Page 17 of Sy (Alien Berserkers of Izaea #2)

17

S he was so damn tired.

Exhaustion dragged at Ashley’s limbs, her muscles protesting the hours of caving. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d pushed herself this hard physically. Maybe it wasn’t just the physical exertion. Watching that alien beam grab Lila had taken years off her life.

Sy’s measured footsteps echoed against stone, pulling her attention back to the present. Everything was fine. He was here. Lila was safe. They were all safe.

Her gaze kept drifting to him as they walked, drawn like a magnet to true north. The way he moved… like a predator, all contained power and fluid grace. The amber lights caught his shoulders as he turned a corner, and heat pooled low in her belly.

Cool air did nothing to ease the warmth spreading under her skin. Their footsteps echoed against stone walls—his measured and deliberate, hers falling into sync without conscious thought, like some intricate dance where she didn’t know the steps and couldn’t read her partner. He’d kissed her in the cave like she was air and he was drowning, but now he was all controlled distance and unreadable expressions.

Her steps faltered, catching on a raised flagstone. Immediately he reached out and caught her, his touch burning against her skin. She murmured her thanks. The casual gesture shouldn’t have been distracting, but her mind immediately supplied the memory of those fingers tangled in her hair, cupping her face as he?—

No. She wasn’t going there. Not now. Not when they were heading to his quarters to… Shower. She was going to use his shower. That was all. Her mind presented her with an image of the two of them in there, wrapped around each other. Hot water. Soapy skin. She shoved the thought down quickly.

They turned another corner, and the lights caught his profile. His jaw was set in that way that meant he was thinking hard about something, and she wondered what was going on behind those gold-flecked eyes.

He stopped at a door—identical to every other heavy wooden door they’d passed—and pushed it open. The hinges protested with a soft creak. Stepping aside, he gestured for her to enter. Her heart thundered against her ribs as she crossed the threshold. This was his space. Private. Personal.

Except… it wasn’t.

She blinked, taking in the main living area. The layout matched her own quarters exactly—the same open space with its functional kitchenette, and modest furniture. Two doors led to what she knew would be bedrooms, another to a bathroom. Even the walls were the same warm beige stone. The only difference was the complete absence of anything personal. No datapad left carelessly on the low table, no half-drunk cup of tea forgotten on the counter. Nothing to suggest anyone actually lived here.

He moved past her into the room, and when she glanced up, she found him watching her with an odd expression.

“What?” Her hand went to her face automatically. “Do I have something…”

A soft chuckle escaped him, the sound warming her from the inside out. “No. I’m just curious what you’re thinking.”

“I…” She hesitated, caught between honesty and diplomacy. Screw it. “I thought since you’re on the command team, you’d have better quarters.”

The words hung in the air for a heartbeat. Then his lips curved slightly. “Izaean practicality,” he said, gesturing at the bare room. “Nothing more than what we need.”

She watched him cross to the kitchenette, his movements economical and precise. Everything about him was precise, controlled. Except… she had seen moments when that control slipped. When he’d kissed her in the emergency shelter. When he’d reached for her in the cave before they fell…

She ran her fingers along the back of the couch—exactly like hers—and tried to imagine him living here. Sleeping here. Did he use both bedrooms? Did he sleep with his door open or closed? The questions bubbled up unbidden, and she pushed them away. Not relevant. Not her business.

But standing here, in his space that wasn’t really his, she felt off balance. She could feel him watching her, probably wondering why she was staring at his furniture like it held the secrets of the universe.

When she turned to face him again, the words died in her throat. He was leaning against the doorframe of one of the bedrooms, watching her with an intensity that made her breath catch. The light caught his eyes, turning them to embers, and for a moment she forgot what she’d been about to say.

“We lost everything in the attack on the southern fortress,” he said, breaking the charged silence. “Though I didn’t have much to begin with.”

Her chest tightened. She remembered reading about the attack—a devastating assault that had caught the Izaean off guard. The loss of life had been staggering. She studied his face, searching for signs of pain or grief, but his expression remained carefully neutral.

