His body’s trembling.Blood still trickles from the wound, but he won’t let the drones near him anymore—not with me in the room. His hand grips my wrist tight, not with desperation, but with something primal. Something anchoring.
“You almost died,” I whisper. My voice is sandpaper and fire. “You stupid, beautiful idiot.”
“I told you,” Aebon rasps, his breath fanning my cheek, “never without you.”
The words crack something deep in me. All the anger, the fear, the impossible longing—it erupts.
I kiss him.
Hard. Hungry. No hesitation. No decorum. My lips crush his. I taste blood and something older, deeper. His mouth answers with savage grace—his teeth tug my bottom lip, his tongue pressing in to claim. His hand cups my cheek, fingers trembling slightly.
I straddle him where he sits on the throne-like couch. His body is heat and bone, his massive form folding around me like armor. My hips grind down instinctively, and I gasp when I feel him—thick, hard, already pulsing beneath his pants.
“You’re bleeding,” I murmur against his lips.
“I don’t care,” he growls. “I need you. Now.”
My blouse is gone in seconds—his claws slicing delicately through the fabric. His large hands find my breasts, warm palms swallowing the curve of them. His thumbs brush my nipples, and I moan.
“Fuck, Aria,” he breathes. “Your nipples—so fucking soft. You feel like sin.”
I rock against him, my pussy already slick. The fabric of my pants rubs perfectly over my clit as he pinches one nipple and then the other. I whimper into his mouth, clutching his shoulders.
He breaks the kiss and buries his face between my breasts, inhaling deep like I’m the only air he needs. His tongue licks a hot path across my sternum, then sucks one nipple into his mouth. I arch against him, thighs trembling.
“More,” I beg.
He growls—a sound so feral it vibrates through my core. He lifts me easily, hands firm on my ass, and lays me down across the couch. In a fluid motion, he rips my pants down my legs and spreads them wide.
“Fuck,” he whispers, staring at my pussy like it’s holy. “So wet. So perfect.”
I watch him slide to his knees between my thighs. He licks me once—slow, from pussy to clit—and my entire body jerks.
“Oh my god—” I gasp.
He smiles against me, lips already slick with me. “You taste like salvation.”
His tongue flicks my clit, circles it, teases. Then he sucks it, and I scream. His hands hold my thighs down as he devours me—slow, methodical, worshipful. He flicks his tongue in maddening patterns, sometimes soft, sometimes hard.
I’m unraveling.
“Please, Aebon—fuck—please!”
He doesn’t stop. One thick finger pushes into me, then another. He fucks me with his fingers while his mouth never leaves my clit. My hips buck wildly. I can’t think. Can’t breathe.
When I come, it hits like a plasma blast.
I scream his name, legs shaking, pussy clenching hard around his fingers.
He doesn’t move until I whimper, until the aftershocks leave me panting. Only then does he rise, looming over me, pupils blown wide and cock straining against his pants.
“I need to be inside you,” he growls.
I nod, still breathless. “Do it. Now.”
He strips fast—black pants and bloodstained bandages falling away. His cock is thick, long, almost frightening. Veined, ridged near the base, glistening with precum.
“You sure?” he asks, voice dark and reverent.
