Page 35 of Alien Attachment
“Show me,” she demands, her eyes dark with need. “Stop treating me like I’ll break.”
The challenge in her voice, the trust implicit in her demand, the way she’s looking at me like I’m everything she wants—it nearly overwhelms my higher reasoning functions entirely.
“Kaylee,” I growl against her ear, my voice barely recognizable. “If I give you more, I won’t be able to stop. I’ll want all of you. Every sound, every response, every perfect way your body fits against mine.”
“Then don’t stop,” she breathes. “I want all of it. I want you.”
The words hit me like a shock wave. Through our bond, I feel her certainty, her desire, her complete willingness to surrender to what’s building between us. She’s not just allowing this—she’s actively choosing it, demanding it, claiming what she wants from me.
It’s the most erotic thing I’ve ever experienced.
I’m about to show her exactly what “all of it” means—about to demonstrate capabilities that go far beyond simple bioelectric stimulation—when proximity alarms start screaming, cutting through our passion like a blade.
The sound is jarring enough to make us both freeze, the spell broken in an instant. Kaylee’s eyes snap open, and I feel her shift from aroused woman to professional pilot in the space of a heartbeat.
“No,” she says, pulling away from me with obvious reluctance. “No, no, no. Not now.”
I release her immediately, though every instinct screams at me to hold on, to ignore the alarms and finish what we started. But her safety takes precedence over my needs, no matter how desperately I want to continue touching her.
“Three ships,” she reports tersely, instantly shifting to survival mode despite her flushed skin and rapid breathing. Her hands fly over the controls with professional efficiency, though I notice the slight tremor in her fingers. “ApexCorp configuration. They found us.”
“How?” I move to the co-pilot station, my tendrils automatically interfacing with the ship’s systems even as I mourn the interruption. Through our bond, I feel her frustration matching my own—not just at being discovered, but at having this moment stolen from us.
“Doesn’t matter now,” she says, though I catch her glancing at me with naked regret. “We need to jump. Immediately.”
But when I interface with the navigation systems, the news is grim. “The jump drive is still cycling from our last emergency leap. Two more minutes before it’s ready.”
“We don’t have two minutes,” Kaylee says, watching the approaching ships on our scanner. The external view shows three sleek vessels closing fast, their weapon ports already glowing with hostile intent. “They’ll be in weapons range in ninety seconds.”
I make a decision that will either save us or kill us both. “I can push the drive. Force it to cycle faster.”
“That could burn out the entire system,” she warns, but there’s no real objection in her voice. She knows as well as I do that we’re out of options.
“Or it could save our lives.” I’m already extending multiple tendrils toward the drive controls, preparing to interface directlywith the quantum containment fields. The same appendages that were just bringing her pleasure now reach toward potentially lethal energies. “Trust me.”
Through our bond, I feel her fear—not of dying, but of losing me. The realization sends warmth through me even as I prepare to risk everything. She’s not afraid for herself; she’s afraid of losing what we just discovered together.
“Do it,” she says, and I hear both command and plea in her voice.
I plunge my consciousness into the ship’s systems, feeling the raw quantum energies like fire against my neural pathways. The drive isn’t ready—the containment fields are still stabilizing, the quantum matrices still aligning. Forcing it now will require me to become part of the system, to use my own life force to bridge the gaps in the incomplete cycle.
It will probably burn me out. But it will save Kaylee.
“Jhorn,” she says, alarm flooding our bond as she realizes what I’m doing. “Don’t you dare sacrifice yourself for me.”
“Not sacrifice,” I manage, pouring more of myself into the drive systems. The quantum energies tear through my consciousness like molten metal, but I hold on, forcing the chaotic fields into alignment through sheer will. “Investment in our future.”
The words come out more strained than intended, but I mean them. This isn’t sacrifice—it’s a down payment on the life I want to build with her, if I can just get us both through this alive.
The quantum fields respond to my interference, stabilizing under my direct control. But the cost is enormous—I can feel my consciousness fragmenting, spreading too thin across too many systems. My vision starts to gray at the edges, and my tendrils begin to lose their coordination.
“Jump ready,” I announce, my voice barely recognizable even to me.
“Jhorn, let go. Let the ship handle it from here.”
But I can’t. If I release control now, the unstable quantum matrix will collapse and we’ll be trapped. I have to hold it together, guide us through the jump, ensure we reach safety. Even if it destroys me.
“Jump,” I order, putting everything I have left into keeping the drive stable.
