Page 120 of Alien War Daddy's Got Rizz
She detonates seconds later, back arched, thighs locked around my neck, voice caught somewhere between a sob and a scream.
When she comes down, I don’t give her time to recover.
I stand, unbuckle my belt, and push into her in one thrust that has us both snarling. She’s still slick, still clenching, and gods—she fits me like she was made for this.
“Look at me,” I command, hips driving hard.
She does. And it’sruinous.
I make love to her like I’m carving truth into her bones.
Every stroke, every wordless grunt, every whisperedmine—it all builds toward something deeper than climax. It’s devotion. It’s trust. It’s pain turned into reverence.
She clutches my shoulders, breath broken, lips parted. “I love you.”
I still inside her.
Then move harder.
“I know,” I rasp. “And I’llneverstop deserving it.”
She sobs, but it’s not grief—it’s release.
We shatter together, tangled and burning, and for the first time in my life, I understand what peace canfeellike.
It feels like her.
CHAPTER 22
YARA
The lights are too bright.
Not in the searing, interrogative way they used to be, back when every press conference felt like an ambush. No, this is worse—this is calculated. Controlled. Polished to corporate perfection.
I smile anyway.
It’s what they expect. What they need.
What I’ve trained myself to give them.
“We’re thrilled about the partnership,” I say, answering the fifth question in a row with the same effortless cadence. “It’s not just about growth. It’s about responsibility. CY8’s veterans’ initiative isn’t a PR campaign. It’s a promise.”
Flash. Flash. Flash.
The journalists lap it up. Cameras roll. Somewhere offstage, my new communications director signals the wrap-up. I nod, offer one last charming glance at the crowd, and step off the dais to a flurry of polite applause.
I’ve never hated a room more quietly in my life.
“Chairwoman Greenfield,” someone calls after me. “Could we get a comment about Dr. Foster’s legacy?—”
I keep walking.
The sound of my heels echoes down the hall like a warning. I move with purpose, shoulders square, posture perfect. The corridor outside the conference chamber is lined with holographic panels displaying our rebranded mission statement. “Forward Together.” Catchy. Broad. Hollow.
But beneath the branding, somethingrealbreathes. Something I built out of ash and ambition. The veterans’ initiative launched this morning—full infrastructure. Grants, support systems, housing stipends, retraining. It took weeks to wrestle it through internal review, months to build it from the scraps of Tidball’s wreckage.
But it’s done.