“The Izaean don’t really have a use for luxury,” he continued as he pushed away from the doorframe. “We’re trained for efficiency. Anything unnecessary just… gets in the way.”

There was something in the way he said it, like he was remembering something. She tilted her head, a small smile playing at her lips.

“Or even many personal possessions?” she asked, keeping her voice light, teasing.

Something flickered across his face—too quick to read—before his expression smoothed out again. He straightened, shoulders tensing slightly. “Not much room for those, either.”

The words felt heavy, and she watched as his gaze drifted to the far wall. The teasing died on her lips as, noticed how his fingers twitched at his side before curling into a loose fist.

“I didn’t mean—” she started, but he shook his head.

“It’s fine.” His voice was quieter now. “When you come to Parac’Norr, you learn to live with less. Everything here is…” He gestured vaguely at the sparse room. “Functional. Practical.” A slight pause. “Simple.”

She thought of her own quarters, of the small treasures she’d brought with her—the worn copy of her father’s favorite book, her mother’s old scarf, the collection of strange rocks she’d gathered since arriving. Little pieces of herself, scattered through her space.

“But surely there must be something,” she said softly. “Something small you’ve kept?”

His eyes met hers, and for a moment she saw something vulnerable there, something raw. Then he looked away, his gaze settling on the empty kitchen counter.

“I had a few things. Drawings mostly. Things Kal and Tor made when they were little.” His voice softened at their names. “Lost them in the evacuation.”

She felt the weight behind those words. Not just possessions lost, but memories. He moved restlessly across the room, his shoulders tense at the mention of the boys.

“After the attack… We didn’t have time to grab anything. Funny how that works. You spend years telling yourself things don’t matter and then realize too late the ones that did.”

The silence stretched between them, growing heavier with each passing second. She shifted her weight, hyperaware of every small movement, every breath. The mention of Kal and Tor’s childhood drawings had changed something in the air, like a door had cracked open but neither of them knew whether to step through.

She stole a glance at his profile. The amber light caught the sharp angle of his jaw, the tension in his shoulders. She ached to reach out, to touch, to comfort—but she held back, instinctively knowing this moment required stillness.

The quiet felt almost physical now, pressing against her skin. She could hear her own heartbeat, feel the warmth radiating from him even across the space between them. This close, she caught his scent—dirt, the tang of male sweat that she curiously didn’t mind, and something uniquely his that made her pulse quicken.

When he finally spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper. “The three of us arrived here together, years ago.”

She froze. “How old were you?”

Now he did turn, his expression carefully blank. “Mid-teens.”

“And Tor?” The question came out barely above a whisper, though she dreaded the answer. Her heart was pounding so hard she was sure he must hear it.

“The same age as Kal,” he said simply. “He was little more than a toddler.”

Horror crept up her spine as the pieces fell into place. “And Kal?”

Sy’s gaze softened, though his voice remained steady. “He was already on the shuttle when it picked us up. They were both terrified. Clung to me like little limpets.”

She stared at him, her mind reeling. She tried to imagine it—a teenage boy suddenly responsible for two terrified toddlers, arriving in this stark, military world. No wonder he’d kept those drawings. No wonder losing them had mattered.

The space between them seemed to shrink, charged with a different kind of tension now. She could see past his careful composure to the boy he must have been, thrust into a role no teenager should have to take on. Everything about him made more sense now—his protectiveness of the boys, his careful control, the way he carried responsibility like a second skin.

“So you became their parent. Didn’t you?” The words slipped out, soft and full of understanding.

He hesitated but then nodded, his eyes meeting hers. The raw vulnerability there stole her breath. Gone was the careful mask, the controlled warrior. For the first time, she saw him completely unguarded, and it made her heart twist.

Before she could stop herself, she took a step toward him. Then another. His eyes tracked her movement, but he didn’t pull away this time. The air between them felt electric, charged with something that had been building since that kiss in the emergency shelter.

