Page 31 of Chosen By the Dragon Alien

His expression froze. She could see stoic resolve he was working to maintain crack around the edges. His silver eyes, which were usually so carefully guarded, melted into molten pools that burned with longing. “Fivra.” He breathed her name like a warning, a plea. The fragile thread of self-control threatened to unravel entirely. His wings shifted, flaring faintly before settling again, his fingers twitching at his sides. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“I know exactly what I’m saying.” She pressed her shoulders back, spurred by the hunger burning in his gaze. “I’ve been afraid my whole life, Cyprian. Afraid of what’s coming, of what I couldn’t control. But out here, on this ship, with you… I’m not afraid anymore. Not of this. Not of us.”

Her own voice stunned her—it was steady, certain. For so long, her life had been shaped and defined by what she couldn’t choose. Taken from her settlement, thrust into the strange, glittering world of Erovik, she had grown used to feeling lostin the currents of much larger forces. But this—thisshe could choose.

Cyprian’s hands flexed again. His wings shifted as though struggling to stay tucked. His breathing was shallow as his chest rose and fell unevenly. “Do you know what it means for a Zaruxian to take a mate?” he murmured hoarsely. “Even I cannot grasp the depth of it. It feels impossibly big. Like a beast growing inside my chest. It would not just be an act, Fivra. It would be forever.”

The weight of his words reverberated in the small room. Fivra didn’t flinch. “I know what I feel, Cyprian,” she said, her voice unwavering. Her heart hammered, but she locked her gaze to his. “I’ve had my life controlled from the moment I was born. But you aremychoice. If being with you means something bigger, something permanent, then so be it.”

For a moment, Cyprian looked as though he were holding his breath. His silver eyes widened slightly, then darkened. His wings flared fully now, the deep crimson of their membrane glowing against the sterile light of the chamber. He stepped closer and his broad frame blocked out everything else. It was just him, just her, and the air between them crackling with enough heat to incinerate them both.

“Fivra.” His voice rasped. “You do not know the power you hold. To be my mate means to accept all of me—my dragon, my fire, my life. There’s no going back. And if the Axis send agents for you, I will burn the universe to ash before I let them lay a single finger on you.”

His words resonated like a physical force. Fivra’s breath hitched. Her pulse hammered harder as the sheer intensity of the moment bore down on her. She couldn’t look away from him—his molten silver eyes, his flared wings that seemed to envelop the room, the raw emotion etched into every line of his handsome face.

She took a trembling step closer and brought both hands to his chest. The muscles beneath her fingertips were taut, trembling like they held back a storm. “I understand, Cyprian,” she whispered, her voice a soft but sure flame amid his roaring inferno. “And I accept you—all of you.”

FIFTEEN

Cyprian

Cyprian couldn’t stop himself. Her words had ignited something deep within him, something primal and unrelenting that clawed its way to the surface. His dragon roared inside him as his hands tightened on her arms, but not enough to hurt. The feel of her skin—soft, warm, and pulsing beneath his fingers—was unbearable and irresistible all at once. He lowered his head, his breath hot against her face as her scent wrapped around him—sweet and bright, with a faint spike of nervous adrenaline that only drew him closer.

His lips found hers with a hunger he couldn’t contain. The moment their mouths met, his control shattered. Her lips were soft, trembling against his, but quickly melted into him with a warmth that drove him wild. He angled his head, deepening the kiss, his sharp teeth grazing her lower lip. The sound she made—a soft, desperate whimper that set his blood on fire. His hands slid up her arms, slow and deliberate, feeling every inch of her before curving around her neck. His thumbs brushed thedelicate line of her jaw as his lips devoured hers, mapping the taste and the feel of her.

She gripped his shirt. Her small hands fisted in the material as she pressed herself closer, and he growled low in his throat. He pulled back for a breath, his forehead pressing against hers as he dragged in the scent of her, the heat radiating from her trembling body. “Fivra,” he rasped, his voice rough and thick with need.

