Chapter 9 #3
"Romance isn't incompatible with statistical analysis.
" His thumb brushed across my cheekbone, and heat flooded through me.
"The probability that I'll fail to keep you completely safe is approximately eighty-three percent, accounting for unknown variables and hostile action.
But the probability that I'll do everything in my power to ensure your survival is one hundred percent. That has to count for something."
I kissed him before he could say anything else. Just leaned forward and pressed my lips to his, human-small against Zandovian-large, reckless and desperate and absolutely certain.
He froze. For exactly 2.3 seconds, I counted, he didn't move. Then his hand slid into my hair, his other arm wrapped around my waist, and he kissed me back with an intensity that made my toes curl.
It wasn't gentle. Wasn't tentative. It was six weeks of suppressed wanting and denied attraction and professional distance all burning away in the space of a breath.
When we finally broke apart, we were both breathing hard. His markings blazed with crystalline light, pulsing in patterns I'd never seen before. Beautiful and alien and absolutely mesmerizing.
"That was inadvisable," Zor'go said.
"Probably."
"We have a mission in three hours. We should be preparing. Running tactical scenarios. Reviewing communication protocols."
"We should."
"Instead I'm going to kiss you again."
"Please do."
He did. And it was better the second time. Deeper. More certain. His hands spanned my waist, lifting me off the couch like I weighed nothing, holding me against him as he kissed me stupid.
I wound my arms around his neck, buried my fingers in his hair, shorter than human standard but surprisingly soft. His markings flickered beneath my touch, responding to contact. I filed that information away for later exploration.
Much later.
Right now I just needed this. Needed him. Needed to feel something that wasn't fear or guilt or obligation.
"Jalina." He caught my hands, held them gently. "I could hurt you. Unintentionally. I'm stronger than humans, and you're—"
"Small. Yes. I'm aware." I tugged my hands free and started working his uniform fastenings again, more successfully this time.
"You're also the most careful person I've ever met.
You calculate load-bearing capacity for chairs.
You optimize traffic flow to prevent collisions.
You notice when I skip meals." The uniform jacket opened, revealing the muscled expanse of his chest, silver-gray skin over lean strength. "You won't hurt me."
"How can you be certain?"
"Because you love me." I pushed the jacket off his shoulders, let it fall. "And I trust you. Completely."
Something in his expression shifted. The uncertainty faded, replaced by that intense focus he usually reserved for complex design problems. Like I was a puzzle he intended to solve—but this time, the solution involved pleasure instead of mathematics.
His hands found the hem of my shirt. "May I?"
"Please."
He lifted it over my head with the same care he'd use handling something fragile and precious.
His eyes tracked over my exposed skin—the curves and planes and angles that probably seemed so foreign to him.
I fought the urge to cover myself, to hide the softness of my human body next to his streamlined alien strength.
"Beautiful," he murmured, and the word sounded like fact, like mathematical certainty. His hands spanned my waist, thumbs brushing the undersides of my breasts. "Perfect proportions."
"That's such an architect thing to say."
"It's accurate." He bent, pressing kisses along my collarbone, down to the valley between my breasts. "Optimal curves. Ideal ratios. Structurally sound and aesthetically exceptional."
I laughed, breathless. "Are you analyzing my body or designing a building?"
"Both." His mouth found my nipple through the fabric of my bra, and I stopped laughing. "Multitasking is a valuable skill."
"Zor'go—"
He straightened, reaching behind me to unfasten my bra with surprising dexterity. The garment fell away, and his markings flared brighter, pulsing with obvious desire. "I've been thinking about this," he admitted. "Extensively. Perhaps obsessively."
"How extensively?"
"I may have researched human anatomy. And reviewed xenobiological compatibility studies. And consulted with Zorn about—"
I pressed my fingers to his lips. "You asked your brother about having sex with me?"
His markings flickered with what might have been embarrassment. "In purely clinical terms. He's a doctor. He provided useful information about human physiology and recommended approaches for size-differential intimacy."
Despite everything, I started laughing. "That's the most Zor'go thing I've ever heard."
