I exhale a breath I didn’t know I held. My lips tremble. I fold into him. I lean into his chest, into the warmth, into the living weight. “Then we did okay,” I whisper. The world outside this house hums with noise, debates, judgments. But in this heartbeat, we did okay.
He holds me. His hands circle my waist. The lamp light softens our edges. The silence between us hums with meaning. Outside, wind rustles leaves. Inside, our truth settles, roots digging deep.
We stand there until nothing more needs to be said. The book exists. The articles spread. The slurs flung in the street—they bounce off us now. Because we anchor to something that lasts: honesty, home, love born in smoke and rebuilt in silence.
We turn toward the window. Libra’s nightlight glows beyond—her room dark, safe. We watch the street. Lights pulse. Cars hum. People dream beyond walls. We are here. We remain. We did okay.
He brushes my hair back from my face like I might shatter if he’s too rough, and that alone makes me ache. Darun—seven feet of red-scaled muscle and silent rage—is always so careful with me. It’s not because he doubts my strength. It’s because he reveres it.
I kiss him. Not tentative this time—hungry, hot, and open-mouthed. His tongue finds mine, warm and tasting faintly like the nectar he loves, and I groan into his mouth. His claws don’t scare me. They drag slow along my sides as he lifts my shirt, baring skin to the lamplight.
“Let me see you,” he growls, voice thick, reverent.
I raise my arms. The shirt peels off. He stares. His golden eyes burn like twin suns, locking on every curve, every freckle, every soft place I tried to hide. He kneels, reverent as a priest before a goddess, pressing kisses along my belly, my ribs, theunderside of my breasts. His tongue flicks across my nipple and I gasp, arching into his mouth.
“You’re shaking,” he murmurs, lips brushing the other nipple.
“I want you,” I whisper. “I want your cock in me. I want everything.”
That does something to him. His pupils flare wide. He growls—a sound I feel in my core. His hands move fast, pulling down my pants, stripping me bare. He doesn’t stop to gawk. He watches my pussy like it’s something sacred.
“You’re already wet.”
“Because I’ve been thinking about this all day.”
He hisses through his teeth, like the words burn him. Then he stands, unbuckling his armor, letting it fall. His body is a weapon of war—scarred, corded with muscle, his cock hard and already leaking at the tip. It’s thick, red with ridges along the shaft—alien, but perfect. I want it. I want him.
He climbs onto the bed slowly, his frame dwarfing mine. The mattress dips. The room hums with tension. He presses a kiss to my throat, my collarbone, the space behind my ear. His cock brushes my thigh. I reach down, wrap my hand around it. He groans.
“You’re not afraid?” he asks, breath catching.
“I’ve been through hell,” I say. “I’m afraid of losing you. Not your cock.”
That cracks something in him. He laughs, rough and beautiful, and then he’s kissing me again—deeper this time, like he’s trying to taste my soul.
He slides a clawed finger through my folds, spreading the wetness. I moan, back arching. He finds my clit and rubs slow circles, relentless and gentle. My breath shatters.
“Please,” I pant. “Please, fuck me.”
“Say it again.”
“Fuck me, Darun. I need your cock. I want to feel you fill me.”
With a snarl of need, he aligns himself at my entrance. One hand grips my thigh, the other cradles my head like I’m the most precious thing in the galaxy. Then he pushes in.
The stretch is exquisite. Pain and pleasure tangled together. I cry out, and he stills, giving me a moment. I clutch his arms, breath ragged.
“You okay?”
“Don’t stop. Just—don’t stop.”
He moves. Slow at first. Deep. Every thrust presses against that spot inside me that makes stars pop behind my eyelids. My legs wrap around his waist. My nails dig into his back. He fucks like he was made for me—controlled, consuming.
“More,” I beg.
He growls and picks up the pace. The sound of skin slapping skin, my moans, his deep grunts—they fill the room. I feel full, stretched, owned.
“Mine,” he rasps into my ear. “Say it.”
