Page 42 of Claimed By the Alien Assassin
He stops what he's doing and looks up, glacial eyes sparkling. “A grumpy kitten?”
“Oh yes.” I grin. “Tiny ears, claws snapping, but ultimately snuggly if you do it right.”
He sets aside the plasma cell and rises to full height—tall, powerful, alien and yet achingly familiar. My breath skips. Without warning, he closes the distance, slams me against the cold metal wall behind me, and kisses out the breath in my lungs. One arm pins me, fingertips digging into the curve of my waist; the other hand tilts my head back, thumb brushing the corner of my mouth.
His mouth is fierce, star-scorched, months of longing embedded in every heated breath. My knees weaken. I wrap my arms around his neck, pressing into the surprising warmth of his scaled chest behind human form. I can taste solder and salted tears—but also starlight.
When he finally steps back, I stumble but stay upright. His voice is thick. “Grumpy beginner.”
I brush my hair from my face with a soft laugh. “Potent kitten.”
He smirks. “Potent.”
A silent agreement drapes between us, warm and dangerous.
But there’s no time for stalling. Not now.
The lights hum overhead. Someone coughs. Our team is moving into position—trenches rigged, decoys laid, sensors arming.
I lick my lips, still tasting him. “These sound kits need redirection. The Vorts are adapting faster than we thought.”
He nods. “Change them. I’ll cover.”
I take a breath, reach for the control panel. Fingers twist dials, wires pass through gloved hands. He steps closer, murmuring tough-love critique and praise in the same breath. He’s tether and armor.
We work like that, moment by moment—passion and planning. Seamlessly connected. Weapons laid out like love letters between us.
Later, as I recalibrate the thermal trip-line on a prefab corridor, he appears at my side with a mug of sooty coffee. I take it with a smile, sipping gratitude and bitter resolve.
“You stay sharp,” he warns. “They’re already sending drones to sweep.”
“Wouldn’t be here without you.” I rest a hand on his chest. Four fiery eyes stare down, storm in the human ones. “Just... promise me we’ll still laugh tomorrow.”
He smiles—gentle, guarding. “Always,” he murmurs. Then, more quietly, “Always.”
Our hands linger.
During mission briefings, I find myself poking him mid-chart. “Hey, growly cat—repeater line needs tuning,” I tease while soldering the tip of a thermal detonator.
His elbow bumps mine, hard enough to sting. “Play with fire, engineer?—”
“Like you don’t enjoy it,” I answer, voice low. Our eyes lock. The room heats ten degrees.
After we rig explosives in the eastern tunnel, we retreat into a corridor lined with half-built barricades. I’m adjusting comm links when he wraps his arms around me from behind.
His chest against my back. Strong, warm. He kisses the edge of my ear. I gasp, pressing against him. He doesn’t stop.
I whisper, “Stop?—”
His lips brush my throat, voice breathless. “Not yet.”
The corridor walls seem to pulse with our heartbeat. I turn, toes slipping in grit. We fit together like puzzle pieces built from different galaxies.
“Damn it,” I murmur into his mouth.
And we descend again into that fierce union—kiss muffled by action brief, body tangled, felt in each marrow. Sharp reminders of what we fight for.
When we break apart, breath jagged, jacket open at collar, I grin with reckless delight. “Mid-mission makeouts. Hazardous but effective.”
