When he finally moved over me, positioning himself between my thighs, I was already trembling with need. He entered me slowly, his eyes never leaving mine, the sensation of fullness making me gasp. In this position, face to face, I could watch every flicker of emotion cross his usually stoic features—the pleasure, the tenderness, the fierce protectiveness.
“I am yours,” he said, beginning to move within me with deliberate, measured strokes. “As you are mine.”
“Yes,” I breathed, wrapping my legs around his waist, drawing him deeper. “Always.”
Our bodies found a rhythm as natural as breathing, as inevitable as gravity. His tail curled around my thigh, adding another point of connection between us. I ran my hands over the powerful muscles of his back, feeling them flex and release with each thrust.
The pleasure built slowly, inexorably, like a wave gathering strength. But it wasn’t just physical—there was something else happening, something deeper. Each time our eyes met, each shared breath, each whispered endearment wove another strand in the bond between us.
When I finally crested, it was with his name on my lips—not a shout of ecstatic release, but a whisper of profound connection. He followed moments later, his face buried in the curve of my neck, his body shuddering against mine.
We lay entangled afterward, his weight partially supported on his forearms, his breath warm against my skin. Neither of us spoke. Neither of us needed to.
Eventually, reluctantly, he rolled to his side, drawing me against his chest. I traced patterns on his skin, memorizing the feel of him, storing away these sensations for the lonely nights ahead.
“I will miss you,” I said finally, the words inadequate but necessary.
“And I you.” His hand stroked my hair, gentle despite the deadly claws that tipped each finger. “But this separation is temporary. What we have built is not.”
I nodded against his chest, letting his heartbeat soothe me. We stayed that way for hours, sometimes talking softly about what would come next, sometimes simply being together in comfortable silence. But dawn approached with cruel inevitability, and eventually, he rose to dress.
I watched him don his armor piece by piece, transforming from my lover back into a Legion Reaper—powerful, dangerous, duty-bound. With one last look, he came to stand in front of me.
“I will return,” he said simply. As if repeating this phrase was a mantra he needed to speak.
“I know. I have all the comms equipment and other things.” I rose on tiptoe and kissed him. “Just try not to bring jungle vines with you next time.”
“Phil will miss you.”
I laughed, blinking fast against the sudden sting of tears. “Yeah...I’ll miss him too.”
He pulled me into one last embrace, his cheek brushing against my hair. I memorized the weight of him, the warmth, the way his purr rumbled right through my chest.
Then he was gone.
And all I could do was wait—and believe that this was real.
16 /LOR
Twenty-three days without Miri,and every fiber of my being protested the separation. The new outpost gleamed with Legion efficiency—polished metal walls, advanced security systems, perfect climate control—yet felt hollow without her scent filling its spaces. I paced the perimeter for the seventh time that morning, my claws clicking against the composite flooring as I fought the primal urge to tear through the rift gate and reclaim what was mine.
“She didn’t reject you,” I reminded myself again, the words a mantra that had worn thin with repetition. “We agreed to part and return to each other.”
My tail lashed behind me, betraying the emotions I worked to contain. The bond between us had strengthened despite the distance—or perhaps because of it. At night, I dreamt of her laugh, the way her eyes crinkled at the corners when she teased me, the soft warmth of her skin against mine. I woke each morning with phantom sensations of her body pressed against me, only to find my arms empty.
Phil slithered through the open door, his vine-body undulating with what I recognized as disapproval. He’d insisted on accompanying me from the heart of his jungle to this newoutpost, appointed himself my personal conscience in Miri’s absence. The vine coiled around a support beam, leaves rustling in what sounded suspiciously like a sigh.
“I am not being dramatic,” I growled, answering the unspoken criticism.
Phil extended a tendril toward the wall, where my claws had left four perfect grooves in the metal during yesterday’s bout of restlessness.
“That was an accident.” I flexed my hands, forcing the claws to retract fully. “The separation is more difficult than anticipated.”
The vine curled tighter around the beam, leaves shivering in a pattern that translated roughly to:
You’re being ridiculous. She’s safe. She’s waiting. She’s yours.
“I am aware,” I muttered, resuming my pacing.
