Page 21 of Signed, Sealed, Seduced (You’ve Got Alien Mail #1)

The confession hangs between us, heavy with implication. I should be terrified. This is too fast, too intense, too everything. I barely know him. He barely knows me. And yet...

“I’m not who you think I am,” I tell him, the words spilling out before I can stop them.

“I’m not brave or special or particularly good.

I’m just... surviving. Always just surviving.

Running deliveries, fixing broken tech, staying one step ahead of debt collectors and bad decisions. That’s who Suki Vega is.”

“No,” he says with quiet certainty. “That is what Suki Vega does. Who you are is the person who fixed an ancient droid because it deserved a second chance. Who discovered a plot that my best security forces missed. Who chose to warn me rather than flee when she could have left without consequence.”

His hand rises, hesitating just short of touching my face. “Who you are, Suki Vega, is someone who sees broken things—broken people—and believes they can be mended.”

Something breaks open inside me at his words—a dam I’ve built over years of disappointment and self-protection. The tears I’ve been fighting spill over, hot and unexpected.

“That’s not fair,” I whisper, voice cracking. “You can’t just... see me like that. Say things like that.”

“Why not?” he asks, genuinely puzzled.

“Because it makes me want things I can’t have,” I admit, the truth raw in my throat. “A life that feels like mine. A place where I matter. Someone who looks at me and sees... me. Not just what I can do or deliver or fix.”

His hand finally makes contact, one scarred knuckle gently brushing away a tear. “You can have those things,” he says, the certainty in his voice almost enough to make me believe it. “If you choose them.”

“And you?” I ask, leaning slightly into his touch. “What do you get out of this arrangement?”

Something that might be amusement flickers in his eyes. “I get the privilege of discovering who Henrok is beyond the First Blade. With someone who never knew me as anything else, who has no expectations based on what I was before.”

“A fresh start,” I murmur, understanding blooming. “For both of us.”

“If you choose it,” he repeats, his hand still cradling my face with impossible gentleness for someone so powerful. “This must be your choice, Suki. Freely made. Without obligation or coercion.”

The formality of his tone would make me smile if the moment weren’t so charged with significance. Even now, he’s giving me an out. Making sure I understand what I’m walking into.

I cover his hand with mine, holding it against my cheek. “I choose this,” I tell him, the words feeling like a vow. “I choose to stay. To see what we might become together.”

Something shifts in his expression—a tension releasing, a barrier falling. His eyes, those strange, beautiful garnet eyes, seem to glow more intensely in the dim light.

“Then I am yours,” he says simply. “And you are mine. If you wish it.”

The possessiveness in his tone should alarm me. Instead, it sends a shiver of anticipation down my spine. There’s something intoxicating about being wanted—truly wanted—by someone like Henrok. Someone who could have anything, anyone, but chooses me.

“I wish it,” I whisper, and rise on my toes to press my lips to his.

For a heartbeat, he remains perfectly still, as if frozen by my boldness. Then, with a sound that’s half-growl, half-sigh, he responds, his mouth moving against mine with careful restraint that can’t quite mask the hunger beneath.

His lips are warmer than a human’s would be, firmer, and they taste faintly of something mineral and sweet—like the crystallized fruit, but wilder.

His hand slides from my cheek to cradle the back of my head, fingers tangling in my hair with exquisite care, as if he’s acutely aware of his strength and my relative fragility.

When we finally break apart, I’m breathless, my heart hammering against my ribs like it’s trying to escape.

Henrok’s eyes have darkened to a deep, burning crimson, and I notice for the first time that the crystalline markings on his skin are pulsing brighter, faster, with a rhythm that matches my racing pulse.

“I have wanted to do that,” he admits, voice rougher than I’ve ever heard it, “since you called me ‘Henrock’ and smiled at me across the dinner table.”

I laugh, the sound breathy and a little wild. “That was when you were still convinced I might be a spy.”

“Yes,” he agrees, his thumb tracing the line of my jaw with maddening gentleness. “It was... inconvenient.”

“And now?” I ask, leaning into his touch.

“Now,” he says, “there are no more barriers between us. No more reasons to deny what we both want.”

The promise in those words sends heat spiraling through me, settling low in my belly.

I’ve been attracted to Henrok from the beginning—even when I was terrified of him, even when I thought he might be my jailer or worse.

