Star Crossed

by Heather Guerre

  Lyra slid out of the bed and came to sit cross-legged in front of the glass. Asier shifted, and the mirth faded from his face.

  “What are you not telling me?” Lyra asked softly.

  His lips compressed into a hard line. He looked away from her. “I don’t want you to leave,” he said gruffly. There was more to it than that. There was something heavy weighing on him. The conflict played out in his eyes every time he looked at her.

  But the emotional revelation hit her like a brick. She bowed her head, blinking hard against the sudden stinging in her eyes. When she had a grip on herself, she looked back up at him.

  “Can’t we…couldn’t we still see each other? Somehow? Scaevens deal with Ravanoth, and Ravanoth deal with humans. Maybe we could…”

  She trailed off at his bleak expression.

  “It’s forbidden. And I am an Enforcer. It is my duty to carry out the law.”

  “There must be some way.”

  His expression grew intent. Gold irises ate up his eye, the pupils condensing to narrow black ellipses. “There is one way.”

  Lyra leaned forward. “What is it?”

  He blinked and looked away from her. “It would make you miserable. It would be my greatest joy. But you would have to give up everything. You could never return to humanity.”

  Lyra recoiled from him. “I have a sister,” she said softly. “She’s my only family—my whole family. I can’t abandon her.”

  Asier nodded, weary and tense.

  The thing he both feared and wanted more than anything else in the world teetered on the edge of possibility. If Lyra was pregnant—the very thought of it sent a powerful surge of emotion through him—then he would have no choice but to take her to his home planet, and keep her there.

  The Scaeven mating bond defied reason or principle. It was why the government didn’t enforce criminal penalties against Scaevens who bred human women. Get caught before conception, and face the revocation of intergalactic travel rights, the forfeiture of any property owned outside paternal inheritance, and up to ten solars in one of the outer rim penal colonies.

  But if the human was pregnant? At worst, the bureaucrat who processed your mate’s residency might scowl a bit.

  If Lyra was pregnant, Asier would take her away from everything. Her entire life would be left behind. Her friends, her career, her home. And the sister that she’d spoken of with such quiet love in her voice. He would tear her away from her family.

  He wouldn’t even hesitate.

  So he could only hope—an intellectual process, rather than an emotional one—that she was not pregnant. That he wouldn’t destroy her life in order to satisfy his own primitive desire. That he wouldn’t crush her happiness in service of his own.

  Chapter Eleven

  The medbay sounded a series of low tones when the quarantine lifted. The glass partition receded into the wall.

  Lyra sat frozen on the bed, staring wide-eyed at Asier. He stared back at her, just as uncertain.

  “So…” Lyra broke the silence. “What now?”

  He glanced at the computer. He briefly considered putting her back in quarantine until they docked at Manftigh Station, or until the bioscans confirmed pregnancy. If she was pregnant, confirmation could come at any second. Human conception could happen within the space of hours, but it could also take several Earth days after intercourse.

  They’d know for sure by the time they reached the station.

  “You are not locking me back in here,” Lyra’s arch objection broke into his thoughts.

  He looked up and found her darting out of the cell, and out of the medbay. Her bare feet made almost no sound against the deck. Her hand-fashioned gown rustled and shushed as she marched out.

  Asier got to his feet and followed her.

  “It would be safer for you,” he said.

  Even if he had mated to her, had impregnated her, he would likely never again know the pleasure of her body. He couldn’t risk the danger. What possible measures could they set up to ensure that he would be pulled off of her before she died of dehydration? There were none. Their mate-bond would have to be sexless.

  That was fine, he told himself. Not ideal. But if he could have Lyra beside him, while they raised the son she’d borne him, then he would count himself luckier than any creature had a right to be.

  He followed her down the passageway as she circled the ship, exploring. Her slender back was exposed, and the long lines of her arms. Her hair fell over her shoulders in shining, ethereal waves. The sash of her improvised gown belted tightly around the narrow nip of her waist.

