Chapter 12
- Callie -
I slide my hand down his forearm, slow and deliberate, feeling the dense muscle shift under my fingers. The reaction is immediate. Tension snaps through him like a rope pulled too tight.
“Callie…” he warns softly, not unkindly.
“I know,” I say. My heart is racing again, but this time it isn’t fear driving it.
He studies my face, searching with that relentless focus of his, as if he expects to find fractures beneath the surface. Doubt, panic, something he can protect me from.
There is none.
“I want you,” I say simply.
The breath leaves him in a long, uneven exhale, like he’s been holding it for far too long. For a moment, I think he might pull away. Instead, he leans in until his forehead rests against mine, grounding himself, grounding us.
“Once,” he says quietly. “If I touch you now, I will not be able to stop.”
I give him a little smile. “Then don’t stop.”
I lift my hand and lay it flat over his chest. His heart beats slow and powerful beneath my palm, a rhythm that feels steady enough to borrow. It vibrates up my arm and settles somewhere deep behind my ribs.
“I won’t,” he assures me.
“Mm.”
His eyes hold mine for one last heartbeat. Then restraint fractures.
He kisses me like a man who has been drowning and finally finds air.
It’s hungry and reverent all at once, frantic without being careless.
His mouth is hot against mine, his tongue tasting of salt and something faintly metallic, like the air after a storm breaks.
I moan into him without thinking, and the sound seems to go straight through his body—his grip tightens, lifting me until my thighs bracket his hips and my back presses against a rough beam.
The platform creaks beneath us, but he barely seems to notice.
I fumble with the leather cords at his waist, fingers clumsy with urgency. He helps me without breaking the kiss, hands steady where mine are not. The garment stays up, caught by whatever’s making that insistent bulge.
His skin is warm, almost fevered, the raised purple stripes like suede ridges beneath my exploring fingers. And I swear they glow in a pulsating rhythm.
When I trace one down his chest, he shudders hard enough that I feel it echo low in my belly.
Crat'ax pulls back just far enough to look at me. “Yes?”
“Yes,” I say, breathless. “Now.”
Relief flashes across his face—raw and unguarded—followed by something darker, barely contained. He lowers me slowly until my feet touch the planks again, as if giving me one last chance to step away.
I don’t.
I open my alien jumpsuit in a way I’ve never tried before, splitting it along both sides so the front falls forward and the back slips down behind me.
Cool night air washes over my skin, raising goosebumps, but his hands follow immediately.
They are large and warm, smoothing over every newly bared curve like he’s committing me to memory.
I stand almost naked before him in the moonlight, heart hammering, utterly exposed and somehow unafraid.
Crat'ax looks at me like I’m something sacred.
He sinks to one knee, bringing himself nearly eye level with me, and presses his forehead to my chest. His breath fans over my skin in warm gusts.
“You are so small,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “And yet you undo me.”
I thread my fingers into his unruly hair and tug gently. “Now I want to see you.”
He rises, towering again, and lets the loincloth fall.
For a moment, I forget how to breathe.
His body is alien in a way that feels intentional, almost artful—powerful, unmistakably made for sensation. Surprise flares through me, chased immediately by heat. He is more alien than I thought.
Between his powerful thighs, two cocks rise in stark, breathtaking contrast. The larger one is thick and ridged, dark with swirling bands of deep violet that I swear pulse faintly in time with his heartbeat, its surface textured with soft, spiraling ridges and a slight taper toward the blunt, flared head that glistens with a natural sheen of arousal.
Below it, the second cock is noticeably smaller, sleeker, almost velvety in appearance, striped with the same violet whorls. Its length curves gently upward and its tip is slightly broader and softer, clearly designed to nestle against sensitive flesh and stroke without overwhelming.
“That’s… a lot,” I manage.
“I will be careful,” he growls, and the promise in his voice makes my toes curl.
I reach for him, hesitant at first, then surer. He pulses against my palm, hot and alive, reacting to every movement like he’s wired directly to my touch. His breath stutters when I stroke upward, the response immediate and visceral. His stripes glow brighter in the dark.
“Ohh…”
I slide the alien panties down to my feet. “Show me.”
He takes his time with me, as if time itself has suddenly become generous. His eyes move over my body openly, without shame or hurry, lingering on curves and planes like he’s trying to understand how I’m shaped, how I exist.
His hands follow more hesitantly, broad palms warm as they slide over my shoulders, down my arms, across my ribs. Sometimes his touch is uncertain. His thumb brushes somewhere unexpected, his grip a little too careful. But even that makes me smile. Most of the time he gets it exactly right.
A slow pass of his fingers along my waist sends a ripple of sensation through me. The weight of his gaze on my breasts makes my skin prickle as if he’s touching me without contact. I shiver, delight curling low and warm, and the reaction only deepens his fascination.
“Marvellous,” he whispers. He looks awestruck, like the simple fact of my body has altered the world for him. Being seen like this, studied and treasured, makes me feel luminous, as if every place his attention rests comes alive under his hands.
