Chapter 6 Freya
FREYA
The moment his lips brush mine, everything inside me combusts again—hotter this time, deeper, like he’s kissing oxygen into a fire I’ve been hiding my whole life.
His kiss is a claim. A declaration. He kisses me like the last second before war and I’m the only thing worth surviving for.
I fist my hands in the warm ridges of the bone crown along his collarbone, dragging my nails down the carved lines. His growl vibrates through my chest, through my ribs, through the points where his body cages mine.
His thigh wedges between mine, parting me open without effort. I gasp, clutching him harder. The pressure of him—everywhere, overwhelming—makes my heart beat too fast.
“You feel that?” he murmurs against the corner of my mouth, voice low and sharp as a blade made of heat.
I nod, barely breathing.
“That’s all for you, little thing.”
His hips roll, slow, deliberate, and his cock presses against my lower belly—huge, hot, pulsing with need. The hardness of him makes me tremble. I feel impossibly small under him, but not fragile—never fragile. He makes me feel like something rare. Something chosen.
His hand drags down my side, claws grazing lightly. Just enough to make me gasp, to paint little streaks of sensation that bloom into heat. They don’t break skin; they break something else—my restraint.
He pauses at my waist, fingers splayed wide.
“You are too small for me,” he rumbles.
“Then be careful,” I whisper.
His mouth curves into something violent and fond.
“I won’t be careful,” he says. His breath ghosts my lips. “I’ll be mine.”
He lifts me with one hand under my thigh like I weigh nothing. Instinct takes over—my legs wrap around his waist, my arms around his shoulders. Bone spurs graze my hips and sides, cold where his skin is searingly hot.
He jolts slightly when one spur snags gently on my thigh.
“You’re not hurt.”
He says it as a fact, a command, a promise.
“I’m not,” I breathe. “Don’t stop.”
His grip tightens. His chest swells with a ragged breath.
“You want this.”
“I need you,” I whisper, voice trembling. “Like this.”
Something inside him snaps.
He carries me to the bed—not thrown, not rushed. He lays me down like I’m a sacred relic. Like the fight outside these walls doesn’t matter. Like all that matters is this.
Is us.
He cages me with his arms, huge hands braced on either side of my head. The shadows thrown by his bone spurs stretch long across the walls. He looks like a god carved out of nightmares and devotion.
“Touch me,” I whisper, reaching for his jaw.
His eyes flare crimson.
“You’re not afraid?”
“I’m terrified,” I admit. “But I want you anyway.”
His breath shakes out of him. He lowers his body onto mine—slow, heavy, overwhelming. Every inch of him presses me into the mattress, heat sinking into my bones.
His claws ghost down my sides again, testing, mapping. I arch into him.
His mouth crashes onto mine.
Possession. Fire. A storm tearing me apart and stitching me back together at the same time.
My legs part wider around his hips. His knee nudges me open, forcing me to feel how ready I am—how wet, how wanting. His cock drags against the inside of my thigh, thick and hot, and I moan into his mouth.
“Mine,” he growls into my ear. “All of you. Mine.”
Then—
He moves lower.
Slowly. Torturously.
His lips drag along my jaw, then my throat, then down the center of my chest. His claws frame my ribcage as if he’s bracing himself against hunger he’s afraid to unleash.
He kisses the underside of one breast, then the other, tongue flicking the peak until I gasp his name.
“Vokar—”
“Say it again,” he murmurs against my skin. “Say me.”
“Vokar,” I breathe, trembling.
His growl shakes the bed.
“You fall apart so easily,” he whispers, breath hot against my sternum. “Perfect little thing.”
His mouth trails lower, worshipping. Devouring. The air changes around us—hotter, sharper, charged like ozone before lightning strikes.
When he reaches my pussy, I swear the air leaves my lungs entirely.
He spreads me open with two enormous fingers—gentle, impossibly careful—and stares like I’m something holy.
“So small,” he murmurs. “And you open for me.”
“Please,” I gasp. “Don’t tease. Please, Vokar—”
He bares his teeth in a grin that’s all hunger and pride.
“I like how you beg.”
Then he lowers his mouth.
