Chapter Four #2
But he didn't stop there. His hands, still hooked beneath her knees, began to move—guiding her forward along his body, her center sliding from his mouth down his chest, leaving a glistening trail across his scales. The friction of those gemlike surfaces against her sensitized flesh made her gasp.
"Every inch," he repeated, his voice vibrating against her inner thigh. "I want you to mark me. Claim me the way I've claimed you."
The words unlocked something in her. Zara began to move on her own, grinding down against the hard planes of his chest, the ridges of his abdominal plating, the smooth heat of his scales.
Each surface offered a different texture, a different kind of friction, and she chased the sensations with an abandon that would have embarrassed her if she'd had the capacity for shame.
"Good," Zain breathed, his hands now on her hips, guiding but not controlling. "Take what you need."
She slid lower, positioning herself over his shaft.
The tapered head pressed against her entrance, and she sank down with a moan that seemed to come from somewhere primal.
The spiral ridges caught against her inner walls, still sensitive from her previous climaxes, and the dual sensations of fullness and texture made her pause halfway, trembling.
"More?" Zain's voice was strained.
"All of it."
She took him to the hilt, and both of them went still.
The bioluminescent lines along his sides flared brilliant white, and she could feel the corresponding pulse deep inside her, the ridges along his shaft beginning their rippling wave.
He was close—she could feel it in the tension of his body beneath her, the way his hands tightened on her hips, the rapid flutter of the pulse point at his throat.
"Not yet," she said, and the words felt like power. "My turn to explore."
She began to move, but slowly. Lifting herself until only the tip remained inside before sinking back down in a rhythm that was hers to control. Her hands braced on his chest, her fingers tracing his scales.
Zain's head fell back against the sleeping platform. The elegant column of his throat was exposed, the scales there smaller and more delicate than elsewhere on his body. Zara leaned forward and pressed her mouth to his pulse point, and the sound he made was almost wounded.
"Your lips," he managed. "Softer than anything on my world."
She kissed her way up his throat, across the sharp angle of his jaw, to the corner of his mouth.
Her hips never stopped moving, maintaining a slow rhythm as she explored his face the way he'd explored her body.
Her tongue traced the shell of his ear—a shape similar to human but with a point at the top—and his hips bucked beneath her.
"Sensitive?" she said, echoing his earlier question.
"More than you can imagine."
She filed that information away for future use and moved her attention to his horns.
Her fingers traced the smooth, warm curves from base to tip, and Zain's whole body shuddered.
The bioluminescence along his sides went from a steady glow to erratic flickering, and his shaft throbbed inside her with renewed intensity.
"Zara." Her name was a plea.
"Not yet," she repeated, and was rewarded with a growl of frustration that made her smile.
She tightened her grip on his horns and increased her pace, riding him with a rhythm that was no longer slow or teasing.
The spiral ridges caught against her inner walls with every stroke, and the pressure that had been building low in her belly began to spiral outward.
His hands on her hips urged her faster, harder, and she obliged, losing herself in the rhythm, in the heat, in the impossible reality of this moment.
The intercom chimed again.
Zara didn't stop. Couldn't stop.
"Commander Zain." The voice was different this time—Tylician, with the same subtle harmonics she'd noticed in Zain's speech. "The Bailiwick patrol has requested communication. They're scanning for unauthorized personnel. ETA four minutes until boarding window."
Zain's eyes met hers. The silver was nearly eclipsed by dilated pupils, and his expression was a war between duty and desire.
"We should—" she started.
"No."
He flipped them in a single motion, his body covering hers, his shaft never leaving her. The new angle drove him deeper, and Zara's objection transformed into a cry of pleasure that echoed off the cabin walls.
"Let them scan," he growled against her throat. "My vessel's shielding is Tylician technology. They won't detect you unless they board, and they won't board without authorization." His hips drove into her with renewed urgency. "Authorization that won't come in time."
“Are you sure?”
He lifted his head to meet her eyes. "Tell me you want me to stop, and I will. Tell me you want to leave, and I'll have you off this ship before the patrol finishes their initial scans."
Zara's breath caught. The offer was genuine—she could see it in his face, the way his hips had stilled, giving her space to choose.
The choice was simple.
"I want you to finish what we started."
His silver eyes flared.
He began to move again. The urgency was still there, but his thrusts were slower, deeper, each one seeming to reach a place inside her she hadn't known existed. His mouth found hers, and the kiss was less frantic than before—more communication than consumption.