My Crazy Hot Interstellar Affair

51. Outlaws 50% Sexier Than Law-Abiding Citizens

She kissed him her answer in the most coherent language she could:

Mouths slanted, crushed together—I'm not in love with him.

A clash of tongues—I want you.

Devouring lips—Never let me do anything as stupid as leaving you again, dammit.

Oliver seemed to understand and responded with a trail of kisses across her jaw and down her neck—I will never let you be that stupid again!

Eyes flashing with blue lightning—I want you too.

His groin pressing hard and urgently into her womanly region—"I mean it! I want you a lot and would be interested in making love to you right here. Right now. Okay?"

Actually, he said that last part out loud.

In response, her already glowy body lit up like a nuclear reactor. "I want you, Oliver. More than anything in the universe. I want ..." she couldn't talk at this point because of all the panting she was doing as Oliver's hands explored everywhere on her body at once. She surreptitiously checked to see if he had sprouted a few extra arms/tentacles, but he seemed to have the normal quantity. She chalked it up to the "Benefits of Having an Alien Boyfriend #485."

It wasn't clear whether it was the alien hormones darting through her bloodstream like crazed tadpoles, or Oliver's general attractiveness, his cinnamon scent, or that she hadn't even realized how much she longed for his touch until he surrounded her and enveloped her, but she urgently needed to have sex this instant. Despite the unconscious bodies all over the floor (including, ick, Oliver's father), a raging hurricane outside, an empty stomach, her bones aching with exhaustion, and slight embarrassment about recently regurgitating cinnamon-flavored acid. She wanted to lose herself in loving him. And never come back. "More. Please. Now."

He complied, dipping his head, lowering his lips to hers, then without breaking the kiss, pulled her up by her behind. Instinctively, she wrapped her legs around his waist, clinging to him, waves of delicious sensation at every point of contact. The mind-boggling kiss left her breathless. Goddamn, he was a good kisser. She moaned.

"I knew you still wanted me," he said, a smirk forming on his lips.

"Yes," Andie said, breathlessly. "But no need to be all cocky about it."

"He has every right to be as cocky as he wants," Bad Andie pointed out. Quite rationally. "The man has skills!" Even Bad Andie was panting.

Andie gripped the fabric at the top of Oliver's spacesuit, ready to rip it off of him, when her nose detected an amazing smell wafting into the room. Her stomach roared. Louder than the hurricane. Someone was baking.

Snickerdoodles.

"What the ...?"

The swinging door to the kitchen opened, and François entered, followed by Ernest, Rosalie, Cash, Frank, Bill, a Zut vision in neon. Rosalie carried a platter of cookies. "Miss Andie! Prince Oliver!" they said in unison, wending their way around the bodies. For a split second, Andie lamented that it hadn't been Sterling making the Snickerdoodles. But Sterling was happy in the Colony and only baked when she was upset, so her not being here was a good thing. Right?

"The kitchen is fantastic," Rosalie said. "Just like on the Cooking Channel."

"We cannot thank you enough," Ernest said.

Andie's mouth watered. Every molecule in her body urged her to tackle Rosalie and tear into the platter of cookies like a lioness taking out a cinnamon-scented zebra. But the Zuts' excitement was infectious.

"This is our dream," Cash said. "François told us we would get to work in a restaurant and live in a mansion! No more dungeons."

Andie glowed with happiness. Okay, she was already glowing, but that didn't mean that she wasn't overjoyed. "I'm so glad this is what you want."