My throat tightens. There’s a million reasons to walk away, but none of them mean shit.
“I don’t want to stop.”
There. That’s the truth.
The first kiss is slow. Not clumsy. Not shy. Just... reverent. Like we’ve kissed a thousand times and this one still matters most.
His tongue parts my lips, and I taste him—smoke, heat, spice, and something deeply, addictively him. Something alien that’s wrapped itself around my bones. I moan softly into his mouth, and the sound makes his grip tighten like I’ve ignited a fuse inside him.
I shift in his lap, knees bracketing his hips. I can feel him—hard and massive beneath me—and my pulse stumbles.
His hands slide up my thighs, over my hips, like he’s memorizing me through touch alone. He makes a low sound, burying his face in the crook of my neck.
“You’re so soft,” he groans, voice ragged. “You kill me, Alaina.”
I smile against his temple. “You’ve survived plasma grenades.”
“You’re more dangerous.”
Clothes disappear. I don’t know who pulls what or when. Doesn’t matter. All that matters is heat, friction, the sound of breathing, the gasp when his chest brushes my bare breasts.
His body is massive above mine—warm red scales under my fingers, golden eyes watching me like I’m something rare and holy.
He stretches over me like a weighted blanket forged in muscle and fire. I’ve never felt safer. Never felt smaller. Or more wanted.
His hands trail reverently over my sides, hips, down to the curve of my thigh. Not hurried. Not greedy. Just… worshipful.
“You sure?” he asks again, voice a gravel rasp.
“Don’t you dare stop now.”
He groans, low and deep, and then guides the thick head of his cock to my entrance. My breath catches. I’m wet—soaked for him—but still, he’s big. Too big. I brace myself, and he presses in slowly.
Painfully slowly.
The stretch burns. And it’s exquisite.
I gasp, clutching his arms. “Stars…”
“Easy,” he murmurs, kissing my temple. “I got you. Just… stay with me.”
I nod, barely breathing.
He fills me inch by inch, his cock dragging along every nerve inside me, making me feel split open and remade. My body clenches around him instinctively, desperate to hold him.
He’s not smooth—his cock is ridged in sections, a slow pulse of heat and pressure that drags deeper, deeper, until I swear I feel him in my throat.
When he bottoms out, I cry out—pleasure and overwhelm tangled together.
“Fuck,” I breathe. “You’re… gods.”
He rests his forehead against mine, golden eyes tight. “You’re mine now.”
A tremble rolls through me. “Don’t say shit you don’t mean.”
He pulls back, thrusts in again. This time harder.
I gasp. “Oh,fuck?—”
