Chapter 23 Lyra #2
His lips brush my ear, sending shivers of lust-sparked sensation throughout my entire body.
“And I’m going to finish it,” he promises.
He lifts me in one smooth motion and lays me out on the narrow bunk. He strips me fast, reverently, until I’m bare beneath him—and then strips his own clothes and kneels, no hesitation.
Without preamble, his mouth is on me—licking, tasting, worshipping—and I cry out, hips arching as pleasure crashes over me.
He licks up every moan, every gasp, like he’s devoted to learning the language of my body better than me.
He devours me like I’m the only thing that’s ever mattered.
His tongue moves with purpose, circling my clit, teasing, pressing just right, and when he adds his fingers—stars—it’s too good, it’s too much, and I come apart like starlight scattering in vacuum.
I tremble as he rises, his body above mine, cock hard and glistening, mating nodes pulsing and glowing faintly.
“I want to be inside you,” he whispers, forehead pressed to mine. “But I won’t knot you until you choose me. Not just with your body—with everything. And when you do, I’m going to fuck you like you deserve, and imprint your body with the kind of pleasure that unmakes worlds and angers the gods.”
I don’t say anything, because part of me wants to drag him down and beg for it. The other part—the part that’s still learning how to trust, how to hope—isn’t ready. Not yet.
And somehow, he understands.
So instead, I guide him down beside me. I kiss him slow and deep, and when I slide my mouth over his heated skin, kissing and licking his white-flickering synesfores, his sharp intake of breath is one of the most powerful aphrodisiacs imaginable.
I grip his shaft, stroking delicate fingertips across his throbbing mating notes, and his helpless groan shatters something in both of us.
With equal fervor, I take him into my mouth, past the first swollen ridge, letting my tongue trace every sensitive curve.
His hips jerk. His hands bury in my hair, gently, and I can tell he’s holding back—the tendons on his neck and veins on his arms pop with the effort of it.
I smile to myself, more than ready to show him why Velusians are made for pleasure.
Heat from his mating nodes warms my mouth, helping to ease my throat into taking him deep.
Saliva slicks the smooth skin of his cock and stars, the taste of him…
the earthy, saline flavor makes me almost as ravenous as his deep growls and soft whimpers.
Desire sends a fresh flood of arousal to my core, and I’m not going to deny myself the pleasure.
The moment Orion sees my other hand drifting between my legs to stroke my needy sex, he moans.
“Fuck, yes—please please please—oh stars please come again for me,” he whispers, his desperation spurring my need.
When I flip around and offer my pussy to his mouth, he utters a litany of words in Xylothian that I can’t understand, but can guess at their meaning.
He grabs my hips and buries his face in me.
The faster I bob up and down on his cock, the faster his tongue moves against my clit, and already a second orgasm is bearing down on me like an asteroid bent on impact.
But I don’t slow down until he gasps, “Lyra—fuck—you’re gonna—I’m gonna come!”
I hum around him, and he breaks, pumping his release down my throat. His pleasure unlocks my own, crashing through me with devastating intensity, and I almost don’t hear him gasping my name like a vow.
When he finally collapses beneath me, breathless and spent, I wriggle around and curl against his chest. The stars blur again through the viewport, like even the cosmos can’t decide what shape they’re supposed to take.
He brushes my hair back from my face.
“I won’t pretend I don’t want you to be mine, Lyra, but regardless of your decision, I’ll always be yours.”
I rest my hand on his chest, above his heart beating slow and steady. As constant as he is.
“…Orion?”
“Yeah?”
“…Ask.”
He stills.
I lift my gaze to his, heart pounding.
“Ask me to be yours.”
He cups my cheek, eyes burning. “Lyra Phoenix…will you be mine?”
I smile. “Already am.”
By the time we’re nearing Xylothia, Orion’s excitement is bubbling over at the thought of returning home.
He’s equally excited that we’ll be returning the Solar Mother idol to the Celestial Temple, and the whole rest of the trip back he’s made it his mission to let me know how grateful he is that I said we should do it.
