Page 23 of Xara and the Xenobeast

But as his body relaxed, another tension built. Her nearness awakened a different kind of hunger, one that had nothing to do with survival and everything to do with the curve of her hip, the soft parting of her lips, the memory of her lips beneath his

His body responded, hardening with a need that made his skin flush hot. The reaction shamed him. He’d been made for death, not desire. His creators had never intended for him to want like this—to ache for connection rather than conquest.

He should leave. Return to his place by the fire. Distance himself before?—

She shifted beside him, her breathing changing rhythm, and her eyes fluttered open, focusing slowly in the dim light of the cave. She blinked, registering his presence, and he tensed, his arms instinctively tightening around her, ready for her to pull away.

Instead, her lips curved into a sleepy smile.

“Hey,” she murmured, voice husky with sleep. “You okay?”

The simple question undid him. No one had ever asked him that before. Not once in his existence.

He couldn’t speak—wouldn’t speak—but he allowed his eyes to answer for him. Let her see the shadows there, the remnants of the nightmare still clinging to his thoughts.

Her smile softened with understanding. Without hesitation, she shifted closer, tucking herself against his chest. Her head nestled beneath his chin, her breath warm against his throat.

“Bad dreams?” she whispered.

He tensed again, surprised by her perception, but after a moment, he gave a single, sharp nod.

“I get them too.” Her hand came to rest against his chest, directly over his heart. “It helps not to be alone.”

The touch was innocent, meant to comfort. But his body didn’t understand the distinction. His arousal pressed against her, impossible to hide in their closeness.

Once again he braced himself for her to pull away in disgust, or worse—in fear.

Her eyes widened slightly as she became aware of his condition, but instead of recoiling, her smile returned—different now, tinged with something that made his pulse quicken.

“I guess you do like me after all,” she murmured, amusement and warmth mingling in her voice.

The words made his chest ache. Like me. As if it were that simple.

But the way she looked at him—without fear or disgust—made him wonder if perhaps he was. If perhaps there was more left of him than the weapon they’d tried to create.

He didn’t move, barely breathed, as she shifted against him. Her hand slid up from his chest to cup his jaw, thumb brushing over the sharp angle of his cheekbone. The touch was feather-light, cautious, but unafraid.

“It’s okay,” she whispered. “I like you too.”

Something cracked open inside him—a fissure in the wall he’d built around whatever remained of his original self. The part of him that existed before they remade him into a monster.

Slowly, giving her every chance to pull away, he lowered his head until his forehead rested against hers. His sensory tendrils curled forward, brushing against her cheeks and her neck, drifting down her back to hover just above the soft curve of her ass, learning her in ways his hands didn’t dare.

She didn’t flinch from the alien touch. Instead, she sighed, eyes drifting closed as the tendrils explored her with delicate precision.

“That feels nice,” she murmured.

The simple admission loosened something in his chest. His arms tightened around her, drawing her closer, careful of his strength but unable to resist the need to feel her tucked against him.

She fit against him perfectly, soft where he was hard, yielding where he was unyielding. Her hand slid from his jaw to the back of his neck, her fingers gently stroking his sensory tendrils. The touch sent a shiver down his spine, pleasure rippling through him in waves.

No one had ever touched him like this. With gentleness. With care.

Her eyes opened, meeting his in the darkness.

“Is this all right?” she asked, fingers still moving through his tendrils.

The question nearly undid him. She was asking his permission—as if he had the right to want, to choose.

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