She reached for him without thinking, her hand coming to rest on his arm. His skin was warm through the fabric of his shirt, and she felt the slight tremor that ran through him at her touch. For a moment, they just stood there, connected by that single point of contact, breathing the same air.

Then he moved, closing the last bit of distance between them. His hand came up to cup her face, his thumb brushing across her cheekbone with such gentleness it made her throat tight.

She leaned into his touch, unable to help herself, and his control finally, completely, shattered.

His mouth crashed down on hers, urgent and hungry. There was no gentleness now, no careful control—only raw need and desperate longing. His hand slid from her cheek to tangle in her hair, gripping tightly as he pulled her against him. She gasped at the sudden intensity, and he took advantage, deepening the kiss until she thought she might drown in it.

Her hands fisted in his shirt, clinging to him as her senses reeled. The taste of him, the feel of his body pressed against hers—it was overwhelming, consuming. His arm wrapped around her waist, anchoring her to him, and she could feel the hard planes of his chest, the taut muscles of his abdomen against her softer curves. Every inch of him was hot and firm against her, sending her pulse skyrocketing.

His mouth moved against hers with devastating skill, his tongue exploring, teasing, promising pleasures she could only imagine. She met him kiss for kiss, her own desire rising to match his, her body aching with a need that was almost painful.

The room spun around her, the world narrowing down to the points where their bodies touched and their breaths mingled.

His grip on her hair tightened, and he tilted her head back, exposing her neck. His lips left hers to trail hot, open-mouthed kisses down her throat, and she shivered, her skin burning where he touched her. She could feel his heart pounding against her chest, the rapid rise and fall of his breath, and it thrilled her to know she affected him this way.

When his mouth found hers again, the ferocity stole her breath. His teeth nipped at her lower lip, and she gasped as her fingers dug into his shoulders.

He took the opportunity to deepen the kiss more, sliding his tongue against hers and stroking in a rhythm that made her knees weak.

The heat between them blazed out of control, the air thick with the scent of their desire. Her body ached with a need she’d never felt before.

She pressed closer to him, wanting more, needing more. His hand slid down her back, cupping her ass and pulling her tightly against him, and she could feel the hard length of him pressed against her stomach.

The kiss was a battle, a dance, a promise of more. It was raw and primal, a claiming and a surrender all at once. As his mouth moved against hers, hungry and insistent, she knew she was lost—lost in him, lost in this moment, lost in the fire that burned between them.

And she never wanted to be found.

Sy’s lips crashed down over hers again. His hands cupped her face, thumbs stroking her cheeks gently. Her body responded, melting into him as though they’d been made for this moment.

The living room spun around her as he walked her backward, his body pressing against hers with each deliberate step. The heat of him radiated through his clothes, warming her skin everywhere they touched. When his tongue swept across her bottom lip, she opened to him with a soft moan that seemed to ignite something primal in him.

The backs of her knees met the edge of the couch and his hands dropped to her hips, gripping firmly. The rough pads of his fingers dug into her flesh through her clothes, sending sparks of pleasure racing along her nerve endings.

He pulled back just enough to look at her, his eyes dark with desire, pupils blown wide enough to swallow the iris whole.

“Ashley,” he breathed her name like a prayer against her lips before claiming them again.

The couch cushions gave way beneath her as he guided her down, following her so he was braced over her. His weight pressed her into the soft cushions, solid and real and wonderfully overwhelming. His hands roamed her sides while his mouth traced a burning path along her jaw to that sensitive spot just below her ear that made her arch against him.

Her fingers threaded through his hair, pulling it free of its tie and holding him close as his lips explored her neck. Each touch sent shivers down her spine, each kiss stoking the flames building inside her. The hard planes of his chest pressed against her breasts, the strong muscles of his thighs against hers making her hyperaware of every point of contact between them.

He slid a hand beneath her shirt, callused fingers skimming across sensitive skin. She gasped at the contact. The growl that rumbled through his chest vibrated where they pressed together, sending fresh heat pooling low in her belly.

