Page 57 of Xara and the Xenobeast

She looked at the Xenobeast’s broad back, at the tension evident in his powerful shoulders. He’d been distant since finding the beacon, preparing for war, shutting her out of his thoughts. But tonight, with danger closing in and the storm raging outside, she couldn’t bear the space between them.

She moved toward him, her bare feet silent on the stone floor. When she reached him, she gently caught his hand. His skin was warm—so warm—and she craved that heat like nothing she’d ever wanted before.

Slowly, deliberately, she placed his hand on her bare hip.

He stiffened, his fingers flexing against her skin, but he didn’t pull away.

“Look at me,” she whispered.

For a long moment, he remained frozen, his face turned from her. Then, with what seemed like tremendous effort, he turned.

His silver eyes widened as they swept over her naked form, lingering on the curve of her breasts, the dip of her waist, the flare of her hips. His pupils dilated until they nearly swallowed the silver, and his sensory tendrils unfurled from his skull, reaching toward her with tentative, questing movements.

The air between them thickened with heat, with possibility.

“Xara,” he breathed, her name a prayer on his lips.

She stepped closer, pressing herself against the solid wall of his chest. His skin burned against hers, chasing away the chill that had settled in her bones.

“I need you,” she said simply.

Outside, the storm raged on. Inside, a different kind of storm was brewing—one of desire and need, of fear and hope intertwined.

With deliberate slowness, she straddled his lap, her thighs bracketing his powerful hips. His hands came up to steady her, large and careful against her skin.

Their mouths met in a kiss that left her dizzy, his taste wild and alien and perfect. His tendrils brushed against her cheeks, her neck, her shoulders—gentle, exploring touches that sent shivers of pleasure down her spine.

She pressed closer, her body soft against the hard planes of his. He groaned, a deep, rumbling sound that vibrated through her chest.

“Want you,” he murmured against her lips. “Need you.”

“I’m yours,” she whispered back.

His control shattered. With a fluid motion, he laid her down on their shared bed, his body covering hers like a living shield against the world. His hands and mouth explored her with reverent hunger, learning every curve, every sensitive spot that made her gasp and arch against him.

When he finally joined their bodies, it was with a gentleness that belied his tremendous strength. She clung to him, her nails digging into his shoulders as pleasure built within her, wave upon wave.

Their lovemaking was fierce and primal—a claiming, a promise, a defiance against the storm and the dangers that lurked beyond it. His tendrils wrapped around her, binding them closer still, his silver eyes never leaving her face as they moved together.

When release came, it crashed through her like lightning, brilliant and all-consuming. He followed moments later, his powerful body shuddering above hers, her name a broken sound on his lips.

Afterward, they lay tangled together, her head pillowed on his chest, his tendrils still curled protectively around her. The storm continued outside, but its fury seemed distant now, unimportant.

“You should stay hidden,” he said eventually, his voice a low rumble beneath her ear. “When they come.”

She lifted her head to look at him. “No.”

His brow furrowed. “Dangerous.”

“I know.” She traced the contours of his face with gentle fingers. “But this isn’t just your fight. It’s ours.”

He caught her hand, pressing it against his cheek. “Could lose you.”

The naked vulnerability in his eyes made her heart ache. This creature—this man—who had been built for war, who had survived alone for so long, was terrified not for himself but for her.

“You won’t lose me,” she promised. “We’ll face them together.”

His eyes searched hers, looking for doubt, for fear. He found neither.

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