Page 27 of The Dreamer and the Deep Space Warrior (Xaal Alien Romance #1)

Isobel

“Isobel,” he rumbled, saying her name like a warning. “My self-restraint is already precarious, held together by nothing but stripped bolts. I could hurt you.”

“But I know you won’t.” She ground her hips experimentally against him, and his fingers flexed against her curves as if he wanted to stop her and guide her all at once. “Please,” she whispered. “I need this. And you do, too.”

“I should not,” he said through gritted teeth, his control waning. “You’re untouched and I’m not certain I’m strong enough to control myself with you.”

“I trust you. Please make me yours tonight, Ved.” She hardly recognized her voice as husky with desire as it was. “I want to be with you in every way.”

His entire body tensed and just when she thought he would deny her, he surged upward, causing her to squeak in surprise.

“I can’t resist you. How could I when you beg so prettily?

” He moved them deeper into the ship as she wrapped her legs around him.

Quick strides took them farther than she’d been before, beyond the areas in which they worked.

His ship was deceptively large, and as another door hissed open, she was amazed at what it held.

It was a bedroom. His bedroom.

He set her down on her feet, and she instinctively pulled the tatters of her dress up to cover herself.

The room was almost all bed—a round gray thing that looked more comfortable than her own despite their being no bedding.

Otherwise, there was only a closed door on one side and a blank wall on the other.

Reaching behind his head, he pressed on the material where it covered his neck. The tunic came loose from his body, opening in the back in a manner she couldn’t understand.

“If we had that, there would never be a need for a lady’s maid. How is it done? Do you—”

She cut herself off as he pulled the fabric from his arms, revealing the expanse of his chest and torso.

His muscles shifted as he let his top drop to the floor, and her tongue darted out to lick her lips.

She could finally see the landscape that was his body without the obstruction of a shirt.

He was impossibly chiseled, his thick grooves and curves cutting out the definition of a lifetime of training.

His abdominals rippled beneath his midnight flesh like waves; his defined pectorals twitched and settled.

Scars were scattered across his skin—as many as there were stars in the night sky. But there was one, deep and ragged, that caught her attention. It went straight up the middle of his stomach. The cuts had been messy, harsh, making it appear like a lightning bolt through his torso.

“This scar,” she murmured, reaching toward him. Flicking her eyes up, she asked his permission.

“You can touch me,” he said roughly .

Her finger landed against the scar, feather light as she traced the jagged line of it up his sternum. It was all mangled and raised scar tissue, a darker blue than the rest of his skin.

“This is from where they hurt you,” she said, her brow scrunching in sadness. She stepped closer and pressed her lips to it once, twice.

He took her hand in his and moved it up before flattening her palm down against his chest. “It is, but it’s a reminder of where I came from, the promises I made to myself.”

She nodded, understanding he didn’t want her pity, but then she felt it. “Your heartbeat, it’s—” She stepped into him, pressing her ear against his sternum. “You have more than one heart?”

“Vay. All Xaal have two.”

They stood like that for a long moment, his heartbeats thundering through her, before he gently pressed her back several steps. “Do you still want all of me?”

Biting her lip, she nodded. Consequences be damned. Right now, she wasn’t Isobel Nott, the spinster being forced to marry the dreadful lord. She was the bold heroine of her own story—willing to risk it all to get what she wanted.

Then he reached for his trousers. She swallowed hard as her gaze followed the movement.

Was she ready to see all of him?

He paused with his thumbs hooked at the waistband. “Isobel?”

Yes,” she consented breathlessly. Right then and there, she committed herself to leaving all thoughts of propriety elsewhere. If this were a sin, then by God, she would happily burn an eternity for it.

He pushed his trousers down over his hip bones, and, holding her breath, she followed the creases on either side that formed a deep v . He let the material fall down his thighs and legs, his manhood springing free. Standing only in his helmet, he was a vision. Beautiful. Godly.

All she knew of sex was what she had read in books.

And even that hadn’t been fully instructional, focusing more on the emotions and simple constructs of the act.

But she was certain, from the sculptures of men and the anatomy books she had read alongside Clara, that a human man’s appendage was fairly standard.

