Page 34 of Alien Devil's Prey
"You don't understand what you're asking." His voice was rough, strained. "The claiming bite—it changes things. Makes the bond stronger during... intimate contact. I might hurt you."
I slid off the bed, my bare feet silent on the cold deck. The thin shirt they'd put me in was barely decent, and I saw his gaze track the movement of fabric against my skin.
"Look at me," I said, lifting my marked arm. The cobalt sigils twisted down my skin, beautiful and non-human. "Really look. Do I seem fragile to you?"
I didn't wait for his answer. I closed the distance between us, pressing my body against his. He was so much larger than me—tall, broad, built for violence—but I felt no fear. Only hunger.
"I died, Talon. I felt my heart stop, felt the cold creeping in." My hands found the fastenings of his shirt, working them open with steady fingers. "But you brought me back. You made me yours. Now I want to know what that means."
His shirt fell away, revealing the expanse of his chest marked with those intricate cobalt patterns. I traced one with my finger, and he shuddered beneath my touch.
"Tamsin—"
"Don't." I pressed my lips to his throat, tasting salt and something uniquely him. "Don't think. Just feel."
That broke him.
His hands fisted in my hair, pulling my head back so he could claim my mouth. The kiss was fierce, demanding, nothing like the careful touches from before. This was the predator unleashed, and I met his ferocity with my own.
I could taste his desperation, his need, could feel through the bond how close to the edge he was. Good. I wanted him wild. Wanted him to stop treating me like something that might break.
"The things I want to do to you," he growled against my lips.
"Do them." I bit his lower lip hard enough to draw blood, savoring the sharp intake of his breath. "All of them."
The room was austere, functional—but none of that mattered when he pressed me against the bulkhead, his mouth hot and demanding on my throat. I could feel his fangs, sharp points that promised pleasure and pain in equal measure.
"I dreamed of this," he confessed, his hands roaming my body through the thin fabric. "Watching you die, I thought I'd never?—"
"I'm here." I caught his face in my hands, forcing him to look at me. "I'm alive. I'm yours. Now prove it."
Something feral flashed in his eyes. His hands gripped the thin shirt and tore it away, the fabric parting like paper. I should have felt vulnerable, exposed, but the look on his face—pure male satisfaction—made me feel powerful instead.
"Perfect," he breathed, his gaze traveling over the new markings that decorated my skin. "So fucking perfect."
His mouth followed the path of the cobalt traceries down my shoulder, my arm, his tongue tracing patterns that made me gasp and arch against him. Each touch sent electricity through the bond, amplifying every sensation until I was dizzy with it.
"I can feel what you feel," I realized, my voice breaking on a moan as his teeth found that sensitive spot where my neck met my shoulder. "Everything you feel, I?—"
"Yes." His hands gripped my thighs, lifting me higher against the wall. "The bond amplifies it. Makes every touch, every sensation twice as intense."
He was right. When his mouth closed over my breast, I not only felt the pleasure of his lips and teeth, but echoed through the bond came his satisfaction, his hunger, his desperate need to possess and claim. It was overwhelming, intoxicating.
"More," I demanded, my nails raking down his back hard enough to leave marks. "I need more."
He pushed me back toward the bed, laying me down with a gentleness that contrasted sharply with the fire in his eyes. I watched him shed the rest of his clothing, revealing the full perfection of him—all lean muscle and predatory grace, marked with those beautiful cobalt patterns that now matched mine.
When he settled between my thighs, I saw him fully again. Even knowing what to expect, the sight of him—larger than any human male, with that broad triangular head and the soft ridged flanges along his length—made my mouth go dry. The sight should have intimidated me. Instead, it made something primal and hungry coil tight in my belly.
"You were made for me," he said, his voice rough with reverence as he traced the new sigils that marked my inner thigh. "Look how perfectly you fit against me."
I could only whimper in response as he positioned himself at my entrance. Even enhanced, even changed, he was still so much bigger than me. But when he pressed inside, my body welcomed him, stretching to accommodate his size with an ease that spoke to how thoroughly the claiming bite had altered me.
"Fuck," I gasped, my back arching off the bed. The sensation was incredible—not just the physical fullness, but the emotional echo through our bond. I could feel his pleasure, his awe, his possessive satisfaction at finally being inside me.
"Language," he teased, but his voice was strained, barely controlled.
"Fuck," I repeated deliberately, rolling my hips against him. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."
