His hands gripped her hips again, fingers biting into her flesh. And slowly, slowly, he pulled his hard length back out of her. Every sliding inch burned sparks of painful pleasure inside of her.
She shivered inside her skin. Her hips undulated, a slow, sinuous dance, all the way along the length of his cock. He drew back until only the tip of him remained inside of her. Her inner muscles rippled against the sudden emptiness.
With one swift, hard stroke, he plunged deep. His hips slammed against her ass, his sac against her clit. The force of his thrust slammed her forward. She let out a rasping, keening cry.
He drew back again, and she whimpered, hips swiveling, pussy clenching. He thrust deep again.
And again and again and again. Faster and harder and rougher, until he was pounding that giant cock so deep that she felt it in every part of her body. The force of each impact rippled through her, a throb of pleasurable agony.
His arms wrapped around her chest and he reared up, keeping her helplessly impaled as he sat back on his heels. Her back pressed against his chest. Her thighs straddled his lap and his hands returned to grasp her hips, working her body up and down his cock.
The shock of each collision buffeted her clit, again, again, again, until her body was no longer hers. The sharpest, steepest, most splintering orgasm she’d ever had stretched her limbs, arched her spine. She quivered and writhed, helpless to the rhythmic convulsions of her body. And as she fell apart into oblivion, still, that huge cock slammed into her, a mindless, animalistic possession.
Asier growled deep in his throat, thrusting harder, faster. Lyra was helpless, dazed. Her body was his to have, to control, to use. He wrapped his arms around her, pinning her arms to her sides. His hips thrust up, fucking her harder. Faster. He fucked her with the powerful, unrelenting slam of a machine.
And then he shoved his cock as deep as he could get, plowing into her with a brutal slam that made her head fall back, her her chest thrust up. He roared as he came. Jets of hot seed shot deep inside her, filling her, just as he’d promised. His seed overflowed the capacity of her body, leaking in slick pulses down her thighs.
Asier sagged, releasing his hold on her. She slumped forward, barely catching herself on her hands and knees. She slid limply off of his cock, jolting as his wide crown passed through the narrowest part of her tender core. She dropped to the floor on her belly, legs sprawled. Asier’s seed pooled beneath her as her inner muscles continued to flex and grip.
She panted for breath. Fire and ice chased over her skin.
The toxin was in all of his bodily fluids. He’d warned her. She felt it now, deep in her womb. The warm, languid feeling that had already taken over her body when they’d kissed, radiated from her core, intensifying. She trembled from the powerful grip it exerted on her. She was raw, wrung out, and still she wanted—needed—more.
She felt Asier’s big hand on her hip. He flipped her over onto her back as easily as turning a playing card. She stared up at him, dazed and pliant. He had his cock in hand, still hard, still ready. She let her thighs fall open. His golden eyes fell to the swollen pink folds of her pussy. He swiped a finger through her tender flesh, collecting the semen that dripped from her body. He leaned his big body over hers and pressed his finger to her lips.
She opened her mouth, tasting his seed mingled with her arousal, laving his finger with her tongue as if it were the head of his cock. When he pulled his finger away, she swallowed and licked her lips. A growl rumbled in his chest.
He leaned down and opened his mouth against hers. His fangs pressed into her lower lip as his tongue swept into her mouth. The toxin flooded into her system, blotting out thought. There was only his cock, and her need to be filled with it. She whimpered against his mouth, clutching at him, trying to wrap her legs around his big body.
He sat back, gripped her by the thighs, and pulled across the floor with a rough jerk. The head of his cock pressed against her clit. She keened, rocking her hips, trying to take him in. He braced himself above her, and thrust in. It felt as though she were being split apart—but she needed it, welcomed it, begged for it.
He took her this time in swift, shallow strokes, plunging fast. His hips angled so that the fat shaft of his cock pressed against her clit with each hot stroke. Her back arched and her toes pointed, legs spread wide as she shattered into orgasm.
