Page 30 of Caveman Alien's Heat
But even half-asleep, my thoughts circle back to him. Nator’ax moving through the village with that calm, controlled strength. Nator’ax standing between me and curious hunters. Nator’ax’s voice when he said he would hear if I shouted.
A quiet sigh slips from my lips. “I wish you here,” I murmur.
There’s a little draft on my cheek, and the furs shift.
My eyes snap open. For a second I freeze. Did I imagine that? The cave is silent.
Then the fur lifts just a little near my shoulder.
A familiar whisper reaches my ear. “Riley.”
I gasp. “Nator’ax?!”
“Quiet,” he says quickly. “We don’t want them to know.”
My heart launches into my throat as his large form slides under the fur beside me. The sudden rush of warmth is unmistakable.
“You escape?” I whisper.
“Something like that. These men are not used to being guards. And I don’t think they’re supposed to keep me in the cave, just in the village.”
I stare at him in the dim torchlight filtering into the cave. “How did you?—”
“I will explain later,” he murmurs.
I can’t help it, so I grin as something tight in my stomach loosens. “Jungle warrior not like being prisoner.”
“Nor do you, Dame Riley.”
The fur settles around us again, trapping the heat of two bodies in the small space. For the first time since entering the cave, I feel completely warm. And very, very awake. All the way through.
The warmth under the furs deepens, thick and close, wrapping around us like a secret.
Nator’ax’s hand finds my waist, steady, certain. His breath brushes my neck, and I shiver—not from cold, but from the sudden, overwhelming awareness of him. Of us. Of how little time we might have.
“I thought of you,” he murmurs against my skin, lips grazing the sensitive spot beneath my ear.
My breath catches. “Yes?”
“Yes.” His voice drops to a velvet growl. “Every night. Every night I imagined this. Your taste on my tongue, your thighs shaking around my face, the sounds you’d make when I finally got to drink you.”
My fingers curl hard into his shoulder, nails digging in. “Good. Because I not want to think about tomorrow either.”
There’s a brief pause, heavy with everything unsaid. Then he shifts, forehead resting against mine beneath the furs, eyes burning even in the near-dark.
“I want to Worship you,” he says quietly, but the words land like a vow carved in stone.
For a second I just stare at him, heart slamming against my ribs. Heat floods through me so fast it almost makes me dizzy.
“Yes,” I whisper immediately. “Yes. Worship me. Please.”
Something in him stills at that. Like he’s drinking in the permission, the urgency, the raw need in my voice. Then he moves.
His hands slide over me with slow, deliberate reverence that makes my breath hitch. He peels the heavy fur-lined dress up my thighs, bunching it at my hips, exposing me to the warm cave air and to him. His thumbs stroke the tender crease where thigh meets pelvis, spreading me just enough that I feel the first cool brush of air against my slick, swollen folds. I’m already embarrassingly wet.
No,I correct myself.Nothing is embarrassing here. This is likely our last chance.
He exhales roughly, a low, reverent curse in his own tongue. “Oh, my Holy Ancestors… look at you.”
