Page 15 of Claimed By the War Brute
“Fuck—Garrus?—”
He grips my thighs tighter, holding me open as he feasts. It’s messy. It’sdevastating.He devours me like he’s starving and I’m the only thing that will save him. I twist my fingers into the ridges at his temples, tugging him closer, and he groans as if he loves that too.
When I come, it’s with a sob. A release so deep it unravels every knot of grief and pain and survival I’ve knotted inside me. He doesn’t stop. He licks me through it, tongue gentling only when my body jerks from oversensitivity.
I barely register being lifted until I’m in his arms again, flat on the floor of the cabin, armor scattered like debris around us. His cock—thick, ridged, alien—presses against my thigh, hard and leaking andimpossiblybig. My breath catches.
“Will it fit?” I whisper, heart pounding.
“It will,” he rasps, voice shaking. “But I’ll go slow. I’ll listen.”
I nod. “I want all of you.”
His hands frame my face for a moment, reverent, eyes searching mine. Then he nudges the tip of his cock against me—slick, hot, so different.The ridges along his shaft tease at my entrance, and when he pushes in, it’s…intense.
I gasp as my body stretches around him, trembling with the effort. He groans, forehead pressing to mine as he sinks deeper. Inch by inch. Letting me adjust. Letting mefeeleverything.
“Gods,” I whimper. “You’re—huge.”
“You’re taking me so well,” he growls. “So tight. So fuckingperfect.”
The pressure becomes fullness, becomes aching pleasure, becomes something deeper. When he’s fully seated inside me, we both still—breathing hard, foreheads touching.
“Move,” I beg. “Please.”
He pulls out slowly, then thrusts back in with a sound that’s half snarl, half plea. It rocks through me like a wave. Every thrust grinds those alien ridges against my walls, sending jolts of white-hot pleasure through my core. I wrap my legs around his waist, digging in, pulling him deeper.
It’s not just sex. It’s catharsis. It’s reunion. It’smine.
He fucks me like he means it. Like this is the only language he knows and he’s fluent in worship. Every stroke of his cock feels like redemption, every grunt and moan a prayer against my skin. I lose track of time, of breath, of everything but the sensation of him pounding into me, the tight clutch of his claws at my hips, the rasp of his voice growling my name.
“Syd—fuck—I’m close?—”
“Me too,” I pant. “Don’t stop—don’t ever?—”
We come together—my cry swallowed in his mouth, his roar echoing through the small ship. His cock pulses deep inside me, filling me with heat and aftershocks that leave me boneless. I cling to him, trembling, overwhelmed.
When the flames pass, we collapse tangled on the cabin floor. Armor clatters. Sweat begins to cool. Our chests rise and fall in perfect sync.
Head resting on his chest, listening to the strong steady drum beneath metal plates, I trace lines on his scaled pectorals: scars, ridges, stories he never speaks but wears like armor.
“Well,” I whisper, voice breathless, mischievous. “That wasn’t in the mission plan.”
He lifts a gauntleted hand. One clawed finger brushes away hair clinging to my temple. No smile, but gentleness. “Neither were you,” he rumbles, eyes soft. They glitter—not with heat, but something warmer. Respect, awe, unspoken oath.
We stay there—two fugitives in the dark, drifting through stars with hyper-silent engines humming beneath. The galaxy is collapsing behind us. Somewhere out there, my father is plotting betrayal. But for now, in this stolen heartbeat, we exist outside contracts and gunpowder.
No plan. No orders. Just us.
I nuzzle his chest. “Next stop?”
He gathers me closer. “Anywhere you want,” he whispers, voice thick like honey and steel. “But we go together.”
Under the soft glow of console lights, we let the shuttle drift on autopilot. No destination. Just forward.
I press a kiss to his collarbone. “Then let’s pick a planet where we’re legends, not fugitives.”
A rumbling chuckle shakes his chest, reverberating in mine. “I like the sound of that, songbird.”
