Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
Lydia
Killan’s route back to the house is a lot longer than mine. His size means he can’t fit in a lot of the smaller cracks that I squeezed through, and he has to take long detours in completely wrong directions for hours at a time to end up back at the beginning.
Quickly, it becomes clear that he knows this place inside out.
He leads me from natural cave to natural cave, and while I try memorizing the route, I inevitably lose track of the twists and turns, mainly because the circle of light created by my stolen sconce is only about fifteen yards wide.
For the smaller caves, that’s manageable, but for the larger ones it’s impossible to see where we’ve come from and where we’re going at the same time.
The hike is filled with a building sense of anticipation, as if now that we’ve finally decided to have sex, all the weeks and months of arguing, of trying to avoid each other, of sleeping side by side without touching have crashed together in our very own recreation of the Big Bang.
The birth of the universe. Or, more accurately, the birth of my new life.
Sometimes I catch him looking at me, and he’s scowling, but it’s a I can’t believe this is happening scowl.
And then sometimes he catches me watching him, and I’m annoyed to say I’m probably giving him that exact same I can’t believe this is happening look.
So I suppose we’re being soppy idiots together. Which is kind of nice.
When we finally reach one of the farm caves, we’re practically running, my feet tripping over each other, the result of the strange combination of urgency and tiredness. We must’ve been walking for most of the day, having stopped only a few times to eat and drink.
Together, we toss my spare clothes on a drying table, hoping that will kill any bacteria that might’ve been enjoying damp fabric, and Killan sets the temperature to low so they won’t singe as they heat.
Then he dumps what little remaining food we’ve got on the workbench, with the intention of coming back for it another day.
I open my mouth to protest (the baker in me never wanting to abandon food, even temporarily).
But Killan wraps all four of his arms around me, lifting my feet off the ground and kissing me senseless.
For a guy who only recently learned about kissing, he’s getting depressingly good. “Depressingly” because I’ve already forgotten what I was about to scold him for, as I instead melt against his chest, my arms around his neck and my legs around his waist.
His bulge hardens, his cock pushing against the confines of his pocket. And I sink an inch lower, using my hold on Killan’s shoulders to leverage my movements. Even through my jeans, the texture of his scales is an aphrodisiac to my clit.
I rock against Killan’s bulge, massaging myself on his scales, but being careful not to press too hard.
I’m not a cock-pocket expert yet, and I don’t want to cause him any harm.
Killan doesn’t seem worried about that, though, because he flexes his hips, dry-humping me as he buries his face in my hair.
“Lydia,” he growls, deep and low, more animalist than I’ve heard him sound before. “Can’t wait.” He rests my ass on the edge of the drying table and sinks to his knees.
With a hand pressed to my stomach to keep me in place, he uses his other two hands to yank my jeans and panties down, only fumbling for a couple of seconds with the unfamiliar button and zip closure.
The cuffs get stuck on my shoes, but that doesn’t slow him.
He’s a man possessed as he ducks between my legs, resting the backs of my knees on his shoulders, my jeans dangling off my feet.
“Woah.” Unbalanced, I topple backwards, coming to rest on my elbows.
Before I can say anything else, he’s licking my thigh from my knee up to the crux of my legs.
“Killan!” His name is a scream as he buries his face in my pubic hair, nuzzling at my already damp folds. I can hear how wet I am. It might’ve been embarrassing if I had any ability left to care. Instead, all I can think about is how great this feels, and how much I want him.
How much I’ve been wanting him for weeks.
My dreams knew the truth.
And then all remaining thoughts flee as his tongue finds my clit.
I gasp, bucking against his face.
He growls again, in a way that the old me would’ve thought was him expressing frustration, when it’s now abundantly clear he’s half-wild with lust.
The fingers of two hands are digging into the chunky flesh of my thighs, and he still has a hand free, which he uses to more thoroughly part my folds for a closer inspection of my clit. He scowls, flashing his multiple rows of pointed teeth, reminding me of the predator he really is.
“This—” he says, licking my clit again, circling it with his tongue. “This is mine.”
Heat rolls off the table. Sweat prickles my skin.
I swear my eyes roll into the back of my head when he pushes a thick finger inside of me, and instinctively I clamp my knees together, tightening them around his neck.
