Page 40

CHAPTER 40

H e wrapped his arms around her, pulling her in, and she melted into his heat. He was warmer than a human—blazing almost, she knew that already—but not unpleasant. His muscles were granite-hard beneath his smooth, scarred skin, and she could feel the hum of restrained strength beneath her palms. A dangerous, deadly living weapon, and yet he held her like she was something precious.

She didn’t resist as he lifted her again, cradling her effortlessly in his arms. She was small beside him. Fragile.

And yet she had never felt more claimed.

He carried her to the bed, and when he laid her down, his movements weren’t rough. They were deliberate. Possessive. Reverent.

The furs slipped from her shoulders first, and he spread them beneath her like a nest. Then, his hands moved to the alien dress clinging to her skin. It resisted at first—fluid, strange, almost alive—but he peeled it away slowly, drawing it down over her breasts, her ribs, her hips, his touch hot and maddening.

The dress slithered free down her legs, and he cast it aside.

She was naked beneath him. Exposed.

And he just looked.

Looked at her like she was the most impossible thing he’d ever seen.

Then he prowled forward, and his hands—those six-fingered, callused hands—swept over her body, gliding over her shoulders, reaching her breasts. He paused there, teasing with slow, deliberate strokes, coaxing breathless little sounds from her as he toyed with her nipples, brushing, circling, lightly pinching.

Her belly. Her hips. Her thighs. Every movement was a claim.

She couldn’t speak, didn’t need to. His intent was carved into every motion, every breath.

He owned her.

And then he grinned.

A dark, feral thing: knowing, dominant, edged with heat.

She barely had time to draw a breath before he slid lower and pressed his face between her thighs.

The first stroke of his tongue made her arch off the bed.

Hot. Silken. Expert.

He devoured her slowly, thoroughly, and she couldn’t stop the helpless moans that spilled from her lips. His mouth was relentless—tasting, teasing, claiming—and he knew exactly what to do. Exactly how to undo her.

The pressure built fast. Too fast.

She gripped the furs beneath her, her entire body trembling, helpless under the onslaught of pleasure.

And when release came…

It shattered her.

White-hot.

Bone-deep.

Her scream echoed against the cold walls, and he growled against her, a dark, primal sound of male satisfaction.

She lay there, boneless, gasping, quivering.

And then he rose over her.

He gathered her into his arms. Held her against his chest.

And entered her in one slow, possessive thrust.

Her breath caught. Her mind blanked.

He didn’t rush. He filled her completely, utterly, and stayed there, motionless for a moment, forehead pressed to hers once again.

The storm outside raged.

But in that room, there was only them.

He was still inside her, buried deep, as her climax continued to pulse through her, shudders rolling over her skin in waves.

And then he moved… just slightly at first.

And ecstasy slammed into her again.

Because he wasn’t like anything she had ever known—wasn’t human. His length was covered in those alien, writhing filaments: hundreds of them, soft and supple, yet firm and insistent. They caressed her from the inside, stretching her, stroking every part of her that had ever known pleasure, and places that had never been touched before.

Sensation exploded through her. She knew nothing but him. His touch. His heat. The thick, perfect length of him as he began to move.

He owned her.

He claimed her.

And her body answered without hesitation, spiraling up into another series of climaxes: harder, faster, building with every thrust, every pulse of sensation. The pleasure peaked again and again until she screamed his name— Kyhin— wordless, helpless.

He growled, low and rough, his hands tight around her waist as he held her in place, unrelenting.

He took her again and again—no hesitation, no mercy—just pure dominance, overwhelming and ferocious.

She lost time.

She lost herself.

The sound of the storm outside, the cold walls, her own thoughts—all disappeared. There was only his body. His heat. His rhythm. The shocking pleasure of those writhing filaments driving her mad.

He moved even faster— inhumanly fast—slamming into her with a rhythm that was devastating and precise. Every stroke sent her higher, into a realm beyond anything she’d ever imagined.

Her body convulsed. Another climax. Then another.

She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. She was his.

And then… at last, he stilled.

A long, guttural groan tore from his throat. Deep. Raw. Primal.

And he claimed her fully.

Sylvia cried out, her arms wrapping around him as her final climax broke, dragging her down into sweet, perfect oblivion.

She didn’t know where she ended and he began.

Only that she had never, in her entire life, been more completely possessed.