Prairie

 

 

 

THIS DAY HAD started out shitty and gotten steadily worse.

First with my skeevy landlord, whose breath reeked of raw fish, demanding rent I couldn’t afford. The disgusting perv offered to let me work it out on my back underneath him. I’d shuddered from head to toe at his sickening suggestion. But before I could beat a hasty retreat, he’d pounced on me. With a grip around my upper arms, he’d mashed his foul lips against mine. I’d slammed my knee up to his crotch then fled while he bleated like a hysterical bitch baby.

My mom had always taught me to stay away from men who wanted to take sexual advantage.

Just kidding.

My mom hadn’t taught me anything other than how she used her body to trade fucking for vials full of smack, which she injected into her veins all day and all night long.

Awesome role model.

Well, she was in my past, and so was my skanky landlord. But, God, this damn day needed to end. The fiasco with my light fingers almost failing me was the icing on a shit cake. Just what I needed. The fat-walleted old fart threatening to call the cops on me.

Now this barbarian stopping me when I had to figure out where I could hole up for the night.

Figure out if I could sneak back into my place undetected to scoop up my few belongings and escape the slimy clutches of Mr. Whore-Yourself-Out-for-a-Roof-Over-Your-Head.

Gross.

And day-umm. My hand hurt from the slap I’d just laid on the crazy-train guy who still towered over me. He’d called me his princess, and looked like a muscly hot fantasy in the flesh.

Whatever. I’d done my time on the streets. I’d learned to trust no one but myself. I’d developed a tough outer shell, made sure no one but no one got close enough to make me vulnerable.

I gazed up at the dude. Jesus. More like I craned my head all the way back . . . he was that tall. Broad-shouldered, narrow-hipped, his thighs looked like tree trunks in the swanky suit he wore. A clean strong jaw, and despite the designer threads, he had long black hair twisted in twin braids at his temples, rings on his fingers . . . full lips and captivating eyes.

Definitely not vice squad then. Unless they’d started hiring from the Thunder From Down Under.

A hum of energy zipping through me, I tugged my leather gloves over my hands, prepared to hop back on my prized Ducati and hightail it from the scene of the crime. Until I glanced down at the man’s groin.

Holy hell. He was hard.

So big and hard his cock filled the inseam of his pants, and holy shit, saliva filled my mouth.

My nipples tightened. My pussy wept. My damn toes curled, and I met his eyes again just in time to see his irises flick from green to gold, then his dense black pupils flipped from horizontal to vertical.

“You’re not off your meds. You’re freaking tweaking,” I snapped, shoving at the monstrously huge goon who didn’t budge a single inch.

“One kiss.”

“What?” One kiss? Suddenly the idea of this man’s lips on mine didn’t repulse me at all, not like my landlord’s fat mouth slobbering over mine had.

The dude stepped closer. “Give me one kiss, my queen.”

“I don’t know what you—”

I didn’t get out another word because he hauled me against him, up into his unyielding body, and lowered his mouth to mine.

Furious, I dug into him with my elbows, fighting the way he tangled his fingers in my hair, the way his firm mouth moved so softly over mine. When his tongue darted out to trace my lips, I whimpered. I didn’t want to. This wasn’t premeditated. The one thing I hadn’t done for money was sell out sex.

I wasn’t about to start now, but he licked at me, hefting me higher in his strong arms. Then he angled his head until the fit was just right between our mouths, our bodies.

A moan escaped me when I dragged my tongue along his, my whole body draped against his much larger frame. I crushed my fingers into his hair, drew my legs up to his waist, let him take my entire weight.

Intense. Fireworks? Jeessus. Kissing this man set off a whole damn carnival of lights connected to every single sensitive point on my body. Until gasping, clinging, aching . . . yearning, I pulled back, slipping to my feet.

Determined not to be dumb and dizzy no matter how much that one kiss had me creaming my panties, I took up my helmet.

Mr. Do-Me-Now narrowed his changeable eyes. “Where are you going?”

“Very far away from you.”

“Come home with me.”

“Not likely.” I buckled my helmet. “How do I even know you’re not just a legit perv?”

