Page 23 of The Alien in the Archive (Galactic Librarians #1)

23

THORNE

T hese human romance guides are—if salacious—completely gripping.

I devour three of them over the course of the day, tossing them beside my chair when I’m done. Ashlan pesters me for scraps of food, which I scrounge up from my stores of stolen jerky from the kitchens. Every time I’m distracted, I come right back, sit down, and keep reading.

I’m just beginning my fourth book when Page’s thoughts brush against my mind, her consciousness seeking mine out. I put the paperback down to let her show me what she’s doing, closing my eyes…and I see her, wandering down a path in Mythara Village, back home.

She’s sparkling—no, she’s drunk. She wants me to see, her body warm and tingling, resonating with desire. She unlocks her door at the keypad then steps inside, leaning against the wall and taking off her shoes. I catch glimpses of her room…a bed in the corner, partially shielded by a screen; a desk in the other; a few potted plants, and countless books.

We don’t form sentences in our thoughts; it’s not like that, but more abstract. I can sense that she knows I’m here, that there was an invitation. When she feels me in her mind, images flash—my alcove, Page straddling me, kissing me.

I let out a harsh breath.

“Page…” I murmur.

I take in more details as she shrugs out of her jacket: a photograph of herself and her brother visiting New York City, smiling. A fluffy stuffed bear that was the only remaining item from her parents’ home, scorch marks on its ears. I learn the context as I process it all through her eyes, her perception.

“I know you’re there, Thorne,” she says.

I chuckle. “You invited me.”

“I feel like a crazy person, talking to myself in my room,” she says, her words slurred slightly. “But…is it weird that I don’t mind having you here? It’s kind of nice not to be alone.”

I try to guard my thoughts from her, but she sees right through me, because my first thought, unfiltered, was that I can’t imagine being without her again. I spent so long alone, and I…

“Me too, Thorne,” she murmurs.

Everything is soft around the edges, blurry as if it’s glowing from her alcohol consumption. I think I’m getting a bit of a contact high, drunk with her as her mind influences mine. I lean back in my chair when she stumbles to the bed in nothing but her t-shirt and underwear, smiling to herself.

“You had a good night,” I observe.

“I made friends,” she says, grinning.

I see more glimpses of her night—toasting with Thalara and Lyn, drinking and surrounded by music. I’m sure I did similar things at one point…but I can’t remember them. Memories get shuffled around and disorganized when you’re cataloguing millennia. I’m surprised when Page remembers talking about her personal life…telling them about a mad scientist .

“I’m not a mad scientist,” I murmur.

She huffs out a laugh. “But you’re more of a mad scientist than a poet.”

“Presumptuous of you,” I scoff. “You have no idea if I’ve written poetry.”

She goes quiet for a moment. I feel her prod at my mind. “Yeah…you haven’t.”

“That’s not fair,” I laugh.

“You get to see what I think about all the time,” she drawls. “Turnabout’s fair play, Thorne.”

Another moment of silence. I sift through her memories of the night…take pleasure in the fact that she described me as “amazing.” It strikes me as odd, given that she’s the one who surprises me even more each day I know her.

“Do you want to know what I’m thinking about right now?” she asks.

My brow furrows as the sensations shift; an ache between her legs, every nerve raw and wanting. My cock notices the change, blood rushing toward it.

“I think I already do,” I growl.

I grip the arm of the chair as Page moves her hands from where she was drawing small circles on the sheets. She reaches under her shirt, drags her fingers too slowly up her ribs. When she finds her breasts, I let out a harsh breath, and another when she closes her thumb and forefinger over each nipple.

“This is what I wanted last night,” she says in a breathy voice into the silence of her room, into my head. “And…well, the night I kissed you. And the night you sucked on my finger. And…and I think the first time I met you.”

She trails off with a low moan, continuing to roll her nipples, pinching, pulling. I’m sprawled in my chair now, wishing she was here .

“I wish I was there, too,” she says, quite literally reading my mind. “Thorne…talk to me.”

