Page 28 of Sold to the Nalgar (Stolen From Earth #3)

S he should’ve run. Should’ve fought, screamed, clawed her way out of his reach.

But her body wasn’t listening anymore.

Instead, it leaned toward him like metal drawn to magnetism. As if she were caught in the orbit of something much larger than herself—something ancient, dark, and terrifyingly seductive.

Zarokh’s touch was reverent, not rough. His fingers glided over her skin like he was memorizing her, branding her. And gods, how her skin responded , tingling, pulsing, yearning.

She was losing herself.

No… not losing. Morphing. The hunger in her belly wasn’t just desire anymore—it was something feral . She craved his skin. His scent. His mouth. And—worse—she craved the moment he would take her, entirely.

The heavy robes fell away, pooling at her waist.

He was already bare.

Pewter skin, ridged with scars and power. Carved by a life of brutality and victory. But it wasn’t until her eyes dipped lower—past the ripple of his abdomen, past the sculpted muscle of his thighs—that she truly froze.

Two.

Two perfectly formed cocks. One thick, long, pulsing with ridged veins. The other slightly shorter, curved subtly toward her, sleeker. Both sat against him, dark and glistening, inhumanly beautiful and wholly impossible.

Her brain rebelled. But her body—traitorous, curious—throbbed.

He saw her stare and smiled.

“They are… made for you,” he said, voice low, almost amused. “And you, for them.”

Gods. He was serious .

She should’ve laughed. Or recoiled.

Instead, she leaned into the moment, as if her cells had rearranged themselves overnight to anticipate this—to want this.

He kissed her—not like a man, but like a conqueror. Possessive, patient, terrifyingly in control. One hand tangled in her hair, the other wrapped firmly around her waist, drawing her against the hardness of his chest. And then…

She gasped as he lifted her, easily, cradling her as though she weighed nothing. As though she were precious.

No words. Just heat. Pressure. Her back hit the furs.

And then, he entered her.

The larger cock first—slow, steady, thick. Her body tensed, stretched. Accommodating. Accepting. Burning.

And then—unbelievably—the second joined, curling against her from behind, pressing into a place that made her vision go white.

She cried out.

Not in pain.

In disbelief.

In surrender.

He moved slowly, watching her, reading her every sound, every shiver, every gasp. She realized, with dawning horror and wonder, that he knew her body already— better than she did .

This wasn’t just sex.

This was claiming .

He was planting himself in her, around her, through her.

As if this moment wasn’t just pleasure—it was purpose.

And maybe it was.

Because something inside her shattered .

And something else… awakened .