Page 35 of Ashes & Aether

I keep the kiss slow, tracing the seam of her lips with my tongue, coaxing her open.

A quiet moan vibrates in her throat. Her hands lift, hovering for a fraction of a second before her fingers curl into the fabric of my shirt. She pulls me closer, kissing me back.

My restraint snaps.

I shift my hands, sliding them off the chair and the table to grip her waist. She is so small, so fragile under my palms, yet she wields the power to shatter me completely. I part her lips, sweeping my tongue into her mouth, tasting her, mapping the slick curves. The kiss turns demanding, a desperate, consuming hunger that has been starving for two moonfalls.

Maggie slides her hands up my chest. Her palms flatten against the planes of my muscles, her fingers catching in the fabric clinging to them. She angles her head, her breath hot against my cheek as her kiss drifts, moving from the corner of my mouth to trace the sharp line of my jaw.

Her lips brush down my neck… and drag directly over the open nano-port just beneath my ear.

The cluster of microscopic nerve endings surrounding the port ignites, and a shockwave of pure, agonizing pleasure rockets through my nervous system.

A feral moan rips from my throat, and my hips jerk forward instinctively. My cock kicks violently inside my trousers, brushing against her. I grip her waist tight enough to leave bruises, my eyes sliding shut as the sensation short-circuits my brain entirely.

By Vireon’s light. She is going to destroy me.

10

MAGGIE

The sound tearing from Orien’s throat makes my thighs clench together.

It is a raw, guttural groan, a feral noise that instantly incinerates the sensible cotton underwear I put on this morning. I keep my lips pressed against the juncture of his neck, tracing the delicate, glowing orange filaments converging at the nano-port beneath his ear. His skin burns, radiating an intoxicating heat that cuts through the perpetual, damp chill of my underground fortress, drawing me closer like a moth to an open flame.

He jerks his hips forward.

The violent, uncontrollable motion drags the thick, rigid length of his arousal directly against my stomach. Through the thin fabric of his combat trousers, the alien anatomy makes itself undeniably known. It is a bumpy, heavy ridge pressing into my abdomen. It doesn’t feel human. It feels substantial, textured, and terrifyingly intriguing.

My analytical mind, usually reserved for troop deployments and rationing, seizes the data. How different is Avaren biology? What would those ridges feel like sliding inside me? Would they stretch me completely? Would the friction of that uneven texture tear a scream out of my throat? The thought alone sends a hot, wet pulse straight between my thighs, scrambling what’s left of my composure.

I told myself not to do this. I said I wouldn’t give in to his charm. But I literally just confessed to orchestrating the assassination of five warlords, handing this extraterrestrial spymaster the whole bloody secret of my reign.

And instead of looking at me like a monster, he looked at me like a muse.

I’m tired of pretending I don’t want him.

I’m not inebriated. The spirits warming my blood merely stripped away some of the excuses, leaving the truth behind. I’m doing this willingly. I want him.

My hands roam over the broad, unyielding expanse of his chest. Solid muscle shifts under the dark fabric of his shirt, moving with lethal, predatory grace. I drag my mouth from his jaw, tasting the salt lingering on his skin, and crash my lips back against his.

Orien hijacks the kiss. He sweeps his tongue into my mouth, tasting, conquering, consuming my breath until I am dizzy with it. His long fingers dig into the tailored wool of my trousers, gripping my waist. He pulls me up from the metal folding chair in one effortless motion, stepping backward to drop into the seat himself.

Then he guides me down. He doesn’t pull me onto his lap to straddle his hips. Instead, he shifts my weight to the side, sliding my body directly over his thick, muscular thigh.

I straddle his leg, my knees bracketing his hip. The rock-hard muscle of his thigh presses perfectly, flush against my aching core.

I let out a sharp gasp, my hips rolling forward on instinct. The friction is immediate and devastating. I rock against his thigh, the seam of my trousers rubbing directly against my pulsing clitoris.

He doesn’t take advantage. He doesn’t pry my jacket off my shoulders or tear open my blouse. He doesn’t even press that fascinating, ridged appendage against me, much to my immediate disappointment.

Instead, his large hands lock onto my hips, and he begins to rock my body over his thigh.

He controls the rhythm, pushing his thigh up just as I grind down. The counter-pressure forces a breathless whine out of my throat. My hands fist in the front of his shirt, my nails biting into his chest.

Orien tilts his head, his lips brushing the shell of my ear. His voice is silky smooth, weaponized to dismantle me completely.

“That’s it, Maggie,” he purrs, the vibration of his voice sending a fresh shiver down my spine. “Use me. Take exactly what you need.”