Chapter 3
ALAINA
Ithink about him all night.
It’s embarrassing. I’ve got better things to do—sleep, for one.
I should be passed out, dead to the world with my feet propped up and a heat patch strapped to my lower back.
Instead, I’m staring at the cracked ceiling of my rented bunk, replaying every word, every glance, every breath that damn red-scaled bastard gave me.
Troka.
It even sounds like trouble.
It’s not like he said anything earth-shattering. He wasn’t sweet. He didn’t charm me with poetry or recite stardust sonnets. He just looked at me like I was made of weapons and wonder, and gods help me, I liked it.
That’s not normal. Not for me.
I’ve had flings. Quick ones. Forgettable. Usually drunk and usually regrettable.
But this…? This feels like the start of a wildfire.
I keep telling myself it was nothing. One conversation. Two drinks. A few smirks exchanged over a sticky bar top. But my skin still feels too tight. My chest’s too warm. And the memory of those golden eyes won’t leave me the hell alone.
So when I get called in for another shift the next night, I almost say no. Almost.
Instead, I pull on my uniform. I do my face just enough to look awake. And I leave the house with a pit in my stomach and a warning bell clanging in my chest.
The Docking Bay’s quieter tonight—but only just. Fewer cadets, maybe, but the tension still hangs thick in the air like smoke and cheap lube.
The regulars are grumbling in their corners, and the jukebox is stuck on a glitchy remix loop.
I nod at Jorla, who’s already mid-argument with a Kessari merchant about drink prices.
I move behind the bar, muscle memory taking over. My hands know what to do. But my brain? My brain’s stuck in the same damn loop.
Will he come back?
But then he does.
Troka walks in like a problem I asked the universe for when I was drunk on bad decisions and lonelier than I wanted to admit. Same uniform. Same smirk that’s more suggestion than smile.
Our eyes meet.
I pretend I don’t flinch. “You’re back,” I say, way too casual.
“You sound surprised.”
“I thought maybe you found a better bar.”
He shrugs. “I found a better bartender.”
Damn it.
I toss a towel onto the sink, throat suddenly dry. “Flattery’s cheap. What do you want?”
“You.”
My brain shorts out for half a second. “You want me.”
He nods. No hesitation. “Storage room. Ten minutes.”
I laugh. It sounds more like a bark. “You got some kind of nerve.”
He just waits.
Doesn’t push. Doesn’t plead. Just waits.
And that’s what does it.
Not the size, or the voice. Not the golden eyes or the promise of a body that looks like it was sculpted by planetary tectonics. It’s the stillness. The certainty.
He doesn’t try to convince me.
He knows I’m already halfway to saying yes.
I don’t remember walking there. One second I’m behind the bar. The next, I’m shoving open the door to the back storage room like I’ve lost my damn mind.
It smells like metal and dust and cold air recycled too many times. Shelves stacked with ration boxes and old tech spill shadows across the floor. It’s cramped and dim and absolutely the wrong place to make a mistake.
But there he is.
Waiting.
Troka steps in after me, shuts the door with a click that sounds way too final, and then we’re alone. Just him. Just me. Just a heartbeat stretching like a fault line under pressure.
He doesn’t touch me. Not right away.
His eyes drag over me like slow flame. “You sure?”
God, I hate how much I like that he asked. That pause, that ounce of control he hands me.
I nod.
He moves fast.
His mouth crushes into mine with a ferocity that short-circuits thought. His lips are rough, hot, devouring. One hand behind my neck, claws grazing my scalp, the other locking around my waist like he’s anchoring me to the moment.
I gasp. He groans, and the sound rumbles through my chest like thunder. His tongue brushes mine—slick, alien, demanding—and my knees buckle. I cling to the ridges of his armor, to the impossible heat of him, but it’s not enough.
I want skin. I want him.
His scales burn against me as he presses forward, and I feel every muscle under his uniform, every part of him that screams predator. Brash, brutal, male.
