Star Crossed

by Heather Guerre

  He closed his mouth over her mound, stroking her clit with hard, hot licks. Inside her body, he spread his fingers, stretching her wider.

  Her back arched and her heels dug into his back. Convulsions rolled through her body as she cried out again and again. Her inner walls clamped around his fingers, gripping as tightly as a fist.

  He needed to feel that on his cock.

  When her spine had sagged back down to the bed, and her keening sobs had faded into shattered breaths, and the throb of her sex had relaxed to gentle pulses, Asier lifted the flat press of his tongue and slid his fingers from her sex. He lowered her hips to the bed.

  She lay sprawled beneath him. She watched him, eyelids heavy, lips parted. Her chest rose and fell with each deep breath.

  Asier smiled down on her. She was so gloriously beautiful. And she wanted him. And she took pleasure in pleasing him. It was too much to ask for. But now that he’d had it, he couldn’t ever let it go.

  He reached down and pulled his shirt off. He kicked his boots off, and pushed his trousers down his legs. Lyra smiled and lifted her arms so that he could peel her out of her haphazard gown.

  Fully bared to him, she took his breath away. Her hair was winter sunlight, her eyes blue flames, her skin as soft and roseate as the petals of a rathira rose. He’d never seen anything so beautiful. Never touched anything so stunning. Until her.

  He dropped down to his hands and knees, crawling until he was positioned over her.

  “Can you take me?” He was hard again, desperate to feel the slick hot clench of her on his cock.

  She smiled lazily and drew her knees up along his flanks. He was too big for her to cross her ankles behind his back, so she squeezed her thighs on his body.

  He braced himself on one elbow, took himself in his other hand, and lined up the head of his cock with her slick opening.

  “You’re so big,” she murmured. There was nothing fearful or disgusted in her tone. It was pure, feminine appreciation. A bolt of pleasure shot through him.

  He watched her face as he pressed the head of his cock against her. Her eyes widened and she made a small sound in her throat.

  “Very big,” she whispered. She shimmied a little, spreading her thighs wider.

  He pressed again—a firm, insistent, continuous push.

  She mewled as he breached her entrance, and he stilled.

  “Are you okay?” He brought his hand to her cheek.

  She nodded, reaching up to press her hand to his. “Keep going.”

  He continued that relentless press, and bit by bit, her tight, clenching sex yielded to the invasion of his thick shaft. He pressed deep, deep, deeper—until he was fully seated inside of her.

  She gasped and panted, her thighs clenching his flanks as the walls of her sex clasped his cock.

  “I’ve never been so—” her words cut off into a keening gasp at the same time as her pussy clenched around him. “—so full,” she gasped.

  “Can you take me?” he asked, his own voice ragged with pleasure and need. But he was still himself. He was still in control. If she begged him to stop, he’d do so in an instant.

  But she wanted nothing of the sort. She swiveled her hips gently, adjusting her body’s grip on his shaft.

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  He watched her beautiful face as he slowly drew back. Her eyes glazed over—not with intoxication, but with pleasure. Her lips parted. Her head fell back as her spine arched and her hips rolled with him. He pulled back until only the head of his cock remained inside of her.

  And then, just as agonizingly slowly, he pushed back in.

  She whimpered, tossing her head, clutching at his biceps.

  “Look at me,” Asier said gruffly.

  Her eyes opened, heavy-lidded with pleasure. Her drowsy gaze locked with his. He withdrew, a little faster, staring into her clear blue eyes. He pushed back into her. Her brows drew together, her soft pink lips parted in an O. He withdrew again, faster. And thrust back in, harder.

  She gasped.

  The slick hot clasp of her sex welcomed his cock as he thrust into her—deep, hard, fast. Her breaths turned into sobbing cries again. Her fingernails dug into his skin. Her thighs squeezed tight to his sides, letting her lift her hips to ride with him.

  And all the while, he watched the brutal ecstasy of it play over her face. His hips worked like a piston, driving into her again and again, plowing deep. He felt the clench of her sex through his whole body—an exquisite tension that started in his fingertips and toes, and pulled inward, harder and harder.

  Lyra broke first. Her eyes squeezed shut and her head fell back as her spine bowed. Ecstatic convulsions rolled through her body as the tight clasp of her sex became a clenching squeeze that rippled up and down the length of his shaft. He’d never felt anything like her. He’d never seen anything like her—her beautiful body writhing beneath his, completely at the mercy of the pleasure he was giving to her.

  His own pleasure tightened and coalesced. He thrust deep into her, burying himself to the hilt, as it seized him—another bow-backed, drawn-tight, wrung-out climax. He shot hot jets of seed into the chalice of her body, filling her, claiming her.

  When the last tremors of his climax left him shaky and weak, Asier pulled himself out of her body. Lyra jolted and whimpered as the thick flare of his crown passed through her narrow entrance.

  He gathered her into his harms and rolled onto his back, pulling her atop him. Her hands slid over his shoulders, grasping onto him. She held onto him for a long while, her cheek pressed to his chest while her jagged breaths rasped across his skin. He pressed tender kisses to the top of her head until her breathing slowed. When he tilted his head to look down at her, he found her asleep.

  He was shattered and spent. But he was still in control. He was no longer driven by the unending madness to consume her body again and again.

  And yet, he was closer and closer to claiming Lyra forever.

  He felt a surge of shame, but it wasn’t enough to destroy his victorious pleasure. She’d be his. He could fuck her without killing her—so he’d do it as much as she could until they reached the merchant station. Humans were dangerously fertile. If she wasn’t pregnant already, she would be.

  With her warm weight cuddled on top of him, and the steady rhythm of her breathing in his ears, Asier drifted into a contented doze.

