Page 30 of Scorching the Alien Empire (The Klendathian Cycle #7)
“Um...” I mutter, biting down on my lip as the pulsing heat grows hotter and faster, kissing my pussy with lovely throbbing warmth. “Todd, dug his... wee... ooh.”
For fuck’s, sake!
“You behave yourself, naughty Todd,” Sandra says, reaching over to pet Todd’s totally sleeping form.
Thank Arawnoth she doesn’t notice.
“My thanks, War Chieftain. I pledge to serve you as faithfully as I did your great father.” Corsark slams a fist to his armored chest and bows his head, the sound echoing throughout the immense black marble hall.
Finally, he’s done!
“Your impressive feats speak of your noble character,” Dracoth rumbles, his voice steady despite my best efforts to unsettle him.
“And your war brothers confirm your indomitable resolve.” He gestures toward the group of towering soldiers.
“You honor me with your service, Corsark. Know that you will always have a place in my warband—the Ravagers Berserkers. Know that your thirst for battle and conquest, which beats in every true Klendathian’s heart, will always be quenched as we stride like gods over the masses of the vanquished. ”
How can he talk so calmly while I’m squirming like I’ve got ants in my pants?
I increase the tempo of my divine barriers rubbing against his cock, determined to win. He’ll be the first one to break!
Dracoth crosses his legs and rocks forward, almost huddled into a giant red ball of pleasurable shame. I’d burst into laughter at the sight if I weren’t biting my lip to keep from moaning. The dancing, pulsing heat between my legs has me panting, tingles fluttering all over my body.
“Proud sons of Scarn,” Ignixis intones, gliding toward the soldiers like liquid shadow in his void-black robes.
“Behold the sacred ashes of Scarn, the cradle of the powerful, drenched in Arawnoth’s nourishing blood.
” His wizened hand disappears into the folds of his robes and emerges with a small leather pouch.
He stands before Corsark. “Go forth with Arawnoth’s blessing, Ravager Berserkers,” Ignixis continues, pressing a clump of black ash onto his bowed head.
“Scourge the weak, embrace strength. Let the vanquished be reborn in his divine image.” His voice booms with reverence as he repeats the blessing on the remaining soldiers.
“May you die a glorious death,” Ignixis concludes, raising his arms toward the vaulted marble ceilings.
“May you die a glorious death,” the soldiers echo in unison, performing their salute once more. “War Chieftain!” they shout before turning abruptly and marching toward the exit.
I’m relieved when the immense door swooshes closed behind them, barely holding myself together against Dracoth’s infuriatingly delightful assault.
I can’t be certain, but I think he’s summoned two tiny orbs now. One vibrates, sending molten pulses into the crown of my femininity, while the other teases and dances along my slick folds.
Dracoth has reduced me to a squirming mess—frantic breaths, bitten lip, legs clamped together, and knees quivering. Meanwhile, he’s hunched over like Quasimodo with his bell about to be rung, a faint layer of sweat beading on his forehead.
I’m going to win! He’s going to break first!
The warmth within me builds and builds, tingles fluttering through my entire body. My legs part slightly, wishing his orbs of heat would slip inside me, filling me to the brim the way his massive cock does. It’s all too much—the mounting pleasure, the heat, the naughtiness of our sexy hidden game.
“Do you smell something burning?” Sandra asks, her face wrinkling as she sniffs the air loudly.
Yes! Burn me, Dracoth. Burn me with Arawnoth’s love!
An explosion erupts from deep inside me, pulling a muffled squeal from my lips.
Waves and waves of ecstasy wash over me, spreading from my blazing core to every tingling extremity.
Shuddering jolts ripple through my body, forcing me to grasp Sandra’s shoulder to keep from collapsing into a quivering puddle of molten Lexie-goo.
“Oh my God, are you okay, Lexie?” Sandra asks, her voice soft with concern as she steadies me with firm hands. “You’re burning up.” She rests a hand against my sweaty brow. “I’ll take you back to your room,” she urges, sliding an arm around my waist.
“No, I’m fine,” I giggle, the euphoria still cascading through me. “I just got a little hot under the collar. Thanks, Sandra.”
I fan my face and roll my eyes toward the towering red dragon that is my alien husband. He glares at me, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips, a pale flicker of emotion compared to the amusement and pride roaring through our bond.
His gaze shifts to Jazreal, thinking he’s won, but I increase the tempo of my divine shields to absurd levels, causing his eyes to bulge like the cock he’s struggling to hide.
“Jazreal... and... Sarkoth,” he stammers, wiping a layer of sweat from his brow. “Who is... to be Death Herald?” His wind-tunnel voice cracks under the strain.