I break the kiss. Just for breath.
“Gods,” I pant.
“Say it again,” he growls, teeth brushing my throat as he licks down my skin.
“Cocky much?” I laugh, breathless.
He lifts me like I weigh nothing, my back slammed against the wall. The rough metal digs into my shoulders, but I don’t care. I wrap my legs around his waist, and holy hell, I feel him. Thick, hard, grinding against the heat between my thighs.
“This doesn’t mean anything,” I whisper, gripping his horns for leverage. My voice trembles—less conviction, more plea.
“Understood,” he growls, but his cock throbs against me through our clothes like it doesn’t agree.
He bites the edge of my jaw—not hard, just enough. Just enough to make me whimper.
I tear open the front of my shirt, fingers shaking. “You’re not allowed to be this hot,” I hiss.
He chuckles low. “Then take me apart.”
And I do.
I shove his armor open, tracing the lines between the red of his scales and the silver seams glowing faintly beneath. He’s all heat and muscle and war-torn hunger. My palms slide over his chest, down his abs, to the waistband of his pants.
He hisses when I slip my fingers inside. His cock pulses thick and alien and hot against my hand—ridged, scaled at the base, the tip slick with need. I stroke him slowly, watching his eyes darken to molten gold.
“You’re gonna wreck me,” I whisper.
He grins, flashing teeth. “I fucking hope so.”
I wriggle out of my pants, toss them aside. His claws rip the rest of my shirt in two. I should care. I don’t. His mouth finds my nipple—sharp teeth scraping, tongue flicking—and I arch into him, moaning.
“Tell me what you want,” he demands, voice low and raw.
“I want your cock inside me,” I say, staring straight into his burning eyes. “Now.”
He growls like a beast unleashed and lines himself up with my pussy, still pinning me against the wall. His cock pushes into me, inch by inch, stretching me wide around his impossible size. I cry out—not in pain, but in disbelief.
He fills me like no man ever could. Deep. Full. Claiming.
“Fuck,” I gasp. “You’re huge.”
“Too much?” he rasps.
“Not enough,” I growl.
He starts to move. Deep, hard thrusts that make me bounce against the wall. The sound of our bodies slapping together echoes off the walls, filthy and perfect. I dig my nails into his shoulders, feel every ridged thrust drag against every nerve inside me.
My pussy clenches around him, soaking, aching. He hits that spot over and over again, like he’s mapped it. Like he owns it.
“Yours,” I choke out before I can stop myself. “Fuck, Troka, I’m yours.”
He groans, mouth capturing mine again, bruising. “Say it again.”
“I’m yours,” I whisper against his lips. “You wrecked me.”
He pulls out just long enough to flip me around. Bends me over the table. My cheek hits cool metal, and then he’s behind me, sliding back into my dripping pussy with one brutal thrust.
I scream.
One of his claws drags up my spine—light, teasing—and I shudder. His other hand wraps around my waist, holding me steady as he fucks me hard and deep.
“Take it,” he snarls. “Take every inch.”
“I am,” I sob, wrecked and raw and loving every second. “Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”
He doesn’t.
He pounds into me, relentless, until my legs tremble. Until stars dance behind my eyes. Until I’m begging him without shame.
And when I finally shatter—back arched, nails clawing the table, pussy clenching tight around his cock—I scream his name like it’s a prayer.
He follows seconds later, snarling low as he comes, cock pulsing deep inside me.
We collapse together on the floor. Sweaty. Breathless. Still tangled.
Not naked. Not fully. But it feels like everything is stripped bare.
His scales are warm under my cheek. His heart beats slow and steady. I listen to it like it’s the only music left in the universe.
“You okay?” he asks, voice softer than I’ve ever heard.
I nod. “Yeah. I’m good.”
He brushes hair from my face. There’s something reverent in his touch that makes my throat tighten.
“This didn’t mean anything,” I repeat. Weak. Lying.
He says nothing.
Because we both know—this meant everything.