Page 50 of Alien Warlord's Fury
I laughed, the sound raw and broken. "I'm already hurt. I'm already broken. Nothing you do could make it worse."
I rocked against him, feeling the distinctive ridges of his arousal through our clothing. There was something different there. The thought of those differences sent a spike of heat through my core.
"I want this," I said, voice dropping lower. "I want you. Before we face Hammond. Before we might die."
"I want something that's mine to take."
His control slipped, just a fraction. His hands slid up my sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of my breasts through my thin shirt. His tail curled possessively around my ankle as our kiss deepened.
"You don't know what you're asking for."
"Then show me." I tugged at his belt, fingers working the unfamiliar fastenings. "Show me what I'm asking for."
The bond between us flared, carrying my desperation, my fear, my need across the connection. I felt his resistance wavering, the careful walls he'd built starting to crumble.
"You're still recovering," he tried one last time, even as his hips shifted upward against mine.
"I don't care." I finally loosened his belt, sliding my hand down to cup him through the fabric. The heat of him seared my palm.
"I need this. I need to feel something besides fear."
His breath caught as I stroked him, feeling the distinct shape of him. The ridges were more pronounced than I'd imagined, running along the underside of his shaft in a pattern that matched the lifelines on his skin.
"Claire." My name sounded different on his lips now – strained, desperate.
I leaned forward, bringing my mouth to his ear. "Break for me, Nirako. Just once, break."
Something in him snapped. His hands tangled in my hair, pulling my head back as his mouth crashed down on mine. The careful restraint was gone, replaced by raw hunger.
His tongue pushed past my lips, claiming me in a way his words never had.
I moaned into his mouth, victory and desire mingling in my blood. My fingers fumbled with the fastenings of his pants, desperate to feel him without barriers.
He stood suddenly, lifting me with him, then turning to press me against the wall of the chamber. The stone was cold against my back, a sharp contrast to the heat of his body against mine. His hands slid beneath my thighs, holding me up as if I weighed nothing.
"Is this what you want?" His voice was almost unrecognizable, rough with need. "Me, without control?"
"Yes." I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him closer. "God, yes."
His mouth moved to my neck, teeth scraping against sensitive skin. I tilted my head back, giving him better access. The markings along my throat flared where his lips touched them, sending sparks of pleasure down my spine.
I tugged at his clothing, needing to feel more of him. He shifted, allowing me to push his tunic up and over his head. The firelight played across his silver skin, highlighting the contours of muscle and the intricate patterns of his golden lifelines.
My hands explored the expanse of his chest, tracing each line, each scar. His body was a map of his life – battles fought, hunts completed, trials survived. So different from mine, yet somehow fitting against it perfectly.
His fingers found the hem of my shirt, pulling it upward. I raised my arms, letting him strip it away. The cool air of the chamber raised goosebumps across my skin.
Nirako's eyes darkened as he took in the sight of me. "You're beautiful," he murmured, one hand coming up to trace the path of a silver marking that curved beneath my breast.
"Don't go gentle on me now," I warned, reaching between us to continue working at the fastenings of his pants. "I didn't ask for beautiful."
His lips curved in a predatory smile that sent heat pooling between my legs. "No. You asked for this."
He captured my mouth again, the kiss deep and demanding. His hands moved to my waistband, unfastening my pants with far more dexterity than I'd managed with his. He pushed the fabric down, and I wriggled to help him, never breaking the kiss.
When his fingers found the heat between my thighs, I gasped against his mouth. He stroked me once, twice, his touch firm and deliberate. No hesitation now, no careful restraint.
"More," I demanded, arching into his touch.