  What perfect colors. What a perfect shape.

  His groin tightened again as he watched her. It was not the urgent, mindless rut that overcame him before. This was a leisurely, pleasant desire. As much as he wanted to satisfy it, to strip her out of that haphazard garment and watch her face as he thrust his cock inside of her, he was able to let it wash through him. It did not control him.

  He kept a careful distance. He didn’t want to catch her scent and ruin the unhurried desire.

  Lyra tugged at a hatch that wouldn’t open. “What’s behind this?” She asked, not looking at him.

  The only locked hatches were the unclaimed berths. “An empty berth. I can unseal it for you, so you have somewhere to sleep.”

  Her gaze flickered over to him—just for a second. But that second covered an entire conversation. Asier took a steadying breath. Lyra moved on, and he continued to follow.

  He watched as she pulled yet another hatch. This one opened, and she hesitated, peering into it for a long while. She glanced over at him, and there was something in her expression that mirrored the languid hum inside his body.

  “Is this your berth?” she asked.

  He’d been paying no attention to the ship itself. He’d only been watching her—the graceful sway of her hips, the long, slim line of her pale limbs, the shift of her fine, silky hair. He looked around, trying to orient himself.

  “Yes,” he answered after a moment.

  “Can I go in?”

  He nodded.

  She disappeared through the hatch, and he moved to the opening, watching her.

  His berth was sparsely furnished with only the essentials. Even so, Lyra looked around as if she were in a museum. She trailed her delicate fingers over the latches on his his closet. She peered out the porthole at the vast emptiness of space. She sat on his bed.

  His bed.

  Before he knew what he was doing, he stepped into the space. Lyra’s gaze lifted to his face. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips pink, her eyes bright.

  “Maybe…” she paused. The tip of her tongue slid over her bottom lip.

  Asier stepped closer. That languid want still coursed through him. It hadn’t come to that fever peak, that mind-controlling drive. He was still in control.

  She let out a little breath. “Maybe you should have locked me back up,” she whispered.

  Asier froze in place. He was still in control, but he wanted, so badly, to sit beside her. To feel the warmth of her soft skin against his.

  He decided to torment himself. He sat beside her on the bed. He felt her little body shiver, and then lean against him. Her hands were braced on the bed, stretched out behind her. His rested on his thighs.

  His skin tingled with the urge to reach out and touch her.

  Still in control.

  He was willing to torment himself, just a little more. Moving slowly, cautiously, he turned and reached out. Her unnaturally blue eyes tracked the movement of his hand. He cupped her cheek softly, gently.

  She closed her eyes, leaning into his touch.

  He stroked his thumb across her cheekbone. Then her jaw. Then the soft swell of her bottom lip.

  Her hand came up, fingers curling over the back of his. She turned and pressed her lips to his palm.

  A swell of desire rippled through him. He rolled his shoulders, stretched his neck. A smile snagged his mouth. How could he want her so ba
dly and still be in control?

  But he was. He wanted more than anything to be inside her, but he held back.

  “Asier,” she whispered his name.

  He turned his hand, caught hers, and brought it to his lips. Her little hand clenched in his grasp.

  “What if I didn’t kiss you?” she said breathlessly. “And what if you pulled out before you came?”

  He shook his head. “I won’t risk your safety again.”

  She twisted, leaning into him. She pressed her face into his chest. “But doesn’t it feel different this time?” She kissed him through the thin fabric of his shirt.

  It did feel different. He still held her hand in his. He could let her go if wanted to. But he didn’t want to.

  “Maybe now that we’ve had sex already, the biological impulses are less… urgent,” she said, voicing the same theory he’d been harboring. She rose onto her knees, bracing her free hand against his chest, and found the exposed skin of his throat with another kiss.

  “Lyra,” he said softly, deeply. Was he telling her to stop? Asking for more? Even he didn’t know.

  “Mmm… Asier.” She kissed his throat again and dragged her fingernails gently down the plane of his chest.

