Page 11

VARNOK

V arnok offers me his arm as we leave the reception. I take it, feeling suddenly self-conscious about how small my hand looks against his massive forearm. The scales are smoother than they appear, warm to the touch.

"I should review my notes before tomorrow," I say, trying to sound casual. "The first official negotiation session starts at nine."

"Then we should get you to your quarters, Ambassador." His voice is still rough, but quieter now.

The hotel hallway stretches before us, mercifully empty. I can't handle another diplomat's knowing smirk or raised eyebrow. That dance will be the talk of Armstrong for weeks.

I pull out my compad and check the room details. "Looks like they've given us the Orion Suite. Two bedrooms, thank goodness."

Varnok makes a dismissive sound. "We'll only need one bed."

I stop walking, my face flushing hot. "I think you're counting your chickens before they hatch, Mr. Annihilator."

His ridge-lined brow furrows in genuine confusion. "Chickens? What do Earth fowl have to do with security protocols?"

"It's just an expression that means—" I stop myself. "Wait, what are you talking about?"

"As your bodyguard, I won't be sleeping." He says this as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. "I'll be standing guard instead. Vakutans can go days, even weeks without sleep if necessary, though we prefer six to eight hours nightly when circumstances allow."

Oh. Oh.

My cheeks burn hotter. Great. Now it looks like I'm the one with sex on the brain.

"Right. Of course. That's... very professional of you." I start walking again, faster this time.

But my mind keeps replaying the dance—his massive hands spanning my waist, the heat of his body pressed against mine, the intensity in his eyes.

We practically dry-humped on the dance floor in front of half the diplomatic corps!

How am I supposed to focus on negotiations when all I can think about is what those powerful hands would feel like elsewhere?

We reach the suite door, and I raise my compad to unlock it.

Varnok's hand shoots out, blocking mine. "Allow me, Ambassador."

"It's just Quinn when we're alone," I say, then immediately regret my phrasing. "I mean?—"

"Stay here." He draws his sidearm with practiced efficiency. "I'll clear the room first."

I sigh dramatically, but secretly appreciate his thoroughness. "Is that really necessary?"

"Someone already tried to kill you once." His voice is deadly serious. "I won't allow a second attempt."

He unlocks the door with his own security override and disappears inside, leaving me waiting in the hallway. I hear him moving methodically through the suite, checking closets, under furniture, behind curtains.

I lean against the wall, surprised by the warm feeling spreading through my chest. No one's taken care of me like this since.

.. well, since my father died. I've been so focused on being self-sufficient, on proving I could handle everything alone, that I forgot how nice it feels to have someone watching out for me.

Even if that someone is a seven-foot-tall red-scaled warrior who makes my pulse race for entirely unprofessional reasons.

Varnok gives the all-clear and I enter the suite, kicking off my heels with a sigh of relief. The accommodations are spectacular—all cream and gold with high ceilings and panoramic windows showcasing Armstrong's twin moons hanging like perfect pearls in the night sky.

But my mind won't stop spinning. The day's events play on repeat—Kallus's calculated manipulation during our dance, the way he maneuvered me into admitting bias. Then Varnok swooping in, our bodies moving together with impossible synchronicity...

"I'm going to check the perimeter once more," Varnok announces, interrupting my thoughts. "The balcony has insufficient security measures."

"Knock yourself out," I mutter, massaging my temples.

While he inspects the balcony doors, I change into more comfortable clothes—silk loungewear that feels like heaven against my skin after hours in formal diplomatic attire. I pile my hair atop my head in a messy bun and wash the makeup from my face.

When I emerge, Varnok is examining the suite's security panel with intense focus. He's removed his formal jacket, revealing a tight-fitting undershirt that does nothing to hide his impressive physique. The red scales covering his arms catch the light as he moves, creating patterns that draw my eye.

I sink into the plush sofa, knowing sleep is a lost cause. My mind races too much—reviewing negotiation strategies, replaying Kallus's smug expression, feeling Varnok's hands on my waist...

"Computer, play music. Something relaxing." Soft jazz fills the room, a saxophone crooning low and sweet. "God, I could use a drink."

Before I can reach for the room service menu, Varnok abandons the security panel and plops down heavily beside me. The sofa dips dramatically under his weight, sliding me a few inches closer to him.

"Why didn't you say so earlier?" he asks, digging a metal flask out of a pouch on his belt. The flask looks old, with intricate engravings etched into its surface. He undoes the cap and hands it over.

I take it with open suspicion. "What is this, Vakutan rot-gut deathrattle blood wine or something?"

I sniff cautiously and frown in confusion. "It smells like brandy, from Earth."

"Because it is brandy, from Earth," Var says with a hint of amusement. "My people are fine warriors, and expert engineers. But when it comes to the finer arts of fermented beverages, they are somewhat lacking."

I take a tentative sip. The liquid burns down my throat, spreading warmth through my chest and into my limbs. My skin flushes, and alarm bells ring in my head. Oh no. Var is already looking too damn good as it is. The last thing I need is lowered inhibitions.

"Thanks, but no more for me." I hand the flask back quickly.

"Is it not good?" His ridged brow furrows in concern.

"That's not the problem," I reply, looking away.

The silence stretches between us, filled only by the sultry saxophone. I'm acutely aware of his massive presence beside me, the heat radiating from his body, the subtle scent of him—something like sandalwood and metal.

