Page 22 of Rok’s Captive (Barbarians of the Dust #1)

FIVE STARS. WOULD GET KIDNAPPED AGAIN (MAYBE)

JUSTINE

H is hands find my waist in the water, strong and sure, and before I can process what’s happening, Rok lifts me. Water streams from my body, cascading back into the pool as he carries me to the edge and sets me down on the cool stone.

The contrast between the stone’s chill and my heated skin sends a shiver through me. Or maybe it’s the way he’s looking at me—eyes luminous in the dim light, pupils dilated, focused on me with an intensity that steals my breath.

“Rok,” I whisper, suddenly aware of my nakedness, of my vulnerability. I should feel embarrassed, exposed. I should reach for my clothes.

I do none of those things.

Instead, I watch, mesmerized, as he pulls himself from the pool in one fluid motion, water sluicing off his golden skin. He crouches before me, his face inches from mine, studying me with that predatory focus that should terrify me but instead sends a thrill of anticipation through my body.

My headache is gone. Completely gone. As if it never existed. The water—there must be something in the water. The same way my fever disappeared when he brought me water before. But instead of relief, I feel…something else. A different kind of heat building inside me, a restlessness that makes me shift on the stone.

Oh no. I cannot be getting horny.

Rok inches closer, his nostrils flaring slightly as if he’s catching my scent. His glow suddenly flares and pulses brighter in the dimness, highlighting the sharp angles of his face, the broad expanse of his chest. He reaches for me, one clawed hand hovering just above my shoulder, before he stops.

I should shift away. I should remember all the reasons why this is a terrible idea. I should?—

A lump forms in my throat. I swallow it down…and I don’t move.

His hand descends, his touch feather-light as his fingers trace the curve of my shoulder, down my arm, leaving trails of fire in their wake. His expression is one of wonder, of discovery, as if he’s mapping uncharted territory.

“This is insane,” I whisper, more to myself than to him. “You’re an alien and I?—”

He silences me with his lips on mine, soft at first, questioning, then more insistent as I respond. His mouth is hot, demanding, the kiss deeper than before, exploring rather than just connecting. I gasp against him, and he takes the opportunity to tilt his head, changing the angle, deepening the kiss further.

My hands find his shoulders, his skin warm and smooth beneath my palms. I dig my fingers in, holding on as the world spins around me. He growls into my mouth, and the vibration sends shockwaves through my body, igniting nerve endings I didn’t know existed.

When he pulls away, I’m panting, my lips tingling. Oh God. He shouldn’t taste so good. This shouldn’t feel that good.

I think he’s done, but he doesn’t go far. His forehead rests against mine, our breaths mingling in the small space between us. His glow has intensified, casting golden light across the stone around us, turning the water into rippling amber.

“We should slow down,” I say weakly, but my body betrays me, arching toward him.

He doesn’t understand my words, but maybe he senses my hesitation. He pulls back slightly, head tilted, studying my face. Then he reaches up, one finger tracing the outline of my lips with exquisite gentleness.

I should be afraid. Those claws could tear me apart. But I’m not. Not at all. I’m pretty sure this wild, wild thing would never harm me. I know that for certain now.

His first touch is hesitant—clumsy, even—like he’s mapping foreign terrain. The brush of his lips against my jaw is featherlight, uncertain, as if he expects me to vanish under his hands. But then his breath hitches, his nose dragging along my pulse like he’s memorizing my scent, and something shifts. The moment his tongue flicks out to taste my skin, restraint snaps. His mouth grows bolder, hot and open against my throat, his teeth scraping in a way that makes my back arch. It’s like he’s discovering hunger for the first time, and now that he’s had a bite, he can’t stop.

“Rok,” I gasp, my head falling back, giving him better access. Why does it feel so good?

He takes full advantage, his mouth moving down to my collarbone, his hands coming to rest on my waist, steadying me. Every touch, every brush of his lips, sends sparks shooting across my skin. It’s too much and not enough. I should stop this. I should?—

His mouth finds my breast, and all rational thought evaporates.

He freezes, his breath hot against my sensitive skin. I feel him inhale deeply, as if memorizing my scent. Then, cautiously, experimentally, his tongue darts out, tasting the water droplets still clinging to my skin.

“Oh god,” I whisper, my hands flying to his shoulders, nails digging in.

My cry seems to embolden him. His tongue flattens against my nipple, sending a jolt of pleasure so intense it borders on pain through my body. I arch into him, a moan escaping my lips.

