Page 75 of Bound to the Marak

She stood at the threshold of his Inner Sanctum, barely breathing.

The room was unlike any other on Luxar. Where the rest of the palace was carved in brilliant obsidian and starlit crystal, this chamber pulsed with something softer, deeper. The walls were curved, alive almost—veins of golden energy glowing faintly beneath smooth, dark surfaces. The air was thick with a sweet, smoky scent, like crushed petals and fire.

It felt ancient. Sacred. Like she’d stepped into the heart of a god.

And Karian was waiting for her.

He stood before the low-lit dais, haloed in quiet radiance. His dark robes, etched with silver thread, fell in flawless lines from his broad shoulders. The crest at his brow glinted with power. But it was his eyes—those burning, inhuman eyes—that held her fast. They blazed with something that unsettled and aroused her all at once.

Possession. Reverence. Hunger.

He raised a hand in invitation. She crossed the room, her steps soft against the velvet flooring, her breath shallow. She could feel her pulse echoing in her throat, in her fingertips.

“You are certain,” he said, his voice low, reverent. “Once you cross this line, there is no going back.”

She didn’t speak. She placed her hand in his.

He moved slowly, always watching her—waiting for any flicker of hesitation. When none came, he stepped behind her and lifted his hands to her shoulders. The straps of her silken dress trembled under his touch. He slid them down, inch by inch, until the pale blue fabric slipped from her like a sigh, whispering against her skin as it fell.

The cool air kissed her bare flesh. She stood exposed before him, and yet never had she felt more seen. More wanted.

He circled around her, fingers trailing across her collarbone, down her arms. The heat of his skin was electric. She reached for him in return, undoing the fastenings of his robe, revealing the sculpted, alien form beneath—muscles ridged with power, skin that shimmered with a faint iridescence under the chamber’s light.

She pressed her hands to him, letting herself feel the solidity of his body, the strange strength of it. It was like touching thunder. And yet he trembled under her touch.

When his tentacles emerged, it was not sudden. It was like watching silk unfurl. They rose from his back and sides with fluid grace, caressing her without urgency, wrapping her in a kind of living embrace. The first touch made her gasp—a brush against her lower spine, another curling around her wrist. They were warm, textured, and far more delicate than they appeared.

They moved with purpose, teasing the curve of her hips, the soft insides of her thighs, circling and retreating in maddening rhythm. She arched into him, a sound escaping her lips she didn't recognize as her own.

He studied her every reaction. He knew exactly where she would tremble. Where she would melt.

His mouth found the hollow of her neck, his hands splayed against the small of her back, pulling her closer. “You are mine,” he breathed against her skin. “But more than that—you are my match.”

She closed her eyes, letting herself drown in sensation. Her mind, her body, her soul—they were all tangled up in him now. He coaxed her to the edge, slowly, reverently, as though worshipping her unraveling.

And when she shattered in his arms, it was with his name on her lips, her body held firm in his embrace as if he’d known all along this was where she belonged.

He lowered her gently onto the soft platform at the heart of the chamber, cradling her against him. His tentacles withdrew, brushing her skin like a whispered promise.

For a long while, they lay together, their heartbeats slowly syncing.

She looked up at him—at the alien who had abducted her, who now held her so gently, so fiercely—and whispered, “I can’t go back to who I was before you.”

He didn’t speak. He only wrapped her closer, the shadows of the Sanctum curling around them like a vow.

Fifty-Three

The light in the private dining chamber was low and golden, pulsing softly in imitation of the twin suns beneath the Luxari skies. The domed ceiling shifted with ambient hues of violet and deep blue, casting delicate warmth over the obsidian walls.

It was quiet. Still.

Karian sat across from her, wrapped in the silence that so often followed their mornings together.

Leonie was eating—her breakfast procured from Earth by his logistics network with unnecessary haste, as if some part of him feared she might wilt without it. She didn’t know the effort it had taken to get her that coffee. Those pastries. Those little things from a distant blue planet.

But as he watched her now—sitting comfortably in his sanctum, her fingers delicate as she held the flaky, fruit-filled pastry, her lips curved in subtle pleasure with each bite—he knew he would have done it a thousand times over just to see her like this.

Human food was strange to him. Cloyingly sweet. Lacking any vibratory energy or biochemical potency. Nothing more than nostalgic decadence. But she loved it. And that was enough.

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