Gods, he really is magnificent.
His shoulders are impossibly broad, his chest a solid wall of muscle covered in smooth, golden skin. He’s the same color as my favorite coffee, with lots of creamer. The scratches I left on his chest last night are still there. He’ll probably wear those with as much pride as the broken arm.
The broken arm.
I shake my head. I still can’t quite believe I did that. The memory surfaces, vivid and surreal, of me running through the dark tunnels of the mine, my heart pounding, the small crystal clutched against my chest to hide its glow. I could hear him behind me, his footsteps heavy and deliberate, his growls echoing off the walls. The primal fear of being hunted warred with exhilaration.
And then that heavy lab door with the manual shutting mechanism. I’d spotted it at the last second, some desperate instinct taking over. I hadn’t really thought it through, hadn’t considered that his arm would be right there, reaching for me. I’d just slammed my palm down on the control and them I literally heard the crack of bone breaking. The look on his face through the small window.
I’d been horrified for about three seconds. And then he’d grinned at me, actually grinned, with blood dripping from where he’d bitten through his own lip from the pain, and I’d known that somehow, impossibly, I’d done something right.
I think about what came before the chase too. The mist rolling in, thick and white and glowing in the darkness of the eclipse. The panic as bodies dropped around us. Losing his hand in the chaos, stumbling over sleeping Xylan, being crushed under the weight of two males who’d passed out on top of me.
And then Bayzon found me. His hands running over my body, checking for injuries, his voice rough with fear. The moment we’d both looked down and realized our gloves were gone and our bare skin was touching. I remember the heat that flooded through me at that contact. Like lightning racing up my arm and settling deep in my core. I’d known, in that instant, that everything was about to change.
“Does this mean that we are...?”
“Yes.”
Such a simple word. Such an enormous consequence.
But I don’t regret it. Not for a single second.
When he’d kissed me there on the floor of the cavern, surrounded by sleeping strangers, the mist swirling around us, that was when I knew this wasn’t just pheromones or alien biology or some cosmic accident. This was right.
He’d been so worried about rushing me, so apologetic about the accidental clasping, promising he’d meant to court me properly. And all I could think was, why wait? Why delay something that feels this inevitable?
The chase through the mine had been terrifying and thrilling in equal measure. Running blind through unfamiliar tunnels, knowing he was behind me, knowing he would catch me eventually. My human instincts screamed at me to hide, to escape, while something deeper awakened the moment our hands touched—I wanted to be caught.
And when he’d finally cornered me in that med lab, his broken arm hanging useless at his side but his eyes still blazing with a dark hunger... I’d fought him. Really fought him, notjust going through the motions. I’d bitten, scratched and kicked because some part of me understood that this mattered. That my resistance was a gift I could give him.
The claiming itself is a blur of sensation and emotion. Yes, it hurt like hell when he plunged that huge, leaking cock inside of me. I was so very wet and ready though. Pain and pleasure were so intertwined I couldn’t separate them. His weight pressing me into the cold floor. The way he’d paused to make sure I was alright, even though I could feel how desperately he needed to move.
I definitely remember experiencing the best orgasm of my life.
And now I want him all over again. This time, slow and deliberate.
I reach out and trace a finger along his jaw, careful not to wake him. The ridges on his forehead are fascinating. I want to learn the landscape of his face, map every unfamiliar feature until it becomes as known to me as my own reflection.
His eyes flutter open at my touch. Gold, flecked with amber, still slightly glazed with sleep. Impossibly long, dark, eyelashes. “Female,” he rumbles, his voice thick and gravelly. “You’re staring at me.”
“I’m admiring my new husband,” I correct. “I’m allowed.”
A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Husband. I like that human word for mate.”
“Good. You’re stuck with it now.”
He shifts, wincing slightly as the movement jostles his injured arm, and pulls me closer with his good one. I settle against his chest, my head tucked under his chin. His heartbeat is slow and steady beneath my ear.
“How do you feel?” I ask. “Does it hurt?”
“The painkillers are excellent,” he admits. “I feel almost nothing.”
“Almost?”
“I feel you.” His hand slides down my back, coming to rest on the curve of my hip.
Heat pools low in my lower belly. “Bayzon...”
