Page 32 of Deep Alien Obsession

"You've become extremely serious."

"I am having difficulty treating this casually."

Something soft and devastating passes through her eyes. "Good."

She reaches for me, pulling me down. When I push into her, the bond surges so abruptly that we both freeze. Claire inhales sharply, her internal muscles clenching around me in a tight, rhythmic grip.

I feel the reaction in my own chest—not pain, but a staggering intensity. A powerful, overwhelming awareness of the exact place where our bodies meet.

"That was both of us," she gasps.

"Yes."

"That's going to take getting used to."

"I don't think that is happening tonight."

Her mouth curves into a faint, knowing smile. "Probably not."

Then I move.

The first few thrusts are slow and deep, letting her body settle into the rhythm. She wraps one arm around my shoulders, her other hand spreading over the markings at my ribs. The contact sends another pulse through the Jalshagar bond, and my control finally snaps.

Claire feels the shift. Her eyes sharpen. "There you are."

She has found the part of me that always stays outside the room, the part that measures and calculates. And she is dragging me back into the present.

Her hand presses harder against my back, pulling me flush against her. I bury my face in her neck, breathing her in—the scent of warm skin, clean water, and the lingering dust of the city. The rhythm deepens, becoming primal and urgent.

"Darius," she moans against my shoulder, her voice breaking as the bond carries my pleasure back into her.

I lift my head. Her eyes are bright, reflecting the amber light of my skin.

"Don't slow down because you're thinking," she commands.

"I am not thinking."

"You're always thinking."

"Not effectively."

She smiles, but the expression dissolves into a gasp as I drive deeper, hitting the spot that makes her arch her back and cry out.

The room vanishes. There is only the heat of the slate, the rough texture of the tape against my skin, and the overwhelming roar of the bond. Jalshagar turns every attempt at restraint into shared information. When I hold back, she feels the void. When she wants more, I know it before she can speak. When the pleasure builds in her, it floods into me, magnifying the sensation until I am responding to her ecstasy as if it were my own.

The effect is devastating. I stop trying to preserve the distance. I surrender.

Her arms close tighter around me, her nails digging into my shoulders. The bond flares, the markings on my chest turning a blinding, brilliant gold. The rhythm becomes less measured, more desperate, though I never stop bracing her hip to protect her knee.

I can feel her reaching the edge. The bond gives me the rising pressure, the loss of control, the sudden flash of vulnerability.

"Claire," I groan, my voice raw. "Stay with me."

She does.

The intensity peaks, and a wave of pleasure crashes through her and into the bond, strong enough that the markings flare almost white. Her body tightens around me in violent, rhythmic spasms, her face buried in my shoulder as she screams my name.

The bond carries everything: the trust, the relief, the raw want, and something dangerously close to joy.