Page 20 of The Warlord's Secret Heir

His eyes—dark, stormy, soft in the corners—lock with mine. I smell sweat, see the fine ridges in his golden scales, feel the rough edge of his stubble against my cheek. My breath comes ragged.

He leans in, eyes half-lidded. Lips parted. That tremor in his throat. I want it. The barrier between us dissolves.

His mouth captures mine. Hard. Insistent. A rush of warmth, of salt, of something else—possibility. My arms coil around his shoulders. His hand grips my waist, scale and flesh pressing against each other.

His cane clinks to the floor, forgotten. The interface board hums behind us, but I no longer hear it. My world narrows to him: scale, breath, heart, heat.

He kisses me deeper—tongue sliding over my lips, tasting me—metal, sweat, desire. I taste him too: brass, circuits, the residue of fighting, the residue of loss.

I press closer. Slide my hands along his chest—cold plate over living scale, bridging the gap between machine and man. He moans, a sound of release and need. His hand drags up my back, claws gentle but firm.

He breaks away momentarily, breathing hard. His golden eye darkens in the dim lab light. “Jaela,” he rasps.

“Yes,” I whisper, voice trembling.

He lines himself between my thighs. The thickness of him presses against my folds. My pussy flushes, slick and tight in the heat of him. I feel every ridge, every power line in his body. My fingers dig into his hips.

“Please,” I beg. “I want you.”

He lowers himself, sliding the slick head of his cock to my entrance. It’s hot, scaled, heavy. Strange, alien—but perfect for me. The first inch stretches me in a delicious pain. I gasp.

He goes in slow—inch by inch, letting me adjust. My nerves flare, electric. I wrap my legs around him. I taste him again—metal and salt—and moan.

“Fuck,” I gasp, nails trailing down the side of his leg. “So full.”

He thumbs my cheek, watching me. “You feel perfect,” he murmurs.

He begins to move—deep, slow thrusts that hurt and pleasure at once. The room spins. My body folds into him. Every push, every pull, I get more: more connection, more heat, more certainty.

We speed up. Harder. The crash mat creaks. The lab lighting glints off broken glass and metal, but I don’t see it. I see only him. Only us.

He snaps his heedless hips, each thrust taking me closer to the edge. My body clenches, pussy milking his cock. I can’t hold back.

I shatter—crying his name, body convulsing, desire ripping me apart. He follows a second later, roaring, pouring inside me.

We collapse together, trembling, in a tangle of limbs, wires, scale. Sweat beads on my skin, his chest heaves above me.

He holds me close. My head against his shoulder, my fingers brushing his back.

“Are you okay?” he murmurs, voice rough.

I nod. “Yes. You?”

He presses a kiss to my scalp. “Better than I’ve been in a long time.”

I swallow. The lab smells like metal and victory and something new between us—something I’m not ready to name yet.

But tonight, I will let this moment hold me.

BEEP.

The bay door opens. A hallway patrol bursts in—lights and boots. The moment fractures. He jerks away, heart pounding. I pull back, breath ragged, my pulse screaming. I stare at him. He looks at me—eyes wide, raw.

He doesn’t stay. He stands, grabs his cane, and limps out through the back exit without a word.

I lie on the crash mat, the foam biting at my cheek. My chest is soaked. My hair sticks. My limbs tremble. I stare at the ceiling tiles, nowhere. They swallow me in their regular grid.

My voice is a whisper: “This is going to ruin everything.”