Alien General's Bride: SciFi Alien Romance (Brion Brides)
Read Alien General's Bride: SciFi Alien Romance (Brion Brides) Online
Authors: Vi Voxley
ALIEN GENERAL’S BRIDE
BRION BRIDES
BOOK 3
BY
VI VOXLEY
A LITTLE TASTE...
She bent to lick across the lean, hard muscles, perfect in every way, unyielding under her tongue. She had curves, but Diego had hard, jagged lines, etched to perfection. Every shape on his body was like he’d been crafted by the goddess of all women. The muscles on his chest glistened, wet from Isolde’s tongue, but she ached to taste more, to taste all of him.
Her tongue traced each ridge on his stomach, making Diego’s hands fist in her hair and earning her a hiss. He pushed her away only to rip the last of their clothing away, and then Isolde found herself pushed back on the bed, naked, skin to skin with her general at last.
“Fuck you’re hot,” she whispered. “Touch me. I want you all over me, I want you
in me
.”
Diego smiled that devilish smile he kept only for her. “Soon,” he promised. “I want to hear you beg for it. I want you to be so desperate and wet for me you can no longer stand it, as you promised when we met.”
Stupid past me
, Isolde thought, but her mouth only moaned at the idea.
Diego kissed her again, sending her eyes rolling back to her head. His lips were soft, but that’s where the gentleness ended. The kiss was hard and demanding and so, so hot, almost as hot as the feeling in her pussy, rubbing shamelessly against Diego’s thighs. The general chuckled into her mouth.
“You are making this hard for me,” he said, biting Isolde’s neck.
“I
want
you hard for me,” Isolde shot back.
Copyright © 2015 Vi Voxley
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and any resemblance to any persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Alien General’s Bride
Brion Brides
Book 3
All rights reserved.
No part of this work may be used, reproduced, transmitted in any form or by any means by anyone but the purchaser for their own personal use. This book may not be reproduced in any form without the express written permission of
Vi Voxley
.
Any reproduction or other unauthorized use of the material is prohibited without the express written permission of the author.
Cover ©
Jack of Covers
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TABLE OF CONTENTS
ALIEN GENERAL’S CHOSEN EXCERPT
CHAPTER ONE
Isolde
“Go to space,” they said. “It will be fun,” they said.
See all the new interesting things and other races and planets and whole systems beyond your imagination. The kind of stuff you could have heard in a Cold War era tech expo: space is miraculous and most certainly filled with whatever you personally want it to have.
So far, Isolde felt, space was just more of same old, same old.
She was also having a rare moment of thinking of herself in second person.
Only Isolde Fenner would manage to mess up this badly
. She stood and watched the ever smaller back end of her transport ship drifting slowly and peacefully away from the space station. It achieved a safe distance, turned its warp core on, jumped and was gone. Without poor little her.
Pitiful, silly Isolde
, she thought.
On Terra you were a sure bet to miss all of the 10 PM Washington to New York type of things, and it’s only natural that your inaptitude for being aboard a flight when it takes off would also translate to the intergalactic ones.
It was, of course, her fault. For some reason, her considerable skills in ethnographic research and her extensive knowledge of galactic languages – mostly theoretical – were of no help with her time planning.
Mother had told her that in dire situations it was best to laugh it off. So she had missed a one-time only flight to a newly discovered alien world, which had been damnably difficult to get permission for in the first place. Other than providing her expertise in the local language and its presumable dialects – and gather some much-needed field work points – she’d had a single job. To be on the ship with other researchers. Ha. Haha. Hahahaha…
Sigh.
“Excuse me…” Isolde began. She had learned that when you were about to bother someone with a problem that went tremendously over their authority and pay scale it helped to be meticulously polite.
The man before her smiled like someone who didn’t know their day was about to go to whatever form of Hell they believed in.
Terra’s orbital space station – lovingly named
Luna Secunda
by someone whose mother still told them they were special and so very funny – wasn’t just manned internationally, but intergalactically. Terra was the center of the Solar System,
and pretty much every passably sociable species in the Galactic Union was represented on the station. Droves of agents under the command of their respective ambassadors usually worked with the transport
ation, travel, politics and general mayhem of matters that concerned their species. Isolde didn’t want to draw the attention of any of them. Instead, she went to the agents working directly for the GU. They were more likely to be impartial to her problem and therefore more likely to help.
The smiling agent looked human-like, but as soon as he replied, his accent labeled him a human-Palian hybrid. When he continued to speak without blinking, she was sure. That was fortunate. The Palians were a nurturing race down to their very genetics. If it was in his power to help her, he would.
“How can I help?” agent Perkins finished on cue, introducing himself and his function properly – an annoying, but useful habit of agents in such a mish-mash society as the station.
Isolde swallowed. “I... missed my flight,” she said.
Better to get it all out at once.
“I see,” the agent said kindly. “If you tell me where you were going, I would be glad to help you book another flight.”
“Um,” Isolde said. “Yes. That is the problem, you see. I missed my flight. To Hive-231. The new world they call Rhea.”
Agent Perkins could have frowned, but instead he suddenly looked as though Isolde had told him the Moon was about to collide with the station.
“How is that possible...” he murmured. “I’m sorry, Miss. Your identification, please? And if you do not mind me asking, what was your role in the research team?”
Isolde fumbled through her pockets for her ID-card.
“I’m an ethnographer, and I have some skill with languages. I was supposed to give a report about this new culture and I would also have helped the researchers communicate in-between themselves.”
You neglected to say that you being there would have been extremely unorthodox
, Isolde’s inner voice murmured.
After the first team suffered an accident on their way to Rhea, the second was put together very hastily. And Terra got the spot on the team by – politely speaking – asking very vigorously. Then they picked you. Official job description: the glue in the research team as the only one to speak all of the four galactic common tongues. Analysis: bullshit, any trained monkey could do that.
Frankly, Isolde considered herself to be the perfect mix of both skilled and replaceable for the Terran government. If she sent back valuable information about the important new planet, all the best for them; and if something happened to her or she failed somehow, Terra wouldn’t lose one of their top people to a strange world on the other side of known space. They really did know how to make a girl feel special.
She had hoped someone aboard that now regrettably distant ship would have been able to relate and they could have brooded over bureaucracy together, but no, she had to be the weird one that missed the flight. Popular from the beginning.