Page 52 of Owned By the Hvrok

Not roughly.

Not to control her, but tocomforther.

His hands—bare, warm, alien—rose to her upper arms and stroked down in a slow, measured pass. Again. Then again. Smooth. Gentle. His fingers spread lightly as they moved over the soft fabric of her dress, barely pressing, like a whisper across her skin.

It wasn’t sexual.

It wasn’t forceful.

It was… unfamiliar.

And yet, somehow, it was so clearlyintentional.

A gesture of reassurance.

Of care.

Her body tensed in response, unsure how to interpret this. Her first instinct was indignation.

What did he think this was?

Some kind of manipulation?

Did he think he could tame her with a few well-placed strokes, like she was a frightened kitten and he was trying to coax her into purring?

She clenched her jaw. Her pride bristled.

But the fire didn’t last.

Because reality came crashing back: the cold image of the cockpit, the broken systems, the frozen mountains, and the bleeding sun vanishing into storm-misted cliffs.

This wasn’t Earth.

And he wasn’t human.

He could have locked her away again without a second thought.

He could have ignored her, as he had at the beginning.

But he hadn’t.

Instead, he’d shown her the damage. Let her see the world outside. Tried—actually tried—to make her feel safe.

And now… he was touching her like she was something that mattered. Something worth soothing.

Her breath shuddered in her chest, emotion knotting behind her ribs.

She didn’t move.

Didn’t speak.

Just let herself feel the quiet heat of his hands as they passed over her arms once more. Not clinging. Not claiming. Justbeingthere.

Present.

And when he finally drew back, she looked up at him.

The helmet remained in place. No face. No expression. Just that sleek, black mask and the low sound of his breath behind the filters.

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