Rok growls again, the sound vibrating through me. He’s enjoying this—enjoying my reactions, my responsiveness. He circles my nipple with his tongue, then takes it gently between his lips, the careful pressure making me squirm beneath him.

I reach for him, needing something to hold on to, but he catches my wrists in one large hand, pinning them above my head against the stone. The restraint should feel threatening, but instead, it sends another wave of heat through me.

And that burning intensity is rising beneath my skin.

His free hand slides down my side, mapping the curve of my waist, the flare of my hip, and he shudders again even as his mouth continues its sweet torture on my breast. He’s licking it like it’s a fruit. When he switches to the other side, giving it the same thorough attention, I’m writhing beneath him, panting his name like a prayer.

“Rok…please…I can’t…”

I don’t even know what I’m begging for. More? Less? My body is a riot of sensation, every nerve ending alive and singing. The burning need under my skin has intensified, concentrated into a throbbing ache between my legs that’s becoming impossible to ignore.

And I should ignore it. I bite my bottom lip as images, those dreams of him and how perfect—oh fuck—just how perfect it was, rise back into my mind. My core clenches even as I fight hard to push back against the feeling.

Rok lifts his head, his eyes meeting mine. The glow beneath his skin pulses in time with his breathing, which has grown rapid, uneven. He’s affected too—I can feel the tremors running through his powerful frame, the slight tremble in the hand still pinning my wrists.

His gaze drops to my body, traveling slowly downward, taking in every detail. He might not be able to talk my ears off, but the look in his eyes is undeniable. Like a man starved, he’s looking at me like I’m a bountiful buffet. When his gaze reaches my stomach, he releases my wrists, both hands now moving to my hips, holding me in place as he lowers his head again.

The moment his tongue brushes my skin, my breath stutters. He traces my navel, circling it before dipping briefly inside, as if he doesn’t want to leave an inch of me untouched. I gasp, arching against his hold. He freezes, his face inches from my belly, nostrils flaring as he inhales deeply. Whatever he scents there makes him growl, a deeper, primal sound that only makes a throb go through my center.

“Rok,” I whisper, half-warning, half-plea.

He shifts lower, positioning himself between my legs, his hands moving to my thighs, gently urging them wider. I should stop him. This is too fast, too much, too?—

His breath ghosts over my center, and my objections dissolve into a moan that sounds wanton even to my own ears. There’s no tentative exploration, no cautious first taste. He devours me with a primal hunger that takes my breath away, his tongue parting me in one broad, possessive stroke that has me crying out, my back arching off the stone.

“God—Rok—” The words fracture as pleasure spikes through me, sharp and overwhelming.

His hands tighten on my thighs, pinning me in place as I try to squirm away from the intensity. But it’s clear he’s not stopping, not slowing down, not until he’s had his fill. My fingers find his hair, trying to anchor myself as he unleashes his hunger against me, his tongue relentless, his growls vibrating through my core.

There’s nothing gentle in the way he claims me. This is pure, raw need—a barbarian feasting after famine, caring only for his own savage pleasure in the taking. Yet somehow, impossibly, it’s exactly what my body craves. Each ruthless stroke of his tongue sends me higher, each possessive grip of his hands makes me wetter, each rumbling growl against my sensitive flesh pushes me closer to the edge.

“Yes—there—don’t stop?—”

My pleas turn to mindless sounds as he finds the perfect rhythm, the perfect pressure. And I’m helpless.

My body trembles beneath him, tension building to an almost unbearable peak. His hands grip my thighs with bruising force, holding me open, keeping me exactly where he wants me as I come apart under his lips. The moment it happens, it’s like the sun explodes. The glow under Rok’s skin is blinding, the growls against my pussy like a crazed animal. I try to close my legs as the sensation becomes too much, but he snarls against me, the vibration only heightening my pleasure as he forces them wider.

Through the haze of my own ecstasy, I feel the tremors running through him, see the intensity of his glow pulsing brighter with each sound I make, sense the way his muscles bunch and flex with his own rising need. Is he…is he getting pleasure from consuming mine? His body responding to my surrender without being touched?

It’s that realization that pushes me over the edge. I shatter with his name on my lips, my body convulsing in waves of pleasure that crash over me like a tsunami, my vision narrowing to pinpoints of golden light. Even as I peak, he doesn’t relent, driving me higher, extending my climax until I’m sobbing with the intensity of it, my hands pushing at his shoulders, trying to escape the overwhelming sensation.

And then he stops.

Abruptly.

The absence of his touch is a shock to my system. My body collapses back against the cool stone, trembling, my breaths coming in ragged gasps as the echoes of my release ripple through me. I feel wrecked—utterly, completely wrecked. My skin burns, my limbs shake, my heart pounds so hard I can feel it in my throat.

