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I nod, still catching my breath. "Yeah."

I pull her close, my hands cradling her face as I lower myself over her. She looks up at me, her eyes soft but charged with something unspoken. I can feel the heat between us, a magnetic pull that’s impossible to ignore. My mouth meets hers, slower now, deeper, like I’m trying to breathe her in.

Her arms wrap around my waist, her fingers tracing the small of my back. I shift my weight, settling against her, the friction sending a shiver through both of us. She arches slightly, her legs parting, and I slide my hand down, my fingers brushing against her slit. She’s ready, wet, and trembling under my touch.

“Vanessa,” I murmur, my voice low, rough. “Look at me.” Her eyes flicker open, locked on mine. I push my cock in her slowly, deliberately. She exhales sharply, her hands gripping my arms, her nails digging in.

The room fades out except for the two of us. Her breath catches, hiccupping, as I move, steady, unrelenting. Her eyes never leave mine, even when they start to gloss over, even when her lips part on a soundless cry.

I feel her tighten around me, her body coiling like a spring. She gasps, her head tilting back, and I follow her, my mouth tracing her neck, my teeth grazing her skin. She comes with a sharp, exquisite shudder, her hands clawing at me, pulling me closer. I let go then, letting the wave take me, my release blinding, earth-shattering.

I collapse next to her, the only sound the rapid beat of our hearts. Her fingers drift through my hair, tentative, gentle. I bury my face in her shoulder, her scent flooding my senses. The world outside doesn’t matter. Nothing matters but this—her, me, the way we fit together like pieces of a puzzle.

And in this moment, I know I’m in trouble.

CHAPTER14

JACK

Isit at my desk, staring at the glowing screen before me. My research notes are a mess - scattered between actual anthropological observations and increasingly personal reflections about Vanessa. Instead of analyzing human mating patterns, I find myself typing "how to know when you love someone" into the search bar.

The results flood my screen. Racing heart. Constant thoughts. Physical reactions to their presence. Desire to make them happy. I close my eyes, remembering how my skin tingles when she touches me, how my chest tightens when she laughs.

"This is compromising the mission," I mutter, running a hand through my hair. But the words feel hollow now. The mission seems less important with each passing day, each moment spent with her.

I pull up my research logs, trying to focus. The cursor blinks accusingly at me. I should be documenting our interactions clinically, noting patterns and behaviors. Instead, I'm remembering the way she curled into me afterward, her breath evening out against my chest.

My communicator chirps - another warning from my superiors. I ignore it. They don't understand. They can't understand how she's different, how she makes me question everything I thought I knew about humans. About myself.

I open a new document and start typing:

"Subject shows remarkable capacity for emotional depth while maintaining strong boundaries. Intelligence manifests in subtle ways. Approach to life demonstrates..."

I delete it all. I can't pretend anymore. Can't reduce her to data points and observations. She's Vanessa. She's the way she rolls her eyes at bad jokes but laughs anyway. She's the slight tremor in her hands when she's nervous but trying not to show it. She's the fierce pride when she talks about making it on her own.

For the first time in my career, I don't know how to document what I'm experiencing. How do you quantify the way your world shifts when someone walks into a room?

I pace my apartment, the weight of my secret pressing down on me. My true form itches beneath this human disguise. Each time I'm with Vanessa, the urge to show her who I really am grows stronger.

"Hey, by the way, I'm actually a Vakutan warrior studying human behavior," I practice saying to my reflection. The words sound ridiculous even to me. But keeping this from her feels worse with each passing day.

I sink into my couch, running through our last encounter. The way she trusted me, opened up to me. The vulnerability in her eyes when she talked about her fears. And here I am, hiding the most fundamental truth about myself.

My communicator beeps again. Another message from command, probably. I ignore it. They'd tell me to terminate the relationship, stick to the mission parameters. But they don't understand what I've found here. What she means to me.

I pull out my research tablet, scrolling through articles about human relationships. Trust. Honesty. Communication. Everything I read tells me relationships built on lies eventually crumble. But would knowing the truth hurt her more?

The memory of her laugh echoes in my mind, the way she teases me about being "like an alien sometimes." If she only knew how right she was. Would she run? Would she think everything between us was fake?

"It wasn't fake," I whisper to my empty apartment. "None of it was fake."

My fingers trace the edge of my tablet, where I've stored countless observations about human behavior. But Vanessa isn't just another data point anymore. She deserves to know who she's really with, what she's really feeling when she touches me.

The thought of losing her makes my chest tight. But the thought of continuing to deceive her feels even worse.

I finally open the messages on my communicator, each one more severe than the last.

"Agent status: compromised."