Page 80 of Stripped By the Alien

I press my forehead against hers. My antennae drift across her temples, reading her warmth, her pulse, the tiny electrical signals dancing beneath her skin. She is so alive. So recklessly, defiantly alive, in a body that should never have survived this far.

"I don't understand what you've done to me," I tell her honestly.

"Good," she whispers, and pulls me down to her mouth.

I enter her slowly, watching her face the way I would watch a star chart revealing unknown territory. Every change in her expression teaches me something. Where the pleasure gathers, where the stretch tests her limits, where she wants more than I'm giving. Her body opens around me with a trust so complete it borders on surrender, except that nothing about this female has ever truly surrendered. She is choosing this. Choosing me. The knowledge makes me press deeper.

When I am fully inside her I hold still. The heat of her surrounds me, tight and alive and utterly foreign. The muscles of her interior grip and release in small, involuntary rhythms that drive me half-mad.

I begin to move. Each thrust is a question, and her body answers before her voice does — a gasp, a tightening, a roll of her hips that meets mine and changes the angle until I feel her shudder beneath me.

"There," she breathes. "Right there…"

I give her what she asks for. Again and again. Her sounds grow ragged and urgent, and I absorb every one of them like data I will never have enough of. The way her fingers clutch at my carapace. The arch of her spine. The moment her eyes lose focus and her mouth falls open, and I know she is close.

I want to tell her what she looks like to me right now. That she is more beautiful than any world I have ever seen from orbit. That the softness I once mistook for weakness is in fact the bravest thing about her, to move through this universe without a single shield and still be unbroken.

But words fail me, and instead I give her the only answer I have. I drive deeper, harder, feeling her clench around me as the peak takes her. She cries out, and the sound echoes off the living walls of my chamber, and some ancient part of me recognizes it as the most important sound I have ever heard.

My own release follows, wrenched from somewhere so deep I almost don't recognize it as physical. I bury myself completely in her and let it take me while her arms hold me with a strength that should be impossible for something so small.

Her eyes are glassy, her face flushed. “I love you,” she murmurs, and to my astonishment there's no need for the Kast to translate it. She learned the phrase in my language.

“I love you, too,” I rasp, almost overwhelmed with a strange, deep joy.

Afterward I remain where I am, still joined, still held. Her fingers trace idle patterns on my chest and her breathing slows against my throat. The Beast pulses gently around us, and for once even she seems content to leave us alone.

I look down at the female who has somehow become the center of everything, and I understand, with a clarity that requires no translation, that I would rather lose the Queen's favor, my rank, my ship, and every trophy on these walls than lose this.

The thought should terrify me. It doesn't.

At some point, Nora falls asleep.

I don’t notice the exact moment it happens. We are talking, and then her responses grow slower. A pause stretches between one sentence and the next. When I glance down, her eyes are closed and her breathing has settled into a steady rhythm. Whatever thoughts occupied her have been abandoned without ceremony.

Now she lies against my chest with one arm draped across me.

I stay awake. The chamber is dark except for the faint amber glow of the Beast's walls. Beyond them, I can feel the vessel carrying out her endless routines. Nutrients flow through distant passages. Systems pulse. Somewhere deep within her body, crew members continue their duties. Lucius is probably already conducting his interrogations and making himself unpopular with every creature aboard.

Nora sleeps through all of it. I find myself envying that ability.

My thoughts return immediately to the Queen. They circle back no matter where I attempt to direct them. I hear her voice again. I remember the amusement in it when she dismissed us. I remember the way she spoke about small thunderstorms and the way the entire court seemed to understand something that I still cannot fully grasp.

Most of all, I remember the way she looked at Nora. The Queen found her interesting.

I find myself thinking about the moment Nora dropped to her knees before the platform and begged for help. The entire chamber froze. Courtiers stared. Servants stared. Even Morr'ak appeared uncertain how to respond. The memory still feels absurd.

Who asks the Swarm for charity? The answer, apparently, is Nora.

A faint smile threatens to appear before I suppress it. The Queen was correct about one thing. Nora made the audience far more entertaining than it had any right to be. And likely more dangerous.

The Queen has already decided she wants to see Nora again. That alone creates dangers I cannot predict. The search for Sophia continues without success. Lucius now has authority to question everyone aboard the Beast. The Inquisitor has taken an interest in me. Half the court suspects something unusual is happening between Nora and me.

Perhaps half the court is correct. I lower my gaze toward her.

Nora has moved closer in her sleep. One hand rests against my chest. Her face is relaxed in a way I almost never see when she is awake. The caution is gone. The constant thinking is gone. Even the stubbornness disappears. For a few moments she simply looks young.

I study her for a long time. Then I lean my head back against the wall and look toward the ceiling.