Even with the tender skin on my sex, nipples, neck, and lips—the small bruises from his teeth and fingers, as it turns out, I really enjoy his gratitude.
As Ada pilots us down to the blue-green swirling mass of Xylothia, I stare out the window and try to see the planet through Orion’s eyes.
He comes to stand behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist and resting his chin on top of my head.
The synesfores on his arms pulse a deep green that I’ve come to recognize as contentment.
“I’m not sure what kind of state my campsite and my swamp buggy are in after the Void Stalkers trashed it, but I was thinking maybe when we’re done here, we could fly into the city. There’s a really great restaurant near my apartment that I think you’ll like,” he says.
“Ranger Asterth, are you asking me out on a date?” I tease, my grin stretching wide and absolutely shit-eating.
His chuckle vibrates through my back and he brushes his cheek against my hair.
“I am. And I don’t want to assume anything, but I happen to have a very large bathtub at my place. You’ve mentioned one or two or a thousand times how much you’ve longed for a relaxing bath.”
“A very large bathtub, huh?”
“Yep. I’m pretty sure we’d both fit,” he says softly, nipping at my ear and sending lust chasing through my veins.
“Is this date just a pretext so you can get me naked?” I laugh, turning to drape my arms around his neck.
“Stars, yes. Will it work?” he says, low and lush.
“Only one way to find out,” I reply, letting my hands wander over his broad, muscular chest and firm abs, circling around to squeeze his tight ass.
Now entering Xylothian atmosphere. Being seated and belted in is advisable for atmospheric reentry.
“Thanks a lot, Ada,” Orion mutters dourly.
You’re welcome. I’m happy to do the work of navigating and piloting a ship I wasn’t designed for while you two engage in extracurricular activities. Ada's as sarcastic as ever, but there’s no real venom in it.
The landing is a lot rougher this time than the last time I was here, but likely due to the fact that this borrowed cruiser is much smaller than the Aldrin-136 and we’ve apparently arrived at the beginning of monsoon season.
Thick clouds hang low over the jungle canopy, coating everything in warm mist that promises rain soon.
As soon as the cruiser stills, Orion squeezes my hand and opens up the doors.
The air on Xylothia hits like the breath of the Solar Mother herself—hot, damp, and heavy with green things growing.
I blink against the sharp brilliance of twin suns slicing across the atmosphere as we step into the clearing that surrounds the Celestial Temple.
It looks like some ancient beast half-buried in the jungle, ribs of obsidian stone jutting through a blanket of moss and vine.
Orion is already unstrapping the pack from the storage compartment, his movements confident and unhurried. The Solar Mother idol is tucked deep inside, swaddled in thick cloth, but even through the layers I swear I can feel its low, thrumming hum. It’s like a pulse…a heartbeat.
We don’t speak much as we make our way into the temple’s outer corridors—only the soft brush of our boots against cracked tile, the distant echo of a jungle bird’s cry, the sigh of leaves against stone.
Orion leads the way, his hand hovering just above the moss-lined walls as if greeting his ancestors.
The path has changed since I was last here, even though it’s only been a couple months.
Roots have widened fissures in the stone.
The banthus tree I climbed to save my own ass has sent a fresh tangle of shoots through the ceiling.
There’s a phantom ache in my side as if my body is remembering my fall last time, and I pay close attention to my steps this time around.
The interior of the temple smells like heat and time. Orion forges ahead, leading me through narrow passageways I was too hasty to miss before. They curve inward, drawing us past the inner courtyard and into a vast expanse of quiet that raises the hairs on my neck with a breath of familiarity.
The Chamber of the Early Sun is exactly as I remember—sanctified and still, the air so thick with reverence it practically buzzes. Light from the broken ceiling spears across the statue at the center, illuminating her outstretched arms. The priestess glows as if her own star lives inside her chest.
I feel Orion’s breath catch beside me. “She’s waiting.”