He doesn’t stop me. I don’t think he’s noticed I’m practically strangling him. Or maybe he’s that much stronger than me that my legs digging into his throat aren’t worth worrying about.
Whatever the reason, he continues his exploration, his gaze focused, and a frown tugging at the corners of his mouth. His tongue is my new favorite body part, I decide, gasping as he uses it to trace circles, pumping his finger into me in small thrusts.
My climax roars through me, rushing along my veins, igniting my nerve endings. I think I scream Killan’s name. Or maybe that’s just what it sounds like inside my head.
I shudder, my arms losing their strength, and flop backwards onto the drying table, crushing my steaming clothes.
“Killan…” My legs are jelly, and when he ducks out from under my knees, I almost slide off the tablet completely.
Then he leans over to kiss me, and I taste myself on his lips.
It’s exactly the type of thrilling risk Lucas never would’ve attempted.
And it’s that thought which has me sitting up, a hand on Killan’s chest and another on the bulge of his cock.
I swear pre-cum is leaking out of his closed pocket, and he bucks against my touch, as though scolded.
“Can’t—” He grits his teeth and takes an unsteady step away from me. “Another touch and I will fall apart.”
“Really?” I yank up my pants. “I want to see that.”
He laughs, and it’s such a surprise that my eyes widen.
“I think that’s only the second time I’ve heard you laugh.”
“With you,” he said, taking my hand in his and leading me toward the forest cavern, “everything feels…better.”
Killan
I carry Lydia as I climb the ladder. She has her eyes closed and her forehead pressed to my shoulder.
She smells of sated lust, her endlessly silky skin damp with humidity.
There remains tension in her shoulders, in the way she holds her spine.
She is Lydia, after all. She is not going to stop overthinking everything because she has let me lick between her thighs.
My cock throbs with the memory of her taste. It is painfully hard, pressing against my slit, and I ignore it as best I can, even though it is determined to make climbing difficult. If Lydia notices my fumbling, she does not lift her head from my shoulder in reproach.
Finally, I clamber onto the metal grate that is the top-story walkway, and I am rushing into my kitchen with the faltering steps of a male who cannot believe his luck.
I stagger to a halt.
Fek. My kitchen table has been pushed over. Chairs have been tossed across the room, and the cupboard doors are open, the crockery inside smashed over the floor, and the robotic arm ripped free of its tracks, torn wires still sparking with stunted power.
“Killan.” Lydia pushes against my chest, forcing me to put her down. She looks between the mess of our kitchen and me, two hands covering her mouth. “Harlee and Roan wouldn’t have done this.”
“Roan.” I run down the passageway that joins our two houses and burst into his kitchen. It is trashed, too. His broadcast posters torn from the walls and shredded, the door leading to his and Harlee’s bedroom pulled off its hinges, their mattress slashed, and stuffing strewn over the floor.
“Fucking hell.” Lydia walks to Harlee’s side of the bed and picks through what remains of her trampled clothing. “Who did this?”
I grab Roan’s datapad. The screen is cracked, and it won’t bridge to any of our other tech, which means I cannot check the ground sensors for movement outside.
But it remains connected to InGal, and dozens of unread messages fill the screen.
Most are from his friends on the LOVE GALAXY Official Fan Chatroom.
Some are dated as late as yesterday morning.
The newest ones are from minutes ago, with SKYLANDER asking Roan if everything is alright.
I select a message from near the bottom of the list. It’s the only one from Sorin and is marked urgent. It opens to a thread of messages between my younger brothers.
SORIN:
Do you know why the Freighter has returned?
ROAN:
What do you mean?
SORIN:
Atakis has landed outside my cottage.
ROAN:
Ha. Maybe he is sick of Chloe already.
SORIN:
Did Killan say anything about him? His crew is disembarking. This does not feel right.
Fek. I am sending Briar to you.
ROAN:
I am coming.
SORIN:
No. Wait for Briar.
ROAN:
Sorin? What is happening? Are you there?
Sorin?
Sorin!
Panic churns in my stomach. I wrap an arm around Lydia, drawing her to my side. Her eyes are wide, and she is evidently waiting for me to speak. I remember then that she cannot read the Common Tongue, so she will not have understood Sorin and Roan’s messages.
“It is Atakis,” I tell her, keeping my voice low, despite there being no sign of his crew having remained inside.