Page 98 of Claimed By the Alien Assassin
I glance at her. She’s already inspecting the beacon like a new toy, dusting off specs.
“Ready for a detour after this?” I ask quietly.
Her grin is as sharp as a blade. “Only if it involves danger and bad decisions.”
The shuttle noses out of the Dead Sector’s boundary. Sensors hum normal again. The beacon pulses like a slumbering volcano in her pack. Ahead lies more unknown. But behind me, there’s her.
I pull her close, savoring the scent of burnt ozone and determination.
“Together,” I whisper.
“Always.”
The ship drifts in the hush between stars, lit only by the pulse of medical monitors and the distant shimmer of passing quasars. She lies against me now—Josie, warm and pliant, her breathing a soft rise and fall against my ribs. Her cheek rests over my heart, that bruised curve of her jaw illuminated by the soft, sterile light of the diagnostics panel overhead.
My fingers trace idle patterns down her spine, lingering on the places where soot still clings to her skin, where the raw heat of the beacon’s discharge left faint tremors beneath her surface. She doesn't speak—can't, not yet—but her body presses closer when I touch her.
When I kiss the top of her head, her hand slides slowly down my chest, fingers fanning over scales and scars. She’s not trembling now. Not in fear. This is something else—something full of need and quiet fire. Something sacred.
She shifts against me, one leg sliding over my thigh, hips rolling gently forward.
I feel it.
Her heat. Herwant.
"Josie," I murmur, voice hushed in the chamber's stillness. “You sure?”
She nods—slow, steady—and meets my gaze. Her brown eyes hold mine, pupils wide with desire and trust. She raises her hand, draws a shaky fingertip over my collarbone again.
Take me.
I roll us gently, letting her lie back against the padded med-cot. She arches slightly, eyes fluttering closed as I slide my hand down her thigh. The soft curve of her body is familiar, but every time I touch her it feels like rediscovering gravity.
My fingers find the waistband of her sleep trousers. She lifts her hips to help me peel them down. She’s not wearing anything beneath.
Her pussy is slick already—wet, swollen, glistening in the low light. I drag two fingers through her folds and watch the way her chest rises in anticipation. Her clit is hard, begging for contact.
"Stars above..." I whisper, brushing my thumb across it gently. Her breath catches—one sharp gasp, then a stuttering exhale.
“You’re ready for me,” I murmur. “Even after everything. After the explosion. After nearly—” My voice breaks before I saylosing you.
She pulls me down into a kiss before I can fall too deep into that edge.
Her lips are soft, but her kiss is demanding. Her hands find the scales on my back, clawing lightly, dragging me closer. I growl softly into her mouth—hungry, careful. I move down her body with my mouth, kissing between her breasts, across her belly, and lower.
Her thighs part for me like breath itself, and I settle between them. The scent of her—rich, warm, earthy with sweat and need—fills my lungs. I press my mouth to her pussy and lick.
She moans—loud, raw, and choked with relief.
I tongue her slowly at first, drinking in every whimper, every shift of her hips. My tongue is longer than a human’s, forked subtly at the tip, and I use both prongs to curl around her clit, then flatten and drag the full length down her slit.
Her hand fists in my hair, pulling me closer. Her thighs tremble around my head, and her hips start grinding up into my face.
I slip a finger inside her—then a second. She’s tight and wet, her pussy fluttering around my hand. Her moans grow louder, breath catching with every thrust of my fingers and swirl of my tongue.
She’s close. I canfeelit.
Her legs start to shake, her body tensing beneath me. I pull my mouth away for just a breath.
