Page 23 of Hunted By Khor (Alien Mate Hunt #1)

I wake him with my mouth on his cock. Tradition now, even though my body actually let me sleep until real dawn for once.

“Morning,” he rumbles, hand finding my hair.

“Portal day morning,” I correct between licks.

“Significant?”

I pull off, look up at him. “I want you inside me when it opens.”

“Possessive.”

“Practical. Can't accidentally get sucked through if I'm impaled on your cock.”

“That's not how portals work.”

“Don't care. Want you in me at noon. Want to feel you filling me at the exact moment my other option disappears forever.”

His cock gets harder at that, and I reward it with enthusiasm. Seven orgasms from his tongue as always, then the morning breeding. But after breakfast, instead of his usual patrol, he stays.

“Nervous?” he asks.

“Anticipatory. Like Christmas morning, if Christmas was about choosing permanent alien dick.”

“Poetic.”

We spend the morning slowly building toward noon. Not desperate fucking but deliberate, thorough exploration. He maps every sensitive spot with his tongue while I trace every scar with my fingers. We've been fucking for weeks but this feels different. Ceremonial almost.

Soon he's inside me. Both cocks. Breeding in my cunt, pleasure in my ass. We're on our sides, spooned together, moving slowly. I can see the desert through the den entrance, can feel the change coming in the air.

“Fifteen minutes,” I whisper.

“Having doubts?”

“Never. Just savoring. The last fifteen minutes where leaving is theoretically possible.”

“And after?”

“After, I'm yours forever with no asterisk. No 'until the portal.' Just yours.”

He speeds up slightly, the ridges dragging perfectly. Ridge four catches just right and I moan, pushing back for more.

“Ten minutes.”

“Want to come when it opens?”

“God yes. And I want the bond bite. Right as the portal opens. Want to be claimed permanently while I could still run.”

His hand moves to my throat, thumb tracing where his teeth will go. “Permanent.”

“I know.”

“Five minutes.”

I can feel something changing in the air. Energy building, reality preparing to tear. The portal forming somewhere out there in the desert.

“Two minutes.”

He's fully seated in both holes now, not thrusting, just grinding deep. His knot is starting to swell in my cunt while his pleasure cock pulses in my ass. I'm completely stuffed, claimed, owned.

“One minute.”

“Come for me,” he commands. “Come as it opens. Show the universe you choose this.”

“Choose you. Choose us.”

“Thirty seconds.”

The orgasm builds like a wave far out at sea, inevitable, massive. His fingers on my clit, his cocks inside me, the bond between us all singing the same frequency.

“Ten seconds.”

“Five.”

“Now.”

The portal tears open with a sound like silk ripping. Blue light floods the desert, wrong against the red stone. It hovers fifty feet away, a perfect circle of elsewhere. Of escape. Of Earth.

And I come.

The orgasm rips through me right as his teeth break skin.

The bond bite is deep, permanent, his jaw locking to hold it while I convulse beneath him.

His knot swells fully, trapping us together as my blood fills his mouth.

The bond snaps into place like a physical thing, a rope of sensation connecting us at every level.

“Mine,” Khor growls around my flesh.

“Yours,” I agree, still coming, still watching the portal shimmer. “Always was. Just needed to see the door to know I'd never walk through it.”

We stay locked for the full hour the portal remains. His seed pulses into me with each heartbeat while the bite throbs in time. By the time his knot releases, the energy is already fading.

“It's weakening,” I say unnecessarily.

“How do you feel?”

“Free. Completely, permanently free.”

By evening, the portal closes. I don't see it happen. We're too busy fucking again, celebrating my permanent residence on Pyraxis. But I feel it in the air, that option disappearing, that door closing forever.

“No going back now,” Khor says between thrusts.

“Good. Going back was never the plan.”

That night, we lie in our nest. The bond between us pulses contentedly, no longer new but settling into something permanent.

“Thank you,” I tell him.

“For?”

“Catching me. Claiming me. Keeping me.”

“Thank you for letting yourself be caught.”

“Wasn't really a choice. Body decided before my brain caught up.”

“Bodies are smart sometimes.”

TWO MONTHS AFTER PORTAL DAY

I wake to Khor's tongue between my legs and immediately roll sideways to vomit into the basin we now keep beside the bed.

“Sorry. Don't stop.”

He doesn't, his talented tongue working me through the nausea. Somehow the orgasms help, the endorphins settling my rebellious stomach. By the seventh one, I'm feeling almost normal.

“This is the fifth morning,” he says, rising up to position his cock at my entrance.

“I know.”

“Your scent has changed.”

“I know.”

“Mara...”

“Just fuck me first. Then we'll talk about it.”

The morning breeding is gentler lately, him being careful even though I haven't asked him to. When he's locked inside me afterward, his hand goes to my still-flat belly.

“How long since you bled?”

“Three months. Maybe four.”

“The nausea. The scent change. Your breasts.”

I look down. They are fuller, tender when touched, the nipples darker.

“You think I'm...”

“Carrying. Yes.”

The word sits between us, massive in its implications.

His hand spreads across my belly, protective and possessive.

“Ours,” I breathe.

“Ours.”

SIX WEEKS AFTER BIRTH

Our son sleeps between us, finally. For six weeks, I haven't been able to think about anything but keeping him alive, fed, safe. My body has been healing, recovering from the violent birth that nearly tore me in half. Khor has been patient, so patient, taking care of us both.

But tonight, for the first time since Khor-Mara was born, I feel that familiar heat building.

“You're staring,” Khor murmurs in the dark.

“You haven't touched me in six weeks.”

“You nearly died bringing our son into the world. You needed to heal.”

