Page 90 of Phoenix's Last Heist
I shift, breath catching. The air feels thick between us now.
But the need isn’t just physical—not anymore. It’s layered with longing, fear, grief, and a smattering of hope that I don’t know what to do with.
Yeah, I want him, but I want more than that. I want someone who stays. I want someone who sees the worst of me and doesn’t leave. I want safety. I want to be wanted this fiercely, without myvelliaand without some hidden agenda. And truthfully, I’m terrified. I’m so fucking scared that if I let him in, he’ll tear down the walls I’ve lived behind my whole life—walls that have kept me safe, but walls that have made me lonely.
Freedom isn’t the finish line I thought it was—it’s the part no one tells you about, what comes after the running. Maybe it’s not about what I steal or who I outsmart. Maybe it’s about who I get to be when no one’s holding the leash.
“You said your body recognizes me,” I say, shifting closer.
“It does,” he says, voice barely a rasp.
“Then what happens when you touch me?”
He’s breathing hard now. “You know what happens.”
“Show me.”
“Lyra—”
“Please.”
That one word breaks whatever willpower he has left.
In an instant, he’s on me. His mouth finds mine, wild and hungry, and I gasp as he pulls me into his lap. His hands roam my body like he’s memorizing it, and maybe he is—because I’m doing the same. I tear at his shirt, needing him skin to skin.
“I’ve wanted you since the day I met you,” he growls, teeth grazing my neck. “I tried to be good. I tried to stay away. But stars?—”
“Don’t,” I pant. “Don’t stay away now.”
His fingers slip beneath the waistband of my pants, finding me scorching and soaked.
“Fuck,” he groans. “You’re wet already?”
“You did this,” I murmur.
His lips brush my ear, sending shivers of lust-sparked sensation throughout my entire body.
“And I’m going to finish it,” he promises.
He lifts me in one smooth motion and lays me out on the narrow bunk. He strips me fast, reverently, until I’m bare beneath him—and then strips his own clothes and kneels, no hesitation.
Without preamble, his mouth is on me—licking, tasting, worshipping—and I cry out, hips arching as pleasure crashes over me. He licks up every moan, every gasp, like he’s devoted to learning the language of my body better than me. He devours me like I’m the only thing that’s ever mattered. His tongue moves with purpose, circling my clit, teasing, pressing just right, and when he adds his fingers—stars—it’s too good, it’s too much, and I come apart like starlight scattering in vacuum.
I tremble as he rises, his body above mine, cock hard and glistening, mating nodes pulsing and glowing faintly.
“I want to be inside you,” he whispers, forehead pressed to mine. “But I won’t knot you until you choose me. Not just with your body—with everything. And when you do, I’m going to fuck you like you deserve, and imprint your body with the kind of pleasure that unmakes worlds and angers the gods.”
I don’t say anything, because part of me wants to drag him down and beg for it. The other part—the part that’s still learning how to trust, how to hope—isn’t ready. Not yet.
And somehow, he understands.
So instead, I guide him down beside me. I kiss him slow and deep, and when I slide my mouth over his heated skin, kissing and licking his white-flickering synesfores, his sharp intake ofbreath is one of the most powerful aphrodisiacs imaginable. I grip his shaft, stroking delicate fingertips across his throbbing mating notes, and his helpless groan shatters something in both of us. With equal fervor, I take him into my mouth, past the first swollen ridge, letting my tongue trace every sensitive curve. His hips jerk. His hands bury in my hair, gently, and I can tell he’s holding back—the tendons on his neck and veins on his arms pop with the effort of it. I smile to myself, more than ready to show him why Velusians are made for pleasure.
Heat from his mating nodes warms my mouth, helping to ease my throat into taking him deep. Saliva slicks the smooth skin of his cock andstars, thetasteof him…the earthy, saline flavor makes me almost as ravenous as his deep growls and soft whimpers. Desire sends a fresh flood of arousal to my core, and I’m not going to deny myself the pleasure. The moment Orion sees my other hand drifting between my legs to stroke my needy sex, he moans.
“Fuck, yes—please please please—ohstars pleasecome again for me,” he whispers, his desperation spurring my need.
When I flip around and offer my pussy to his mouth, he utters a litany of words in Xylothian that I can’t understand, but can guess at their meaning. He grabs my hips and buries his face in me. The faster I bob up and down on his cock, the faster his tongue moves against my clit, and already a second orgasm is bearing down on me like an asteroid bent on impact.
