Chapter Three
Zara’s boots clicked against the docking bay’s polished floor, each step a tiny rebellion.
She shouldn’t be here. The thought looped through her mind like a ship’s warning klaxon, but her legs kept moving, drawn forward by something far stronger than military protocol.
Commander Zain walked half a pace ahead, his long stride unhurried, utterly confident.
The corridor stretched before them, lined with the soft glow of shipboard lighting, and every few seconds he’d glance back at her with those quicksilver eyes that made her stomach drop and soar simultaneously.
“Nervous?” His voice rolled through the narrow space like distant thunder.
“Terrified,” she admitted, surprised by her own honesty.
Zain stopped walking and turned to face her.
In the corridor’s intimate confines, he seemed even larger—his azure skin drinking in the low light, the curved horns sweeping back from his brow casting strange shadows on the bulkhead behind him.
He reached out and traced the line of her jaw with one long finger.
“Good. Fear means you understand what you’re risking. It means this matters.”
His touch left a trail of warmth that spread down her neck and pooled in her chest. Zara’s breath caught as his finger dipped lower, tracing the pulse point at her throat.
“I’ve never done anything like this,” she whispered.
“I know.” Zain’s lips curved. “That’s what makes it exquisite.”
He resumed walking, and she followed him past a series of identical hatches until they reached one marked with intricate Tylician script she couldn’t read.
He pressed his palm to a biometric pad, and the hatch hissed open, revealing quarters that were spartan but elegant—all clean lines and soft, indirect lighting that shifted from orange to deep violet as they stepped inside.
The hatch sealed behind them with a sound of finality. A soft pneumatic thump. Irreversible now.
Zara stood in the center of the room, her hands clasped in front of her like a cadet awaiting inspection. Her Bailiwick Defense Forces uniform suddenly felt stiff and ridiculous against her skin. Zain circled her slowly, his boots silent on the deck plating.
“You wear your uniform like armor,” he observed, stopping behind her. His breath stirred the fine hairs at her nape. “Do you think it protects you? From me?”
“It’s all I know,” she said, her voice smaller than she intended.
“Then let’s remove it.”
His fingers found the fastener of her uniform jacket, working it loose as if she was a delicate flower. The fabric parted, and cool ship’s air kissed the newly exposed skin of her collarbone. Zara shivered, though she wasn’t cold. Not remotely.
“A Tylician’s hands are more sensitive than human eyes,” Zain said near her ear, guiding the jacket down her shoulders. “Each scale contains thousands of nerve endings. When I touch you, I taste your skin’s texture, its temperature, its electricity. I can feel your heartbeat through my fingertips.”
The jacket dropped to the floor. His palms settled on her bare shoulders, and Zara’s knees nearly buckled at the sensation.
He wasn’t lying. His hands seemed to map every microscopic contour of her skin, radiating a heat that penetrated deeper than mere temperature.
She could feel the slight roughness of his scales—gemlike and smooth to the eye, but textured like the finest sandpaper to the touch.
“You’re trembling,” he said.
“You’re overwhelming.”
He held his head back and laughed. “I’ve barely begun.”
Zain’s hands slid down her arms, then around to her stomach, pulling her back against the hard plane of his body.
Through the thin fabric of his flight suit, she could feel every ridge and contour of his musculature—different from a human’s, denser somehow, with plates of what felt like natural armor beneath the skin.
His body temperature ran several degrees hotter than hers, and the heat seeped into her like a drug.
“I want to see all of you,” he said, his lips brushing the curve of her ear. “Every inch.”
Zara turned within the circle of his arms so she faced him. Her hands, which had been hanging uselessly at her sides, rose to his chest. The flight suit’s fabric was slick and temperature-reactive, warming under her palms.
“Not fair,” she managed, finding a sliver of her usual confidence. “I’m half undressed already.”
Zain’s silver eyes flared. “Then even the score.”
Her fingers found the closure of his suit—different from Bailiwick design, but intuitive enough.
A series of magnetic seals, each releasing with a soft click as she worked her way down his torso.
The fabric split, revealing azure skin stretched over a chest that was achingly beautiful.
The scales that dusted his cheekbones continued down his neck and across his pectorals in a diamond shape.
She pushed the suit off his shoulders, and the fabric slid away with a whisper.