He shifted to brace himself on one elbow while his other hand continued its exploration, inching higher underneath her shirt. Her breath came in short pants, her heart thundering against her ribs like it might burst free at any moment. Every touch, every kiss wound her tighter, building a tension that threatened to consume her completely.

His mouth found hers again, claiming every inch in a kiss so deep and thorough it scattered her thoughts like leaves in the wind. His tongue stroked against hers, and she clutched at his shoulders, the powerful muscles flexing beneath her fingers as he held himself above her. When his hand finally reached the underside of her breast, his fingers splaying wide across her ribs, she moaned into his mouth.

The heat between them was almost unbearable now, their clothes too much of a barrier. His fingers hooked under the edge of her bra and her back arched in anticipation. But as his hand moved higher, the slight scratchiness of dried sweat and cave dust over her skin made her pause.

“Sy,” she managed, her voice still husky. “We’re filthy.”

His eyes, dark and heavy-lidded with want, took a moment to focus on her words. A smudge of dirt marked his cheek where she’d caressed him, and his tight top was covered in dusty handprints where she’d clutched at him.

“Ugh… I can feel it everywhere,” she admitted, shifting beneath him. More dust puffed up between them, making her wrinkle her nose. “It’s in my hair, under my clothes…”

The layer of grime coating her skin made her feel sticky and uncomfortable despite the burning desire still coursing through her veins.

His weight pressed her deeper into the couch cushions with a slight crunch of dirt grinding into the fabric. His thumb brushed across her cheekbone, no doubt leaving another streak of dirt in its wake.

“We should probably clean up,” she whispered, but her body betrayed her words, arching into his touch when his hand slid down her neck.

His response was to lower his head, his lips brushing against her ear. “Probably,” he agreed, his voice a low rumble that she felt more than heard. His teeth grazed her earlobe and she gasped, her hands automatically clutching at his shoulders.

More dust puffed up between them, and she couldn’t help but giggle.

“We’re getting everything filthier by the second,” she pointed out. Her fingers traced his jaw. “And I can feel cave dirt in places it definitely shouldn’t be.”

He pulled back just enough to meet her eyes, and the look he gave her made her breath catch. Before she could process what was happening, he moved with lightning speed. One moment she was lying beneath him on the couch, and the next she was airborne, swept up into his arms.

“I’m too heavy!” The words tumbled out before she could stop them, even as her body thrilled at the casual display of strength.

His steps stopped.

“Did you just suggest I’m not strong enough to carry you?” His voice dropped lower, taking on a dangerous edge that sent shivers down her spine.

Her mouth went dry at the predatory gleam in his eyes.

“I didn’t mean—” she started, but he was already moving, deliberately bouncing her in his arms as he strode toward the bathroom.

“I think,” he said, his breath hot against her ear, “you need a demonstration of exactly how strong I am.”

The journey to the bathroom seemed to take forever and no time at all. Every step caused his muscles to flex against her, reminding her of the raw power contained in his body. Her fingers traced the corded muscles of his neck, feeling them shift as he walked. Even through his dirty clothes, she could feel the heat radiating from him.

They reached the bathroom, and he shouldered the door open without loosening his hold. The fluorescent lights flickered on automatically, reflecting off gleaming tiles and making the dust in their clothes even more apparent. But her attention was captured by their reflection in the large mirror… at the sight of herself cradled in his arms, and the heat in his expression as he looked down at her.

The bathroom was massive, easily three times the size of her quarters back on the station. A walk-in shower dominated one corner, gleaming chrome and glass that reflected the soft lighting. His boots clicked against the tiles as he carried her toward it.

“Still think you’re too heavy?” His voice was a low growl that vibrated through his chest and into hers where they pressed together. Before she could answer, he demonstrated his point by shifting her weight to one arm like she weighed nothing, keeping her suspended against his chest while his free hand reached for the shower controls.

Her heart thundered against her ribs, heat flooding her cheeks at how easily he held her.

