Page 106 of Rok's Captive
I pour everything into that kiss—every ounce of fear, gratitude, and need that’s been building inside me since the moment he snatched me on this godforsaken planet.
Rok freezes, his body going rigid beneath my hands. For a split second, I think I’ve made a mistake. But then he growls—a low, deep sound that vibrates through my chest—and kisses me back.
It’s clumsy at first. His lips are rough, his movements hesitant, but the sheer hunger behind them makes my knees weak. His claws slide down to my hips, gripping me tightly, and I gasp into his mouth as he pulls me against him.
“Jus-teen.” Fuck. The way he says my name. Like he’s hungry. Starving. Desperate. Like he can’t believe this is happening.
I pull back, gasping for air, the realization of what I’ve done hitting me like a freight train.
“What am I doing?” I whisper, my fingers pressing into his chest as I keep myself back.
But he’s looking at me with those golden eyes, so full of wonder and longing, and I can’t stop myself.
Before I can think too hard about it, I throw myself against him again, kissing him harder this time.
This time, he doesn’t hesitate.
His hands slide down to my thighs, lifting me off the ground as he presses me back against the cave wall. The heat of his body is overwhelming, his scent surrounding me—earthy, metallic, and entirely him.
When he pulls back, his gaze is dark, his lips parted as he struggles to catch his breath.
“Jus-teen,” he rasps.
I reach for him, sliding my hands down the hard planes of his chest to the knot holding his loincloth in place.
“Let me,” I whisper, my fingers trembling as I untie it.
Rok is forced to set me down as the cloth falls away, and my breath hitches.
He’s so fucking perfect. Thick and long, the darker color of his shaft deepening slightly around the broad head.
He shifts under my gaze, his claws flexing against me. When he leans in, forehead against mine, a rush of images greets me so intensely that my knees almost buckle. Images of me and him.
Images of me underneath him.
Writhing. Pulsing. Needy.
There is no doubt what he wants to do right now. And no doubt I’m too weak to resist it.
“Is…good?” he projects.
I let out a shaky laugh, the sound catching in my throat. “Good doesn’t even begin to cover it,” I murmur, reaching out to wrap my hand around him.
Rok’s entire body jerks at the contact, his head falling back as a strangled growl escapes his throat. His hands fly to the stone walls of the cave, claws flexing as he braces himself against the sensation.
“Jus-teen,” he groans, drawing out my name like it’s the only word he’s ever known. Just hearing him like that—his voice low and guttural, tinged with desperation—sends a thrill racing through me.
I watch him carefully as I stroke him, my fingers sliding up and down his length. Every touch seems to unravel him. His hips jerk slightly, as if his body is moving on instinct, and his breath comes in ragged gasps, his chest heaving.
God, he’s beautiful. The perfect build, the strength in those arms, those legs, every muscle taut and trembling as he struggles to hold himself together.
But it’s not just his body that makes my heart race—it’s the way he looks at me. Like I’m something fragile and precious, something he’s afraid to touch but can’t bear to stay away from.
He’s so careful, so hesitant, and the realization starts to creep in—the way his hands have never wandered too far, the way he’s frozen when I’ve kissed him, the way he’s looking at me now, like he’s never done this before.
My hand pauses on his length, and I meet his gaze, my heart pounding.
“Oh my God,” I whisper, my voice barely audible. “You’re a virgin, aren’t you?”