Var puts his hand on my thigh and squeezes gently. My heart thunders in my chest, and I can't seem to breathe properly.

"If you're growing impatient, we can skip the brandy," he rumbles, his voice dropping to a register that sends shivers down my spine.

I stare at his hand on my leg—red scales against pale silk, powerful fingers that could crush stone resting with surprising gentleness on my thigh.

My mouth goes dry. Every logical part of my brain is screaming that this is a terrible idea.

I'm here on a diplomatic mission. He's my bodyguard. We're completely different species.

But logic seems very far away right now.

My head spins from the brandy, or maybe it's just the overwhelming presence of Varnok. I can't think straight with him this close, his hand on my thigh, his dark eyes locked onto mine with an intensity that borders on feral.

"I've been dying to taste those amazing lips for days," Var growls. His voice rumbles through me like distant thunder, making my stomach flutter with anticipation.

Before I can even process his words, he's moving—a swift, decisive motion that pins me against the back of the sofa. His massive hands grip my shoulders, pulling me into him. His kiss is deep and claiming, hard and fierce, and it ignites something primal within me.

My hands fly to his chest instinctively, fingers splayed against the firm muscle beneath his undershirt. I'm caught off-guard by the suddenness of it all, but his kiss consumes me, and any resistance I might have mustered melts away under the onslaught of his passion.

I throw my arms around his huge neck, surrendering to the moment, to the unspoken desire that's been simmering between us since we first met. I kiss him back with equal fervor, our tongues dueling in a dance as heated and desperate as the one we shared on the dance floor earlier that evening.

With a boldness that surprises even me, I climb up onto his lap and straddle him.

The leather of the sofa creaks under our combined weight.

I can feel the hard ridge of his arousal pressing against me through the fabric of our clothes, and I grind against him shamelessly, relishing the low growl that vibrates in his chest.

His grip on me tightens, fingers digging into my hips with bruising force. I'm vaguely aware that I should probably be concerned about the strength he's displaying, but all rational thought is driven from my mind by the raw need coursing through my veins.

Suddenly, Varnok pushes me away from him slightly, though I remain rooted on his lap. His dark eyes bore into mine, full of challenge and barely restrained hunger.

"You think you're in charge?" he growls, the words sending a thrill down my spine.

I open my mouth to retort, to assert some semblance of control, but before I can form the words, he rips my top in half as easily as if it were made of paper. The sudden exposure sends a jolt of shock through me, followed by a rush of heat that pushes me even closer to the edge.

His eyes drink in the sight of my naked breasts, and the raw hunger in his gaze makes my breath catch in my throat. With a feral sound, he crushes me to him again, his lips and tongue blazing a trail of fire down my neck and across my collarbone.

I throw my head back, giving him better access, my fingers tangling in his short, bristly hair. My entire body feels electrified, every nerve ending alight with sensation. His kisses, his licks, the occasional nip of his teeth—each touch sends me spiraling higher and higher.

My hands, driven by a desperate need to feel his skin against mine, go to work on his belt. The buckle resists my fumbling attempts to unfasten it, and a frustrated sound escapes my throat.

Varnok chuckles against my skin, the vibrations making me squirm. With one hand, he effortlessly undoes the belt and opens the fly of his trousers, freeing himself. I gasp at the feel of his hard length against my palm—impossibly big, just like the rest of him.

I stroke him slowly, delighting in the way his breath catches and his eyes darken with desire. The power dynamics between us—the predator and the diplomat, the bodyguard and the ambassador—seem to blur and shift until they're almost unrecognizable.

With a swift motion, Varnok lifts me off his lap and sets me down on the plush rug in front of the sofa. He looms over me, the dim lighting casting shadows across his ridged brow and chiseled jaw. He looks like some ancient war god, fierce and unstoppable.

I reach for him, wanting to bring him back down to me, but he captures my wrists in one large hand and pins them above my head. With his other hand, he tugs at my ruined top, pulling it off me completely and tossing it aside.

"Let me worship you, Quinn," he murmurs, his voice a low, guttural rumble that makes my heart race and my pulse pound in my ears.

He kisses his way down my body, lavishing attention on my breasts before moving lower, mapping out every curve and hollow with his lips and tongue. I writhe beneath him, overwhelmed by the intensity of the sensations he's evoking, by the sheer ferocity of his desire.

When he finally reaches the apex of my thighs, I'm practically trembling with anticipation. He hooks his fingers under the waistband of my silk pants and pulls them off, exposing me to his hungry gaze.

The first touch of his tongue against my most sensitive spot sends shockwaves of pleasure rippling through me. I cry out, my hips bucking reflexively, but he holds me firmly in place, continuing his relentless exploration with a skill that leaves me breathless and shaking.

My climax builds quickly, fueled by the pent-up tension between us and the skillful ministrations of his mouth.

It crashes over me like a tidal wave, dragging me under in a maelstrom of ecstasy.

My body arches off the floor, and I'm vaguely aware of Varnok's triumphant growl as he drinks in my pleasure.

As the aftershocks subside, he releases my wrists and crawls up my body to claim my lips in a searing kiss. I can taste myself on his tongue, an intimate reminder of the pleasure he's just given me.

"You're mine, Quinn Gellar," he whispers against my lips, his voice full of possessive pride. "And I am yours."

And in that moment, surrounded by his strength and warmth, I can't find it in me to argue.