Page 60 of Alien Assassin's Heir

She bites her lip, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes. “You’re so big… I feel full.”

“You are,” I growl. “Every part of you is mine.”

I start to move, slow and deliberate. Every thrust is a promise carved into her bones. Her hips rise to meet mine, her cries growing louder, more desperate. She chants my name like it’s salvation.

“Kraj… don’t stop… don’t ever stop?—”

I slam into her, hips snapping. Her pussy grips me like a vice, slick and pulsing. I reach between us, rub her clit in fast circles, and she shatters again, screaming into my shoulder.

I follow her over the edge with a roar, spilling deep inside her.

We collapse into a tangle of limbs and sweat, breath mingling.

Her heartbeat races against my chest. I hold her close, breathing her in, memorizing every curve, every sigh. Because I don’t know how many more nights I’ll have before the storm crashes down.

But tonight, she’s mine. And stars help me, I’ll tear apart the galaxy before I let anyone take that from me.

The night holds its breath around us. The only sounds are the faint buzz of the old solar lamp and the rhythm of her heart pressed against my chest. My claws trace the curve of her shoulder, featherlight, afraid of leaving marks on skin I’ve already bruised enough with my presence in her life.

Her breathing is steady at first, then hitching as though something unsaid is pressing against her ribs. I lower my head until my lips brush her ear, the taste of sweat and salt on her skin sharp on my tongue.

“Luna,” I murmur, my voice rough. “I want to build something with you. Do you understand? Not missions. Not lies. Something real. Whatever comes, I’ll stand between you and it.”

She stiffens for a heartbeat, then clutches me tighter, her small hands fisting against my back like she’s afraid I’ll slip away if she loosens her grip. Her breath shudders. Warm tears slide across my skin where her cheek presses into me.

I pull back, confused. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” she whispers too quickly. Her voice is thick, trembling.

I tilt her chin up with one claw, but she squeezes her eyes shut. “Don’t,” she says, so soft it almost breaks me. “Please don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like I deserve this.”

The words slice deeper than any blade. I want to demand more, to shake her until she tells me what she’s hiding, but I don’t. Not tonight. Instead, I kiss the tears from her cheeks, tasting salt and sorrow, and hold her until she stops trembling.

She almost tells me something—I feel it, the words rising in her throat, the way her lips part. But then she shakes her head, buries her face against my chest, and lets the silence swallow it.

I don’t press. I should. But I don’t. Because tonight isn’t for questions.

Tonight is for us.

So I focus on her. The curve of her hip beneath my hand. The way her breath warms my chest. The faint scent of lavender clinging to her hair. She melts against me, little by little, until the tension leaves her body. For a night, we exist only for each other, wrapped in sweat and whispered promises that feel more fragile than glass.

I don’t sleep. I lie awake long after her breaths even out, long after her tears dry, memorizing the weight of her against me.

Because in the morning, I’ll go through with it.

Not for the Coalition. Not for Targen.

For freedom.

A final job. One last sin to pay for all the others, so I can bury that life once and for all.

And maybe—come back to this bed without chains around my throat.