We lie there in silence, the kind that holds weight instead of space. Outside, the city stirs. Distant hover bikes and the hum of cargo drones, muffled by thick walls and thicker air. The carvedme rests on the pillow between us now. And I don’t feel like I’m pretending anymore.
CHAPTER 29
ROJA
It’s still dark when I wake her. Stars not even tucked behind smog yet. Air thick and quiet, the kind of quiet that comes before the city remembers how to groan.
She’s curled toward the wall, hair messy and mouth soft. That damn scarf she never takes off bunched under her cheek. My palm hovers over her spine for a beat. Just breathing. Just listening.
Then I lean in, slow. My mouth finds the curve where her neck meets shoulder—warm and smooth, always smooth. She stirs as soon as my lips press in, sighs soft like wind moving through silk.
I don’t speak. I won’t. Not for this.
This isn’t about need. It’s not about burning off the bad days or clawing through panic just to feel something. Not this time.
This is mine.
She arches just a little, breath catching as I trail lower, dragging my tongue along the slope of her collarbone. Her fingers find my chest, splay wide like she’s steadying herself.
“Roja…” It’s a whisper, reverent. Not a question. Not a plea.
I kiss her jaw, slow and deliberate. She turns into it, arms circling my neck, hips already tilting toward mine. Her thighsbrush the edge of my own. I shift above her, careful—bracing my weight on forearms corded with thick green muscle, so I don’t crush her. She always feels so small like this, human softness wrapped in pale curves and heat, bones delicate compared to mine.
Her fingers slide down my sides, past ridges of old scars and across the slick heat of my scales. My chest rumbles—half growl, half sigh. She touches me like I’m not a monster. Like I’m something holy. And I want to worship her in return.
“You sure?” she asks again, voice a breath against my skin.
I press my forehead to hers. “Yeah.”
She nods. Doesn't need more.
I move down her body—mouth tracing the swell of her breast, her stomach, the fluttering tension in her hips. Her skin smells like sweat and smoke and faint lavender. She moans when I open her legs, one thick clawed hand keeping her thigh spread wide. She’s wet already, glistening, her pussy soft and swollen and open like she’s been waiting for this longer than either of us wants to admit.
I growl low, breath hot against her clit. “You’re already shaking.”
“Because you’re looking at me like that,” she pants.
“Like what?”
“Like you’re starving.”
I grin, sharp teeth catching the light. “I am.”
Then I press my tongue to her—long, hot, textured—and she gasps like I’ve pulled something out of her soul. I lick slow at first, watching every twitch, every arch, every tiny cry. Her thighs tremble against my shoulders, one hand tangled in my hair, the other fisting the sheet beneath us.
“You taste like fuckin’ paradise,” I mutter between strokes.
She whimpers. “Roja… gods—don’t stop.”
I won’t. Not until she comes. Not until she breaks open beneath me.
When she does, it’s sharp and fast. Her hips snap, back bowing, pussy clenching tight as she cries out, loud and raw. Her taste floods my tongue. I don’t stop until she’s twitching, pushing at my shoulders, panting through a smile.
I move back up her body, licking my lips.
“Didn’t know I needed that,” she whispers.
“You needed more than that.” I press my cock to her entrance, thick and ridged, the blunt head already slick. She gasps when it brushes her folds, her nails digging into my back.
