Page 24 of Naughty List Delivery
“Then we’ll be very close friends,” I manage, trying to ignore the way my pulse spikes at the thought.
His smile could melt hull plating. “Sweetheart, I’ve been wanting to get close to you again for two years.”
I’m already gathering essential supplies—PIP’s AI core pulsing warm blue in my palm, emergency rations, basic tools. But my hands shake slightly as I work, and I know Ober’s enhanced senses are cataloging every change in my breathing, every spike of arousal I can’t quite suppress.
The ship lurches as another system fails, artificial gravity wavering. Emergency lighting flickers to life, painting everything in urgent red that makes the moment feel apocalyptic and intimate all at once.
“Noomi,” PIP says from his portable core, “might I suggest prioritizing departure? The atmospheric processors are becoming increasingly unreliable.”
The emergency pod is barely large enough for one person, let alone a Felaxian whose alien frame fills space like he owns it. As I squeeze inside, Ober’s heat immediately raises the temperature ten degrees, his alien biology radiating warmth that soaks through my clothes and straight into my bones.
“This is going to be interesting,” he murmurs, his voice dropping to those harmonic undertones that make my bones vibrate.
Physics forces me back against his chest as he seals us in, every inch of my spine pressed to the solid wall of alien muscle and heat. His arm comes around my waist to steady me, fingers splaying possessively across my hip, and the casual strength in that touch makes my breath catch. Then I feel it—his tail winding around my thigh in an unconscious claiming gesture, warm and surprisingly strong.
“Comfortable?” he asks, and I can hear the smile in his voice, feel it in the way his chest rumbles against my back. But there’s something else now—a tension that wasn’t there before, like he’s becoming aware of exactly how intimately we’re positioned.
“Perfectly professional emergency protocols,” I manage, but my voice comes out breathless because his alien warmth is everywhere, melting tension I’ve carried for two years. His tail tightens fractionally around my leg, and I have to bite back a sound that has nothing to do with distress.
“Oh my!” PIP’s voice fills the tiny space from speakers I didn’t know the pod had. “This is delightfully cozy! Pod sensors indicate optimal thermal regulation between your species. Ober’s enhanced body temperature should keep Noomi perfectly warm despite minimal environmental controls.”
“PIP,” I warn, but there’s no heat in it because Ober’s warmth is already making me drowsy in the best possible way.
“Also,” PIP continues with electronic glee, “the pod’s atmospheric recyclers are quite efficient—every scent, every breath, every elevated heart rate will be shared between you. Fascinating from a xenobiology perspective! I’m detecting some particularly interesting pheromone signatures already.”
Ober’s chest vibrates with what might be amusement, and the sensation travels through my bones like a purr made of soundand warmth. “Your AI has a point. Emergency pods are designed for maximum efficiency.” His voice drops to that command register that makes heat pool low in my stomach, his breath stirring the hair at my temple. “Which means you’re going to be very aware of my presence for the next few hours.”
I try to shift away, but there’s nowhere to go. The movement only succeeds in sliding me deeper into the cradle of his body, my head fitting perfectly into the hollow of his shoulder. The position brings his scent—wild alien spice and engine oil and something fundamentally Felaxian—directly under my nose with every breath. His tail unconsciously adjusts its grip, sliding higher on my thigh, and the casual possessiveness makes my pulse hammer.
“Professional courier,” I mutter to myself, fighting the way my body wants to melt into his heat. “Emergency survival protocols. Perfectly normal thermal regulation.”
“Keep telling yourself that,” he says, and I feel his smile against my hair. His enhanced senses are cataloging every change in my pulse, every hitch in my breathing, every involuntary response my body makes to his proximity. “But your heartbeat just synced with mine.”
Heat floods my face because he’s right, and in a space this small, with his alien senses, he’s reading every response my body makes. The way my pulse hammers at my throat. How my breathing has gone shallow and quick. The unconscious way I’m pressing back into his warmth. The way his scent is making me dizzy with want I thought I’d buried.
When I shift again, trying to ease the tension in my shoulders, his breath hitches. The movement has pressed me more fully against him, and through the thin fabric of my courier uniform, I can feel every ridge of muscle, every controlled breath. His tail tightens around my leg, and the sound he makes is almosttoo low to hear—a rumble that vibrates through his chest and straight into my bones.
“Careful,” he murmurs, his voice strained. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me.”
“I have some idea,” I whisper back, because I can feel the evidence of his arousal pressing against my lower back through our clothes. The knowledge that he wants me as desperately as I want him sends liquid heat pooling between my legs.
His free hand settles on my arm, thumb stroking across the sensitive skin of my inner wrist where my pulse hammers visibly. “Do you? Because your scent is driving me insane, and we’re going to be stuck in here for hours.”
The way he says it—like a promise and a threat all at once—makes me shiver. “What exactly are you smelling?”
“Everything.” His voice drops to that register that bypasses my brain and goes straight to my nerve endings. “The way your arousal spikes when I touch you. How your body temperature rises when I speak. The specific scent that tells me you’re imagining exactly what I could do to you in a space this small.”
My breathing goes ragged because he’s right—I am imagining it. Imagining his hands on my skin, his mouth on my throat, the way his alien strength could position me exactly how he wants me. “Ober...”
“Tell me I’m wrong,” he challenges, his tail sliding higher on my thigh until it’s pressing against the seam of my flight suit. “Tell me you’re not thinking about all the ways I could make you come apart in the next few hours.”
I should tell him he’s wrong. Should maintain some kind of professional distance. But his alien warmth is melting every defense I’ve built, and his scent is making me drunk with want.
“We need to talk about what happened back there,” I say instead, desperate to distract myself from the way his alien heatis making me want things I thought I’d buried. “At the colony. What you said about choosing greed over—”
“I know what I said.” His free hand comes up to stroke my hair with surprising gentleness, claws carefully sheathed as his fingers work through tangles with alien precision. The touch sends shivers down my spine that have nothing to do with cold. “And I meant every word. You tried to become someone better, and I was too selfish to see it.”
The admission makes my chest tight. “I never wanted to change you, Ober. I just... I couldn’t keep being who we were together.”