Though she was certain all were unique in their own small ways, they possessed a certain recognizable form.

And they were usually of a size that was of no concern to women. His was glorious.

“It is very large,” she murmured.

Ved tilted his head as he wrapped a fist around the base. “Human males are not so?”

“I’m certain they wish they were,” she squeaked, not fully committed to the conversation.

She was far too busy watching how it reacted to his grasp—hardening and thickening in his hand.

It was so large, in fact, that she had no idea how it was meant to fit.

Her gaze settled on the broad tip, where the color was a slightly darker blue with purplish undertones.

Bloody. Hell.

He let her get her fill of the vision in front of her before drawing closer. “Skin to skin,” he repeated as he bent to grab her shift.

She nodded, her gaze traveling up his massive form to settle on his eye shields. He pushed the torn fabric down her body, exposing her soft stomach, then over her wide hips, pulling her undergarments with it to reveal the triangle of dark curls at her center.

Instinctively, she wrapped her arms around her midsection and covered her breasts.

“Don’t be embarrassed . I want to see and feel you. All of you.”

“It’s only habit,” she breathed, and let her arms drop again .

He stepped into her before gently lifting her to set her on the edge of the bed. Moving between her legs, he gently forced her knees apart with his own. His masked gaze seemed to move down the length of her body, stopping on her sex.

“I am unworthy,” he breathed.

The cooler air brushed against her thighs, emphasizing the wetness there.

Her cheeks burned, but she was unable to look away from him.

They only had this night together, and she wanted to memorize every moment of it, encapsulate it so she could call it to mind whenever she pleased.

There was no need to be anywhere else but present in this very moment.

“Though I want nothing more than to bury myself inside of you, I can hurt you with my size. If we had more time, I’d have prepared you for me, stretched you so you could take me.”

“Oh,” she croaked. Her eyes dipped to his hard length again.

She could see his anatomy more clearly now.

His member was different than a man’s. Its head was broader, and the thick shaft was made up of three bulging sectors with the base being the largest. Along the top were ridges that curved across the tight flesh.

Her mouth went dry. “I still want to…” she murmured, trailing off as his manhood moved with a pulse.

“I have you now,” he vowed. “I will be as gentle as I can.” His hands were promises on her thighs as he guided her legs around his hips.

He moved them further on the bed, and his hard length pressed into her thighs. Fire licked at her stomach and collected in the deepest parts of her core. When she was settled with him above her, his fingers found her wet center again.

“I want you to find such pleasure, too. Please,” she begged as his fingers teased her.

Propping herself up, she reached between them to wrap her hand around his shaft.

Well, as much as it would go around it. The feel of it was shocking, hard yet malleable as the soft, hot skin shifted beneath her palm.

A feral sound ripped from his throat. He looked down at where she held him, his hips jolting forward at the sight. “Nevskol me,” he hissed.

And when she swiped her thumb along the underside of his broad tip, he threw his head back, exposing the thick column of his throat. There was something powerful and heady about being able to make him react in such ways.

“Isobel,” he groaned out. He pumped into her hand once, twice, and then pulled away from her grasp.

“Have I done something—”

“No,” he gritted out. “You’re perfect. I can barely stand it. Your touch…”

She bit her lip, but she thought she understood. There was a growing impatience of her own, her center pulsing with the intensity of it.

She wanted him fully, completely. Wanted to feel him move inside her, be as close as two souls could ever be.

“Take me, Ved,” she rasped, borrowing the phrase from the stories she read. But it felt right. Important.

His chin dipped like he was a hungry predator that had just cornered its prey. “Say it again,” he growled.

“Please, take me. I need you inside of me.” The words tumbled from her lips, and she was certain that if he told her to beg, she would.

Watching him coat himself with her wetness felt like a cosmic event. And as he pressed the tip of himself into her, she felt like she’d waited forever for this singular moment.

He withdrew and repeated this motion several times, pressing into her in the smallest of increments, allowing her to adjust to the girth of him. The slow stretch was expected and not at all as unpleasant as she thought it would be .

“You’re taking me so well ,” he praised.