He flipped her onto her stomach, and straddled her ass. The long reach of his cock found her swollen sex, pillowed between her thighs. She watched over her shoulder as he pumped deeper into her body, long, hard thrusts. His hips pinned hers to the floor. His golden eyes stared into hers, filled with a hungry ferocity.
He fisted one hand into her hair, pulling hard. When he came again, she felt the throb of his cock deep inside of her. She felt the force of his seed, filling her, overflowing her. It leaked around his cock and slicked her thighs, pooling beneath her.
He pulled out of her and picked her up, settling her astride his body so that she faced him. He pushed into her swollen, dripping pussy. She couldn’t get enough of his cock. She needed him deeper, harder faster. She braced her hands on his shoulders, and drove her weight down on him. He gripped her hips, working her harder and faster.
They came again and again. And still they couldn’t stop. Every time they kissed, every time he came in her, the need ratcheted higher, more desperately insatiable. She clawed and bit and clutched and writhed, trying to consume him in every way, have him as far inside her body as she could take him.
His seed filled and overflowed her body time and time again. She licked his cock clean and he came in her mouth. He bent her over and fucked her like an animal. He pushed her down, prone, and slid his big cock between her ass cheeks. He took her standing, holding her off the ground so that she was a helpless rag doll, arms and legs dangling as he rammed into her. He pinned her knees to her ears, and drove deep and hard. He lay back and bounced her on his cock. His seed dripped from her body, running down her thighs.
And still the mania drove them. It couldn’t be sated. They couldn’t stop.
He couldn’t touch enough of her, couldn’t taste enough, couldn’t thrust deep enough, hard enough, fast enough. She whimpered beneath the heavy crush of his body, the brutal collision of his lips on hers, the scrape of his fangs against her delicate skin. But she pressed back against him, her hips rolling with the tempo of his thrusts, the edges of her nails sinking hard into the iron resistance of his skin. She clutched him with all her strength, devoured him with lips and tongue and teeth.
And it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough. He could fuck her forever, into oblivion, and the desperate urgency would never abate, never be satisfied.
He took her in every way imaginable, filled her with his seed until it overflowed the slick, hot chalice of her body. Again and again, he charged into the ecstasy of climax, the primal victory of seeding her fertile body, only to be immediately consumed by unrelenting need, once again. Time did not exist in the grasp of her perfect body. Only one thing mattered, and it consumed them both.
On and on and on it went.
Until her little body did not press back against his. Until her arms clung only weakly. Until her eyes had drifted closed, but not from bliss. Asier lifted himself up, and her feeble grip failed. Her arms slid from his shoulders.
A sliver of awareness pierced through the unthinkable, animal haze of lust. He looked down at her still form.
Lyra was dying.
Chapter Ten
A bolt of fear shot through him. It did not dampen the consuming need to rut, but it gave him a second clarity. He pulled back, pulled out of Lyra’s body.
She remained still and quiet. She was covered in his bite marks. Deep punctures, crusted with blood, on her neck, her shoulders, her breasts, her back.
He’d been marked by her as well, but her teeth had only bruised him, leaving black half moons on his chest, his arms, his throat.
Her skin, once lustrous velvet, was taut and colorless.
Dark shadows ringed her eyes. Her lips were pale and dry. Her body was streaked with the dried remnants of his seed. Her thighs were still slick with it.
Despite the fear, the realization of what he’d done, the pheromonal trance was still upon him, still urging him back inside her body.
He fought through it. He knelt beside her and gathered her gingerly into his arms. Holding his breath, and moving with an unsteady gait, he carried her to the medbay.
The ship was small, with only one quarantine cell, but it would be enough. He laid her on the medical table, backed out of the cell, and blindly set the quarantine for the first timescale offered by the computer. A heavy glass partition slid down, sealing her inside. The cell was impenetrable, and would not open until the quarantine expired. It would keep him away from her. It would keep her safe.
He opened the trauma program and initiated the human physiological mapping.
