“I will go slow,” he promises.
I nod. “I want all of it. All of you.”
He positions himself, the head of his cock pressing against my entrance. I brace, inhale, and then he pushes in.
It’s overwhelming. Stretching, burning, perfect. My pussy swallows him inch by inch until he’s fully inside me, my body straining to hold him.
We move together—slow at first. My nails rake down his back. He grunts, hips rolling into mine, cock hitting every sensitive spot. His scales glide against my skin, sending jolts of sensation through me.
“You feel… holy,” I whisper, dazed.
He groans, head dropping to my shoulder. “You are made of stars.”
Each thrust is deeper, harder, full of reverence. He fucks me like he’s etching my soul into his. I wrap my legs around his waist, drawing him in. The sound of our bodies—wet, desperate, aching—echoes between the walls.
My orgasm blindsides me.
I scream his name, my pussy clenching around his cock as the climax rips through me. He follows with a roar, hips slamming one final time, warmth flooding inside me.
We collapse, sweat-slicked and trembling. His arm pulls me close, cocooning me.
And in the silence, he whispers, “You are everything.”
In the aftermath, tangled in sheets and spent sighs, we find a stillness that’s louder than thunder. I trace shapes on his chest, feel his arms ease around me, and marvel at the normalcy of this—two beings from different worlds, breathing the same air.
The night stretches, serene and infinite. Somewhere, a cricket chirps. I breathe deeply of him and this moment—pure, fragile, irrevocable.
When sleep finally nudges me toward dreams, I close my eyes with his heartbeat in my ear. I am safe. I am loved. I am choosing this—him—every single day, and it doesn’t scare me anymore.
Because tonight, more than ever, I know that love isn’t about fighting fate or worlds colliding. It’s about soft persistence. Sacred discovery. Choice. And we chose it—slowly, beautifully, together.
Afterward, I lie entwined beside him, hearts still drumming their shared rhythm. It’s quieter than anything I’ve ever known and no less powerful for it. I watch him—Rychne, my warrior from somewhere beyond stars—studying me in the soft glow of streetlamp light filtering through the curtains. His eyes are gentle, unguarded, awed—as if he can’t quite believe this moment is real.
“I’ve fought for entire worlds,” he murmurs, voice thick with something I don’t quite recognize. “But none have made me want to live the way you do.”
I smirk, nudging his shoulder with mine. “You’re just saying that because I let you touch my boobs.”
He laughs, a low vibration that rumbles through me. “That is also accurate.”
I laugh too—real laughter, deep and free, like I haven’t anywhere near enough in recent years. It bubbles up from my chest, filling the space between us with something warm and alive. And I feel... so light.
He brushes a thumb across my cheek, tender. “You’re extraordinary,” he says softly. “Beyond anything I imagined.”
I meet his gaze, study the way his golden eyes shift in the lamplight, touched with something like pride. My breathcatches, memories of loss and fear and exhaustion slipping away. “I’m happy,” I whisper into the hush. Three words I haven’t said to myself in a long while—a confession, an affirmation, a promise.
He tips his head, a smile forming at the corners of those jawlines I could trace forever. “Then I’ve won.”
He presses a kiss to my temple, delicate and sincere, and I let my fingers wander across his chest, feeling the steady pulse there. We stay like that for a long while, bodies and breaths and hearts mingling, held by the quiet sensation of having landed home.
The night stretches around us as cicadas drift away, the deep hush of our breath and the soft brush of skin on skin—this is peace. This is belonging.
In the dark, under an ordinary sky on an ordinary street, I close my eyes on everything that brought me here—evictions, courtrooms, summonses, doubts—and just breathe. Because no matter what the future holds, tonight I am here, I am alive, and I am finally whole.
He twines his fingers with mine, murmuring a promise against my hair, too low for words, but there just the same: I will stay.
CHAPTER 27
RYCHNE
