Kiran
I glance at Prax, concern twisting in my chest. Should we have brought Esteban with us? But that’s not what he’s focused on.
“According to your brother, they followed our tracks. But when they realize they’ve lost the trail—thanks to the snow—they’ll guess where we’re headed. Arabia Terra’s the only logical destination. I think they’ll send someone here tomorrow. That means we have tonight. Let’s make the most of it... my sweet Neela.”
Despite everything—our precarious situation, the danger—I’m trembling. With desire.
In that moment, I’m no longer a respected physician among Martian colonists. He’s no longer a fierce Sadjim, former Coalition smuggler turned Confederation agent. We’re just a woman and a man. I feel more alive than I have in years.
He steps closer, golden eyes gleaming, and wraps his arms around my waist. I finally get to do what I’ve dreamed of: run my hands across his short, silky fur. Too fine to grasp, but unimaginably soft. He purrs—loudly. I jump.
“Shower first, beautiful,” he chuckles, lifting me off the ground.
He sets me down in the hygiene room and we undress, eyes locked. I let mine roam his body, pausing on the wound from the bear. The gashes are hidden now by his regrown fur. Only the dried blood hints at the trauma.
Furred mammals heal quickly. Regeneration helps. And he looks more than fine.
“Don’t waste your time on that. I’d say there’s far more interesting things to look at," my gorgeous Sadjim murmurs.
My gaze shifts slightly—and, well... he’s not wrong. Heat floods my face. Medically speaking, I’d noticed earlier that Prax was above average. That observation still holds true.
My gaze shifts just a few inches below his wounded side and—yep, there it is, definitely more noticeable.
A hot flush rushes to my cheeks. I would’ve blushed if my skin weren’t already a warm bronze. I’d noticed before—purely from a medical standpoint, of course—that Prax is… well… larger than my usual patients.
This confirms it. Without a doubt.
“Holy cow…” I murmur under my breath.
“Hmm… Not sure that’s a compliment,” he says with a slight frown. “My translator just compared me to a rather hideous beast from my homeworld.”
I can’t help but giggle. “No, no—it’s just an expression! It has nothing to do with actual cows, I swear.”
“Oh? And what does it mean, then?”
I hesitate, suddenly a bit shy.
“That I’m… impressed.”
I look up at him, startled, just in time to catch his mischievous wink. That easy, smoldering hunger in his gaze sends a tremor through me. My legs feel like jelly as I step under the shower with him, my breath catching in anticipation.
Without a second's hesitation, his mouth claims mine, draining the last ounce of reason I had left. His tongue—rough and sure—leaves no room for doubt. It explores with the confidence of someone who knows exactly what he wants, and how to take it. Motivated, emboldened, I meet him with the same fiery eagerness. Our kisses quickly deepen into something far more urgent, far more primal.
Prax grabs me and lifts me effortlessly, pressing me up against the wall of the shower. The heat of his body, the strength of his grip, the hard promise between us—there’s no mistaking what he’s ready for. I wrap my arms around his neck, lockingmyself to him. Then, with one final nod, I give him my silent permission.
The corner of his mouth quirks up in a wicked little grin. And just like that, he takes what I’ve offered—without hesitation, without apology. At first, I feel a faint sting of discomfort, my body adjusting to his. But that sensation fades almost instantly when he leans in and starts tracing the curve of my neck with his tongue.
Oh stars… Those tiny barbs—those fine, sandpapery ridges on his tongue—send shivers down my spine and straight down to my toes. It’s either that or the hypersensitive patch of skin just behind my ear that he’s expertly discovered. Maybe both. Either way, my body responds with a surge of heat so intense it nearly steals my breath.
What follows is an onslaught of sensation so powerful I lose all grip on coherent thought. My pulse is pounding, my nerves are on fire, and still he moves with delicious precision, drawing me closer and deeper into this wave of ecstasy. Our breathing grows ragged, the rhythm between us chaotic and wild. His hands hold me tight as I drown in him completely.
And when the end crashes over me like a tidal wave, I barely register the low, guttural growl of pleasure he lets out, holding me fiercely against his chest.
We stay like that for a while, tangled together, clinging to the aftershocks. The shower must have stopped at some point, but I barely notice. When he brushes his hand across the control panel, the water starts again, rinsing our overheated skin.
Prax doesn’t rush. He leans in to press soft, lingering licks along my shoulder and collarbone, purring all the while. Content. Sated. His arms never leave me.
When the water cuts off again, he reaches for a towel and wraps it gently around me like I’m something precious.