Thank the seven moons he even had the programming for humans in his medbay. The vast majority of Scaeven ships did not. They should never need it. But in his work chasing down human traffickers, it’d seemed prudent to have it installed, just in case. The computer chirped and inside the cell, medbots emerged from bulkhead hatches on articulated arms.
Asier sagged, bracing himself wearily against the quarantine glass. Inside the cell, the medbots were checking her vitals, scanning for injuries, installing an IV to give her fluids and electrolytes.
The computer chirped at him.
PROGNOSIS: FAIR
Fucking hell. What had he done? He slid to the floor, clutching his head in his hands.
When she opened her eyes, Lyra found herself flat on her back, staring up at an empty black ceiling. A vent mounted into the overhead created a gentle, continuous updraft. On three sides, she was enclosed by black bulkheads. But to her left, a wall of thick glass. Where was Asier? And where was she?
She tried to sit up, only to find herself held down by soft bands strapped across her body. She reached to unfasten them, and found an IV in her arm.
What in the flying fuck?
And then she remembered, dimly, the unrelenting clutch of her body on his, the collision of flesh, the roll of hips, the taste of skin and sweat and…
Using one hand, she unfastened the straps. The surface she lay upon was a padded medical bed, single-wide, but obviously meant for bodies much larger than hers. She sat up slowly. There was no dizziness, no nausea, no pounding headache. Except for the IV in her arm, she could’ve believed she’d simply fallen asleep and been carried to a bed. But obviously, something had gone very wrong.
She turned towards the glass, looking into the white sterility of what could only be a medbay.
And there was Asier—on the ground, his back slumped against the glass of her enclosure. Instead of the tactical jacket she’d become so used to, he wore a plain black shirt, smoothly woven, with short sleeves, revealing massive, muscular, iron-skinned arms. His trousers were a darker gray than his skin, cuffed at the ankle over sturdy black work boots. His silver-bright hair was neatly plaited and tied at the back of his neck.
“Asier?”
He sat bolt upright, twisting to see her. When he saw she was awake, he surged to his feet. “Lyra? Are you alright?”
She nodded and slid off the bed, coming to the glass to look up into his stricken features. His golden eyes gleamed in an alarming way.
“Are your eyes glowing?” she asked, forgetting about everything else.
He blinked, and then blinked again. The glow dulled to where it could be mistaken for the reflection of the ship’s lights. “Probably,” he said. “Are you in pain?”
“I’m fine. You’re going to have to elaborate on the glowing thing.”
A smile pulled ever so faintly at the edge of his mouth, and then died away. “It’s an emotional response,” he said. “To pain. And grief.”
Lyra frowned up at him, worry and confusion combining to make her heart pound. He’d been driven to the Scaeven equivalent of tears? “Are you okay? What’s happening? Let me out of here.”
Outside the glass, a digital chirp sounded. Asier looked away from her, examining something she couldn’t see from her side of the glass.
“Your heart rate is increasing,” he said. “Are you certain you’re—”
“Asier!” Lyra pounded a fist on the glass. “Let me out of here right now and explain what the hell is going on!”
Asier hesitated, regarding her soberly. “I can’t let you out. You’re under quarantine. The ship won’t open your cell for another three zeitraums.”
Quarantine. A prickle of fear ran down her spine. “Why? How long have I been in here? Have I caught something?”
Asier pressed his palm against the glass as if he could reach through and touch her. “You’re healthy. You’ve been asleep for less than a single zeitraum.”
Then it’d be four zeitraums in total… she’d be under quarantine for nearly three Earth Standard days.
“I put you in there to keep you safe,” Asier continued, his voice becoming heavy. “From me.”
Lyra’s brow furrowed. “What—”
“I couldn’t stop, Lyra.” His other hand pressed to the glass. He stared down at her, his face a mask of agonized self-recrimination. “I almost killed you because I couldn’t control myself. I just… I couldn’t stop.”
