Page 101 of Alien War Daddy's Got Rizz
Yara stares up at me with wide, glistening eyes, her fingers brushing my jaw like she’s afraid I might disappear again. She doesn't speak. She doesn’t have to. I feel her in every tremor of her limbs, in the way she holds me like I’m both sanctuary and storm.
“I’ve got you,” I whisper, voice low and guttural. “I’m here.”
I pull back only enough to see her fully, to memorize the way her lips part like she’s breathing for the first time in days, the way her gaze softens even when her eyes are rimmed with the last vestiges of wariness.
Then I move again—slow this time, deliberate. Not the kind of hunger that devours, but the kind that lingers. Reverent. Like she’s scripture and I’m praying with every inch of me.
Her breath hitches, and she arches up instinctively, her fingers dragging along my spine as if to tether me. I keep mypalm at her lower back, the other braced at her hip. I take my time.
“I want you to feel this,” I murmur, my lips brushing the shell of her ear. “Not just in your body. In your bones. In your blood.”
“Grau…” Her voice breaks, so soft and open it hurts to hear. “You’re going to ruin me.”
I meet her eyes, thrust slow and deep, and say, “No. I’m going to restore you.”
She makes a sound—part gasp, part sob—and it wrecks me in the best way. Her hands are on my chest, my shoulders, sliding into my hair like she can’t decide where to touch first. I shift my weight, slide deeper, grind just right, and she gasps again, her whole body clenching.
I feel her pussy flutter around my cock, that familiar tightness, and I still, just for a breath. Her hands fist in my shirt, anchoring herself like she’s about to be pulled under.
“Let go,” I whisper. “I’ve got you. I won’t let you fall.”
She does.
She breaks apart beneath me, moaning into my shoulder, holding me like I’m a lifeline in a storm she didn’t know she was drowning in. I kiss her temple, then her cheek, then the corners of her mouth.
“I’m not going anywhere,” I whisper.
Not again.
Not ever.
I keep moving, slower now, drawing it out. Drawing her out. Each roll of my hips is a vow. Every breath, a promise. I make love to her like it’s the last time I’ll ever be allowed to feel something pure, and in her arms, it is. It’s holy.
She meets me with matching fervor, soft moans against my jaw, her fingers splayed over my chest like she’s trying to read my heart through my skin.
“I was so angry,” she breathes, between kisses. “So confused.”
“I know.”
“I kept thinking… if I could just go back and do it over, I’d say something different. I’d say?—”
“Don’t,” I whisper, my thumb brushing the tears gathering in her lashes. “You don’t have to explain. Not to me.”
But she still does.
“I wanted you to fight for me, and when you did, I hated how much I needed it.”
“You needed truth. Not violence.”
“I needed you.”
That does it.
That breaks something loose in my chest I didn’t know was still locked down.
I kiss her again, slower than before, pouring every unspoken word into the space between our lips. I move inside her like she’s sacred, like we’re forging something new in the wreckage we both carry. I don’t rush. I don’t take. I give.
And she takes it all.
