Page 33 of Ravaged By the Reaper
He shifts slightly, thumb tracing the seam of my waist. His eyes narrow—not harsh, but calculating, like a star mapping the orbit of something precious. “Love,” he rumbles. “Is often blood and screaming and surrender.”
I swallow.
“I surrendered,” I murmur. “Not because I couldn’t... But because I wanted to.”
He hums—wet and strange, half-growl, half-purr. “There’s strength in surrender.”
The shuttle hums lonesomely around us. The engines sound measured, steady. Nothing betrays our chaos.
I inch closer, pressing shy lips against his chest where the armor dips. I hear his heartbeat, slow, thick, resonant—rocking me into that ancient rhythm where flesh and decisions fall away and only the ache of belonging remains.
I swallow. Taste the salt of his skin, iron and dusk—something deeply anchoring. I reach up, fingertips drifting to his jaw again. Goosebumps rise under my skin.
“Is this wrong?” I ask softly, eyes drifting up to him again.
His fingers tighten. Not forcibly. More like guidance. A firm anchor in storm-tossed nights. “Wrong?” he repeats. His voice is low, but he laughs—dry laugh, like gravel sifted through velvet. “This feels like home.”
I blink. That word again—home—but softer than before, like a hymn through deep breath.
I pull across his spurs again, reveling in the swirl of blood and bone. “Then don’t... let me go.”
He leans forward, pressing his temple to my lips. I taste sweat, blood, the static of battle and soot of skin. My breath hitches.
He growls once more—this time laughter and promise. “Not ever.”
His hand moves, tracing down my side to my hip, fingers curling like roots.
He shifts, tilting my body slightly. His thigh slides between my legs, steady and protective. It’s not about pain or dominance now. It’s unity.
I look at him—closer now—fierce, quiet, home.
“Can... we be us?” I whisper.
He doesn’t answer. He lets his hand tighten, thumb brushing over my navel through cloth, fingertips sliding upward to the curve of my waist.
I find his chest, my palms resting there, pressed close, breath matching breath.
We fit.
No words. Only ragged breaths and the engine’s hum and the distant starfield blinking outside I feel the viewport press close against us—a silent, cold sentinel to this unspoken covenant of bone, flesh, and claim. Beyond, space sprawls in infinite stillness. In our private quarters on Station Gamma, swathed in pale starlight through glass, we forge something altogether different.
His arm circles me like armor, as solid as the structural beams holding the station aloft. His ribcage, rimmed with white bone spurs sharp as obsidian, flexes beneath my palms. I nestle into him, riding slow, deliberate—every motion a testament, not to desperation, but connection.
His breath rumbles low at my ear, a drum guiding my ragged rhythm. Each of my breaths matches it, thin strings of air tethering me to this fierce presence beneath me. The friction between us ignites—my slick, warm folds enveloping his cock as stars burn in the void outside.
I trace his chest—over bone, over scars, over skin that’s both armor and living warmth. “You taste like cedar and ancient wars,” I murmur.
He shifts, deeper into me, and his voice answers—a growl threaded with reverence. “And you… like promise.”
Alarms flash red and white across the room. Warnings of systems failing. But I feel nothing but this: us.
He follows my rhythm, subtle, responsive. Every overlap of breath, every movement is an unspoken vow.
A hitch in his breath breaks the stillness. I meet his gaze—eyes burning red embers against midnight skin. Vulnerability flickers there, and I breathe, “I belong to you.”
No flinch. No recoil. Only the weight of acceptant warmth.
His movement shifts—timid, worshipful. I let myself dissolve into him, surrendering to the rise and fall of his body against mine.