His tongue is hot—so much hotter than any human’s—and the first long, slow lick up my pussy sends my hips flying off the bed. He growls and presses my hips down with one giant hand.
“Stay still for me,” he orders, voice vibrating against my skin. “Let me taste.”
He licks again—deep, thorough, claiming every part of me. His tongue flicks my clit, then circles it. I cry out, fingers digging into the bone spurs on his shoulders. He devours me like he’s starving, like my pleasure is oxygen.
“Vokar—gods—”
“That’s it,” he murmurs. “Let me hear you.”
He sucks my clit into his mouth and I break—shattering against his tongue. Light bursts behind my eyes. My body arches so hard his hand has to hold me down. I scream his name and he groans like the sound feeds him.
He doesn’t stop.
He licks me through every wave, every aftershock, until I’m shaking and breathless.
Then he rises over me again, towering, pupils blown wide.
“Freya…” His voice is ruined. “I need inside you. I need to feel you.”
My breath catches as he positions himself between my thighs. His cock is enormous—long, thick, ridged with subtle alien patterns that pulse with his heartbeat.
It should terrify me.
It does.
But that fear is swallowed by need.
“Let me,” I whisper. “I want you.”
He growls, the sound deep enough to rattle the bedframe.
“I will go slow,” he promises, voice trembling with restraint. “I will—”
“No,” I say, pulling him closer. “Don’t hold back.”
He stares at me like I’ve given him a weapon he’s sworn never to touch.
“You don’t know what you’re asking.”
“I know it’s you,” I whisper. “And I want you.”
That’s the moment he breaks.
Or the moment he becomes whole.
He lines himself up—and the first press of his cock against my pussy makes both of us moan. He’s too big. I’m too tight. But my body melts for him, soft and wet and aching to be filled.
He pushes slowly at first, watching my face, every muscle in his body tight with control.
I gasp, fingers gripping his forearms.
“More,” I whisper.
“Freya…”
“More.”
He sinks deeper, inch by inch, stretching me around him. The burn makes my breath stutter, but beneath it—pleasure. So much pleasure I shake with it.
When he finally bottoms out, his hips flush against mine, his entire body trembles above me.
“You take me,” he whispers, voice breaking. “You take all of me.”
I gasp, overwhelmed, full in a way that feels like revelation.
“Move,” I breathe. “Please—move.”
He pulls back a fraction, then thrusts forward, slow but deep. The friction steals the sound from my throat. His claws bite into the sheets beside my head, careful not to touch me too hard.
But the restraint kills him.
And I see it.
“Vokar,” I whisper, cupping his face. “I want you. All of you.”
His last thread of control snaps.
He slams his mouth to mine and thrusts—hard, deep, claiming. The bedframe groans. My breath tears in half. Pleasure explodes through me in brutal, beautiful shocks.
He fucks me like I belong to him.
He fucks me like he’s starving for me.
He fucks me like he’s been waiting his whole life to find something small and fierce and willing to break for him.
“Mine,” he snarls into my neck, thrusting harder. “Mine. Mine.”
Every stroke hits deeper than the last. My pussy tightens around him, slick and desperate, and he groans like he’s losing himself.
“Freya—little thing—gods—you’re so—” He breaks off with a snarl as my walls flutter around him. “Do that again.”
I do.
I squeeze around him, and he shudders, driving into me with raw, wild power. His skin burns. His breath is fire against my shoulder. His bone spurs frame my sides like a cage, like wings.
Pleasure builds again—too fast, too intense.
“I—I can’t—” I gasp.
“Yes,” he growls. “With me. Come with me.”
His hand drops between us, thumb pressing my clit in perfect rhythm with his thrusts. I scream—loud and helpless—and he bites down on my shoulder (careful, so careful even now) as he roars.
Heat floods me—pulse after pulse—and he collapses over me, bracing just enough not to crush me.
We shake together, shuddering, breath tangled, souls wrecked.
When I can finally breathe, he lifts his head and stares down at me with something fierce and soft and terrifyingly real.
“Freya,” he whispers. “Stay with me.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” I breathe.
He exhales like I just saved him from something.
His cock twitches inside me.
He grins.
“Again,” he growls.
And gods help me—
I want it.
I want him.
Forever.