Chapter Five
SADIE
I throbbed around him, absolutely fucking full but greedy for more.
“Oh god, Karel, you’re so deep,” I gasped, my voice breaking.
Every tiny flex of his cock made my vision starburst at the edges.
“Yes, right there—don’t stop.” My whole world telescoped into sensation—the hot punch of each drive, the cool shock of the air on my skin.
I gave up the idea of not making noise; every time he bottomed out, I moaned his name like a prayer.
“Harder,” I begged, “please—I need it harder.”
He bent over me and I whispered against his mouth, “You feel so good inside me.”
I raked my fingers up his ribs—so many ridges, all of them alive under my touch. “Tell me what you want,” I demanded breathlessly. He made a desperate growl, and in the next instant, he shifted his angle.
“Oh fuck, yes—right there,” I cried out as every stroke dragged deep against my sweet spot.
It was so precisely targeted that I thought, this is what happens when an alien studies your physiology with machine precision.
Every impact was better than the last—each second, the ridges of his cock shifted, either swelling or pulsing or twitching to milk every nerve ending in me, as if he was reading my mind and redialing the tension in real time.
My legs locked tight around his hips; he braced a hand behind my knee, shoving it up and back and opening me wide, so with every thrust he could bury himself even deeper.
The stretch should’ve hurt, but I was so slick and ready that I just sank onto him, the fullness crowding out every thought but more.
My hands scrabbled up his back, searching for leverage, and I realized I was whimpering, every sound the naked signal of how much I needed this, how ready I was to break.
“I want you to fuck me. Harder,” I gasped into his ear, letting the desperation show. “Please—”
He growled, and it vibrated through my whole body. “You can take it?”
I bared my teeth at him. “More. I want to feel it for days.”
That worked. He reared up, gathered both my wrists in one huge blue hand and pinned my arms above my head, then used the leverage to drive in, relentless, like he was trying to memorize the shape of me from the inside out.
I arched so hard my whole spine left the mattress; I bit down on his shoulder and howled through clenched teeth as each thrust slammed bright light through my eyes.
The pressure built—hot, desperate, not a slow burn but a rising flood—and I could feel my whole body tensing to snap.
“Karel—fuck—don’t stop, I’m—I’m—”
He wrenched my hips higher, angled himself perfectly, and the ridges along his cock fanned and flexed in a way that triggered a violent, perfect explosion.
I came hard, full body, clenching so tight that the world went out for a second.
Reality came back with Karel’s hand cradling my face, his breath fast, his cock still driving as I spasmed around him.
He pressed his forehead to mine, and for a second, we just shuddered together, me shaking from aftershocks while he held himself on the edge, trembling with the effort not to lose control entirely.
I wanted him all the way gone, so I squeezed his cock, determined to wring every drop of pleasure from him.
He was practically vibrating now, so close to the edge, I could feel the entire length of him pulse and swell.
His breath stuttered and broke as he drove into me, deeper, faster, rutting through my release until something caved inside both of us at the same instant.
He froze, clamping my hips in his hands, and for half a second I genuinely thought he’d break me—then he made a sound I’d never heard from a man before, a raw, strangled sort of keening, and that was it, he came in one long, shuddering pulse, thick and hot, his whole body locked up and pouring into me.
For a minute, neither of us moved. I could feel his heartbeat everywhere we touched, fast and panicked as a small animal’s, the ridges flexing in slow after-tremors as he softened inside me.
He dropped his head to my shoulder, panting, sweat beading on his skin and dripping onto mine.
The blue of him shimmered up close, almost translucent now, like the energy that held him together had melted down to a haze of light.
I pressed my hands to his back, feeling the echoes of his climax shiver through his muscles.
My own body was a live wire, every nerve ending still catching at the last afterglow, unsure how to switch gears back to something as basic as breathing.
I expected him to collapse on top of me, to go heavy, maybe do that classic guy thing and roll away to the coolest edge of the bed.
Instead, he stayed propped above me, arms trembling, his face so close I could taste the salt of his sweat on my lips.
His eyes, that weird, bottomless blue, fixed on me.
It should’ve been awkward—this was the nerdy, hypercorrect Bozad officer who’d once lectured me about the thermodynamics of hand sanitizer.
Now he was gazing at me like I was a quantum state that, if he looked away, might collapse into nothing at all.
I surprised us both by laughing, a loose, unguarded sound that started in my belly.
“You okay?” I said, palms still pressed against the broad, vibrating planes of his chest. “You look like you just survived reentry without a suit.”
He blinked, a processing pause, then a crooked smile flared at the corner of his mouth.
“I was not prepared for this level of… physiological cascade,” he admitted.