“Not exactly easy to talk right now,” I mutter through clenched teeth. I’m painfully hard, needing her, longing for her, always longing for her.

I growl and stand, pacing, raking a hand through my hair.

“Indulge me,” she whispers.

It nearly undoes me.

I stride through the curtain to my room, desperate to get out of my clothes. I’m suddenly too warm, when I’m nearly always cold. Her heat is radiating through me, even from miles away. I sprawl out amidst the cushions and blankets, undoing my pants…

“What would you do to me?” she breathes.

I hiss out a breath when I finally wrap my fingers around my cock, pretending it’s her touching me. The connection between us trembles and spasms. I stroke myself, and Page’s right hand crawls down her body, beneath the waistband of her underwear.

“Touch you,” I choke out, grasping my cock. “Just like that.”

Two fingers are on her clit, dragging up and down. Her lips part and she arches her back, and it’s almost like I’m in the room, because she’s picturing me there. We’re in two places at once, bouncing off each other. “What else?” she asks.

“Lick you,” I rasp. I learn what she likes as I picture her, as I live in her head for a moment. “Taste you…between your legs. I would suck on your clit, beg for you to come…”

“Oh God!”

I stop talking as I imagine it—myself, between her legs, her thighs clamped around my head. We’re floating in some dream space, a collage of her filthy fantasies, memories of us together, my own fantasies, newly acquired from those damnable books…

We become those covers; Page in a sinfully laced corset, her breasts pouring over the top, her skirts hitched around her waist as I lash her with my tongue. Her fingers knot in my hair, tugging hard, as hard as she’s touching herself right now. She lets out a low, throaty laugh, thrusting her hips against my face. “You’ve been doing research.”

“For you,” I reply. “For you.”

I roll over into my bed, bury my face in the pillows. I want to suffocate between her thighs, breathe her in. Her scent is still in my sheets, and I pretend it’s her cunt, clamping my teeth around the fabric.

“Thorne!” she gasps. “Fuck me…”

Her fingers slide into her cunt, thrusting deep, and my hips jerk against the blankets. My cock is still in my hand, rutting against the blankets, and in that dream space…

…I’m inside her. Inside Page, inside my mate, mine, mine …

She rides along with me, not questioning my words, fucking herself on her fingers. Obscene sounds fill the silence of her room—wet, thrusting, her cunt sucking at her fingertips. Gods, she would feel so good wrapped around me. The heat of her, the wet, devouring heat…

My hands touch her everywhere, more hands than I truly have. I’m grasping her breasts, pulling her hair, licking her clit, fucking her cunt. My fingers dig into the flesh of her ass as I pound into her, snarling into her neck, “ Mine! ”

She spasms around her fingers, a strangled cry echoing against the ceiling of her room. And the clench of my hand around my cock…it’s almost enough. Almost enough to convince me it’s her cunt, milking me dry.

I thrust hard against the bed as I come, cursing into the blankets, longing for her as I do every endless night. Page is whispering my name, chanting it over and over. Her orgasm lasts a long time, and because of that, so does mine. I can’t stop touching myself, chasing satisfaction.

I go limp, breathing hard, my skin still warm. I don’t open my eyes; I want to be in that room with her, still there.

She’s still touching herself, more languid now, crawling toward another orgasm. This is normal for her, I realize; her species can climax multiple times in a row.

I picture myself lying beside her, touching her. Her grey eyes meet mine in that dream space.

“How many can you give me?” I ask.

Her lips part…another orgasm shakes her, though it’s gentler than the first. I feel it secondhand, pleasure making me groan.

“Another?”

She nods, keeping her eyes on me.

And she doesn’t let me down. She comes again…again, again . She doesn’t stop until she starts to grow tired, and then the picture of her room fades…and we go into a full dream, with all the strange physics and timing and plots of that twilight realm.

And then I’m sleeping as well.

Better than I’ve slept in years.

But not as well as if she was by my side.