Chapter 27
Thatcher
I could not make myself release Ysa even when the captain ordered both of us to the med bay for a checkup.
It did not bother me in the slightest that this seemed to amuse the gladiators who had rescued Ysa from space, or the peanut gallery of recovering injured in the med bay.
Dravion did not even try to make me release my woman, so we didn’t have to find out how that would go over.
I was a little relieved, if I were honest, because I didn’t feel like fighting my crewmates right now.
I wanted to haul Ysa back to her quarters for very different things.
“Hey, Thatch,” Ysa whispered in my ear as she sat in my lap with her head nestled against my shoulder.
Her breath was warm and real against my skin, and it reassured me that she was safe and alive.
Against all odds, she had survived, and the very thing that had saved her was a laser cannon.
I still couldn’t believe that she’d fired one, but now I was glad she’d decided to take it onto the shuttle with her.
A weapon turned into a lifeline. Of course that’s the only way my Ysa would use such a thing.
“What is it?” I whispered against the crown of silky blue hair.
She tilted her head back and squinted, struggling to parse what I’d said, and I winced a little guiltily.
In my panic when I thought I was losing her, I’d been the one to harm her with my growl.
I was never growling again, because clearly my mate had much more sensitive ears than a human.
Dravion had already done a healing pass with his tissue regenerator, but they hadn’t fully recovered yet.
“There’s something I really want to do right now,” Ysa whispered, her eyes twinkling, her smile soft and sweet.
It was like I was looking at the Ysa from before the shadowy intruder again, the one who was always smiling because she was with her family and she was safe.
Ridding the ship of that evil had lifted her spirits, and I was so relieved to see that spark again.
The spark I’d slowly watched fade over the last couple of months.
My mouth twitched, my eyes clinging to hers, though I was still very much aware of all the eyes on us.
Aramon and his mate curled together on one of the cots, whispering as they watched.
Grunn and Ivo were parked by the door, arms crossed, staring like they wanted to take a pound of my flesh for putting Ysa in danger.
I might just let them later, because I deserved that.
Asmoded hunched low with Dravion as they discussed stuff, probably us.
None of that mattered when Ysa whispered in my ear.
“I really want to put my family mark on your chest right now, Thatch,” Ysa said.
“You should do that caveman thing from last time, haul me over your shoulder to my quarters… I’d like that.
” Her voice had turned sultry, and desire instantly surged through my veins.
How she could make such a proposal after all we’d been through today, how she could bounce back as fast as she did, I didn’t know.
But I respected the hell out of it. It even startled a laugh out of me—happiness, mirth—bubbling through my veins along with the lust that I couldn’t remember feeling in a long time.
“Ah, Ysa,” I sighed, still grinning, still warm in my chest. “Don’t you know I’d do anything for you?” And then I lifted her over my shoulder and, to the sound of catcalls and a few protests, jogged from med bay to obey the sweet order my mate had given.
There was zero resistance from Ysa’s adopted brothers, though; they just parted to let us through and whistled as we went.
Ysa waved and smiled, far less embarrassed about it this time than I’d discovered she’d been before—back when she’d done that sexy lassoing thing with her braid and declared me hers.
I got hard just thinking about it, so I tugged the long, silky rope from around her middle as I walked, then held it out to her.
She understood right away and flung the long braid around my neck. “Yes, Thatch. Stars, I love you.”
There might have been people we passed in the hallways, but if we did, I had no recollection of any of them.
I let myself into Ysa’s room and silenced her surprise by pulling her into my arms and kissing her senseless.
There was no room for talk, for regrets or declarations of devotion.
I let my actions speak for me as I backed her into the large pile of pillows in her living room area.
We went down in a tangle of limbs, though I made sure to take the brunt of the fall.
Then I got to work stripping her of armor and clothes until she was all silky blue skin and an endlessly long braid—her core open to me, her smile soft and happy.
I liked bossy Ysa very much, but I also liked this radiant, happy one.
She was relaxed, celebrating, and all that feeling seemed to echo within me, allowing me to feel it too—to discover that yes, we were safe.
She was safe. I set out to reassure myself of this by checking each inch of her skin anyway.
Slow strokes with my hands and tongue, her body writhing beneath me with soft sighs and moans.
She clawed at my shoulders with sharp nails when I reached her breasts and laved the dark blue tips.
“Thatch,” she growled, but it was all cute and kitten-like.
She wanted more and didn’t know how to ask.
I’d never leave her hanging, even if I delighted in having her right there, on that edge.
My smile felt wicked when I lifted my head and slid my hand down her stomach to that intriguing, pink-flushed entrance of hers.
The silky nubs that surrounded her core were very sensitive, and when I touched them, she jerked against the pillows, nearly bending in half from the force of sensation.
Her forehead struck my shoulder, her shout rang in my ears, and her wetness gushed over my fingers.
Ah fuck, that was so hot. My cock leaked, yearning to be inside of her.
Ysa mewled as she came down from her high, her eyes a little shiny, her mouth open in shock.
I grinned, feeling light and easy, steady, knowing I was right where I belonged.
Ysa wouldn’t be Ysa, though, if she didn’t flip the script on me.
That’s what I loved about her, and that’s why I only felt right when I was at her side.
She was a little unpredictable in the best way.
She was not strong enough to roll me, and she was not trained as a fighter either.
Somehow, though, she slipped out from beneath me; agile as a cat and slippery as an eel.
Her laughter was bright as she slipped from my grasp and pounced on my back.
We rolled across the pillows, and in a stroke of luck, she found herself on top.
I subsided, because damn if it wasn’t sexy to have her astride me.
I was wearing far too much armor to truly appreciate the moment.
