TWENTY HUX
TWENTY
HUX
The door slammed shut behind them.
Hux had her pressed against the wall before the echo faded, his mouth on her throat, her fingers tearing at his shirt. Buttons scattered across the hardwood floor. She laughed—breathless, wild—and yanked the ruined fabric down his arms.
“You owe me a shirt, Garden Witch.”
“Add it to my tab.”
He growled against her skin. Lifted her, hands cupping her thighs, and she wrapped her legs around his waist with a flexibility that made his brain short-circuit.
Her back arched as he carried her toward the stairs, and the noise she made—halfway between a moan and a demand—nearly sent him to his knees.
“Bedroom.” She bit his ear.
He took the stairs two at a time.
The bedroom was small, lit only by starlight through the skylight. The bed was unmade, quilts tangled, and he dumped her onto the mattress without ceremony. She bounced once, laughing, then went silent as he stood over her and stripped off what remained of his clothes.
Her eyes tracked every movement. Darkened with want.
“Your turn.”
She sat up, reached for the hem of her shirt—and he stopped her.
“No.” Rough. Almost unrecognizable. “Let me.”
He knelt on the bed. Took the fabric in his hands and lifted it slowly, revealing inch after inch of brown skin, the soft curve of her stomach, the lace edge of her bra. She raised her arms, let him pull the shirt over her head, and he tossed it somewhere behind him without looking.
“Beautiful.” The word was inadequate. She was starlight made flesh, constellations mapped across her body in freckles and birthmarks. “How are you so damn beautiful?”
“Genetics and good lighting.” But her voice shook slightly. “Hux—”
He kissed her collarbone. Traced his tongue along the line of her shoulder. Found the clasp of her bra and undid it with hands that trembled, and when the fabric fell away—
Perfect. She was perfect. Full breasts tipped with dark nipples, rising and falling with her quickening breath. He cupped one in his palm, felt the way she arched into his touch, and primal satisfaction purred through him.
“You like that.”
“Don’t get smug.” But she was panting, her fingers digging into his shoulders. “Just because I—oh.”
He’d taken her nipple into his mouth. Sucked gently, then harder when she gasped. Her hips bucked against him, seeking friction, and he pressed her back down with one hand splayed across her stomach.
“Patience.”
“Screw patience.” She grabbed his hair and yanked his head up. “I’ve been patient. We’ve both been patient. I want you inside me now.”
The beast roared its approval. But Hux held on to his control by his fingernails—barely.
“When I get there,” he promised against her skin, “you’ll be ready. You’ll be so ready you can’t think about anything except how badly you need it.”
“I’m already—”
He slid his hand into her pants and found her slick and hot and dripping.
“Not yet.” His thumb found her clit, circled slowly, and her whole body shuddered. “Not quite yet.”
He stripped her remaining clothes with efficient hands. Tossed them aside and took a moment to just look—the long line of her legs, the curve of her hips, the dark curls at the apex of her thighs. She was sprawled across her bed like an offering, breathing hard, watching him with eyes that burned.
“Hux.” His name was a plea. “Please.”
He lowered himself between her thighs and put his mouth on her.
She cried out. Her hands flew to his head, fingers tangling in his short hair, holding him in place. He licked into her, tasting salt and honey, and the noises she made—desperate, incoherent, beautiful—drove him higher than any drug ever could.
“There—right there—don’t you dare stop—”
He didn’t stop. Pressed two fingers inside her while his tongue worked her clit, and felt the exact moment she shattered.
Her thighs clamped around his head. Her back bowed off the bed.
She screamed his name—actually screamed it—and he worked her through it, drawing out every last tremor until she collapsed, boneless and gasping.
“Holy—” She couldn’t finish the sentence. “What the—how did you—”
“I pay attention.” He crawled up her body, pausing to press kisses along the way. Her stomach. Her breasts. Her throat. “When something matters, I pay attention.”
“That’s—” She grabbed his face and kissed him, tasting herself on his lips. “That’s incredibly hot, actually.”
“I aim to please.”