He dug a phone from his pocket and thrust it at me. “Here’s my Tinder profile.”

“Tinder?” I hooted with laughter, glancing at the photo. Whoa-holy-muscles! But seriously? “Every skank in America’s on that app.”

“I noticed.” Dark brows lowered over his hooded eyes. “You’re different.” He placed his hands over mine, lips perilously close again. “Give me a chance.”

“I seriously think I’m getting punked instead of arrested now.”

“I am X. And you are my queen.”

I wrinkled my nose, pretending to be uninterested when every part of my body zinged in a way I’d never experienced before. “What you are is cracked in the head, man.”

“I promise I’m not.” Those strange eyes of his peered at me with total sincerity and searing intensity. “I’m the king of the planet Zenithia, and you’re my mate.”

All right. Now I didn’t care how sincere he seemed, dude was bonkers.

“King of what?”

“Zenithia.”

Shaking my head, I straddled my bike, but he moved in front of me, blocking my getaway.

“One week,” he intoned, the deep timbre of his voice as compelling as his delicious hunky body.

I chewed on my lip, considering. Then I snorted, because seriously. “First it’s one kiss. And now you want me to give you an entire week of my oh-so-busy life? Don’t think so.”

“I want to show you my home.” His fingers caressed from my cheek to my neck, and damn if my already speeding pulse didn’t kick into high gear. “Give me one week. Seven Zenithian days. Very similar to yours, Prairie—day follows night, and so forth.”

I reared back. The hell? I’d never told him my name. Stalker much?

His firm lips that’d been so hot and sculpted against mine lifted in a half smile. “No. I’m not a stalker.”

And he was even sexier when he smirked like that. Because the man wasn’t already impossibly hot. “Oh wait, now you expect me to believe you’re a psychic or something? Like that Jersey woman?”

“What Jersey woman?”

This had to be the most batshit conversation. “I was talking about the Long Island Medium chick. Long Island, Jersey Shore. Close enough, right?”

He flipped a hand impatiently like how he came to know my name was of no consequence whatsoever.

I started my bike, revving the engine. “Look, buddy, I don’t trust you as far as I could throw you.” He was so frigging massive, even if I shoved against him full force I wouldn’t be able to shift him an inch. “And now you want me to go off with you for a week? How do I know you’re not screwing with me? I watched Star Trek. I know all about the space-time continuum shit. One week could end up being ten years no matter what you said, and I wouldn’t even realize it.”

If he was telling the truth about another planet, which wasn’t even possible.

His head dropped back, and the laugh that boomed from him made my tummy flutter. His serious face lit up in pure amusement, and crinkles appeared around his green eyes.

“Something funny?”

He dragged a hand down his face. “The space-time continuum comment. You have no idea.”

I narrowed my gaze. “X, right? I’m not even convinced you’re not just out to hack me into tiny pieces and bury me in the Mohave Desert.”

Bending toward me, he hit me with that sincere gaze again. “No lies. No subterfuge. I want to take you to my home and treat you like the queen you are. One week, and I’ll bring you back if you don’t want me.”

I huffed. “You’re totally an extra on one of those annoying new Alien reboots, aren’t you?”

He didn’t move, merely lifted an eyebrow. And his proximity delivered a hit of his warm masculine scent. Everything about X screamed one hundred percent virility. Yep, the man was clearly crazy, but he was also damn sexy.

Welp. What else was I gonna do? Spread my legs for my nasty landlord? Find another squat? Sell off my precious Ducati instead of my body to get some cash? Or go away for a week, hide out with a serious hottie, and hope he wasn’t totally crackers?

I shrugged. “Fine. But I need to get my things.”

A lighter gleam entered X’s eyes with my sudden capitulation. “You won’t need any of your belongings.”

He tugged my hands, pulling me off the Ducati.

“I’m bringing my iPhone.”

“Cell service won’t extend to Zenithia, and we have far superior modes of communication than anything Apple could ever dream up.”

“Fine. I’m at least taking my leather jacket!”

X winked at me, a full grin spreading his yummy-looking lips.

Yup. Dude is definitely lacking brain cells.