With a growl, I began shedding what I could reach, determined to have her back in that position.
She could ride me; I had absolutely no objections.
When I’d kicked off my boots and peeled the armor from my legs, I was finally as naked as she was.
I stretched across the pillows and enjoyed the way her eyes lingered with admiration on my cock, and perhaps on the tattoos I’d covered myself with.
In another time, I’d been artistic that way, doing artwork for all my friends—before the Shadow Unit had consumed my life, before I’d lost all my friends in wars the UAR shouldn’t have fought.
Ysa straddled my hips, her wet core pressed against my naked cock.
I saw stars, sensation blinding me. “Fuck, you feel good. Do that again.” I grabbed her hips, my own surging up and pressing close, and dragged her along my shaft.
She moaned, her body wriggling, her breasts swaying beautifully.
Everything about her was pretty, from the sleek muscles beneath her soft azure skin to the little nicks and marks her life as an engineer had etched into her knuckles.
Then there was that endlessly long braid of hers, swaying over one shoulder, down between her breasts, over her thigh, and out of sight.
“Thatch,” Ysa groaned as my cock twitched against her, growing even harder.
She tried to rise on her knees above me, her hands pressing against my abs.
I wouldn’t let her; it felt too good to slide her against my shaft and feel her wet heat coat me.
She shuddered, but her hands shifted up, pressing against my chest, and pricked me with nails sharper than any human’s.
I savored that little bite of pain, groaning as I took it and rubbed against her.
“No, Thatch,” Ysa tried again, but not because she wanted me to stop.
She smelled too sweet, felt too slick and warm for that.
She laughed when I struggled to hold back, then just did it again, rubbing us together until she moaned and grew wetter.
Pleasure skated up my spine, made sweat bead along my skin, and I hadn’t even sunk into her yet.
“Thatcher, you bossy, stubborn male…” she said, but I was pretty sure she meant that as a compliment.
I slowly released one hand from her hip, giving her a look that said, see, I can listen.
She rose on her knees, then reached for my cock, her small hand curling around my shaft to lift it.
“Yes, fuck yes, ride me, Ysa. Let me see you take me into that tight, sweet body of yours.” She did, aligning my shaft with her sweet, pinkish opening, the beads gleaming slickly with her desire.
She pushed down slowly, but her body took me like it was made for it—heat grabbing hold of me and pulling me deep, so warm and soft but tight.
My heels dug into the pillows, my legs growing tense, and my hands clenched around her waist. I couldn’t hold back the impulse to guide her, force her down on me, my hips surging up to meet her and beginning to stroke in and out of her wetness, creating pleasure so right it made me forget how to speak.
She distracted me when her nails pricked deep into the skin above my heart.
Her other hand worked to loop her braid back around my neck.
I liked this habit; it felt like I belonged when she did it, as if she didn’t mind all my sharp edges.
When she pulled it tight, it was tighter than she’d pulled before.
I wasn’t worried—hell, it turned my blood to fire—but she definitely meant business.
I groaned, my hand finding hers to pull just a little more, and the pleasure spiked higher.
Ysa shuddered as if it pleasured her just as much, her muscles working around my cock until they squeezed so tight I had to fight to keep from coming.
The hand on her hip shifted just enough that I could flick a thumb over the small, flushed-pink bundles of nerves that surrounded her opening.
I felt her, felt her slickness and the way my cock spread her wide open.
Damn near came anyway, but I’d achieved what I wanted: she came screaming my name.
Her braid grew tighter around my neck, her nails digging deep into my skin.
It was too much. I came with a roar, bucking into her as my seed erupted.
Then, a soft blue light flared between us.
***
Ysathea
I was never going to get over what sex was like with Thatcher.
His human cock was thick, and those veins rubbed just right against my sensitive pearls.
I loved how bossy he was, too, and how focused on my pleasure at the same time.
He’d gotten me so carried away I hadn’t managed to explain a single thing about the mating ritual, about how I’d place my mark on his skin.
Now it was done, and I was a gooey, slightly confused mess sprawled on his wide chest, with his cock still lodged deep.
Our breathing was fast and in sync as we recovered.
“I meant to explain about the marking thing…” I started to apologize, perhaps explain, but Thatcher was completely unruffled by the situation.
Even when I discovered a rapidly healing red abrasion around his neck, he did not seem to care one bit.
All he had eyes for were the blue lines of my family mark emblazoned over his heart, where an empty space had remained in the artwork that covered him.
“You don’t,” Thatcher said, his arms curling more tightly around me and hugging me close.
“I love you, Ysa. I’d let you do anything, whatever you need.
I’ll wear this mark with great pride.” He rubbed the edge of it, which was slightly darker than the center.
His dark eyes were languid, pleased, so I swallowed any further protest and took in the mark myself, curling my head beneath his stubble-covered chin to get the best look. He was right; this was perfect.
“I love you too, Thatcher.” I was so glad Ivo and Grunn had convinced me to look past tradition and truly analyze what I was feeling.
So glad I’d seen the truth about Thatcher when he’d hauled me off to his empty cot.
Even happier that he was now my family, my anchor, and I was his.
“Ulinial mate for life, and I know you’re mine, Thatch.
It took a minute to see, but you were always meant to be mine. ”
“Good,” he said gruffly, so gruffly I knew he’d gotten swept up in some powerful emotions of his own.
My stoic, grumpy, snarly male was ruffled now, knowing how loved he was.
We had time; one day he’d believe it too.
I’d make sure to fill his days with warmth, with the soft things—like pillows and mementos—he’d forgotten how to have.
I smiled, my hand smoothing over the mark on his skin. I looked forward to it.