He lifts me again, cradling me against his chest as if I weigh nothing, and carries me to the wide sleeping pallet by the wall. The furs are soft beneath me, smelling faintly of smoke and sea, grounding me even as my pulse races. He follows, bracing himself above me, forearms thick and steady.
I part my legs without thinking, thighs trembling as they fall open. The air between us feels charged, heavy with anticipation and the faint metallic-sweet scent that clings to his skin.
Crat'ax settles between them, the broad heat of his hips pressing mine down into the soft bedding. His larger cock nudges against my entrance, slick with his own arousal and the slickness he’s already coaxed from me with fingers and tongue.
The smaller one, softer and curved, brushes higher, the velvety tip grazing my clit in a way that makes my hips jerk before I can stop them.
He exhales roughly, the sound almost a growl. “Tell me if I hurt you.”
I nod, breathless. “I will. Just don’t stop.”
He presses forward.
The first real stretch is immediate and overwhelming.
The flared head breaches me, then the first thick inch, those spiraling ridges catching and dragging along every sensitive inner wall.
My body instinctively clenches, trying to adjust, and he freezes mid-motion, every muscle locked, violet eyes searching my face with raw intensity.
“Too much?” His voice is gravel and worry.
“No,” I gasp, even as my fingers dig into his shoulders. “No. Again. Please. Deeper.”
He hesitates only a second, then rocks forward again, slower this time, feeding me another inch.
The ridges roll inside me, each one a deliberate pulse of sensation, and I can feel the way my body flutters and grips around him, greedy despite the stretch.
A clumsy little thrust follows. Too eager, not quite angled right.
He slips half an inch back out before catching himself.
A low, frustrated sound rumbles in his chest.
“I want to feel all of you,” he rumbles.
I reach up, cupping the sharp line of his jaw, guiding his gaze back to mine. “Then take me. Messy is okay. Just take me.”
Hunger overtakes caution in his expression.
He surges forward again, harder this time, burying half his length in one long, steady push.
I arch with a sharp cry, the stretch blooming into bright, liquid heat.
The smaller cock slides along my clit as he seats himself deeper, its soft, broad tip nestling right against the swollen bud, rocking with every shallow thrust he can’t quite control yet.
“Darkest Deep…” His forehead drops to mine, breath ragged. “You’re so tight. So warm. I can feel every part of you gripping me.”
I can’t form words. I just wrap my legs around his waist, heels digging into the small of his back, urging him closer.
He starts to move. Short, uneven strokes at first, learning the rhythm of my body, learning how deep he can go before I gasp, how the angle changes when I tilt my hips.
Every time those ridges catch just right, pleasure spikes sharp and bright behind my eyes.
The smaller cock keeps stroking my clit in soft, slippery circles, never quite letting the pressure fade, building me higher even as the thick length inside me stretches me open again and again.
“Crat'ax…” His name breaks on a moan as he finds the perfect angle, grinding deep, the smaller cock pressing firm and steady against my clit now, rocking in time with his thrusts.
He lifts his head, eyes dark and shining, pupils blown wide. “Let go,” he rasps, voice wrecked. “I have you. I won’t let you fall.”
The coil inside me snaps.
The release hits like a shockwave, hard, sudden, merciless.
My whole body locks, then shatters, inner walls pulsing wildly around the thick ridges buried inside me.
I cry out, loud and broken, hips bucking as wave after wave rips through me.
The smaller cock keeps stroking through it, drawing the orgasm longer, brighter, until I’m trembling, gasping, tears prickling at the corners of my eyes from the intensity.
He stays with me, hips stuttering but never stopping, riding every clench and flutter until I’m boneless and shaking beneath him.
Only then does his own control fray. A guttural sound tears from his throat; his thrusts turn erratic, deep, possessive.
I feel him swell even thicker inside me, the violet stripes pulsing brighter, and then he’s coming with a roar, flooding me with heat that seems to go on and on.
We collapse together, slick and trembling, his weight a perfect anchor. His smaller cock still twitches softly against my oversensitive clit, sending tiny aftershocks through me every few seconds. Neither of us moves to pull away.
When he finally eases back enough to look at me, his voice is rough and wrecked. “Are you all right?”
I cup his face, thumb brushing his cheek. “Better than all right.”
He searches my eyes again, then kisses me softly, almost chastely, a sharp contrast to everything that came before.
“You’re still inside,” I murmur.
“I know.” A faint, crooked smile curves his mouth. “I find it doesn’t want to leave.”
I tighten my legs around him. “Then don’t.”
After a short while he does. He settles carefully, one arm beneath my shoulders, the other around my waist, and we stay like that. Joined, breathing, listening to the waves slap softly against the pilings.
The fear from earlier is gone. The constant worry is gone.
In its place is something steadier. Something chosen and warm.
Him.
And right now, that feels like enough to build something on.