Together, we move toward her—careful to avoid the hollow ground I nearly fell through the first time. Orion steps onto the low crypt beside me, crouching down to unwrap the idol. He passes it to me with both hands, the look in his eyes solemn.
“Go on,” he says softly. “It should be you.”
The idol is warm against my palms, humming with the same power it always held. But this time, instead of greed or desperation, what pulses through me is…something close to awe. A fullness. A final note in a song I didn’t know I’d been humming.
I set it gently into the statue’s cupped hands and cross back to Orion’s open arms and waiting embrace.
A faint click echoes through the chamber, followed by a low tone—like the sound of a distant sigh carried on wind. Gold light seeps from the idol’s seams, spilling over the statue’s arms, swirling down to the floor. The whole room seems to exhale.
Then: silence.
And then—
“Beautiful, isn’t it?”
The voice crashes into the stillness like a fist—a brutal fist I know all too well. Orion jerks around, pushing me behind him instinctively.
Brill steps from the shadows between two pillars. His hair is slightly tangled, his rumpled coat hanging open, and in one hand he holds a plasma pistol. His eyes glow feral under the half-light of the chamber.
Shit. Shit fuck motherfucker.
“I have to admit, Lyra,” he drawls, stepping closer. “After all our years together, I didn’t peg you for a sentimental type.”
“Don’t flatter yourself,” I spit, heart pounding. Stars, why don’t I have a plasma pistol on me? “We’re just returning what doesn’t belong to us. Something you clearly don’t understand.”
“Oh, I understand plenty.” His smile is razor thin. “I understand that thing up there is worth more than your entire bloodline. And I understand that you just did all the hard work for me.”
He lifts the pistol. Orion shifts, blocking my body with his.
“I wouldn’t,” Orion growls, low and sharp. “This place isn’t just stone and statues. It’s protected. Sacred.”
Huh. That sounds…ominous.
“Protected by whom?” Brill scoffs. “You? The ghosts of your ancestors? Please. I’ll tell you what—why don’t you go meet them, and then let me know.”
He fires.
Orion tackles me, and the blast sears the air where my head was a second ago. We roll across the floor, the heat from the shot scalding close.
Brill advances, fast and brutal. Another shot, this time closer. Too close. The sound of it shatters against the temple walls, sending a flock of shrieking birds skyward from somewhere outside.
“Run!” Orion yells, and we dive in opposite directions. Brill swears, pivots toward me.
Perfect.
I scramble up the crypt, stumbling over slick moss.
“Hey, Brill!” I shout, standing right near the edge of the statue’s base.
“You know something? I hated every single second I had to spend with you. It probably would’ve made my life a lot easier if I’d just fucked you and been done with it, but the thought of touching you was so repellent, I spent fourteen years suffering every other kind of abuse instead.
Pretty pathetic, huh? A half-Velusian who was made for pleasure was so grossed out by you, torture was a more enticing option. ”
He seethes—his eyes burning with hatred. He charges.
Three steps.
Four.
I wait until the fifth, until he crosses the invisible line my memory burned into the backs of my eyelids.
The tile beneath him crumbles with a shuddering crack.
“No—!” he screams, hands scrambling for purchase. But there’s nothing. Only open air and ancient gravity. His scream echoes off the chamber walls as he disappears into the pit below, swallowed whole by the hollow floor presided over by the stone Xylothian priestess.
Silence returns.
My chest heaves. My pulse thunders.
Orion climbs up to me slowly, eyes scanning the hole, the idol, my face. He places one palm over my heart like he needs to feel it—like proof I’m still here.
“He’s gone,” I whisper. Tears prick behind my eyes, disbelief making my knees wobble.
“He is,” Orion confirms. His voice is rough, shaking.
We stand there in the hush of the temple, with the Solar Mother watching, the chamber pulsing with peace and old power. Outside, the jungle sings.
I let myself lean into him.
Not because I need to.
Because I want to.
Because I finally can.
Because this is the part they never tell you in the stories. It’s not about the fight. It’s not about the treasure.
It’s the quiet after.
The home you find.
The hand you hold.
The sun rising again.