But this is different. This isn’t just attraction.

This is... connection. Recognition. The sense that I’ve found something I didn’t even know I was looking for.

“Then don’t deny it,” I challenge, reaching for him again.

This time, his restraint fractures. He pulls me against him, one arm encircling my waist while the other hand remains tangled in my hair.

The kiss is deeper, hungrier, a claiming that makes my knees weak and my head spin.

I clutch at his shoulders, fingers digging into the unyielding material of his formal attire.

Against my body, I can feel the heat radiating from him—not just warm, but genuinely hot, like standing too close to an engine core. It should be uncomfortable, but instead it’s intoxicating, seeping through my clothes and into my skin.

“Too many layers,” I murmur against his mouth, tugging ineffectually at the complex fastenings of his chest plate.

He draws back slightly, amusement glinting in his eyes. “Zaterran battle armor is not designed for easy removal,” he informs me, as if discussing the weather instead of the logistics of getting him naked.

“Well, it should be,” I retort, fingers still searching for clasps or seams. “Seriously, how do you get out of this thing? Is there an emergency release? A secret code word?”

His laugh surprises us both—a deep, rumbling sound that I feel more than hear. “Allow me,” he says, reaching for a hidden mechanism at his shoulder.

With practiced movements, he releases a series of catches that I couldn’t have found in a thousand years. The chest plate separates into sections that he removes with efficient grace, revealing a fitted undergarment that does nothing to hide the powerful musculature beneath.

I watch, mesmerized, as layer after layer of ceremonial armor is set aside.

The obsidian shoulder guards first, then the intricately etched chest plate with its crystalline inlays that catch the starlight.

My mouth goes dry as each piece reveals more of him—the broad expanse of his shoulders, the sculpted planes of his chest visible through the undersuit.

But it’s the crystalline markings that truly captivate me.

What I’d seen as simple patterns on his face and arms extend across his entire torso, flowing like luminous rivers beneath his slate-gray skin.

And they’re moving—not physically, but the light within them shifts and pulses, brighter now than I’ve ever seen them.

“They’re beautiful,” I breathe, reaching out to trace one of the patterns across his chest.

The moment my fingers make contact, several things happen at once. The markings flare brilliant white-blue, Henrok’s entire body goes rigid, and a sound tears from his throat that’s part growl, part groan.

“Suki,” he warns, his voice strained. “They are... sensitive.”

“Sensitive how?” I ask, fascinated, tracing the pattern again and watching his reaction.

His hands clench at his sides, the markings pulsing brighter under my touch. “They respond to... heightened emotion. Physical contact. Arousal.” The last word comes out rough, almost embarrassed.

“So when you’re turned on, they glow?” I can’t help the grin that spreads across my face. “That’s actually incredibly useful. No guessing games.”

“It is not amusing,” he protests, though the corner of his mouth twitches.

“It’s not supposed to be amusing,” I agree, running my finger along another pattern and watching it flare in response. “It’s supposed to be incredibly hot. Which it is.”

His control visibly frays at my words, the markings now pulsing so brightly they cast shadows on the walls. “You are... unexpected,” he manages.

“Good,” I say, beginning to work on the fastenings of his undergarment. “I like keeping you off balance.”

With each piece of clothing removed, more of his alien beauty is revealed.

The crystalline markings flow across his entire body in intricate patterns, some following the lines of his muscles, others tracing seemingly random paths that somehow create perfect symmetry.

They pulse with his heartbeat, his breathing, his arousal, creating a living map of his internal state.

When he’s finally naked before me, I can only stare. His body is magnificent—powerful, scarred, marked with the evidence of battles fought and won. But it’s also undeniably alien, from the mineral-bright patterns covering his skin to the way his muscles move beneath that slate-gray flesh.

And lower... well. The crystalline markings extend everywhere, including areas that make my breath catch.

His shaft rises thick and proud from a nest of darker curls, the length of him marked with those same glowing patterns.

The head is broader than a human’s, with a slight ridge around the crown, and those subtle ridges I’d noticed before are more pronounced now—raised lines that spiral along his length like jewelry carved from flesh.

“You’re incredible,” I whisper, reaching out to touch him.

He catches my wrist gently, his skin almost burning against mine. “Your turn,” he says, his voice rough with need.