“I am Death Herald of the Ravager Berserkers, War Chieftain,” Jazreal declares, his stern voice echoing proudly. He steps forward, slamming the butt of his long spear against the gleaming marble floor.
“Sarkoth... do you wish to challenge?” Dracoth asks, his twitching gaze shifting to the long, brown-haired soldier standing guard beside Jazreal.
“Challenge him?” Sarkoth laughs, the sound deep and rich with camaraderie. “He’s saving me from a voiding headache—”
Dracoth grunts loudly, his fangs clenched.
I laugh as he throws his head back, his massive fingers clenching harder, cracking and splintering the huge bestial skulls armrests.
All eyes snap to him—high upon his super-important throne for everyone to see—as he trembles and shakes, his orgasm tearing through him.
“Oh dear, you don’t look so well, my Mortakin-Kai,” I purr, my tone dripping with honeyed sweetness, my gaze loaded with mischief. “Why don’t I take over for a bit?” I suggest, taking a step toward my rightful place atop the throne.
“I am well,” he rumbles, halting my advance with a raised hand. “Despite the malignant energies nearby,” he adds, shooting me a withering look.
Malignant energies? The rude prick just got the best divine shield-job ever!
“Good, Sarkoth,” Dracoth continues, his attention turning back to the two best buddies. “Continue to serve me as you served my father, and I will lead you to unending glories.” He nods solemnly.
“War Chieftain,” Sarkoth and Jazreal echo in unison, both slamming their fists to their chests and bowing their heads.
The pair step back into formation along the marble wall as Ignixis slithers forward, his glowing green eyes lingering on Dracoth’s throne.
“Must you break everything, young Dracoth?” my creepy teacher hisses through his fangs, his fingers idly tracing the rough obsidian stone.
“I am the War Chieftain,” Dracoth reminds, a hint of annoyance breaking through his stoic restraint.
Ignixis presses, undeterred. “For two hundred years, this seat has served your father—unblemished, unmarred, a symbol of his power and strength.” He sighs deeply, shoulders sagging as if they carry the weight of fifty Dracoths.
“Now, within a day, you’ve already tarnished it.
” His green glare cuts through me, disgust and contempt warping the scorched runes on his face into even more unreadable shapes.
“And your childish lusts sully its very meaning.” He sniffs loudly.
Oh crap!
My face flushes with the heat of Dracoth’s flames. I resist the urge to clamp my legs shut and cover my crotch from his accusing glare.
“A symbol is only a reflection. I am the meaning,” Dracoth responds, casually flicking broken skull fragments from his throne to the floor. “This is nothing but material.”
Ignixis’s head hangs, shaking it ruefully.
He looks ancient—more so than usual—as though he’s aged decades in mere hours.
“Spoken with the boundless arrogance of youth... I wish I had more time to guide you... but tomorrow, we consult the Crucible. There, you will be tested, with the destiny of the universe hanging in the balance.”
Dread grips my heart like an icy fist, squeezing the breath from my chest. Ignixis’s concern, this mysterious Crucible—it threatens everything Dracoth and I have built.
“Blessed daughter?” Ignixis calls, snapping me from my disturbing thoughts. “Perhaps you could enlighten our young War Chieftain on the error of his thinking?” He gestures up at the immense throne, his tone lacking the usual dark amusement.
All eyes turn to me, their eager expectations sending butterflies barrel-rolling in my stomach.
None are more intimidating than Dracoth himself, looming above, his gaze piercing my very soul.
I almost stroke the rubbery skin from poor Todd, searching for comfort as I scramble to organize my thoughts.
“Like fashion, like everything—appearances matter,” I begin, straightening my shoulders as confidence hardens my voice. “Symbols aren’t just decoration. They’re power. They shape perception and remind everyone who we are—who you are.”
I glance up at Dracoth, my silver-red eyes gleaming, a silent plea for him to understand.
“That throne isn’t just a chair; it’s an anchor of belief. If people don’t see power, if they aren’t reminded of your presence, they’ll begin to doubt. They’ll stop caring. That’s why it matters most.” I let the words settle, spinning my diamond and Elerium rings absently.
“Excellent!” Ignixis booms, clapping his hands with a jarring crack. “Yes. Take counsel from your Mortakin-Kis. She can be rather insightful when her head isn’t lost in glittering nebulas,” he cackles like a half-mad lunatic.
Surprisingly, pride swells in my chest, though my hands clench into fists at his words.
“Fear,” comes Drexios’s distant, muffled voice.
I turn to see him glaring like a hungry wolf, his hands pressed against my divine barriers. “Oh, I forgot about you,” I titter, dispelling his prison with a mere thought.