Page 118 of Thexan

“I have something for you,” he said, his voice low and resonant.

“You’ve already given me everything,” I replied, but I allowed him to lead me outside.

We walked to the overlook where we had first stood together, the one where he had shown me the constellations of his home world. The view was breathtaking—the valley spread out below us, bathed in the golden light of dusk.

“I have been working on this for months,” Thexan said, gesturing to a stone bench he had clearly built himself. It was carved with intricate patterns—some distinctly Mesaarkan, others recognizably human. The two styles wove together, creating something entirely new.

Tears pricked my eyes. “Thexan, it’s beautiful.”

“It is for us,” he replied, his skin shifting to a soft blue that I now recognized as contentment. “A place to watch the stars together. For many years to come.”

I turned to face him, my heart overflowing. “Years?”

“As many as you will have me,” he said, his expression solemn. “I know that your kind does not always mate for life as mine does. But I hope...”

I silenced him with a kiss, pouring all my love, all my commitment into the press of my lips against his. When I pulled back, I saw the hope in his golden eyes.

“As many years as the mountain will have us,” I promised. “I want forever with you, Thexan.”

His breath hitched, and the blue of his skin deepened to a brilliant cobalt. “Forever,” he repeated, as if testing the word. “With you.”

We stayed at the overlook until the last color drained from the sky, sitting together on the bench he had made for us. His hand remained wrapped around mine while the first stars appeared above the ridge, and when I leaned against him, he bent his head to mine.

“Forever,” I said again, softer this time.

Thexan’s fingers tightened around mine. “Forever,” he answered, and for once the word did not feel like a promise we were trying to make true. It felt like the life we had already begun to build.

He swept me into his arms then, carrying me back to our dwelling as if I weighed nothing. The setting sun cast long shadows across the room as he laid me gently on our bed—the one we'd built together from mountain hardwood, the one where I'd cried into his shoulder after my first failed harvest and where he'd fallen asleep with his head in my lap after the Council meetings ran too long.

“Tonight,” he murmured, his hands already finding the fastenings of my clothing with the ease of long practice, “I want to pleasure you, and show you what 'forever' means to a Mesaarkan.”

I laughed softly, arching into his touch as he worked. “You showed me last week. And the week before. And that Tuesday when you were supposed to be repairing the irrigation—”

“But I heard no complaints,” he interrupted, but his golden eyes crinkled with amusement. “You know Mesaarkans are thorough.”

My body responded instantly, that familiar warmth spreading through my veins as he removed each piece of my clothing. He knew exactly which clasp stuck, which tie tangled, and which spot on my shoulder made me shiver when his knuckles brushed it. When I was naked before him, he paused, his golden eyes roaming over my body with the same hunger he'd shown me so many times before, but now tempered with something deeper—recognition, belonging.

“You are more beautiful to me today than the first time I saw you,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “And I thought that impossible.”

I reached for him, my fingers finding the familiar ridges of his alien form without hesitation. “Then show me,” I invited, grinning up at him. “Show me how my Mesaarkan makes love to his mate. But maybe skip the part where you knocked over the water jug last time.”

He lowered himself over me, supporting his weight on his forearms in the exact way he'd learned I liked, capturing my mouth in a kiss that was at once tender and possessive. His tongue—longer and more flexible than a human's—explored my mouth with an intimacy that no longer surprised me but still made my toes curl. I knew his taste now, knew the particular rhythm of his breathing when he was aroused, and knew the way he liked me to nip at his lower lip just there.

As we kissed, his hands began their well-practiced exploration of my body, tracing patterns on my skin that had become our private language. The spiral on my hip meant mine. The feather-light stroke down my ribs meant, “I love how you laugh.” I arched into his touch, my nipples tightening, knowing exactly how he'd touch me next because he'd memorized what I needed.

It helped that he could read my pleasure through our bond as I could feel his.

My fingers glided automatically to the silky scales at his nape that I knew were most sensitive while he suckled my nipples. When he finished there, he shifted to kneel between my thighs.

His golden eyes never left mine as he lowered his head, and I knew what was coming—not just the act, but the particular way he'd tease me first, drawing it out because he loved to hear me beg and I loved to let him.

“Thexan,” I gasped, my hands roaming over his ridged scalp as his tongue traced its familiar path up my inner thigh, stopping exactly where he knew it drove me wild.

“I want to savor your taste,” he growled, his breath warm against my sensitive flesh. “Before you come against my mouth.”

“You say that every time,” I managed, breathless.

“And I mean it every time.”