Page 49 of Deep Alien Obsession

The bond makes everything visceral. I feel his reaction before his hands tighten at my hips—a surge of heat that is partly mine and partly reflected back through him. It is an overlapping current of desire that makes separating sensation from emotion impossible.

Darius's eyes stay on my face, watching me with an intensity that feels like it's stripping me bare. The markings blaze under my hands, turning the space between us into a golden haze. I lower myself until my forehead touches his.

"Still here?"

"Entirely."

I kiss him, a deep, searching kiss that tastes of surrender, then shift with him until there is no distance left. When I finally slide down onto him, the bond surges so strongly that both of us gasp.

The sensation is overwhelming. It isn't just the physical act of being filled; it is the sudden, total awareness of his internal response. I feel the way he stretches to accommodate me, the way his muscles clench in a desperate attempt to hold me closer.

"Claire?" he groans, his voice strained.

"I'm good," I whisper, though I am barely holding on. I shift against him deliberately, and his grip on my hips tightens, his fingers digging into my skin.

The movement between us begins slowly—measured, deep thrusts that make my vision blur. The bond amplifies everything. Every sharp breath I draw is felt by him as a wave of pleasure; every time his control slips, I feel the satisfaction of causing it. It is a feedback loop of ecstasy.

I settle into a rhythm above him, one hand braced beside his shoulder, the other resting over the brightest fork of the markings. I control the pace, grinding down on him, feeling the friction of our skin and the psychic roar of the bond.

His hands move from my waist to my hips, his grip becoming bruising. "Claire."

"What?"

"You are doing that deliberately."

"Most things I do are deliberate."

I move again, a slow, agonizing slide that draws a wrecked sound from his throat. The satisfaction that ripples through me is immediately reflected back through Jalshagar, and I laugh breathlessly because he knows exactly how much I am enjoying his undoing.

"Unfair," he rasps.

"Then we're even."

We are not. It feels cumulative—every week of tension, every shared danger, every look, all culminating in this.

When Darius finally rolls us, he does it with a sudden, powerful movement. My back hits the bedroll, and he settles above me, his weight a welcome pressure. He braces himself on one arm, his injured leg positioned carefully, then drives into me with a depth that makes me cry out.

The new angle changes everything. My breath catches, and I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him as deep as possible.

His control breaks.

The pace becomes harder, more certain. The bond lights with every thrust, flashing with his emotions: desire, relief, and a fierce, protective hunger. I feel his forehead drop against mine, his breathing rough and ragged.

He slows down, his hands coming up to frame my face. He searches my eyes, needing proof—not of consent, but of me. He needs to see that I am still here, that I am the woman who said yes.

"I am," I whisper, pulling him back down.

The last of the distance vanishes. The pace changes, becoming a frantic, desperate scramble for release. He never loses awareness of me, his attention fixed on every shift of my hips, every gasp of my breath.

I feel his pleasure building alongside mine, a mounting tension that vibrates through the bond. It is unstable feedback—a loop of intensifying sensation that threatens to shatter us both.

"I think Jalshagar has a design flaw," I moan, my head tossing back.

"What... design flaw?" he gasps, his movements becoming erratic and deep.

"Positive feedback."

He doesn't answer with words. He answers by driving into me one last time, a powerful, deep thrust that sends a shockwave through my entire body.