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"Keep underestimating me." I twist my fingers around his horns, tugging until his hips snap against mine. The groan that punches out of him echoes the crash of the waves.

A hiss escapes his fangs when my teeth find the crimson slope of his shoulder. "Duplicitous little thing. All those months playing barista when you were this?—"

My nails carve half-moons into his back. "You talked me into galaxy-hopping. Don't pretend I'm the unpredictable variable here."

His mouth silences me again, rough and claiming. Our joined laughter dies against bruised lips. The way his true form slots against mine like we're solving some equation older than stars.

Jack's claw traces the welt his teeth left on my collarbone. "Still want to stay?"

I arch into his touch, the last coherent syllable dying as his mouth descends again. The answer's in the sand beneath us—the galaxy's worst etch-a-sketch, all tangled limbs and broken grammar.

The sand’s still gritty against my calves when his claws catch the lace hem of my panties. I buck against him on instinct, the dress from that damn auction riding up and pooling around my hips. His fanged grin flashes in the bronze half-light. "This fabric chafes," he lies, voice all gravel and galaxy dust.

I dig my heel into the small of his back. "Says the guy who still wears tactical gear to bed."

"Observation." His thumb strokes the inside of my thigh, claws retracted to blunt crescents. "Human undergarments seem designed to frustrate."

My laugh fractures as his fingers skate higher. The dress is half-unzipped, auction stench replaced by salt from the sea.

The lace tears clean. I don’t remember him moving, just the sudden bite of alien air between my legs and his low, approving rumble.

His finger traces idle circles over my slit, the pad rougher than human skin. "Pulse points. Moisture variance. The way you stop breathing when I?—"

My hips jerk. "Jack."

"Jorun." His correction’s a hot slide against my neck while his finger slips inside my opening, curling in a way that steals syllables. The stretch burns—he’s wider than human, ridges along his knuckles catching sensitive flesh.

I choke on a curse. “Warn a girl.”

He stills. “Stop?”

“Never.” I claw at his horns, dragging his mouth to mine. His tongue mimics the rhythm below, relentless and clever. The sand shifts under us, waves hushing against the shore like they’re leaning in.

His free hand paws at my crumpled dress. His claw snags the neckline. Fabric splits like perforated lies.

The chill hits first, then his mouth. He laps at the hollow of my throat, fingers pumping slowly as I unravel.

I arch, salt spray mingling with sweat as his thumb finds that perfect spot. Distantly, I register his belt clinking open, the growl in his chest when I palm his cock through his pants.

The sand shifts under me as he braces one clawed hand beside my head. His other palm skims up my thigh, scales catching on bare skin. When his hips slot between mine, the heat of him—foreign and familiar at once—steals my breath. Moonlight glints off crimson shoulders as he drags his pants down. Alien anatomy shouldn’t make sense here, but the thick length straining against my inner thigh feels purpose-built to ruin me.

“Still think this is a hallucination?” His claws flex against my hips.

The words die when he drags himself through my slick. My moan tangles with the crash of waves. “Need... comparative analysis?”

His fangs graze my earlobe. “Yes.” The blunt head of his cock teases my entrance. “Humans evolved for this?”

“Not... for the agony of blue balls you’re inflict—oh fuck.” My back arches as he sheathes himself inch by excruciating inch into my pussy, ridges catching in ways that punch ragged noises from my throat.

He stills, chest heaving. “Too much?”

“Too slow.” My nails dig into the cords of his neck.

His snarl sends heat pooling low as his hips snap forward. The stretch burns—humanity was not designed for Vakutan proportions. Every drag of those alien ridges sparks white behind my eyelids.

“Earth males lack endurance,” he growls against my collarbone, tongue lapping sweat. His thrusts turn brutal. “Subpar genetic stock.”

I bite the curve between neck and shoulder—salty, alien, perfect. “Better... study... harder.”