Chapter 50
TROKA
Ilean against the wooden divider behind the altar hall, breathing like I just ran a sprint.
The smell of flowers—white lilies and soft orchids—warms the air.
The sound of the organ tuning, the distant rustle of guests settling, the hush of robes shifting.
My heart hammers so loud I’m sure everyone to my left can hear it.
I press my forehead to the divider, trying to still my pulse. On the other side: Alaina. Her dress makes the air crackle—silk and lace, soft folds, hope stitched into every seam. I imagine her breath, soft and excited. I imagine her eyes. I imagine her smile.
A small voice whispers through the partition. “Troka?”
I can’t speak. My throat’s dry. I clear it. “Alaina?” My voice is husky.
“Are you okay?” She breathes. I hear a tremor in her question, but also excitement.
I press my hand flat on the wood. “I’ve never been more terrified.”
She laughs, soft and trembling. “Me too.”
The hovercar hums around us, the city lights shrinking below, but I don’t care. My hand’s in his—warm, strong, massive—and that’s all that matters.
He glances over, golden eyes molten, and when I meet them, everything I’ve ever tried to bury about how I feel for him rushes to the surface like a dam cracked open. We’ve crossed a thousand battlefields. Buried people. Burned futures. But here? Now?
This is ours.
He leans in and kisses me. Slow. Soft. Fierce. Like a promise, like a homecoming.
By the time we reach the honeymoon cottage, I’m breathless. The place is warm, tucked into trees, lanterns glowing around the porch. The moment the hovercar doors slide open, he’s there—lifting me like I weigh nothing, bridal-style, his arms solid around me.
“Troka—” I laugh, startled, breathless.
“Mine now,” he growls, mouth brushing my ear.
Stars help me, that voice.
He kicks the door open and strides inside. The scent hits first—honeysilk and cedarwood. Then the soft lights, the low bed draped in woven blankets, the shadows flickering across the redwood walls. It’s everything I didn’t know I wanted.
He sets me down gently at the foot of the bed. My heart is thudding like it might break free.
“You nervous?” he asks, voice low.
“No.” I step in, sliding my hands up his chest. “Just ready.”
His gaze darkens. “Say it.”
“I want you.”
That’s all it takes.
His mouth crushes mine, and the air disappears. There’s nothing gentle in it now. He’s brash, greedy, taking everything I offer and demanding more.
His tongue slides against mine, hot and rough and perfect. His hands are on my waist, then my ass, then under the delicate fabric of the dress—his claws careful, reverent.
I fumble with the catches on his tunic, yanking it open to reveal the ridged, red-scaled chest beneath.
He’s gorgeous. Broad. Power made flesh. My hands slide over his skin—hot, ridged, smooth in some places, rough in others.
His scales glow faintly gold under the lamp light, as if the heat between us is lighting him up from the inside out.
“Off,” he snarls softly, tugging at the hem of my dress.
I raise my arms, and he lifts it up, slow—torturously slow—until it pools on the floor. His eyes devour me.
“Fuck,” he mutters. “You’re perfect.”
I flush. “You’ve seen me naked before.”
“Not like this. Not when you’re mine.”
He kneels, kisses the line of my stomach, then lower. His fingers hook into my panties and slide them down. When his mouth replaces his hand, I nearly fall.
“Troka—” I gasp, fingers tangling in his horns.
His tongue is hot, wide, devastating. He groans against me like my taste is a drug, and I arch into his mouth, hips bucking. His hands clamp down on my thighs, holding me in place while he licks me slow, then fast, until I’m trembling.
“Stars—don’t stop, don’t you dare—”
He doesn’t.
He drives me over the edge with a flick of his tongue and the growl that vibrates straight through my pussy. I come hard, grinding against his mouth, breath shattered, head falling back.
Before I can recover, he lifts me onto the bed, his eyes wild now. His cock—massive, ridged, pulsing—is freed from his pants with one flick of his claws.
I gape. “How the hell is that gonna fit?”
He smirks. “We’ll make it work.”
He stretches over me, one arm braced by my head, the other hand guiding himself to my entrance. He rubs the tip against my pussy, coating himself in my slick.
“You’re mine now,” he murmurs. “Forever.”
“Then take me,” I whisper, voice shaking.
He presses in, slow, careful. The stretch is unbelievable—almost too much. But I want it. I want all of him.
My breath hitches. “Troka—”
“I’ve got you,” he growls, pushing deeper. “You feel so fucking good. So tight. So wet.”
He seats himself fully inside me with a deep, grinding thrust, and I moan—loud, raw, helpless. His cock fills me, stretches me, claims every inch.
“Stars,” I gasp. “You’re—huge.”
He grins, eyes glowing. “You can take it. You’re strong. You’re mine.”
He starts to move.
Slow at first—deep, deliberate thrusts that make me cry out. Then faster, rougher, until the bed rocks under us and the sound of our bodies slapping together fills the room.
I wrap my legs around his waist, meeting every thrust, chasing the friction, the burn, the desperate need. My hands claw down his back, and he groans—low and primal.
“Say it,” he pants.
“What?”
“Say you’re mine.”
“I’m yours,” I gasp. “All of me.”
His mouth crashes into mine as he drives into me, harder, deeper. His cock hits places no one else ever touched. My body is fire, my mind a blur. There’s nothing but him—his heat, his weight, his voice in my ear, whispering, “I love you, Alaina.”
“I love you too,” I sob, pleasure cresting.
It crashes over me again, a second orgasm ripping through me like a supernova. My pussy clenches tight around him, milking him, and he snarls—loud, guttural, beautiful—as he comes inside me, cock twitching, warmth spilling deep.
We collapse, tangled, gasping.
His arms wrap around me, pulling me close. My head rests against his chest, listening to the slow, heavy beat of his heart.
“I never thought I’d get this,” he murmurs, voice hoarse. “You. A real future.”
“You have it now,” I say, pressing a kiss to his chest. “You have me.”
And when sleep finds us, it’s not in pieces. It’s whole.