“Show-off,” she managed, but her breathless tone gave away exactly how his casual display of strength affected her.

The shower burst to life with a hiss of pressurized water. Steam began to curl through the air around them as his wicked grin flashed white in the soft light.

He stepped into the spray fully clothed, his arms secure around her. The water hit them both, and she gasped as it soaked instantly through their clothes, plastering the fabric to their skin.

Warm water cascaded over them, turning the dust and grime on their clothes into gray rivers that traced paths down their bodies. His black shirt clung to the hard planes of his chest and arms, outlining every sculpted muscle. Droplets caught in his eyelashes as he looked down at her, his eyes dark with desire and something wilder, more dangerous.

“Any other comments?”

Water ran down his face in rivulets, cutting through the remaining dust on his skin. The effect made him look untamed, dangerous, and absolutely irresistible. The shower’s spray created a cocoon around them, blocking out everything beyond the glass walls.

“I guess the clothes were dirty anyway,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper as he lowered her to her feet. Her hands slid down his chest, feeling the firm muscles beneath his soaked shirt.

“We’re being responsible,” he agreed, his voice a low rasp that sent shivers down her spine. “Saving water.”

His hands found her hips, and he backed her against the tiled wall.

Need hit her like a punch to the gut. Her fingers found the hem of his shirt, tugging it upward with an urgency that surprised even her.

“These need to go,” she murmured as he ducked his head, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along her neck. The water made everything slick and sensitive, each touch amplified, electric.

He pulled back just enough to yank his shirt over his head, the wet fabric hitting the floor outside the shower with a sodden splat. Water ran down his bare chest, tracing paths between hard-earned muscles. Unable to resist, she reached out, following one of those paths with her fingers and feeling his muscles jump beneath her touch.

His hands found the bottom of her tank top, peeling the wet fabric up her body. The air was cool against her wet skin for just a moment before his hands were there, hot and demanding, sliding up her sides. Her bra followed quickly, both items joining his shirt on the bathroom floor in a soggy heap.

The spray hit her bare breasts, and she gasped. His eyes darkened as he looked down at her. His hands came up to cup her breasts, his thumbs brushing over the sensitive peaks. The dual sensation of the warm water and his touch made her arch into him, a moan escaping her lips.

“Beautiful,” he growled before capturing her mouth in a searing kiss. The taste of him made her head spin. His chest pressed against hers, skin to skin, hot and slick and perfect.

Their remaining clothes seemed to melt away under desperate hands, both of them fighting with wet fabric until they were finally, gloriously naked. Water ran between their bodies where they pressed together, creating delicious friction.

His hands were everywhere at once, leaving trails of fire.

He reached between them, his fingers finding her clit with unerring accuracy. Her head fell back against the tiles with a gasp as he touched her with skilled precision. Her hands clutched at his shoulders, feeling the play of muscles under wet skin as he moved.

His mouth found her breast again, the contrast between the cool water and his hot tongue making her cry out.

The pleasure on her body built rapidly under his touch, coiling tighter and tighter in her core. She moaned as he worked her higher, his fingers moving in perfect rhythm. Her nails dug into his shoulders as the tension mounted, her body trembling between his solid form and the tiled wall.

When release finally crashed over her, it was like being swept away by a wave.

She cried out his name, her body arching against him as pleasure coursed through her veins. He held her steady through it all, his touch gentle but sure as he drew out every last tremor of pleasure.

As she came down from her high, she became aware of his ragged breathing, the barely contained tension in his body where he pressed against her. Opening her eyes, she found him watching her with an intensity that made her ache with need.

“Ashley,” he rasped, his voice rough with need. “Are you sure about this? I need to know you’re sure.”

She looked deeply into his eyes, seeing the raw desire mixed with a tenderness that made her chest tighten. She nodded, her voice steady and sure. “I’m sure, Sy. I want this. I want you .”

A low growl rumbled in his chest, and his mouth captured hers in a fierce, claiming kiss.