  He remained still beneath her touch, enjoying it—becoming hard—but perfectly capable of withholding his own want. He wanted to touch her, everywhere. He wanted to taste her, everywhere. He wanted to pull both their clothes off, press her down onto his bed, and thrust inside of her until he was certain she’d bear his son.

  At that last thought, his body tensed. Some of the calm control slipped, and an urgency hummed beneath his skin.

  “Lyra,” he said, this time a warning.

  But as he looked down, as he opened his mouth and spoke her name, her parted lips met his.

  “Oh!” She jerked back. “You moved. I didn’t—I was trying to kiss your jaw.”

  They stared at each other in suspended horror, waiting for the hammer blow of toxin and pheromone to send them both spiraling into slavish oblivion.

  But it didn’t.

  “I should put you in quarantine again,” Asier said raggedly.

  “Don’t.” Her gaze fixed on his mouth. “We’re still in control, Asier. I think… maybe we’ve built an immunity to it?”

  “I’ve never heard of such a thing,” Asier replied.

  But then again, he’d never experienced a sexual compulsion as strong as he had with Lyra, either. With females of other species, the desire and pleasure had been present, the hum of their pheromones a pleasant inebriation. His toxin had given them the same. But nothing he couldn’t walk away from.

  Lyra was different. The two of them together were different.

  He still had one of her hands clutched in his grip.

  “One more time,” Lyra said, leaning close. When he didn’t pull away, she closed the distance between them, kissing him again. His eyes closed as he savored the petal-soft touch of her lips, the heat of her skin, the press of her body against his. Her tongue swept between his fangs, and he opened wider to her, tasting her fully.

  They broke the kiss, breathing unevenly. Somewhere in there, Asier had wrapped his other arm around her back, holding her flush against him. Her free arm was looped around his neck, her other hand clasped in his.

  But as close as she was, with her scent filling his nose and her taste on his tongue, he was still in control of himself. He wanted her with every fiber of his being, but she was safe from him, if she wanted to be.

  She pulled her hand from his grasp so that she could wrap both her arms around his neck. She kissed him again, deeper, needier, hungrier. It was a soul-searing pleasure to kiss her, to want her, without the mindless oblivion. He felt her more keenly that he had before, tasted her more thoroughly, heard the soft sounds she made so much more acutely. Each little pant and moan slid over his skin like fingertips.

  In a moment between all-consuming kisses, Lyra gasped, “Can we try?” She nipped the muscle along the top of his shoulder. “Please. I want to feel you when I’m not out of my mind. I want to know what it’s really like to be with you. To have you inside of me.”

  Asier groaned. “It’s not safe.”

  Lyra pushed his shoulders. She was too small and weak to move him anywhere, but he fell onto his back anyway. Her lithe body clambered over his until her slender legs straddled his torso. She draped her slight weight over him. He felt her breasts press against his chest. Her mouth found his, and they resumed their slow, thorough kisses.

  The desire escalated. His blood raced through his veins. His skin burned where her body pressed to his. His cock was as hard as iron. And still, he was in control.

  His hands slid up to grasp her hips. She rocked against him—so far from where he wanted her to be, but still satisfying in its own right, seeing her use his body seek her own pleasure. The scent of her arousal reached him, mingling with the sweet scent of her skin and hair.

  Still in control.

  “Please, Asier.” Her lips moved against his. Her voice came out more breath than speech. “Let’s just try.”

  He wanted to—more than anything. He wanted to be inside of her when he was self-aware. He wanted to feel every inch of her, see her face while he thrust, hear her moans as he filled her as deeply as her body could take him.

  And he wanted to make sure she was his. He wanted to fuck her over and over—not because he was a slave to their biology, but because nothing in the universe was as good as Lyra.

  And a dark, guilty part of him knew it’d all but guarantee he’d get her with child, and make her his forever.

  He’d intended to be honorable. He’d meant to do the right thing, and tell her that it wouldn’t be safe and the risk was too great.

