Page 29 of Ravaged By the Reaper
The moment she says it—mine—something primeval shifts inside me. There's a vibration, like a drum struck in the core of my skeleton, waking something older than logic. It pulses, drips with bone-fire, forging us into one violent promise.
I don’t think. Everything is instinct and heat. My hands clamp around her wrists and lift—they’re light, delicate, but her gaze is fierce, molten with challenge. I pin her arms above her head. My body swings down, a living cage of strength and bone spurs. She’s small beneath me—silver hair, flushed cheeks, lips still parted from her whisper—but her eyes analyze me the way prey maps predators.
I lower my mouth, and the shuttle air explodes into heat and scent. Her breath tastes of copper and star-roses. I press my tongue harder, deeper, claiming more than lips—my teeth graze her lower lip. Violent devotion. I grind forward, deeper still, demanding.
She claws for control—her Companion training roaring to reclaim dominance. Her fingers dig into my chest—but I don’t relent. I growl low, a stuttering rumble in my throat. The very vibration of the word detonates between us: “Mine.”
Her eyes widen—not fear, not shock, but the thrill of conflict caught under flame. I shift—plating my weight more into steel and scorch. Her pulse drums beneath my fingers clutching her neck, iron-fisted and precise—not to choke, but toclaim. To hear that drumbeat echo in my bones.
She shudders. Not resistance—surrender with fire in her veins.
I lean in, teeth pressing where skin is soft. My spurs chafe through cloth—but it's not pain she's tasting. It’s ownership. Respect. A raw, instinctive tie that doesn’t ask for consent—itbaresit.
Her breath hitches; a whisper of sound against my jaw. Her hair scatters against my chest; the knot of sweat and blood tickles my skin.
In the sinus hot wash of her scent—annihilation, defiance, damnation—I know this is no courtship. This is war turning to worship.
I growl again, deeper.
She doesn’t look away. Her lips part; rain of whisper-dark desire sparking between us.
My fingers press harder—not to kill, but to anchor. So I never lose this moment.
So she knows: this isn’t about gentle screens or polite court; this is brutal, ancient, necessary.
It begins.
Claws rip through fabric—tear, scrape—jagged audros under claw-tips. Clothing shreds and vanishes like ash in wind, discarded layers no longer fit for the moment. Her skin shimmers in strobe-lit half-darkness—smooth, warm, fragile by mortal measure. I could shatter her with a careless thought. But I don’t.
I am not careless.
Her breath quakes, but not from fear. It’s shock. Desire. She arches into me, jaws parted, eyes glowing with stormfire. I match her. Not with gentleness, but with intention, fierce reverence. My hands cradle her hips like forged anchors, and she responds, pressing closer until our bodies align in bone-memory.
“Don’t hold back,” she pants, voice already wrecked with heat.
“You don’t know what you’re asking,” I growl, nuzzling into the crook of her neck. Her pulse throbs beneath my tongue—ripe, lightning fast. I lick a trail from her collarbone to her jaw and catch the gasp that spills from her mouth.
“Then show me,” she dares, nails digging into my shoulders.
I shift inside her—slow, deliberate—letting our boundaries merge. Her scent slams into me: jasmine and sweat, copper and surrender. It's intoxicating. The shuttle hums and vibrates around us, but I don't feel it. I'm tuned only to the sound of her moan, the pulse of her heart, the slick, delicious stretch around me.
She trembles. Not from pain. From sensation, raw and unfiltered. For a heartbeat I freeze in that moment—skin slick, rhythm aligned. She is tight, slick, all-consuming, and utterly mine. My mate. My match.
“Maker, you feel...” she gasps, the rest lost in a moan as her body clenches around me. “Stars…”
Every thrust is a promise, primal and unspoken, a vow spoken in muscle and breath. I don’t think. I devour every tremor. Her warmth surrounds me, a velvet prison that draws me deeper.
“—Haktron—” she breathes, voice ragged.
I grip tighter, not to dominate but to anchor myself. Her fire burns away restraint. I slide one clawed hand up her side, fingers splaying across her ribs. She shudders when I brush theunderside of her breast, the peak already taut and begging for my mouth. I oblige.
Each heartbeat spells her name. Each tremor is a battle cry. She gasps and writhes beneath me, and I drink it in.
“You’re not afraid?” I rasp, lips slick from her skin.
“No,” she pants, hips meeting mine with raw hunger. “Not even close.”
I growl, the sound low, like magma grinding bone. “You should be.”
