eyes flick down, and I swear I hear a low growl rumble in his chest.

“Do I look uncomfortable?” he counters, taking a long drag from the cigar. The tip glows orange, the ember reflecting in his red eyes. “You’re stalling.”

I smirk and shimmy out of my jeans, kicking them aside. My panties are next, and I make a show of sliding them down my thighs, bending over just enough to give him a glimpse of what’s coming. When I straighten up, I catch the way his claws dig into the armrests of the chair.

“Are you sure you don’t want to help?” I tease, reaching for the maid uniform.

“Wait.” His voice is a command, sharp and low.

I freeze mid-reach, arching an eyebrow. “What now, Your Majesty?”

He gestures with the cigar, the ash falling to the floor. “Play with your nipples. Make them hard.”

My mouth drops open. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

“You’re kidding, right?” I cross my arms, my cheeks burning. “Is this part of the maid training? Because I don’t remember this in the job description.”

He leans back in his chair, his smirk widening. “Consider it a performance review.”

“You’re impossible,” I mutter, but my hands are already moving, trembling as they brush against my breasts. His eyes darken, his breath hitching as I pinch my nipples, rolling them between my fingers.

“That’s it,” he purrs, his voice like gravel. “Show me.”

I close my eyes, the sensation sending sparks down my spine. “Are you having fun, little spitfire?” he asks, his tone dripping with smug satisfaction.

“Yes,” I admit, my voice barely above a whisper. Then, in a rush of desperation, I add, “But not as much as if it were you touching me, Master.”

His growl is primal, a sound that vibrates through the garage and makes the tools on the shelves rattle. “Patience.”

I don’t know if he’s talking to me or himself, and right now, I don’t care.

“Spread your legs,” he commands, his voice rough with desire. “Wider.”

I obey, I step my feet apart. His eyes are locked on me, drinking in every detail.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, and the words send a shiver through me. “Now, touch yourself. Show me how much you want this.”

My hands move without hesitation now, one sliding down my stomach while the other teases my nipple. I’m wet, so wet, and the way he’s watching me—like I’m the only thing in the universe—makes me feel powerful in a way I’ve never experienced before.

“Turn around,” he says, his voice strangled. “Show me everything.”

I turn, my heart pounding as I bend over slightly, spreading my cheeks for him. The air is thick with the scent of cigar smoke and arousal, and I can hear the rustle of fabric as he adjusts himself.

“Perfect,” he growls, and I can’t help the moan that escapes my lips. His desire is a physical thing, a heat that radiates across the room and wraps around me. I’ve never felt so wanted, so needed, and it’s intoxicating.

He’s watching me like I’m a revelation, and I feel like one.

I stumble forward, my legs trembling beneath me, until I’m standing in front of him, his red eyes burning into mine. His claws dig deeper into the armrests, the leather groaning in protest.

“Come here,” he growls, the sound so low and guttural it makes my head swim. He leans forward, his muscles coiled like a predator ready to pounce.

I step closer, and his hand snaps out, grabbing me by the small of my back. The scales of his palm are rough against my skin, but the heat radiating from him is intoxicating. He yanks me onto his lap, and I gasp as my bare skin presses against the fabric of his suit.

His mouth is on me before I can catch my breath—hot and relentless. He kisses my neck, his tongue flicking against my pulse point, his teeth nipping just hard enough to make me shiver. I grab the back of his scaled head, my fingers tangling in the ridges there, and press him harder into my skin.

“Oh god,” I moan, tilting my head to give him more access. The contrast between his fully clothed form and my nakedness is stark, a reminder of my place in this dynamic, and it sends a thrill through me.

I squirm on his lap, feeling the hard length of him beneath me, and finally manage to settle onto his cock. The stretch is intense, his vakutan ridges undulating inside me, and I cry out, my back arching.

“Who owns you?” he demands, his voice sharp as his eyes lock onto mine.

“Master Guvan owns me,” I breathe, my words hushed but sure. The weight of his control washes over me, that golden glow of subspace wrapping me in its warmth.

I grab the lapels of his suit, feeling the fine fabric crumple in my fists, and start to move. My hips roll and grind, taking him deeper with every motion. His cock pulses inside me, and I can see the way his jaw tightens, the way his eyes darken with every stroke.

“That’s it,” he growls, his hands gripping my hips, sharp claws pricking my skin. “Take what you need.”

I do, riding him harder, faster, until the room is filled with the sound of our ragged breaths and the slick slide of skin against scales. His mouth finds my breasts, his tongue swirling around one nipple while his teeth graze the other.

When I finally come, it’s with a scream, my body tightening around him as he spills inside me.

“Did I do a good job?” I ask, my voice dripping with cheeky snark as I catch my breath. “Master?”

His eyes narrow, but there’s a flicker of amusement in them. “Don’t push your luck, little spitfire.”

I grin, leaning in to kiss him, but he stops me with a clawed finger under my chin.

“You’re not done yet,” he rumbles.

His hand tangles in my hair, pulling my head back sharply.

I gasp, the sting sending a jolt of heat straight to my core.

His mouth crashes into mine, all teeth and tongue, a collision that steals my breath and fills my lungs with the scent of cigar smoke and something wild, something alien .

My hands clutch at his shoulders, the scales slick under my palms, and I moan into his mouth, the sound swallowed by his growl.

Before I can process it, he spins me around, his claws gripping my hips as he yanks me back against him.

I feel his cock, hot and ridged, pressing against me, and I lift my hips instinctively, expecting him to slide into me like before.

But instead, I feel the blunt tip of him nudge against a place I’ve never explored.

“Master?” My voice wobbles, a mix of nerves and curiosity. I’ve never done this before, and the idea is equal parts terrifying and thrilling. My heart pounds, my body caught between wanting to pull away and wanting to push back.

He leans forward, his breath hot against my ear. “I won’t let you get hurt, Reily.” His voice is low, softer than I’ve ever heard it, and the words wrap around me like a promise. “I’d never let you get hurt.”

The tension in my shoulders eases, and I let out a shaky breath.

I trust him. God help me, I trust him. Slowly, I lower myself onto him, the stretch sharp but not unbearable.

His ridges glide against me, sending sparks shooting up my spine, and I whimper, my hands gripping the arms of the chair for support.

He growls, a deep rumble that vibrates through me, and leans forward to bite my shoulder. The sting is followed by the gentle press of his fingers against my clit, coaxing me back into rhythm. I move on him, tentatively at first, but his hands guide me, steady and firm.

I ride him with growing confidence, the intensity building with every motion. His claws dig into my hips, keeping me steady, and I let myself go, surrendering to the sensations, to him. The sharpness fades, replaced by a deep, consuming pleasure that has me gasping his name.

When I come, it’s with a cry, my body tightening around him as he spills inside me, his growl echoing in the stillness of the garage. He holds me close, his breath ragged against my neck, , there’s nothing but the sound of our breathing and the pounding of my heart.

I lean back against him, my limbs heavy and my mind hazy with the glow of subspace.

His arms wrap around me, and I feel safe, cared for in a way I’ve never experienced before.

Later, I think. I’ll bring up the dam later.

For now, I just want to stay here, wrapped in him, and forget the world exists.