There was a note of awe in it, like he couldn’t quite believe his own bandwidth for pleasure had glitched the system. It would’ve been funny if I wasn’t so fucking charmed.
We just lay there, skin cooling, my head buried in the crook of his arm.
I traced his collarbone, slow, not really thinking, just making sure we didn’t accidentally float away into the slow gravity hush of post-orgasm.
The silence between us was new and unpunctured.
I couldn’t remember the last time I got to bask like this—naked, happy, not rushing for the next thing.
“You’re not even winded,” I accused, pressing my thumb into the ridged lines of his pec, mapping the infrastructure of him all over again.
He closed his eyes, savoring it. “Bozad have redundant cardiac systems. One can fail, the other compensates.” He paused, then looked down at me through thick lashes.
“You have only one heart, and yet it withstood my full effort.” His mouth twitched at the edges.
I recognized the sarcasm, which meant he was feeling more like himself.
“No one’s ever tried to blow it up before,” I said. I stretched, all bones and spent muscle, delighting in the friction of skin on skin. “Full marks, Commander.”
“Lieutenant,” he corrected, pretending indignation, but his voice vibrated something deep and relaxed.
He was, I realized, utterly at ease. More at ease than I’d ever seen him, and that made sense, since the first hour I met him had involved a major hull breach and multiple species-specific bodily fluids.
I wanted to keep up the banter, but my brain offered a new, less cooperative line of thought.
What happened now? Was this the end of the weirdest, best night of my life, or had I somehow stumbled into an open-ended...
thing? I tried to imagine this scenario at breakfast, with mutual awkward nods and maybe a polite “nice work” over rehydrated eggs.
Or worse, telling Mara. Mara would have questions, and she’d ask them at volume.
I propped myself up on one elbow and tried to look casual about using a massive blue intergalactic security professional as my pillow. To be fair, he made a damn good pillow.
“So,” I said, aiming for light but veering hard into ‘psychotic.’ “Is this where you recite the Bozad sacred oath of post-coital secrecy, or do we go right to the after-action report?”
The words fell out of me all at once, too raw and too bright, but if he heard the panic, he didn’t let on. Instead, he cupped the back of my head, running his fingers through my hair like he was testing the tensile properties of human detritus.
“There is no script,” he said, in that way of his that made every sentence sound both like a joke and a test of emergency protocol. “The preferred ritual is mutual adjustment to altered status.”
I shifted, trying to sit up, but he just rolled us over so I sprawled across his chest, the little hairs along my arms standing up as his skin cooled against mine.
“Mutual adjustment to altered status,” I repeated, trying out the phrase. “Is that Bozad for not awkward in the morning?”
He blinked, considered, and then, “Or in the afternoon, depending on metabolic rate and sleep architecture.”
“Right.” I traced another pattern along his ribs, using my finger like a stylus.
“So what now? You demand tribute? Bozad honor or whatever?” I was aiming for a joke, but I suspected it landed closer to we both know tomorrow is going to hurt like hell.
I didn’t want this to be the end. I wanted more—another night, another round, a slow reentry into something that felt as real as the blood thumping in my ears.
I sucked in a breath, steered out of the orbital decay of small talk, and went all in. “Izu… how long are you on station?”
There it was, out. Too open, too desperate, but I didn’t care. His face changed at the sound of his name—not the formal, full rank, just Izu, like we’d been at this for years. He ran a lazy thumb along my collarbone, eyes smoldering in the low light blinking from the far wall.
“Three station days,” he answered, and the way he said it, gentle but certain, made my skin prickle.
I curled in closer, pretended to chase the warmth, but really I was bracing myself for the comedown.
“Three days?” I could do a lot in three days. I wanted every last hour I could steal, if only to keep this feeling—this light, this flood, this crashing wave of not being alone—alive for even one more rotation. “You got plans for all that time for yourself, or you want to meet up again?”
It was the shakiest ask I’d made since sub-docking certification, but I didn’t pull back, not even when the silence stretched so long I wondered if Izu had gone into a torpor.
“I will stay with you,” he said, “if you allow it.”
I grinned into his chest, feeling the laughter bubble up and sparks fire along my limbs. “Tomorrow, I take you to the arboretum. It’s the ugliest patch of green in six spiral arms, but I think you’ll love it.”
He snorted, a soft rumble that made my ear vibrate. “I am not calibrated for planetary foliage,” he warned. “You will need to explain the purpose of each weed.”
I kissed his shoulder, tasting sweat and salt and the new blueprint of us together. “Deal. But you’re on picnic duty. Try not to serve anything that eats us back.”
That made him laugh, a low, seismic thrum, and I felt it all the way down. “It is a mutual date,” he said, like he’d just engineered a win-win scenario for galactic relations. “And you will wear your elevated attire.”