"Extensive research." His hands went to his remaining clothes. "If you're willing."
"Zor'go." I sat up, reached for his hands. "I'm not just willing. I want this. Want you. All of you."
His markings flared so bright they lit the dim room. "The size difference?—"
"We'll make it work." I pulled him down for a kiss, tasting myself on his mouth. "Like we make everything work. Together."
He finished undressing, and I tried not to stare. Failed completely. His body was all lean muscle and perfect proportion, skin that seemed to shimmer in the low light. And yes, there were significant anatomical differences, and yes, the sizedifferential was substantial, but looking at him, I felt no fear. Just want.
He noticed my staring, and his markings flickered with something like nervousness. "Your expression is difficult to interpret."
"I'm admiring the architecture."
That surprised a laugh out of him. "This body is hardly optimal design."
"Strongly disagree." I traced one hand down his chest, feeling the play of muscle beneath skin. "Beautiful proportions. Ideal ratios. Aesthetically exceptional."
"Using my own words against me."
"Multitasking is a valuable skill." I wrapped my hand around him, and he sucked in a breath. "Though I have some concerns about structural compatibility."
"That makes two of us." His voice had gone rough. "We'll go slow. If anything hurts, if you need me to stop?—"
"I'll tell you." I pulled him down onto the platform beside me. "But I won't need you to stop."
He positioned us carefully, supporting most of his weight on his arms, and I felt the careful control in every movement. When he finally pressed inside, it was with excruciating slowness, giving my body time to adjust, watching my face for any sign of discomfort.
There was some pressure. Some fullness that bordered on overwhelming. But no pain.
"Okay?" he breathed.
"More than okay." I wrapped my legs around his hips, urging him deeper. "Stop being so careful."
"Can't." He pressed his forehead to mine, markings so bright they left afterimages. "Too precious. Can't risk you."
"You're not risking me. You're loving me."
Something in those words broke his control. He groaned and pushed deeper, and I gasped at the sensation—fullness and pressure and perfect friction. We found a rhythm together, awkward at first, then increasingly fluid as we learned each other's bodies.
His strength meant he could lift me, adjust angles, hold me steady while I moved against him. My flexibility meant I could bend and accommodate, finding positions that worked for our impossible geometry. We were solving a problem together, except the solution felt like flying.
"Jalina." My name sounded wrecked on his lips. "I can't—I need?—"
"Yes." I pulled him closer, nails digging into his shoulders. "Don't hold back."
He didn't. His control shattered, and the careful precision gave way to something raw and desperate. The platform creaked under us—probably not designed for this kind of activity—and I laughed breathlessly between gasps, delighted by evidence that we were breaking furniture.
"What's funny?" he panted.
"Structural integrity failure. You'll have to redesign your bed."
"Worth it." He adjusted his angle, hit something inside me that made me cry out. "Absolutely worth it."
The second orgasm built slower than the first, a gradual climb instead of sudden impact. He seemed to sense it, maintained his rhythm, added pressure exactly where I needed it. When I came apart, he followed immediately after, my name a broken sound against my neck.
We collapsed together, tangled and breathing hard. His weight was substantial, but he rolled us so I was draped across his chest instead of crushed beneath him.
"Acceptable compatibility?" I asked when I could speak.