The kiss spoke of pent-up longing and unspoken emotions that sent her senses reeling. His hands slid down her body, gripping her thighs as he lifted her against the wall. She wrapped her legs around his waist, her arms circling his neck and pulling him closer.

The tiles were cold and slick against her back, but his body was a furnace, his heat enveloping her. Breaking away from her mouth, he trailed hot, open-mouthed kisses down her neck. She arched against him, her body throbbing with need. She ached. She needed more. Needed everything he could give her.

And she could feel him, hard and ready, pressing against her core. Right where she needed him. Shifting her hips, she tried to align their bodies, desperate to feel him inside her. His grip on her thighs tightened, and he looked into her eyes, his gaze fierce and hungry.

Then he entered her. A single, powerful thrust, and he filled her completely. She gasped as her body stretched to accommodate him. The sensation was overwhelming, intense, and utterly perfect.

So perfect.

He held still, his cock throbbing in her depths as he rested his forehead against hers. His breath came in ragged gasps.

“You feel amazing,” he murmured, his voice rough. “So perfect. So tight.”

She kissed him in response, her lips pressing against his, her tongue tangling with his. He began to move, his hips withdrawing before thrusting forward again, each movement sending waves of pleasure crashing through her body.

The rhythm was slow at first, deliberate, like each thrust was a claim, a declaration of his need and desire for her. She met each one, her body arching to meet his as their breaths mingled in the steamy air.

Their pace quickened, bodies moving together in perfect sync. The tiles behind her were slick and cool against her back, a contrast to the heat of his body where he moved against her. Within her.

His grip on her thighs tightened, his fingers digging into her flesh as his thrusts sped up. She responded in kind, her hips finding and matching his rhythm. Her breath came in short gasps.

The pleasure built, coiling tighter and tighter in her core. She felt it in every nerve ending and every cell of her being. His bigger, more powerful body was taut with tension, his muscles flexing under her hands as he held her against the wall easily. Taking her. Claiming her.

And she loved it.

His eyes met hers, the intensity of his gaze sending her spiraling even higher. There was a connection between them, something deep and profound that went beyond the physical. It was a feeling of rightness… of belonging, of their souls connecting.

“Sy,” she gasped, her voice breathless as the pleasure built to a fever pitch.

He responded with a low growl, his body tensing as his hips moved faster, driving her higher and higher. The world around them faded away, leaving only the two of them, their bodies joined and their hearts pounding in sync.

Their pace became almost frantic, their bodies moving together in a dance as old as time. Water poured over them, the pleasure overwhelming, all-consuming…

His breath came in ragged gasps, mingling with hers in the steam-filled air. The sound of their bodies coming together, the wet slap of flesh against flesh, was erotic, primal. It drove her higher, pushed her closer to the edge of oblivion.

Every nerve ending she had lit up with pleasure and anticipation. The tension in her core wound tighter with each thrust, each roll of his hips against hers. She could feel it building, a wave threatening to consume her completely.

He sped up the pace, his body moving with a desperate urgency that matched her own need. The sight of him, so fierce and completely focused on her, sent a fresh wave of heat flooding through her body.

Her head fell back against the tiles, her eyes fluttering closed as sensation became almost too much to bear. His lips found her neck, his teeth grazing her sensitive skin, sending shivers down her spine.

She felt his body tensing, muscles coiling as he approached his own peak. The knowledge that he was as affected as she was, that he was as lost in the sensation as she was, sent a thrill of power through her. Opening her eyes, she met his gaze and saw the raw, unbridled need reflected in his red eyes.

And then, with a final, powerful thrust, he sent her over the edge. Her body convulsed around him, muscles clenching as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over her. She cried out, her nails digging into his shoulders, her body shaking with the force of her release.

He followed her into pleasure, his hips jerking as he found his own release.

His roar of completion was primal, a sound that seemed to shake the very foundations of the garrison.

She smiled. It was a sound of triumph, of possession, of a man claiming his woman in the most basic way possible.