Alien Mate 1By: Eve Langlais
The day Diana met her first alien dawned liked any other—with a dry, cottony mouth and a bad case of bed head. She didn’t even have any warning because, unlike the X Files and sci-fi movies, she didn’t see any lights in the sky, and her TV image didn’t go all snowy. That kind of pissed her off, because had she known she would be having an up-close-and-personal encounter with life from another planet, she might have at least brushed her hair and worn something other than her ragged robe, plaid boxer shorts, and loose tank top. This is definitely not my most attractive look.
Anyway, there she stood, ironing her underwear—being single left her with way too much time on her hands—when suddenly, it appeared in the middle of her living room. It wasn’t a spectacular living room as living rooms went, outfitted with a secondhand sagging couch and chair, a coffee table that wobbled, and some kind of Oriental print rug in bad need of a beating. A receptionist’s salary didn’t go far in the city.
Needless to say, when it appeared, it did so right on top of her flimsy coffee table, which under its weight collapsed, something her visitor absently noted when it looked down at its bare and fairly large feet.
Studying it in shock, Diana amended the “it” part to “Holy Hunk” because, if it hadn’t been for the fact his skin shone a startling sky blue, she would have mistaken him for some super-hot underwear model—one who magically appeared in her living room, only sans the underwear.
Good thing he’s hung like a . . .
With flaming cheeks, Diana quickly averted her gaze, but his sizable endowment stayed with her, and flustered, she stammered, “Wh-Who are you?” Other than the most gorgeous naked man I’ve ever seen. She was so startled by her naked visitor that she accidentally left the iron lying on her underwear too long, and a burning smell wafted up. Nose twitching, Diana quickly set the iron upright and looked down in dismay at the big burn mark on the ass of her favorite pair of undies. Damn.
So of course her blue alien chuckled—yes, apparently creatures from space or alternate dimensions had senses of humor too.
“Greetings, earthling female,” said a voice, smooth as hot, melted chocolate with just a hint of an accent. “I come in peace. I will be your leader.” Startled by her alien’s horrible B-movie speech, Diana said the only thing that came to mind. “Um, isn’t that supposed to be ‘Take me to your leader’?” Brilliant white teeth that shone opalescent like pearls between darker blue lips appeared when he smiled. “No, you heard me correctly, earthling. I’ve come to be your leader.” Diana laughed. She just couldn’t help herself. Of all the things she expected him to say, that had to rank as one of the dumbest. His face remained quite serious, though, so of course she continued to howl even when she saw a tinge of annoyance draw his handsome features tight.
“I fail to see the humor, earthling female. I will be your leader. You will respect me as is my due.”
Diana cackled again, wiping the tears in her eyes with the back of her hand. “Oh, you are so funny. And just how is one naked alien going to convince the world that he’s now their new leader?” Diana giggled anew at the thought of him aiming that weapon between his legs.
Given its size, he’d definitely intimidate the male population and make the female one swoon.
A frown met her answer, followed by a wide Colgate smile, which made Diana wonder— do aliens brush their teeth?
“I never said I intended to rule the world, earthling. I’ve come to be your leader. You have been chosen by the oracle and the spirits of my ancestors to be my mate,” he stated with a self-satisfied grin.
That comment rendered Diana speechless. She could almost hear the thump as her jaw hit the floor. His mate? Diana knew at this point she had to be hallucinating. Super-hot aliens did not suddenly appear on a lazy Sunday morning to claim size-fourteen plumpers in their don’t-answer-the-door-clothes as their mates. Maybe she’d eaten some bad potato chips.
Shame about the mental lapse, though, because Mr. Blue could probably be found under the definition of gorgeous. After all, what wasn’t there to like on his six-foot-something frame with abs she could bounce quarters off of? With short ebony hair that curled slightly at the tips, a tapered waist, muscled legs, bulging arms, and that club between his legs—
which, shockingly enough, appeared bald—he also defined the word “yummy.” While she contemplated his perfection, he assumed her acquiescence.
“Now that you understand,” he said, gesturing to her impatiently, “disrobe that we may perform the bonding ceremony and be on our way.”