But before I can even process what’s happening to me, before I can catch my breath, I feel the shift in him.

It’s immediate. Violent.

I lift my head, my still-blurry vision locking onto him, and what I see sends a jolt of fear straight through me.

Rok is on his knees, his body hunched, his claws digging into the stone beneath him. His glow is wild—erratic—flickering in sharp bursts that cast jagged shadows across the chamber walls. His breaths come in harsh, guttural snarls, and when he lifts his head to look at me, his eyes are…

Wrong.

The brilliant gold I’ve come to know is gone, swallowed by black, his pupils blown so wide they look endless. His lips curl back, revealing those sharp fangs, and a sound rumbles out of him—a growl low and guttural, but layered with something else.

Pain.

His growl deepens, reverberating through me, but something about it changes. It’s not just hunger or need—it’s…strained. Like he’s holding himself back. Then he freezes. His head lifts, his gaze locking on mine, and for a moment, he looks almost…terrified.

“Rok?” I breathe, reaching for him, but he jerks back, his entire body trembling. Whatever’s happening to him, it’s too much. Too overwhelming. And I’m not sure if it’s me he’s trying to protect—or himself.

“Rok?”

He doesn’t respond. Or maybe he can’t. His gaze locks on me, piercing through me, and the intensity in it makes my breath hitch.

And then it hits me.

Did I do this?

My chest tightens, my mind racing as I take in the way he trembles, the way his claws flex and scrape against the stone. Did I hurt him somehow? I look down at myself, to the wetness still coating the inside of my thighs…

I’ve heard of people being allergic to semen, but never… Oh shit.

“Rok…” My voice cracks.

He doesn’t move, his entire body taut and shaking with tension, his claws curling deeper into the stone. His glow pulses erratically, brighter and brighter, until it’s almost blinding.

And that’s when I feel it.

The heat.

It starts low in my belly, a strange, simmering warmth that spreads outward, seeping into my veins like molten fire. At first, I think it’s just the aftereffects of what he did to me—my body still reeling from the intensity of it all. But then it builds.

Hotter.

Brighter.

Wrong.

I gasp, pressing a trembling hand to my stomach as the heat surges through me, making my skin prickle and my head spin. It’s not just heat. It’s need.

A need I don’t understand.

And yet, somehow, I know it’s connected to him.

“Rok…something’s happening…” I manage.

He reacts then—not to my words, but to the sound of my voice. His growl deepens, his claws slashing out, raking the stone wall beside him in a violent, uncontrolled movement. The screech of it makes me flinch, and the gouges he leaves behind are deep enough to make my stomach clench.

He’s fighting something.

But what?

I push myself upright, every muscle in my body trembling from the effort. My legs feel useless, my skin feverish, but I force myself to move toward him.

He jerks back, his growl cutting off sharply as if my presence physically hurts him. His claws scrape against the stone as he staggers to his feet, his movements jerky and uncoordinated, like he’s running on instinct alone.

“Wait—don’t go!” I reach for him, my hand outstretched, but he stumbles away from me, his glow flaring in sharp, erratic bursts.

His gaze meets mine, and the look in his eyes sends a fresh wave of fear crashing over me.

He’s not just in pain.

He’s afraid.

Of me .

He looks…lost. His breathing is ragged, his chest heaving like he’s struggling just to stay here, just to keep looking at me.

For a split second, I see something in his eyes that makes my stomach twist. Not just fear. Not just pain. Guilt. Like he thinks he’s done something wrong. Like he’s afraid of what he’s capable of.

“Rok,” I whisper, but he jerks back as if my voice physically hurts him.

“Rok,” I whisper, my voice breaking.

But he’s already moving.

He bolts for the entrance of the chamber, his claws slashing at the walls as he runs, leaving deep gouges in the stone. His growls echo through the narrow passages, a sound so raw and feral it sends a chill racing down my spine.

I try to follow, but my legs buckle beneath me, my body too weak, too overwhelmed. I collapse back against the stone, gasping for breath, my skin damp with sweat and burning with that strange, alien heat.

The glow of his body fades as he disappears into the darkness, leaving me alone in the silent chamber, trembling and…well…terrified.

I press a shaking hand to my chest, trying to calm the frantic beating of my heart, but it’s no use. The heat inside me flares again, making me gasp, and I curl into myself, trying to fight the sensation.

It’s not about what is happening to me anymore. Something is happening.

And that something is happening to him, too.