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The sensation is overwhelming—the vibrator in my pussy, the thickness of his cock in my ass, the feeling of being completely at his mercy. I can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t do anything but feel. And then he starts to move, his thrusts deep and deliberate, the ridges of his cock rubbing against the vibrator through the thin membrane of flesh separating them.

I’m gone. Lost in a haze of pleasure so intense it’s almost painful. He grabs my hips, holding me steady as he fucks me with a rhythm that’s both punishing and perfect. My body convulses around him, the vibrator pushing me over the edge again and again until I’m a trembling, sobbing mess.

When he finally cums, his cock pulsing inside me, he wraps his arms around me and pulls me close, his breath hot against my neck. “You’re mine,” he growls, his voice thick with possessiveness. “Now, and forever.”

I can’t respond—not with the gag in my mouth, and not because I would’ve argued anyway. I’m his. Always have been. Always will be.

Guvan’s hands move with a deliberate slowness as he unties the ropes binding me. The silk fibers slide against my skin, leaving faint red marks that he traces with his fingertips, his touch softer than I expect from a man—alien—of his size and strength. When he reaches the ball gag, he pauses, his red eyes locking onto mine. His clawed fingers brush my cheek as he eases it out of my mouth, the sensation making me shiver.

“You okay, Spitfire?” His voice is low, almost a growl, but there’s a tenderness there that catches me off guard.

I nod, my voice still shaky. “Better than okay.”

He leans in, his lips brushing mine in a kiss that’s both possessive and gentle. The contrast between the intensity of his eyes and the softness of his touch leaves me breathless. Before I can respond, he scoops me up like I weigh nothing, cradling me against his broad chest as he carries me to the bed. The silken sheets are cool against my skin as he lays me down, his movements careful, almost reverent.

He climbs in beside me, pulling me into his arms. His body is warm against mine, the smooth scales of his chest a familiar sensation now. I rest my head on his shoulder, listening to the steady rhythm of his hearts. The window is open, the sounds ofthe forest drifting in—birds chirping, leaves rustling, the distant rush of Mirror Lake. It’s peaceful, a stark contrast to the chaos of the last few hours.

“I love you,” he murmurs, his voice rumbling through my chest. “Every stubborn, impulsive, infuriating inch of you.”

I snort, tilting my head to look up at him. “You’ve got a funny way of showing it, you know. Ropes, gags, spankings—pretty sure that’s not how they teach it in the romance novels.”

He smirks, his sharp teeth glinting in the fading sunlight. “Romance novels don’t have Vakutans in them. Lucky for you, I’m the one-of-a-kind model.”

“Lucky me,” I mutter, but I’m smiling. I trace a finger along the scar that cuts across his face, feeling the roughness of it under my touch. “You’re stuck with me, you know. For better or worse.”

“Worse is more likely,” he shoots back, but his arms tighten around me. “But I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

I laugh, the sound soft and content. Then, after a moment, I let my curiosity get the better of me. “Do Vakutans have a concept of heaven?”

He tilts his head, considering. “Sort of. We believe in a similar place—a warrior’s paradise where the honored dead feast and fight for eternity. It’s not exactly fluffy clouds and harps.”

“Sounds like your kind of place,” I say, nudging him with my elbow. “But as far as I’m concerned, we’ve found heaven right here. Right now.”

He looks at me, his expression softening in a way that still surprises me. “You’re my heaven, Spitfire.”

His words send a warmth through me that I can’t explain, and I lean in, pressing my lips to his. The kiss starts slow, gentle, but it quickly deepens, his hands sliding down my back to pull me closer. I can feel the heat building between us, the earlier tension reigniting.

Before I can catch my breath, he’s pinning me down, his body trapping me against the mattress. His lips trail down my neck, his tongue flicking against my skin, and I arch into him, my hands tangling in his hair.

“You’re mine,” he growls, his voice full of that possessive edge. “Remember that.”

“Like I could forget,” I gasp, my body already humming with anticipation.

And then there’s no more talking, just the two of us, lost in each other as the sun sets over Mirror Lake, painting the sky in shades of gold and crimson. It’s messy, it’s raw, it’s perfect. And it’s ours.