Page 92 of Owned By the Hvrok

It was inevitable, he supposed. What male—what creature—could resist a scent like hers? It was intoxicating, maddening, a drug that clung to his skin and infiltrated his thoughts. A blessing he had never anticipated from a species he had considered laughably simple.

And she had been willing. Eager, even. Her body had sung for him, welcomed him. Taken everything he gave… and begged for more.

Now, with her warmth tucked against him, he didn’t know what came next.

Was he her master?

Or something else?

He repeated her name silently in his thoughts.Sylvia.

A mere human. And yet, she had brought him to his knees. On a forsaken planet. When he was vulnerable, armor cracked, escape uncertain.

She had even secured their way off this rock.

Somehow, she'd accessed the comms and contacted Dulahath—the Rovok mercenary who owed him just enough favors to answer. Kyhin trusted him more than most. The Rovok were brutally honest and loyal when paid, and DulahathknewKyhin would pay.

Now they only had to survive until pickup.

More Nalgar would come. He knew it in his bones. And when they did, he would be ready. But not before he got her to safety.

Sylvia was his.

His sweetness. His prize.

And he would have her again. Again and again. He would make her sing for him, cry out like she had, shattering against his touch, completely his.

He would give her a home. His home.

He would build her a space that pleased her, and fill it with things to make her smile. He would teach her his language: no more guessing, no more silence between them.

For now, he would find a translator device, perhaps from a Majarin trader, but eventually, she would speak to him in his tongue. Freely. Clearly.

And he would understand every soft thing she whispered in the dark.

He lay in perfect stillness, stroking her hair slowly, reverently. Content. Victorious. The battle outside had faded into nothing beside the triumph of claiming her.

And yet...

Her scent still surrounded him, driving into every nerve like fire. He could take her again. Easily. But she was spent, and he would not break what he wished to worship.

So he waited.

Let her sleep.

He would be her shield. Her sword. Her bed of warmth.

She wasn’t afraid of him anymore. That pleased him.

She wasn’t fighting him.

Even better.

He would show her that she never needed to yearn for her distant Earth again. Not when she had him.

They lay like that for a long while, long enough that he began to match his breathing to hers. Even when she stirred and shifted, curling more tightly against him.

And then, faintly, the ship’s system chimed.

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