His body was a revelation. The muscular architecture was familiar in broad strokes, but the details were uniquely Tylician—the way his ribs seemed to interlock beneath the skin, the faint bioluminescent lines that traced his sides like elegant circuitry, the way his abdomen tapered to a narrow waist that was almost serpentine.
“You’re beautiful,” Zara breathed, the words escaping before she could filter them.
Zain cupped her face in both hands and kissed her the way he had in the bar, but slower now.
More deliberate. His tongue swept past her lips, and the faint honey-spice taste of him flooded her senses.
Her hands found his waist, and the feel of his skin—hot and textured beneath her palms—made her moan into his mouth.
He walked her backward until her spine met the cool surface of a bulkhead, and the contrast of temperatures—his heat in front, the wall’s chill behind—drew a gasp from her throat.
Zain swallowed the sound, his kisses growing hungrier.
His hips pressed against hers, and she could feel him through his suit’s lower half, the unmistakable ridge of his arousal grinding into her belly.
“I need these off,” he growled against her mouth, tugging at the waistband of her uniform trousers.
Together they worked them down her legs, the fabric catching on her boots until she kicked them off impatiently. Her standard-issue undergarments followed, and then she was naked except for the dog tags that hung between her breasts, glinting in the violet light.
Zain stepped back. Just far enough to look at her. His silver eyes traveled the length of her body with a focus that made her feel like she was being savored. Zara resisted the urge to cover herself, though her skin prickled under his scrutiny.
“You have no idea,” he said slowly, “how extraordinary you are to me. Your species’ skin is so soft it’s almost frictionless.
Your curves are softer than anything on my world.
My entire planet is sharp edges and hard surfaces, and you…
” He reached out and traced the swell of her breast with one finger.
“You’re a landscape I want to explore for centuries. ”
His finger circled her nipple, which tightened instantly into a stiff peak.
The sensation was electric—his scale-textured fingertip against her sensitive flesh created a friction that was entirely new to her nervous system.
Not rough, exactly. More like a concentrated vibration, a micro-stimulation that made her nerves fire in ways she’d never experienced.
“Oh,” she gasped, her head falling back against the bulkhead.
Zain made a sound of appreciation and lowered his mouth to her other breast. His tongue was slightly textured—not harsh, but noticeably different from a human tongue, with a surface that seemed to have thousands of tiny taste buds arranged in delicate ridges.
When he laved it across her nipple, Zara’s vision whited out for a split second.
Her hands flew to his horns, gripping the smooth curves for stability. The horns were warm to the touch, not cold like she’d expected, and Zain groaned against her breast when her fingers closed around them.
“Sensitive?” she asked, breathless.
“Very.” His voice was strained. “Be gentle with me.”
The idea that she could affect him—that this powerful, predatory being was vulnerable to her touch—sent a surge of confidence through her. She tightened her grip experimentally, and his whole body shuddered. The bioluminescent lines along his sides flared brighter, pulsing once like a heartbeat.
Zain lifted his head, his silver eyes now darkened to the color of storm clouds. “You’re a quick learner.”
“I’m an officer. Adaptability is a core competency.”
His laugh was cut short as Zara used her grip on his horns to pull his mouth back to hers. The kiss was fiercer now, competitive almost, both of them testing and pushing. His hands slid down her sides, over her hips, and then one long finger was tracing through the slick heat between her thighs.
She was embarrassingly wet. She could hear it in the soft sounds his finger made as it explored her folds, circling and teasing but never quite touching where she wanted him most. Her hips bucked forward involuntarily, seeking more contact.
“Patience,” Zain breathed.
“No.”
“No?”
“I’ve been patient. I’ve been patient for years.” The words tumbled out, raw and unfiltered. “Following the rules and never stepping out of line. I came here because I’m done being patient.”
“Humm,” Zain said. He withdrew his hand from her and stripped off the remainder of his flight suit in one fluid motion.
Zara’s mouth went dry.
His arousal jutted from a nest of scales at the junction of his thighs—thick and long, with a shape that was similar enough to human to be recognizable but different enough to be thrillingly alien.
The shaft was the same azure as his skin, with a subtle ridged texture that spiraled from base to tip.
The head was slightly tapered, and a faint bioluminescent glow pulsed at the tip, matching the lines along his sides.