Her name tore from his lips and he kissed her again, deeper this time, his tongue sliding past her lips to taste her fully. She responded in kind, growing bolder with each passing moment. Her softness yielded to his fire. Her fingers trembled but didn’t stop as they slid up to tangle in his hair, pulling at the strands and sending a thrill through him that hit him low in his belly.

His hands moved down, dragging over the curve of her shoulders and traveling along the silk of her arms before settling firmly on her waist. Her breathing came in sharp, shallow bursts as his thumbs grazed the curves of her hips, reveling in the way her body shifted under his touch. She was molten beneath him, her warmth bleeding into him as if she, too, was kindling to his fire.

He’d wanted this for so long. Since he’d first met her and felt that stunned punch to his gut. And now she was soft and pliant beneath him. He felt drunk on her, each touch and sound pulling him deeper into an unrelenting haze of heat and need. He couldn’t think clearly, didn’t want to. Logic was a distant echo drowned out by the fierce pounding in his chest and the possessive growl rumbling low in his throat.

Slowly, deliberately, he slid his hands to the clasp of her cloak. The soft fabric rustled as he pushed the cloak off her shoulders. The garment fell to the floor in a whisper, pooling around her feet, leaving her dressed in simple pants and a tunic—hastily made in the replicator before they’d left.

For a moment, he paused, drinking her in. The contrast of her vibrant pink hair against her soft skin caught his breath. The gravity belt sat loosely around her waist and her chest rose and fell unevenly with every breath. Her lips were pink and swollen from his kisses and her stunning aqua eyes locked with his in a gaze so raw, so full of trust and desire, it nearly stripped away what little control he had left.

“Fek,” he murmured, his voice rough and low. “You’re…magnificent.” His hands trembled, overwhelmed by the need to touch her again, to learn every dip and curve of her body.

Her cheeks flushed, and the stain spread down her neck. “Cyprian…” Her voice was breathy and vulnerable, yet there was no hesitation in her eyes. Only a surprising strength, a pull that tethered him to her as surely as the fire roaring in his chest.

His hands moved to the hem of her shirt, fingers skimming the fabric. “May I?” he rasped. His gaze flicked to hers for permission, though every sinew in his body screamed for him to tear it off her.

“Yes,” she whispered.

He grasped the edge of her shirt and slowly—agonizingly slowly—lifted it over her head. The material slid over her skin like water, revealing the bare expanse of her torso one inch at a time. She quivered under his touch, her soft curves enticing him to move faster, but he forced himself to take his time.

Cyprian’s gaze devoured every inch of her bared skin. His mouth dropped to her nipple, tongue hitting the tight bud. She gasped as he pulled it into his mouth. His teeth grazed the smooth skin gently, drawing out a whimper deep from her chest. Her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him tighter against her. His other hand covered her neglected breast, cupping the small, perfect mound. He switched sides, his mouth moving to the other, robbing her of any semblance of composure. Her back arched, pressing her against his lips.

“Fek, Fivra. I want you,” he breathed against her skin, his voice low and gruff.

She moaned, fingers digging into his scalp, hips shifting restlessly as she rubbed against him.

His mouth traveled lower, kissing every inch of her exposed skin as if it were sacred ground. Her stomach quivered under his lips, her breath coming in short, sharp bursts. He dropped to his knees in front of her, his hands moving to the waistband of her pants. He looked at her with hungry eyes, holding her gaze as he slowly pulled her pants down. He took her undergarments with them, leaving her exposed to him. The gravity belt around her waist stood out as a contrast of technology against the softness of her skin. She gazed up at him, breathing hard. Vulnerability and a hint of nerves pulled the edges of her mouth.

“You are perfection,” he ground out, barely coherent. “Turn around, Fivra.”

She gave him a puzzled look, so he took her shoulders and spun her around. He ran a finger along the line of gold spots that ran down her spine to the crack of her ass. He bent her over the edge of the bed. The sight made his cock throb. He kneaded the soft flesh of her buttocks, spreading them slightly to get a glimpse of her gold-sprinkled cunt, wet and glistening with arousal. He leaned down to bite her ass playfully, and she gasped, twisting slightly to look back at him with wide eyes.

---