She laughed—that wild, breathless sound that did things to him. Then her hand wrapped around his cock, and laughing became impossible.
“My turn.” Her grip tightened. Stroked. “Fair’s fair.”
He caught her wrist before she could drive him over the edge. “Later. Right now—”
“Inside me.” She spread her thighs wider, hooked one leg around his hip. “Now, Hux. I need you now.”
He lined himself up. Paused at her entrance, meeting her eyes.
“This changes things.”
“I know.”
“I can’t promise you a bond. Can’t promise anything except—”
“I know.” She cupped his face in her hands. “I’m choosing this anyway. I’m choosing you anyway.”
He pushed inside her.
They both groaned. She was tight and hot and perfect, her body adjusting to accommodate him, her nails raking down his back hard enough to leave marks. He forced himself to go slow—to savor every inch, every gasp, every expression that crossed her face.
“Move.” She bit his shoulder. “Damn it, Hux, move.”
He moved.
Slow at first, then faster as she urged him on with hands and hips and the filthy words she whispered against his throat. The bed creaked beneath them. The skylight framed stars that wheeled overhead, indifferent to the universe being remade between tangled sheets.
The beast was close to the surface now. He could feel it pressing against his skin, demanding more, demanding everything.
His vision sharpened. His senses heightened.
Every sound she made, every flutter of her pulse, every clench of her body around his—all of it fed the primal hunger building at the base of his spine.
“Hux—” She was close again. He could feel it in the way she tightened around him, the way her breath came in short, sharp gasps. “I’m going to—”
“Let go.” He drove deeper, harder. “I’ve got you. Let go.”
She shattered a second time, and the feel of her coming apart around him—the sound of his name on her lips, the way her whole body seized with pleasure—sent him tumbling after her.
He buried himself to the hilt and let the wave take him, spilling inside her with a groan that was half her name and half a primal sound.
For a long moment, they just breathed.
Then he rolled to the side, pulling her with him, and she curled against his chest like she’d always belonged there. Her fingers traced lazy patterns on his skin. His hand settled on the curve of her hip.
“That was—” She started.
“Yeah.” He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “It was.”
Silence settled over them. Comfortable. Right.
Later—minutes or hours, he’d lost track—she spoke again.
“I see death in the stars.”
Hux’s hand stilled on her hip. She didn’t move, her cheek still pressed against his chest, but awareness in her voice had shifted. Gone quiet. Vulnerable.
He pulled her closer. Didn’t speak. Just held her while she laid herself bare.
She shifted, propped herself up on one elbow to look at him. The starlight through the skylight painted her in shades of shadow and glow.
“What do you see when you look at me?”
Her hand pressed against his chest, over his heart.
“A blank space.” Her voice caught. “You’re the first person whose ending I can’t see.
I don’t know if that means you’re safe. I don’t know if it means I’m going to die here before you do.
All I know is that when I try to read your chart, your future—” She shook her head.
“There’s nothing. Just... possibility. Uncertainty. Life, maybe, instead of death.”
He caught her hand. Brought it to his lips. Kissed her palm, her wrist, the inside of her elbow.
“Either way,” he said against her skin, “I’m here. Whatever this is—whatever we’re building—I’m in. All the way.”
“Even without a bond?”
She was quiet for a long moment. Then she kissed him back—deeper, fiercer, with all the desperation of a woman who’d spent her whole life avoiding exactly this.
“Stay,” she whispered against his mouth. “Tonight. Tomorrow. As long as you want.”
“As long as you’ll have me.”
She smiled. It was the first real smile he’d seen from her—not deflection, not armor, just genuine happiness breaking through the walls she’d built.
“Then we might be here a while.”
He laughed. Rolled her beneath him. Found her mouth with his.
“I can live with that, Garden Witch.”
Outside, the stars wheeled toward dawn. The Convergence drew closer with every passing hour. The Hollow King stirred in its prison between realms.
But in the small cottage near the sleeping gardens, two people who had spent their lives feeling incomplete finally found completion.
And for now—for tonight—that was enough.