The pilot’s chair creaks ominously under the force of his movements, metal straining against metal as he claims me with the same intensity he once brought to gladiatorial combat. But I barely notice the sound over the sensations crashing through me—the drag of his length against sensitive tissues, the way he fills me so completely I feel claimed from the inside out.
“That’s it,” he snarls, watching my face with predatory intensity as I ride him. “Take it all. Take everything I give you.”
His hands guide my movements, lifting me until only the head of his cock remains inside me, then slamming me back down with enough force to drive the air from my lungs. The pace is punishing, relentless, designed to overwhelm and possess rather than pleasure—though the pleasure is undeniable, building with each brutal thrust.
I can sense his overwhelming satisfaction at my responses—every gasp, every moan, every tremor that runs through my body as he claims me. But more than satisfaction, I feel his love, fierce and protective and absolutely consuming. This isn’t just sex—it’s a claiming in the truest sense, a permanent binding that goes beyond the physical.
“You’re so responsive,” he growls, one hand sliding up to cup my breast while the other maintains its bruising grip on my hip. “Every touch makes you tremble. Every thrust makes you cry out. You were made for this, weren’t you? Made to be claimed by me.”
His thumb circles my nipple with the same devastating precision he uses on my clit, and the dual stimulation threatensto overwhelm my already strained senses. I can feel my climax building like a storm on the horizon—inevitable and approaching fast.
“Tell me,” he demands, his thrusts becoming more urgent, more desperate. “Tell me you’re mine. Say it while I’m buried inside you, while you’re taking everything I give you.”
“Yours,” I gasp, my nails digging into his shoulders hard enough to draw blood. “Only yours. Forever and always.”
“And I’m yours,” he growls, his pace becoming almost violent in its intensity. “Your mate. Your protector. Your everything. No one else will ever touch you like this. No one else will ever see you like this. This is mine.”
To emphasize his point, he drives into me with particular force, angling his hips so that swelling at his base catches against nerves that make me see stars. The combination of possession and pleasure is intoxicating—I’ve never felt so thoroughly claimed, so completely owned.
As he drives deeper into me, something fundamental shifts in the way he moves, the way he sounds. His careful Standard dissolves into something primal and alien, words flowing from his lips in a language that sounds like liquid starlight and molten gold.
“Keth’ara noss velani,” he growls against my throat, the syllables vibrating through my skin and straight into my bones. The sounds are completely foreign, yet through our connection I can feel their meaning—possession, permanence, a claiming so absolute it makes my breath catch.
“Vieleth mor, vieleth saala, velieth kess nalari.” Each phrase sends fire racing through my veins, and though I don’t understand the words, my body responds as if it recognizes something ancient and inevitable in their cadence. The ritual weight of what he’s saying makes me clench around him involuntarily, some primal part of me understanding that thesearen’t just words of passion—they’re vows spoken in the tongue of his people, binding us together in ways that go deeper than biochemistry or choice.
The poetry combined with the way he’s moving inside me—hard and fast and completely without restraint—pushes me over the edge. My climax hits like a supernova, consuming and brilliant and absolutely devastating. Every nerve ending lights up with pleasure so intense it borders on agony, and through our connection, he experiences every pulse, every wave, every tremor as if it were his own.
But he doesn’t stop. If anything, feeling my climax through our connection drives him to greater heights. His movements become almost violent in their intensity, chasing his own release while prolonging mine until I’m sobbing with oversensitization.
“Again,” he commands, his voice barely recognizable as anything human. “Come for me again. I want to feel you fall apart around me while I’m buried so deep inside you that you’ll never forget the feeling.”
His thumb finds my clit, circling with devastating precision while he continues to drive into me. The dual stimulation is too much—I’m already oversensitive from the first climax, and the way he’s touching me ensures I have no choice but to obey.
The second orgasm crashes over me like a tidal wave, even more intense than the first. I scream his name as my body convulses around him, my inner muscles clenching him so tightly that he finally loses the last of his control.
He comes with a roar that’s more animal than sentient, his body arching beneath mine as he empties himself inside me with desperate urgency. I feel his release as if it were my own—the overwhelming pleasure, the satisfaction of marking me inside and out, the primal joy of claiming his mate so completely that there can never be any doubt who I belong to.
Wave after wave of his climax pulses through our connection, each spasm accompanied by another surge of heat deep inside me. That biological lock swells fully, sealing us together with an intensity that borders on painful. His hands grip me with bruising force, holding me against him as he spills himself into me with savage possessiveness.
When the intensity finally begins to ebb, we’re both trembling with aftershocks, sweat-slicked and gasping for breath. I’m collapsed against his chest, completely boneless, while he holds me with the desperate grip of someone who never wants to let go.
“Perfect,” he murmurs against my hair, his voice rough with satisfaction and exhaustion. “Absolutely perfect. You took everything I gave you and begged for more.”
I feel the bond carry his wonder at what we’ve shared, his satisfaction at having claimed me so thoroughly that I’ll carry his mark for the rest of my life. But underneath it all is a love so fierce it takes my breath away.
“Was that...” I begin weakly, still struggling to form coherent thoughts.
“The claiming? Yes.” His arms tighten around me possessively, and I feel him still hard inside me despite his recent climax. “We’re fully bonded now. You bear my mark, carry my seed. You’re mine in every way that matters.”
The primitive satisfaction in his voice should probably concern me, but instead it makes me feel cherished, protected, loved beyond measure. This alien warrior loves me with an intensity that makes me feel like the most precious thing in the universe.
“I can feel you,” I whisper against his throat, marveling at the bond that connects us. “Everything you feel, everything you think. It’s incredible.”
“That’s just the beginning,” he says with dark promise. “Velogian bonds deepen over time. Eventually, we’ll share dreams, memories, even physical sensations when we’re apart. You’ll never be alone again.”
The thought should be overwhelming, but through our connection I feel his certainty that I’ll love the intimacy as much as he will. And he’s right—the idea of being so connected to another person, of never having to face the universe alone, is intoxicating.
“Good,” I murmur, pressing a kiss to his pulse point. “I want you. All of you. Even the dangerous parts.”
