"There's always a choice." He took one step forward. Then another. Closing the distance with a patience that made my skin prickle. "You chose to walk toward me instead of away. You chose to drink the water. You chose to strip."
"I chose to survive."
"Yes." Another step. Close enough now that I could feel the heat radiating from his massive body. "Survival is a choice too."
I should have run. Should have done something besides stand there, naked and dripping, my body screaming at me to close the remaining distance and offer itself.
I didn't run.
"I've watched you for three days," he said. "You're different from the others. You think. You plan. You map." He reached out,and I flinched, but he only touched my chin. One massive finger, tilting my face up to meet his eyes. "You see the patterns."
"I'm an engineer."
"Yes." Something shifted behind his armor plates. The bulge between his legs swelled visibly larger. "So am I."
His hand dropped from my chin to my shoulder. Trailed down my arm. Stopped at my wrist.
"You've been trying to satisfy yourself," he said. "I could smell it. Every night. Every failed attempt."
Humiliation burned through me. He'd listened. He'd known.
"The tonic won't let you," he continued. "Your body has been programmed to need something specific. Someone specific." His hand tightened on my wrist. "Let me show you what you actually need."
I should have said no, fought, screamed, and done anything except stand there trembling.
I didn't say no.
He moved faster than something his size should be able to move. One moment I was standing, the next I was pinned against the bone wall, his massive body caging mine, his hands holding my wrists above my head.
"You've been suffering," he said. "Three days of need with no relief. Let me give you what your fingers couldn't."
His free hand slid down my body. Over my breast, pinching the nipple hard enough to make me cry out. Down my belly, which clenched under his touch. Down to where I needed him most.
His finger found my slit. Thick, textured, nothing like human. He dragged it through my wetness, gathering arousal, and the sensation was so intense I nearly collapsed.
"So swollen," he murmured. "So ready. Your body knows what it wants even if your mind is still fighting."
He found my clit.
The first touch made me scream. His finger was rough, textured with tiny ridges that created friction I'd never experienced. He circled my swollen bud with a pressure that was almost too much, almost painful, almost perfect.
I came.
The orgasm tore through me without warning, three days of building tension finally cresting in a wave that made my vision white out. My whole body convulsed against the wall, against him, my inner muscles clenching around nothing while my clit pulsed under his relentless touch.
I was still shaking when he pushed a finger inside me.
Thick. God, so thick. One of his fingers was like two of mine, maybe three. It stretched my entrance as it slid in, the texture dragging against walls that were hypersensitive from the orgasm.
"More," I heard myself say. "Please, more."
He added a second finger. The stretch was incredible. I was so wet he met no resistance, just slick, desperate flesh that gripped him and tried to pull him deeper. He curled his fingers, found the spot inside that made my hips buck, and started to fuck me with his hand.
I came again. Harder this time, my inner walls clamping down on his fingers, trying to hold him inside. He didn't stop. Kept fucking me through the orgasm, kept his thumb circling my clit, kept building the next peak before the last one finished.
"That's it," he growled. "Give me another one."
I came again. My third orgasm, maybe fourth, I'd already lost count. My legs were shaking so badly I couldn't have stood even if he let me go. Every muscle in my body was trembling, overstimulated, wrung out.
