“Valtron?”
He’s there. Bleeding.
One side of his face is bruised, scales cracked and tinged darker around the ridges. His arm’s half-wrapped in what looks like a scorched utility cloth, and he’s limping. His jacket’s torn open, revealing more crimson skin and the edge of a wound I don’t even want to know how deep.
“You’re—what the hell happened?”
He steps in, calm like he didn’t just walk through hell. “Had to confirm something.”
“With your face?!”
He opens his mouth to speak, and I see red on his teeth. I nearly slap him. I almost do.
But instead—I kiss him.
It’s not slow. Not sweet. It’s a surge. A release of everything pent up—anger, fear, frustration, relief. My fingers tangle in his jacket as I pull him down to me, tasting heat and blood and the residue of fire on his lips. He kisses back like a man drowning.
His hands cup my face, rough and shaking. We don’t speak.
His mouth finds my throat. I gasp. My knees go weak.
The metal wall behind me is cold but not enough to douse the heat building between us. We’re tearing at zippers and buttons and belts. Somewhere deep in my brain, a rational voice protests. It’s too fast. Too messy. But that voice is lost in the rush of sensation—his hands on my hips, the rough sound of his breath in my ear, the heat of his body pressing against mine.
We don’t make it to the bed.
We don’t need to.
The wall is strong enough.
His claws don’t nick my skin. They could, but they don’t. He moves with precision, practiced restraint, like he’s memorized how to hold back even when everything in him screams to take.
But it’s me who breaks first. I push his jacket off his shoulders, revealing the ridged red scales beneath, hard and gleaming under the flickering light. My hands trace the curve of his arms, the muscles bunching beneath the skin. He’s heat and tension and raw power, barely contained. His golden eyes burn like twin suns, locked on my face as if he’s afraid I’ll vanish if he looks away.
“Tell me to stop,” he grits, voice deep, vibrating through my bones.
“I’ll break you if you do,” I whisper.
A snarl curls his lips, but not in anger. Lust. Need. A desperation that mirrors mine.
He spins me and presses me harder against the wall, one hand holding my hip, the other tugging my pants down with far too much ease. The air is cool on my skin, but I burn everywhere he touches.
He drops to one knee behind me, and before I can speak, I feel his mouth against my pussy. Hot. Wet. Open.
“Oh mygod—” I cry out, palms flat against the wall as his tongue slides over my folds, licking deep, then slow and shallow.He groans like I taste better than anything he’s ever known, and fuck, the vibration of it makes my knees buckle.
“Don’t fall,” he murmurs, lips slick. “Not yet.”
“I c-can’t—” I choke on my own breath as he grips my thighs and holds me still, feasting on me like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do. His tongue is wide, textured, almost rough, and somehow perfect. It strokes over my clit, circles it, then sucks it into his mouth. I scream.
That’s when he pulls away, just enough to growl, “You don’t know how long I’ve needed this. Needed you.”
He stands, lifts me effortlessly with one arm, pants hanging from one ankle, shirt half off. I scramble to pull his belt free, my fingers desperate. I need to feel him. All of him.
And when I do—when his cock springs free, thick and ridged and flushed with a deeper red at the tip—I pause.
He’s…massive.
Like the rest of him. Alien. Gorgeous. Intimidating.