"Research is important." He lifted me again, carrying me toward his sleeping platform. "I wanted to ensure your safety and pleasure."
"And what did Zorn's research tell you?"
"That human females are surprisingly resilient.
" He laid me on the platform with exquisite care.
"That patience and attention are more important than size.
That communication is essential." He knelt beside the platform, his height putting us at eye level even with me lying down. "And that I should start slow."
His hands found the fastenings of my pants, and he looked up at me, waiting. I lifted my hips in answer. He pulled the fabric away, leaving me in just my underwear, and I watched his eyes darken, his markings pulse faster.
"Still with me?" I asked.
"Completely." He hooked his fingers in my underwear, pulled it down and away. "And grateful beyond words."
Then he bent his head, and I forgot how to think.
His mouth was careful at first—exploratory, testing what made me gasp and what made me arch. His long fingers spread my thighs wider, giving him better access, and when his tongue found the right spot, I cried out.
He learned fast. Adjusted his approach based on my responses, added pressure here, softened there, building sensation with the same methodical precision he applied to architectural challenges.
Except this time, the structure he was building was my pleasure, and he approached it with single-minded devotion.
"Zor'go—" My hands fisted in his hair. "I'm going to—"
"Yes." The word vibrated against sensitive flesh. "Let me taste you."
The orgasm hit like structural failure—sudden, overwhelming, reducing me to sensation and sound. He worked me through it, gentling as I came down, pressing soft kisses to my inner thighs.
When I could breathe again, I found him watching me with an expression of profound satisfaction.
"Proud of yourself?" I managed.
"Extremely." He stood, and I realized he was still mostly clothed while I was completely naked. "Though I should note that was merely the preliminary research phase."
"There's more research?"
"Extensive research." His hands went to his remaining clothes. "If you're willing."
"Zor'go." I sat up, reached for his hands. "I'm not just willing. I want this. Want you. All of you."
His markings flared so bright they lit the dim room. "The size difference—"
"We'll make it work." I pulled him down for a kiss, tasting myself on his mouth. "Like we make everything work. Together."
He finished undressing, and I tried not to stare.
Failed completely. His body was all lean muscle and perfect proportion, skin that seemed to shimmer in the low light.
And yes, there were significant anatomical differences, and yes, the size differential was substantial, but looking at him, I felt no fear. Just want.
He noticed my staring, and his markings flickered with something like nervousness. "Your expression is difficult to interpret."
"I'm admiring the architecture."
That surprised a laugh out of him. "This body is hardly optimal design."
"Strongly disagree." I traced one hand down his chest, feeling the play of muscle beneath skin. "Beautiful proportions. Ideal ratios. Aesthetically exceptional."
"Using my own words against me."
"Multitasking is a valuable skill." I wrapped my hand around him, and he sucked in a breath. "Though I have some concerns about structural compatibility."
"That makes two of us." His voice had gone rough. "We'll go slow. If anything hurts, if you need me to stop—"
"I'll tell you." I pulled him down onto the platform beside me. "But I won't need you to stop."
He positioned us carefully, supporting most of his weight on his arms, and I felt the careful control in every movement. When he finally pressed inside, it was with excruciating slowness, giving my body time to adjust, watching my face for any sign of discomfort.
There was some pressure. Some fullness that bordered on overwhelming. But no pain.
"Okay?" he breathed.
"More than okay." I wrapped my legs around his hips, urging him deeper. "Stop being so careful."
"Can't." He pressed his forehead to mine, markings so bright they left afterimages. "Too precious. Can't risk you."
"You're not risking me. You're loving me."
Something in those words broke his control. He groaned and pushed deeper, and I gasped at the sensation—fullness and pressure and perfect friction. We found a rhythm together, awkward at first, then increasingly fluid as we learned each other's bodies.
His strength meant he could lift me, adjust angles, hold me steady while I moved against him. My flexibility meant I could bend and accommodate, finding positions that worked for our impossible geometry. We were solving a problem together, except the solution felt like flying.
"Jalina." My name sounded wrecked on his lips. "I can't—I need—"
"Yes." I pulled him closer, nails digging into his shoulders. "Don't hold back."