Page 16 of Alien Devil’s Wrath (Vinduthi Stolen Brides #2)

H e pushed into me slowly, his size stretching me in ways I’d never imagined possible. The feeling was consuming, like nothing I’d ever experienced before.

The pressure of him at my entrance was overwhelming as it pressed past my entrance, and I had to breathe through the initial burn of accommodation. But when the textured ridges along his shaft made contact with my inner walls, I gasped at sensations that defied every expectation.

“Oh, God,” I managed as he sank deeper. “You’re so?—”

The words dissolved into a moan as he filled me. I could see the moment his control snapped, feel the tremor that ran through his powerful frame as he buried himself to the hilt inside me.

This was what I’d been craving since the moment we met, what I’d been pushing him toward. This moment of complete possession. The stone was rough against my back, his body was hard and demanding against mine, and I’d never felt more alive.

When he began to move, every nerve ending in my body lit up in ways I hadn’t known were possible. Those ridges created friction that made me arch against him, desperate for more of the overwhelming sensations they provided.

“How does it feel?” he growled against my ear, his fangs grazing my throat. “Tell me how I feel inside you.”

“Like you were made for this,” I gasped, my usual analytical nature drowning in sensation. “Like you were made for me.”

The lingering effects of his kiss from before were making everything more sensitive, but it was more than that. It was the way he moved, the way he watched my reactions and adjusted his rhythm, the way he seemed to know exactly what I needed.

He moved with increasing urgency, each thrust hitting deeper, harder. The unique texture of him created patterns of pleasure that had me climbing toward shattering entirely.

“That’s it,” he said roughly, his hands gripping my hips to hold me steady. “Take all of me.”

I was lost in the sensations. The way he stretched me, the friction that built with each movement, the pressure against places that sent sparks through my entire body. My mind, usually so busy cataloging and analyzing, went blissfully quiet except for one thought: more.

“More,” I gasped, my nails digging into his shoulders. “I need more.”

He gave me exactly what I needed, his rhythm becoming more demanding. When his thumb found my clit, circling with exactly the right pressure, I nearly screamed at the additional stimulation.

The combination was devastating. Every part of me was focused on where we were joined, on the building pressure that promised to shatter me completely.

“You’re mine,” he said, and it wasn’t a question.

“Yours,” I agreed, meaning it with every fiber of my being.

The admission broke us both. His movements became more desperate, more claiming, and I could feel myself racing toward the edge.

“Come for me,” he commanded. “Let me feel you break apart.”

The orgasm consumed me, my body clenching around him in waves of pleasure so intense I saw stars. I felt him follow me over, his own release powerful enough to leave him shaking against me.

We collapsed together afterward, breathing hard, sweat cooling on our skin despite the chamber’s warmth. I felt thoroughly claimed and scientifically intrigued by the intensity of what had just occurred.

“Well,” I said when I could finally speak again, my voice slightly hoarse. “That exceeded all expectations.”

He pulled back to look at me, and I could see amusement and disbelief in his red eyes.

“Expectations?”

“I thought I knew what to anticipate,” I said, stretching against him. “But the reality was so much better than anything I’d imagined.”

He was still inside me, still semi-hard despite his recent climax, and I could feel the continuing friction with every small movement.

“The way we fit together,” I continued, unable to resist one observation, “it’s perfect. Like we were designed for each other.”

“You’re analyzing our sex life,” he said, but there was warmth in his voice.

“I’m appreciating how well matched we are,” I corrected, rolling my hips experimentally and watching his eyes darken. “And already thinking about next time.”

He groaned at the movement, his hands tightening on my hips. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

“But what a way to go,” I said, delighted by how responsive he still was.

The playful movement turned serious quickly as his body responded. Within moments we were moving together again, slower this time but no less intense. This time I let myself just feel instead of think, let myself get lost in the rhythm we created together.

When we reached completion again, it was deeper somehow. Not just physical release but something that settled into my bones, marking me as surely as if he’d bitten me.

Afterward, as we held each other in the small chamber, I felt the shift between us. We weren’t just partners anymore. We were something more, unnamed but absolutely right.

“So,” I said against his chest, “when we get off this planet and I track down my Lyrikan friend, you’ll be there?”

He was quiet for a moment, his arms tightening around me.

“When you find him,” he said finally, his voice carrying dark promise, “I want to watch every second of what you do to him. I want to see the artist at work.”

The words settled into me, dark and wonderful. This was what I’d been missing. Not just someone who accepted my nature, but someone who understood it. Who saw the art in what had to be done.

It was… nice. Who knew?