Chapter 13 Morning Negotiations
Morning Negotiations
Dominique
I wake wrapped in Wi’kar’s arms, his chest rising and falling beneath my cheek in the steady rhythm of deep sleep.
The luminescent patterns across his skin have faded to barely visible silver lines, but when I shift slightly, they pulse with renewed light—apparently even unconscious, his body responds to my proximity.
The thought makes me smile against his chest, a satisfied warmth spreading through me that has nothing to do with the thermal regulation of his alien physiology.
After last night, I understand exactly why those patterns exist. They’re not just biological markers—they’re a conversation in light, telling me everything his controlled voice never would.
When he claimed me, when he whispered “mine” against my throat with desperate possession, those patterns had blazed like captured starlight.
And they’d been answering the truth my own body was screaming: yours, always yours.
I trace one of the patterns with my fingertip, marveling at how the silver line brightens at my touch.
My body is deliciously sore in all the right places, evidence of Wi’kar’s thorough attention to my pleasure.
The man who can’t handle a wrinkle in his bedsheets had systematically dismantled every defense I had, using that alien precision to drive me to the edge of sanity before finally letting me fall.
Wi’kar stirs, his arms tightening around me instinctively before his eyes open. When he sees me watching him, the patterns at his temples flare with unmistakable warmth.
“Good morning, Agent Flexible,” I murmur, rising up to press a soft kiss to his jaw, enjoying the way his breathing catches at the contact.
The corner of his mouth curves—not quite a smile, but closer than I’ve ever seen from him. “Good morning... mate.”
The word sends warmth flooding through me that has nothing to do with the way his naked body feels against mine. He’s not hiding behind protocol or formal language anymore. He’s just... Wi’kar. Mine.
“How long until we reach Umbra-7?” I ask, settling more comfortably against his chest, deliberately letting my hand trail across the defined muscles of his abdomen. His breathing pattern changes, and I feel rather than see his pupils dilate in response.
“You’re doing that on purpose,” he observes, his voice carrying a roughness that wasn’t there before our night together.
“Doing what?” I ask innocently, letting my fingers trace the edge of where the sheets rest low on his hips.
“Testing your newfound knowledge of my... responsive areas,” he says, but his hand moves to cup the back of my neck, thumb stroking along my pulse point in a way that makes me shiver.
“AXIS?” Wi’kar calls softly, though his eyes never leave mine and his thumb continues its maddening caress.
“Good morning, lovebirds,” the AI responds with unmistakable satisfaction. “I trust the comprehensive stress management was... thorough? You’ve been offline for 8.3 hours, which is considerably longer than my previous 47-minute estimate.”
Heat rises in my cheeks, but Wi’kar just strokes my hair with calm acceptance. “Status report, AXIS.”
“We will reach Umbra-7 in approximately six hours. However, I must report a concern: our current fuel reserves are at 12%, insufficient for extended operations or emergency maneuvers. We will need to make an unscheduled stop for refueling before reaching our destination.”
I feel Wi’kar tense beneath me, his peaceful mood shifting to tactical alertness. Even in crisis mode, though, his hand continues its gentle stroking through my hair—a unconscious claim that makes something warm unfurl in my chest.
“Options?” he asks, but his free hand finds mine beneath the sheets, fingers intertwining.
“The Nexus Refueling Station near the edge of the Cressida Nebula offers the specialized fuel cells compatible with the Protocol Prime’s propulsion system. However, its proximity to Human Concord space presents... complications.”
Wi’kar’s hand stills in my hair. “Explain.”
“Station records indicate a Human Concord Royal vessel docked there approximately eighteen hours ago. Energy signature suggests it’s Prince Dante’s personal flagship, the Sovereign Right.”
My blood turns to ice, but Wi’kar’s arms immediately tighten around me in protective response. “He’s there. Waiting for us.”
“The probability is high,” AXIS confirms. “However, without refueling, our options are severely limited. Alternative fuel sources in this region are... insufficient for our vessel’s requirements.”
I sit up, the pleasant haze of the morning evaporating as reality crashes back in. Wi’kar’s hands follow my movement, steadying me, and I notice how even in crisis mode, his touch has changed—more possessive, more claiming than his previous careful restraint.
