I dig my fingers into his shoulders. “Then win me.”
Clothes vanish. I don’t remember how. His hands are everywhere—fingers exploring, learning, teasing. When one of those claws drags lightly down my belly, I shudder, legs spreading without thought.
His mouth moves lower. I cry out when he reaches my pussy, tongue sliding over me with maddening skill. It’s not like a human tongue—more textured, more heat. He circles my clit until I’m writhing, gasping, pleading.
“Valtron, fuck, please?—”
He chuckles, dark and sinful, the sound vibrating against me.
“You always this needy, little thunderstorm?”
I don’t answer. Can’t.
He rises, lining himself up. His cock is huge. Red. Ridged. I brace myself—half terrified, half ravenous.
Then he pushes in.
My scream is swallowed by his mouth.
He’s too big. Too deep. Perfect.
Every thrust is a claim. He moves like he’s trying to brand me from the inside. My hands claw at his back, desperate to hold on as pleasure builds fast and hot.
“I should’ve stayed,” he whispers, voice cracking.
“I would’ve let you.”
He growls, kissing me hard, rolling his hips. Our bodies slap together, slick and desperate. His thumb finds my clit again and I break—coming around him, legs trembling, tears slipping down my cheeks.
He keeps going. A second orgasm crashes into me before I’ve even caught my breath.
Then he tenses.
“Rhea—fuck?—”
He comes with a roar, spilling into me, hips jerking as he presses deep one last time.
After, we collapse together, tangled and breathless. The hum of the ship fills the silence.
“I still miss thunderstorms,” I murmur.
“I’ll find you one.”
“You better.”
“I always do.”
We cling together, breath slowing, sweat mingling. I want to ask a million different questions. Logical questions.
“What happens if this works?” I ask instead. “If we make it?”
He reaches up, brushes a strand of hair behind my ear.
“Then I stop running,” he says. “And we figure out what the hell this is.”
“This?” I echo.
“You. Me. Ripley. All of it.”
