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She didn’t have to say more.
He drove into her. Hard. And he rotated his hips, grinding against her clit.
“My Strike.” She screamed his name and flung herself upward.
He caught her with his form, preventing her escape.
She retaliated by squeezing his cock with her intimate flesh.
“My Kesser.” It was his turn to verbally claim his female. He tilted his head back and howled as pleasure ripped through him.
Strike’s auditory and visual systems temporarily malfunctioned under that fervent onslaught. His universe turned dark and silent.
But he wasn’t alone. His female gyrated against him. She constricted around his shaft again.
He came a second time, and his bliss ratcheted upward. That loop repeated over and over and over until he had nothing left. He was drained by the good breeding, by his female, his genetic match, his little human.
She became still under him.
He braced himself above her with his arms. That alleviated some of the weight of his big form, sparing his fragile human from a complete flattening.
Heartbeats passed.
Strike’s rapture decreased to manageable levels. His systems rebooted.
Her beautiful face filled his view. The red specks in her brown eyes glowed like the flames after a missile attack.
He hooked his arms around his female and fell back into the captain’s chair, taking her with him. She landed where she belonged, on his lap. Their bodies remained joined. His cock was in her pussy.
“Fates.” She rested her cheek against his chest. “Transferring your nanocybotics did more than repair me, my Strike. I thought I was going to die at one point in that fuck. That was how good it was. The pleasure was off the charts.”
“You’ll never die, my female.” Seeking reassurance that she was fully functional, Strike inhaled deeply.
She now sported his nanocybotics. They would safeguard her from many types of damage.
And he would protect her from the rest.
“You’re mine.” Once they rescued her friend and that friend’s male, completing her mission, he would complete his own assignment.
Then he would take her back to the Dauntless. If the cyborg council deemed his accomplishments and his competency adequate, he would be awarded control of his own ship.
Strike lifted his chin. He would be worthy of his female.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Kesser fucked her cyborg until his eyes went dark two more times. She came harder than she’d ever come in her lifespan. The pleasure was soul-shredding. And all of her bubbled and fizzed after those encounters.
They took a brief break from the fucking. That was necessary. She couldn’t lift her arms. That was how exhausted she was.
She slept. Strike recharged.
When she woke, they ate nourishment bars. She drank some beverage. They tidied themselves with cleaning cloths. Her cyborg ran some scans. Nothing was around them except open space.
They fucked once more. And they were in the midst of their second boinkfest. She was draped over the console, with the main viewscreen behind her, and he was drilling her into that surface with his huge cock. After four full fucks, she should have become accustomed to his size.
She hadn’t gotten used to it. And she doubted she ever would. The male filled every part of her. She lifted into his thrust, meeting him halfway. Their bodies smacked together. She was driven back into the console. Her ass slapped that hard surface. She gasped.
He pulled away and then slammed into her before she could recover. Her cyborg was a beast. And she loved that. She relished his wildness, reveled in the knowledge she made him that way.