“I'm healed now.”

I can feel his interest through the bond, the want he's been suppressing for my sake. His hand finds my hip, careful, questioning.

“The physician said eight weeks minimum.”

“The physician doesn't have to live with this need. I say I'm ready.”

He kisses me then, gentle at first, then deeper when I respond eagerly. Our son sleeps on, used to our presence, our sounds. When Khor enters me, slowly, so carefully, I have to bite my lip to keep from crying. Not from pain but from relief. From coming home.

“I missed this,” I whisper. “Missed you.”

“Never again,” he promises, moving gently. “Never that long again.”

When I come, it's quiet but intense, waves of pleasure mixed with something deeper. Love. Safety. The knowledge that we built this together.

THREE MONTHS AFTER BIRTH

The morning tradition has adapted.

Khor-Mara wakes us at dawn with his crying. I feed him while Khor's tail wraps around my waist, patient. When our son is milk-drunk and sleeping again, then it's my turn.

The tongue is gentler now. I'm still sensitive from nursing, from hormones still settling.

But I need it just as much. Maybe more, because now it's not just need.

It's choosing each other even when exhausted, even when covered in baby spit, even when we haven't slept more than two hours straight in weeks.

“He's going to be walking soon,” Khor says one morning, watching our son pull himself up on furniture. His scales are darkening, becoming more like his father's crimson. But his eyes stay that golden-yellow with human expressiveness.

“God help us when he does.”

“He'll be magnificent. Strong. Fierce.”

“Like his parents.”

Khor-Mara chooses that moment to knock over an entire shelf of supplies, squealing with delight at the crash.

“Exactly like his parents,” I amend.

ONE YEAR AFTER BIRTH

We're at the territorial gathering, an annual meeting where bonded pairs bring their offspring. It's my first time seeing other human women who've been claimed.

“Two years,” one tells me. She has twins clinging to her legs, scales green like their father. “Gets easier.”

“Does the need ever fade?” I ask.

She laughs. “No. Just changes. Becomes less desperate, more comfortable. Like breathing.”

I watch Khor across the gathering, holding our son who's charming everyone with his hybrid features. The sight makes my chest tight with emotion I didn't know I could feel.

“No regrets?” the woman asks.

The question is a ghost from another life.

For a heartbeat, the image of my sister, healthy, laughing, the sound so real it physically hurts, cuts through everything.

It's a sharp, clean pang of loss, an old wound that will never fully heal.

But then I see Khor across the gathering, our son in his arms. He catches my eye, and the steady, unwavering love that flows through our bond is an anchor in a different universe.

This is what that pain bought. This life.

This family. The sacrifice was real, but what I gained was everything.

I turn back to the woman, a small, sure smile on my face. “Never.”

That night, in borrowed quarters, we fuck quietly while Khor-Mara sleeps. It's not the desperate violence of our early days or the consuming heat of bonding. It's something better. Deep, comfortable, knowing. When he knots me, I cry a little from the perfection of it.

“What's wrong?” he asks, alarmed.

“Nothing. Everything's right. That's why I'm crying.”

He kisses my tears, and I feel his own emotion through the bond. We made it. Through the hunt, the claiming, the bonding, the birth. We're here, together, permanent.

“Thank you,” I whisper.

“For?”

“For catching me that first day. For not being gentle. For being exactly what I needed even when I didn't know I needed it.”

“Thank you for being violent enough to survive me.”

I laugh against his chest. Through the window, I can see the stars, different from Earth's, alien and strange and perfectly home now.

“I love our life,” I tell him. “Our violent, exhausting, perfect life.”

“Even the midnight feedings?”

“Especially those. Because you're there for them.”

Our son stirs, making the clicking sound that means he's hungry. I sigh but start to move.

“I'll get him,” Khor says. “You rest.”

“Then you'll bring him here? And stay?”

“Always.”

He brings our son to me, then curls around us both while Khor-Mara nurses.

His tail wraps around my waist, hand splayed across our son's back.

We're a tangle of limbs and scales and contentment.

This is what the portal brought me to. This is the life Lily's life was traded for.

Not just survival, but a messy, violent, perfect existence I wouldn't trade for anything.

It was the best deal I ever made.

Want a few more details on how exactly Khor and Mara re-marked those boundaries? I… might have gotten a little over the top with some chapters, and decided for the sake of my Amazon account I should trim them ;P

But in case you’re dying for all the dirty, claiming action, click here and I’ll get you hooked up!

Ready for the next Mate Hunt?

Run. Resist. Break—because in the Mate Hunt, the alien never lets his prey go.

My court-martial or thirty days in an alien jungle.

I chose the jungle. I chose wrong.

Because the hunter waiting for me doesn’t just want to catch me.

He wants to unravel me.

The steaming world of Vorthak reeks of him—territorial markers soaked into the earth, his presence saturating every shadow. The preparation tonic twists his scent into a drug, making my body recognize what my mind refuses to accept: I’ve walked into the territory of my perfect biological match.

Zkari doesn’t chase. He stalks. He clears dangers from my path. Leaves me food and water. Watches while I learn that in this lethal jungle, he isn’t the threat—he’s the only reason I survive.

And then he teaches me what survival will cost.

Each time he lets me go, my resistance crumbles. Each encounter leaves me emptier, needier, closer to surrender. My soldier’s training says fight. My pride says resist.

But my body?

It knows exactly who I was made for.

When this hunter finally decides I’m his, I won’t just let him claim me.

I’ll beg for it.

A scorching sci-fi romance featuring psychological warfare, primal hunger, and a heroine who learns that surrender can be its own kind of strength.

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