Page 23 of Salvaged By the Alien Pirate

But even that light touch is almost too much, the bond-sickness making me hypersensitive, my cock throbbing with a desperate, aching need. I can feel the pulse of my heart in my groin, each beat sending a wave of pleasure and pain through me. I groan, my hands fisting in the sheets, my body trembling with the effort of holding back.

She looks up at me, her eyes dark with desire, her lips parted, her breath coming in quick gasps. She slides her hand into my pants, her fingers wrapping around my cock, and I cry out, my hips bucking upwards, seeking more of her touch, more of her. But still, I let her set the pace, let her explore, even as my body screams for release, screams for her.

Her touch is tentative at first, her fingers exploring, learning, driving me mad with desire. She strokes me slowly, her grip firm but gentle, her eyes never leaving mine, watching, gauging my reaction. I can see the concern in her eyes, the worry that she’s hurting me, but I can also see the desire, the need, the hunger.

I reach up, cupping her face in my hands, drawing her down into a deep, passionate kiss. I pour all my need, all my desire, all my love into that kiss, letting her feel what she does to me, how much I want her, how much I need her. And she responds, her body pressing against mine, her hand stroking me faster, her kiss matching my passion, my desperation.

But even as the pleasure builds, even as my body screams for release, I know I can’t come, not yet, not until I can claim her, not until the bond is complete. And that knowledge, that bittersweet truth, makes this all the more intense, all the more painful, all the more exquisite. And I wouldn’t have it any other way. Because it’s her. Because it’s Neon. And because, despite the pain, despite the bittersweet torment, I know that this, right here, right now, is exactly where I’m meant to be.

Her touch is electric, her kisses intoxicating, and I’m lost, completely lost, in the storm of sensation, the whirlwind of desire, the overwhelming, consuming need for her. And I know, with a certainty that shakes me to my core, that I will never get enough of her, that I will always crave more, always need more, always want more. And that knowledge, that certainty, is both exhilarating and terrifying, a heady mix of pleasure and pain, desire and fear, need and want. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

The bond-sickness recedes to a distant ache, overwhelmed by the sharper, more immediate burn of desire. I recognize it’s a temporary respite, knowing that the dawn will bring fresh challenges that I must face. But for now, with her safe against my chest and her lips brushing against mine, I allow myself a fleeting moment of belief in something beyond survival. A possibility, a hope for forever.

Eventually, she falls asleep, curled trustingly against me. I remain awake, acutely aware of her steady breathing, the way her warmth seeps into my very being. In this moment, I draw a deep breath, silencing the chaos of my mind, focusing on the comfort of her presence.

As I hold her, I balance the longing in my chest with an awareness of my duty. Each wave of pleasure mingles dangerously with the bond-sickness, urging me to lose myself in the sensations, to claim what I desire. Yet the disciplined piratecaptain in me fights to maintain control, to keep the fever at bay, knowing that giving in completely could compromise both my mission and her safety.

I take a moment to center myself, forcing back the instinctual pull of desire that threatens to overwhelm my rational thought. The vulnerability I feel is disconcerting, yet I feel the weight of my responsibility press down on me. If I cannot manage the bond-sickness, if I cannot protect her and my crew from the dangers we face, then everything I’ve fought for will collapse.

She stirs in her sleep, a soft sigh escaping her lips. I feel a surge of protectiveness coursing through me, taut like a bowstring. The bond is powerful, demanding not just desire but an emotional connection that frightens me. The last thing I want is to place this burden onto her—an obligation that could lead to pain and loss.

Yet, as I look down at her trusting form, I can’t ignore the bond-sickness. I want her to choose me, to choose this path together, but I also want her to make that choice freely.

I press a gentle kiss to her temple, feeling the warmth of her skin and breathing in the soft scent that envelops us both. It’s a moment of clarity amidst the chaos surrounding us. If she decides to embrace the bond, it must be a decision made out of strength and desire, not fear or obligation.

For now, I hold her close, my wings creating a protective barrier around us, shielding her from the uncertainties that loom outside. I will stay awake, watching the soft blue pulse of her implants and listening to her steady breathing. My wings create a protective canopy around us both, and I silently vow to keep her safe—from the Black Eclipse, from the mysterious hacker hunting her, and from my own desperate need to claim her completely.

But as the night wears on, the fever returns, burning hotter than before. My wings tremble, my body shaking with the effortto control the pain, the need. I press a gentle kiss to her temple, my heart aching with a different kind of pain. If she doesn’t choose me soon, the bond-sickness will consume me. And even if she does, there’s no guarantee she won’t resent me for binding her so completely.

I hold her tighter, burying my face in her hair, breathing in her scent like it’s the air I need to survive. Maybe it is. Maybe she is. But the choice is hers, and all I can do is hope she makes it before time runs out. Before the bond-sickness takes away any chance we might have had at a future together. Before my love for her becomes my own undoing.

Chapter 9

Neon Valkyrie

Thesoftwhirofcooling systems fills the cramped data hub I’ve claimed as my temporary sanctuary. Located in an overlooked maintenance corridor of the Obsidian Haven, it’s the perfect place to work uninterrupted—and to hide from the implications of what happened between Cirdox and me last night.

My neural implants cast a blue glow across the makeshift workstation while I analyze the Black Eclipse’s attack patterns. The encrypted data streams pulse across my enhanced vision, revealing disturbing patterns that even the Brotherhood has missed. Their strikes aren’t random—they’re methodical, targeted, and far too precise.

Like someone knows exactly where to hit.

I rotate a three-dimensional map of recent Eclipse intercepts, watching as red markers bloom across trade routes. Each point represents a Brotherhood ship lost, a crew captured or killed, precious luminore redirected to Eclipse-controlled territories.The pattern is too perfect to be coincidence or good intelligence. This is the work of someone who has access to the Brotherhood’s secure communications.

Someone like me.

Or someone like Kira.

The thought sends ice through my veins. I’ve avoided confronting this possibility since receiving that first impossible message, but I can’t run from it anymore. Not when lives are at stake. Not when Cirdox is getting worse by the hour.

I isolate a secure connection, routing it through seventeen different proxies before initiating contact. My fingers hover over the interface as doubt creeps in. If I’m right—if Kira is truly alive and working for the Eclipse—then reaching out could put everyone on this station at risk.

But if I don’t try, we’re flying blind against an enemy who knows our every move.

“Time to stop running,” I mutter, and send the message:

YOU CAN’T HIDE FOREVER, KIRA. WE NEED TO TALK.

I encode it with fragments of our shared past—the night we cracked the Helios banking system, the code phrase we used when we needed emergency extraction, the stupid inside joke about quantum fluctuations that only she would understand. Things only the real Kira would recognize.

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