“Please,” I implore without reservation, this plea a testament to my growing faith in him, exposing my deepest cravings. He aligns himself properly, the tip poised at my opening, and holds my gaze, revealing his own underlying apprehension mingled with admiration. I affirm with a nod, my legs encircling his waist to urge him forward.
In a fluid motion, he enters me fully, the sensation of completeness verging on overwhelming before shifting to ecstasy. I cry out, my inner muscles adapting to his size. He pauses to allow adjustment, our foreheads touching as we share uneven breaths. Staring into my eyes. Intense. Intimate.
I’ve handed myself over to him completely, and in this moment I’m okay. I trust him. I trust the way he gazes at me, watching for any sign of discomfort. He cares about me, and my needs, and he’s putting me first.
Gradually, he initiates movement, withdrawing and advancing in a controlled pace that synchronizes us.
The tempo accelerates, his drives becoming more forceful, the impact of our bodies resounding through the chamber. I reciprocate each advance, my nails scoring paths across his back. Perspiration makes our skin glide effortlessly, his shaft delivering friction that coils tension within me.
“Deeper,” I urge, and he complies, surging with increased vigor, our vocalizations blending—his grunts mingling with my pleas and pleasure.
My pace quickens, breasts swaying with the pounding rhythm. He captures them within his heated mouth, applying a sucking pressure to the tips that heightens the sparks racing to my center.
The buildup surges.
“Let go for me,” he commands, the words propelling me into release. Khatak never commands, and yet in this moment he’s so sure of himself. So confident. So in control.
And I don’t have to be.
I give myself over to him fully.
My climax overtakes me abruptly, a torrent of sensation contracting around him in rhythmic pulls that trigger his own release. He emits a deep sound, warmth flooding me as he trembles in completion.
We remain connected in the aftermath, our pulses decelerating as one, his touch wandering idly across my side.
My heart is no longer beating so wildly, establishing a steady and calm rhythm behind my breast. My limbs feel heavy, languid. At rest. A heavy sense of peace washes over me as my eyes flicker closed.
“I could get used to this,” I mutter. The words I don’t mention are that I could get used to him, though. Every day. Because I’m finding myself really falling for this guy. Even if he’s an alien.
Chapter
Seven
KHATAK
I’m already dressed when the first hint of morning light filters through the window. Pants fastened, shirt smoothed down—though I keep catching myself adjusting the collar, running my hands over fabric that doesn’t need straightening. My tail won’t stop moving, tracing lazy figure-eights in the air behind me.
She was here. In this bed. With me.
I’m in her room!
Her bed sheets still smell like her—something warm and sweet that makes my chest feel too full. We should probably change them. Or never wash them again. Is that weird? That’s probably weird.
I’m being ridiculous.
And I don’t care.
I pace to the window, then back to the bed. To the small nightstand where my comm device sits. My reflection catches in the dark screen—red skin flushed burgundy, horns catching the light, a stupid grin I can’t seem to wipe off my face.
Last night happened. Actually happened.
She chose me.
The thought keeps circling back, bright and impossible. Selene—beautiful, confident, completely out of my league Selene—chose me. Not my family name. Not some imagined future accomplishment. Just me. Khatak. The one who screamed in the haunted house and carved the wrong kind of pumpkin and can’t even get Sutek to remember my name.
She saw all of that. Every failure, every embarrassing moment, every way I don’t measure up.
And she still wanted me.