  But her soft body was sliding down his torso, and then the molten hot core between her thighs settled over his straining erection. He let out a choked breath as his hips bucked against her.

  “Are you sure?” he asked hoarsely, the closest he could come to doing right by her.

  In answer, she slid further down his legs so that her hands could find the fastener for his trousers. She slowly unzipped him. His cock sprang free, urgent and engorged. Her small, pale hands closed greedily around the thick base of his shaft, drawing another ragged groan from him.

  He looked down the length of his body, watching her. She leaned in close.

  “Lyra, what are you—” His words died into a helpless moan as she closed her lips over the very tip of him. Her tongue swept out, laving his sensitive flesh. His hips worked convulsively as she sucked him deeper into the hot, wet silk of her mouth. Her hands, gripping him tightly, slid up and down the length of his shaft as she sucked and licked the crown.

  He’d never made such noises. His back had never arched so fiercely. No lover had ever done such a thing for him—given such explosive pleasure while taking nothing in return.

  Asier lifted his head to watch her. Lyra kept her eyes on his as his cock filled her mouth. Her lips stretched over him, gripped him. Her hot mouth worked a rhythmic suction, pulling him closer and closer to—

  “Lyra—” he panted. “Lyra—I’m going to—”

  She lifted her head. “Come,” she told him, and returned her mouth to his cock.

  His head fell back and he exploded into climax. The pleasure was so acute, it bordered on pain. It seized his body and stretched him out. It pulsed through him like hammer blows. Lyra’s mouth and hands worked him until she’d drained every last drop from him. She gripped him tight and swallowed him down.

  When, at last, the punishing orgasm released its hold on him, Lyra released him with one last suckling tug. He sagged against the bed, gasping for air. He felt her teeth, with her meager little canines, nip the skin on his thigh. An echo of climax pulsed through him, making his cock jump.

  And then she was crawling over the bedding, coming to curl into his side, her head pillowed on his outstretched arm.

  “Are you—did the toxin…?” Asier asked, wh
en he could speak again.

  “I’m still me. Still here.”

  He turned, pulled her into his arms, kissed her deeply. He tasted himself on her, and he felt the powerful tension of her unrelieved sexual need. He stroked a big hand down her body, cupping her between her thighs. She moaned and pressed herself against his hand.

  “Let me taste you like that,” he growled against her lips.

  She twisted in his grasp, letting him take her legs and position her on the bed. He rucked her makeshift gown up until she was bare to him. He spread the soft pink petals of her flesh. They glistened with her arousal. Asier’d only just come, but he already felt the stirrings of another erection.

  Cupping his hands beneath her ass, he lifted her hips and bent down to taste her. His mouth closed over her slick, swollen mound, and he suckled as she’d done to him.

  Lyra let out a sharp cry and her hips rocked up, grinding herself against his mouth.

  His fangs pressed against her skin. He swept his tongue up the seam of her lips, parting her tender flesh and making her buck and cry again. He devoured her with sloppy, open-mouthed kisses, until he centered on the little crest that made her writhe and cry the hardest—laving it with his tongue, sucking with his mouth.

  Her thighs clamped over his ears, her ankles hooked together behind his shoulders. He shifted his hold so that her ass was balanced in his left hand, freeing his right hand. She was so slick and hot and swollen and desperate for him. But before he rammed his big cock into her again, he’d make her ready, stretch her gently, give her as much pleasure as possible.

  As he continued to suck and lick at her her parted flesh, he slid his index finger slowly into the hot clasp of her sex. Her hands fisted in the bedding as he pushed in deeper. Her inner muscles clenched on him.

  “Asier,” she panted his name. “Please, please! I’m going to—”

  “Not yet,” he growled. He slid his index finger back, joining his middle finger with it, and pressed into her entrance. She was so slick with arousal, he slid in easily. Her sex stretched around the new intrusion, muscles clenching harder, tighter.