I feel his flash of competitive determination through the bond—even injured, even healing, he’s still a warrior who won’t back down from a challenge. “Yes.”
He drives in the rest of the way with one controlled thrust that makes us both gasp. For a moment we’re both frozen, adjusting to the overwhelming sensation of being completely joined despite his injuries, despite everything we’ve survived.
Through the bond I feel what he feels—the tight heat gripping him, the way my internal muscles flutter around him, the slick welcome of my body. And he feels what I feel—the fullness, the stretch, the perfect ache of being claimed and filled.
“Move,” I demand, clenching around him deliberately.
He does.
The first thrust makes my head fall back against the tile. The second makes me cry out. By the third I’m not forming coherent words anymore, just gasping his name while he drives into me with the strength I knew he was holding back before.
The ridges on his cock hit places that make stars explode behind my eyelids. Each withdraw drags those ridges against nerve endings that light up my entire nervous system. Each thrust fills me completely, the broad head of him hitting deep enough to make me see white.
“Mine,” he snarls against my throat, his fangs scraping the claiming marks without breaking skin. “My mate. My partner. Mine.”
“Yours,” I agree breathlessly, my nails scoring lines down his back. “And you’re mine.”
His pace increases—relentless, powerful, exactly what I need. The shower wall shudders with the force of his thrusts. Water cascades over us both, making our skin slick, making every touch electric.
One hand slides between us, his thumb finding my clit with devastating precision. The texture of his scales creates friction that makes me clench around him, gasping.
“Come for me,” he commands, his voice gone rough and primal. “Let me feel you.”
The combination of his cock hitting deep, those ridges dragging, his thumb on my clit—it’s too much. I shatter around him, orgasm crashing through me so hard my vision whites out. Through the bond he feels every second of my pleasure, the tight pulsing of my body around him, the wave of sensation that obliterates thought.
It triggers his own release. He buries himself to the hilt with a roar, his cock pulsing as he fills me with liquid heat. The bond amplifies it all—his pleasure feeding mine, mine intensifying his, until we’re caught in a feedback loop of shared ecstasy.
For a long moment we just breathe together, tangled under the spray, hearts pounding in sync.
“That,” I manage eventually, when I’ve remembered how to form words, “was significantly better than bureaucratic paperwork.”
His laugh rumbles through his chest. “We should add that to the partnership evaluation criteria. ‘Post-paperwork stress relief: Excellent.’”
“Mother would file eighteen new forms.”
“Worth it,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to my temple that’s surprisingly tender given what we just did.
He lowers me carefully, but my legs are shaky and I have to grip his arms for balance. We’re both breathing hard, steam-drunk and thoroughly debauched.
“Bed,” I suggest. “We’ve been awake for approximately thirty-six hours. We need actual rest.”
“Agreed.” He shuts off the water, grabbing towels. “Though I should warn you—sleeping in the same bunk after that is going to test my newfound commitment to adequate rest periods.”
“Then it’s a good thing we have a week before our first contract,” I reply, grinning. “Plenty of time to test your restraint repeatedly.”
His eyes darken with promise. “Repeatedly. I like the sound of that.”
We stumble to the sleeping quarters wrapped in towels, leaving puddles in our wake. The narrow bunk that felt cramped before now feels perfect—just wide enough for us to tangle together, close enough to feel safe.
Crash pulls me against his chest, his warmth better than any blanket. Through the bond I feel his contentment, his fierce protectiveness, his absolute certainty that we made the right choice.
“We’re really doing this,” I murmur sleepily. “Building a life together.”
“Yes,” he agrees, his voice already rough with approaching sleep. “Partners in everything.”
“Everything,” I echo.
Outside The Precision’s viewports, Kallos Station rotates slowly against the stars. In the galley, Jitters has finally recovered enough to glow a contented pink while recharging. And in the sleeping quarters, two bonded partners who survived impossible odds—one still healing from cracked ribs and a torn shoulder, the other from the terror of watching him nearly die—hold each other and sleep peacefully for the first time in days.