She wanted to reach up and touch his cheek, smooth the haunted grimness from his face. She settled for pressing her palm to his giant one, with three inches of quarantine glass separating their skin. “We couldn’t stop, Asier. I couldn’t control myself either.”
“And yet I’m not the one who needed medical intervention.” His scorn was directed entirely at himself, but Lyra couldn’t help but feel ashamed of her delicate human fragility. He was indestructible compared to her. He was an iron monument and she was a wet napkin.
“What happens when the quarantine is up?”
Asier sighed. “There are two possibilities.”
Lyra raised her eyebrows expectantly.
“We’re still on course towards the merchant station on the edge of the human boundary. From there, you can board a Ravanoth vessel headed for human territory. It may be a patchwork journey, but you’d eventually make it to your home.”
He hesitated, watching her, as if waiting for something.
Lyra tilted her head. “And the other possibility?”
Asier’s eyes darkened, his expression flattened. “You may be pregnant.”
Lyra pulled back from the glass. “No, that’s not possible. I have an implant. It prevents conception.”
Asier said nothing, but she sensed an unpleasant rebuttal in his demeanor. He chose not to voice it. Instead, he said, “The ship runs regular bioscans. It will alert us if you are pregnant.”
She wouldn’t be. “How long to the merchant station?”
“Forty zeitraums.”
A little less than ten days. Not even ten days, and she’d part ways with him. She searched his face. His expression was carefully, brutally blank, but she sensed the emotional intensity behind the facade.
She let her own emotions creep into her voice. Hoarsely, she said, “I’m going to miss you, Asier.”
He closed his eyes. Inhaled deeply. When he opened them again, that soft gleam had returned.
Asier spent the remainder of her quarantine in the medbay with her, leaving only briefly to check on things in the control cabin, and to answer whatever natural calls Scaevens were subject to.
For Lyra, the cell provided clean water, and meals in the form of a nutritional gel that tasted like yeast, chitin, and saccharine. She had stomached worse in the form of military MREs, but it still took some discipline to get the nutritional gel down. After the water and the gel, there was a small lavatory attached to the cell.
Inside the lav were three identical hatches mounted beside each other on the surface of a wide bench. One opened to a shallow well filled with a dense green vapor, one revealed a closed metal aperture, and one op
ened to a roaring gust of air that exerted an alarming pull on her body. She’d slammed it shut, then emerged from the lav to have an embarrassing conversation with Asier in order figure out which object she was meant to eliminate into.
Tired of being naked, she’d ripped down the privacy drape from the lavatory—a lightweight, black material—and knotted it into a toga of sorts. She wasn’t embarrassed of her body, or too modest to flaunt it in front of Asier, but there was a certain discomfort that came with constant nudity. Without the drape, when she needed the lav, she sent Asier out of the medbay.
The quarantine cell was smaller than the control cabin—with just enough space for the large bed, and a gap between the bed and the glass where she would frequently pace. The vent overhead, though silent, was a constant presence in her mind. The gentle updraft it created fluttered her hair, tickled over her skin. It was probably part of a reverse airflow system. It’d pull disease-contaminated air out of the cell, and probably brought it towards the ship’s incinerator.
Without a work schedule, or the presence of other humans, or a simulated solar cycle, Lyra’s internal clock lost its timing. She slept at random intervals, for odd amounts of time. Every time she woke, Asier was there—sometimes watching her, sometimes staring at nothing, but always with a pained, contemplative expression.
Lyra woke from another restless catnap, with only one zeitraum left until the quarantine lifted. Asier’s long legs were stretched across the narrow medbay, his back propped against a row of cabinets. His moody golden gaze was fixed on her. He was so lost in his own thoughts that he didn’t even notice she was awake.
“Is there something you’re not telling me?” she demanded.
He jolted, and Lyra couldn’t help but laugh. The sight of such a big, fierce, invulnerable creature looking as startled as a poked cat was so unexpected.
For the first time in days, the grimness lifted from Asier’s expression, and he smiled at her. His fangs gleamed and his pupils dilated, making his eyes less sphinx-like.
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