Page 27 of Sold to the Nalgar (Stolen From Earth #3)

T win.

Fucking.

Cocks.

Her brain stalled.

The devious part of her mind—that same part she’d spent most of her adult life burying under reason and logic and courtroom decorum—lurched forward with horrifying interest.

What exactly was he supposed to do with those ?

Perfectly shaped. Glinting faintly in the red light. The same pewter-grey as the rest of his flawless, battle-hewn body. The first was long, thick, veined like a cruel promise. The second—slimmer, slightly curved—looked almost… adaptable. Designed for something more precise.

Designed for her.

Oh, fuck. She should not be thinking like this. Not here. Not now. Not after everything he’d done. But the heat coiled in her belly was too undeniable to ignore. The man—no, creature —was walking sin. Alien. Brutal. Possessive.

And beautiful.

Her nostrils flared. She could smell him again.

That impossible, addictive mix of spice and heat and primal male.

Her senses were sharper than ever—sight, hearing, touch, all enhanced.

Heightened. Her body was changing . She felt it deep in her bones, in the way her blood pulsed through her, thick and fast, craving.

She was losing herself.

Her identity.

Her will.

Her control.

And, horrifyingly, she didn’t care .

Cecilia told herself she had a plan. A strategy. That by giving in, she’d gain leverage. Get under his skin. Make herself wanted , not just possessed. That her pleasure— her willing surrender —would make her powerful in his eyes. Would give her a blade to hold against his throat one day.

She would be the one who gave him what no one else could.

And someday, he would listen to her. Obey her. Need her.

That was what she told herself, even as her body betrayed her entirely.

She shifted on the bed, languid and feline, propping herself on one elbow, gaze trailing slowly down the magnificent ruin of him. Scarred and perfect. Rough and elegant. Every inch of him sculpted for war—and now, somehow, for her .

“I don’t know what you really are,” she said slowly, voice low and smoky. “Or why your kind find humans so… delectable. But it seems our species have certain things in common.”

His red eyes glinted. “All sentient bipeds originated from the same place. It is to be expected. This merging of our species—it is not new. We were once one.”

Her mouth opened. Closed. “Are you saying… humans and your kind came from the same origin?”

He nodded solemnly. “The Nucleus. Before the Shattering. Before we were seeded across the stars.”

Her mind reeled. She couldn’t process it. Evolution. The Big Bang. Earth’s neat little timelines—they all collapsed under the weight of that statement.

Impossible.

But his fingers were already sliding over her skin, chasing the thoughts from her mind.

He peeled back the silk at her shoulder. His hands were rough and warm, trailing down her collarbone, tracing the curve of her breasts. One calloused thumb grazed her nipple—just once—and she shuddered, breath catching.

Oh, god.

He leaned down, brushing his mouth over her skin like a benediction, then lower, lower, lips against her belly, her hip, her inner thigh. Possessive. Worshipful. Like he’d already claimed every inch.

And she—traitorous, wretched she —arched into him.

What was she to do?

How fast she’d fallen.

How weak she was for him.

This wasn’t love. This wasn’t even lust.

It was addiction . Hedonistic and dark and dangerous.

She had become a fucking mess.

And she had never felt more alive.