“So we’re trapped. Either we risk walking into Dante’s trap, or we run out of fuel and get picked up anyway.”
Wi’kar sits up as well, his mind clearly shifting into operational mode even as his hand continues to rest comfortably on my hip. “AXIS, detailed scan of the Nexus Station. Current vessels, security protocols, alternative approach vectors.”
I should be focusing on the tactical situation, but watching Wi’kar transition from lover to strategic commander is doing things to my nervous system that probably aren’t appropriate during a crisis briefing.
The way his muscles shift as he moves, the controlled precision of his gestures—I know exactly how all that contained power feels when it’s focused entirely on my pleasure.
“Scanning... The station maintains minimal security protocols typical of neutral territory. Current manifest shows seventeen vessels docked, including the Sovereign Right in the premium upper bay. I detect multiple approach vectors that could avoid direct exposure to the Concord vessel’s sensors.”
“What about supplies?” I ask, forcing myself to think practically despite the distraction of Wi’kar’s thumb stroking absent patterns on my hip bone. “My neural regenerator meds are running low, and if we’re going to be running from Dante indefinitely, we need more than just fuel.”
Wi’kar nods grimly, his tactical mind engaging fully even as his body language remains protectively oriented toward me.
“AXIS, compile a list of essential supplies available at Nexus Station. Medical supplies, non-perishable food stores, communication equipment. Cross-reference with vendors likely to accept discrete payment.”
“Compiling list... Several vendors meet your criteria. However, I must note that station records show increased Human Concord security presence. They appear to be conducting identity verification on all departing vessels.”
“They’re not just waiting,” I realize with sinking certainty. “They’re actively hunting. Checking every ship, every passenger.”
“Then we’ll need disguises,” Wi’kar decides with calm efficiency that somehow steadies my nerves. His hand moves from my hip to cup my face, thumb brushing across my cheekbone. “AXIS, access emergency diplomatic protocols. Authorization Wi’kar-delta-seven.”
“Authorization confirmed. Emergency identity protocols activated.”
I watch as Wi’kar rises from the bed with fluid grace, completely unselfconscious about his nudity as he moves to a concealed compartment I hadn’t noticed before.
The view gives me an excellent opportunity to admire the defined lines of his back, the way his muscles shift with each movement.
After last night, I know exactly how those muscles feel beneath my hands, how they tense when he’s fighting for control.
When he activates a hidden panel, it reveals an assortment of clothing, documentation, and small devices I don’t recognize.
“OOPS diplomatic couriers are occasionally required to operate under assumed identities,” he explains, pulling out garments that look nothing like his usual pristine uniform. The casual clothes transform him immediately—less formal authority, more working professional.
“Let me guess—you memorized all seventeen different cover identities during your first week on the job?”
“Twenty-three, actually.” He hands me a set of clothing designed to make me look like a mid-level technical contractor. “And I have maintained current documentation for each one.”
Despite everything, I laugh. “Of course you have. I’m starting to think your legendary attention to detail extends to everything you do.”
The way his eyes darken at my words, the slight intake of breath, tells me he’s remembering exactly how I discovered that particular truth. “Attention to detail ensures optimal outcomes,” he says, but his voice has gone rough around the edges.
“In all areas?” I ask, deliberately echoing my earlier words as I rise from the bed.
His luminescent patterns flare brighter, and I catch the way his gaze travels over my naked form with new appreciation. “Especially the areas that matter most,” he confirms, his voice dropping to that possessive tone that makes heat pool low in my belly.
“Focus, you two,” AXIS interrupts with amusement. “Save the mating displays for after we’ve successfully evaded Prince Dante’s forces.”
As we dress in our disguises, I’m hyperaware of Wi’kar’s every movement.
The way the work clothes stretch across his chest, emphasizing muscles I now know intimately.
How his hands move with that precise efficiency that drove me to distraction last night.
When he adjusts the collar of his engineer’s shirt, I remember exactly how those fingers felt mapping every sensitive spot on my body.
“You’re staring,” he observes, catching me watching him fasten his utility belt.
“Just admiring the... transformation,” I say, but my voice comes out breathier than intended. “Very convincing contractor.”
He steps closer, close enough that I can smell that clean, precise scent of his skin. “The disguise will be more effective if you can refrain from looking at me like you want to remove my clothing.”