Page 28 of Ravaged By the Reaper
His breath is hot against my ear, electric with purpose. I hear rivets pop in protest. The shuttle hums with residual energy, lights flicker red, and I taste ozone and adrenaline. Every sense is alight.
Ishouldbe afraid. Or at least tremble. But I’m not. Not even close.
The fear has been replaced by something far darker. Need—sharp, fierce, alive.
He kisses me, not gentle. Magnetic. Like he's erasing all hesitation with teeth and tongue and desperation.
His lips track fire down the line of my jaw, into the hollow of my collarbone, and I melt. My pulse races; there’s metal taste inthe air, hot and coppery, mixing with my sweat. My gown gives way under his hands, cloth rustling in slow-motion ecstasy.
The scent of him invades me—smoke and steel, bone sap and faint blood-metal. Somehow familiar, like belonging pressed into memory before I was born.
He shifts, hips pressing warmer, harder. I feel the bulk of him. Not gentle. But intentional. Dominant. And that burn, that fierce ident, lodges in my chest.
“Inferno…” I whisper, breathless, more to myself than him.
He doesn’t smile. His jaw tightens. He blesses me with a smile that’s more claim than pleasure. His teeth catch my lower lip. I do not pull away. I raise trembling fingers, trace the scar through his armor, feel the warmth beneath.
He whispers something ragged. Then his body presses into mine, and I feel the weight of wings, claws, everything thatshouldbreak me but doesn’t.
I break.
I let him.
“Then…” I gasp, voice choking, heart beating too fast for words. “Take me.”
That’s it. No offer. Not seduction. Not bargaining. Just surrender.
He answers with his lips, crushing them to mine. Rough. Devouring. Claiming. Not asking. Not waiting.
I taste him, iron and fire. My knees threaten to buckle, but he steadies me with one arm around my waist, thick with scarred muscle.
I’m not afraid. The world narrows—just us, pulse to pulse, breath to breath.
He moves against me with fierce precision. His lips leave mine, trail fire down to the dip of my throat. Then my chest. Every inch of skin he covers ignites.
The shuttle lights flare, flicker fire beams across his face. Shadows dance over ridge and bone. He’s not beautiful. He’s brutal. But in the glimpse of flicker-light, he’s perfect.
I gasp again, sound strangled. My hands find his hips. Every moment is a magnesium spark in my gut.
He kisses down so slowly I swear time stops. My fingers dig into his armor. My breath trembles—caught in the gap between fear and want.
I moan.
It spills out. Part surrender, part invocation. I dare not be ashamed. He meets it with hands sliding down, breath deeper. His presence is everything I thought I wanted, and more.
I let him lead us into a dark spiral of heat and claim.
And beneath the violence, the hunger... there’s something tender stirring. Not softness. Recognition.
We are fire. We are chaos born into order.
And in his arms, I find somethingreal—not calculation, not performance. Something dangerous and unbreakable.
I moan again, softer. I whisper what I already am: “Mine.”
CHAPTER 8
HAKTRON