  Chapter Twelve

  Asier came back to full alertness as he felt Lyra shift and slide off of him.

  His eyes flashed open. “Lyra?”

  “I’m sorry. I was trying not to wake you.”

  “I wasn’t asleep.” His arm curled around her, pulling her snug against his side. She rested her head on his shoulder. He pressed his nose and lips against the top of her head. He’d never felt so perfectly satisfied.

  “Are you alright?”

  She nodded. Her hair shifted against his hard skin. “Are you?” she asked.

  He tightened his hold around her. “Very much so.”

  She traced a finger idly along the contours of his abdomen—following the lines of ribs and muscles. “So the intoxication effect is… gone. Is this how it always happens?”

  Asier frowned, not following. “How… what?”

  “I mean, when you’re attracted to someone. First you both completely lose control of yourselves, but once you’ve had sex, it settles down. The toxin. The pheromones.”

  Understanding softened his frown. “This has been a completely unique experience for me.”

  “It’s not always like this?” she asked,

  “No,” he answered fervently. “Never. It’s…” he shook his head, completely at a loss. “Never like this. It’s never been so strong.”

  “Is that why you’ve hidden yourselves from humans?”

  “Partly. But this isn’t just because you’re human, Lyra. It’s because you’re… you. Because you’re clever and fierce, and more dangerous than anything so fragile has a right to be. And because you want me,
too. That’s not… I don’t think that’s ever happened before.”

  Her fingers stilled their idle path along his collar bone. “You said you’ve had other… partners. Are you telling me—”

  “No. No. They came willingly. But it wasn’t for wanting me. I could have been any Scaeven, and served their needs just as well. They only wanted the toxin. The rush.” He shrugged. “When they’d had their satisfaction, and the intoxication lifted, they had no lingering desire. Some stayed longer than others—but purely for additional helpings of the toxin. Not because of me.”

  Lyra regarded him sadly. “That can’t be true.”

  He smiled at her kindness. “Look at me, Lyra.”

  “I am.”

  The heat in her gaze had his pulse quickening. He stared at her warm, colorful beauty, her lush softness, and wondered what she could desire in the cold, hard, monochrome of his brutish body.

  “I think you are a special case—even among humans, probably.”

  “I doubt it. You are very striking.”

  “Striking, perhaps. But humans do not generally find things like me beautiful.”

  “Like what?”

  “Colorless. Harsh. Overly large.”

  She traced her fingers down the inside of his forearm. Lines of heat trailed in the wake of her touch.

  “There are many things like you that humans find beautiful.” She took his massive hand in her little ones, tracing along his tendons. “Thunder storms.” She turned his hand over, traced the creases in his palm. “Winter.” She lifted his hand to her cheek. “Mountains.” She turned and pressed a lingering kiss to his palm.

  The feel of it shot straight to his groin. He shuddered at the violent flare of desire. “You can’t fuck a mountain,” he said hoarsely.

  Her vivid eyes met his, alight with a wicked smile. “I can try.”

  She sucked his middle finger into the warm, wet heat of her mouth. Her tongue teased the length of the digit, and he felt an echo of that touch along his cock. He groaned, his head falling back against the bed.

  “Lyra,” he whispered hoarsely.

  She slid her closed lips up the length of his finger, biting the tip before releasing him. Her eyes met his, and she kissed his knuckles. “This human finds you very beautiful.”

  He stared at her—so painfully in love that the feeling of it was crushing his chest. “You are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Human men must fall at your feet.”

  Lyra laughed as if he’d told a wonderful joke.

  Asier frowned at her.

  “You frown too much.” She reached up to stroke her thumb across his bottom lip. He felt the frown soften.

  “They should. You are exquisite.”

  Lyra shrugged. “Not by human standards.”

  Asier frowned—again. That couldn’t be possible. “You’re being falsely modest.”

  She stroked her thumb across his lip again. “No. I’m not hideous. But, by human beauty standards, I’m overly tall, too pale, and I’m getting old.”

  She was absurdly short, but he did not tell her so. And the glow of her peachy white skin was more beautiful than silk and pearls. But old?

  “How old are you?”

  “Thirty-two,” she muttered.

  He blinked at her.

  “In Earth Standard years,” she added.

  Earth standard years… he did the math in his head, converting to Scaeven solars. A sudden laugh guffawed out of him. “That’s not old. You’re still in your child-bearing years.”

  She shrugged.

  “In Earth Standard years, I’m ninety-seven.”

  She gaped at him.

  “My father is…” he took a second to do the math. “Two hundred and forty. My grandfather lived to Four hundred and twelve.”

  “Is that normal?”

  “For Scaevens? Yes.” And for their mates—but he would refrain from telling her until it became apparent that she would need to know. The viral agent in his semen didn’t just affect her reproductive processes. Bearing his child would alter her on a fundamental level. She’d still be a soft-skinned, fragile, little human. But her lifespan would match his. She’d heal more quickly from injuries. She’d need less sleep, though still more than a Scaeven did. Her appetite would increase significantly—the caloric demands of those improvements would require her to double her normal nutritional intake.

  He looked forward to when he would have to worry less about her fragility.

  “I must be like a mayfly to you.”

  “I don’t know what a ‘mayfly’ is.”

  “They’re a type of insect on Earth. They hatch, mate, and die all in the same day.”

  “Would you want to live longer, if you could?” he asked cautiously.

  “Of course,” Lyra answered easily. “Who wouldn’t? To have a four-hundred year lifespan? The things you could see in a lifetime…the things you could do…” she trailed off into a tense silence.

  “What is it?” Asier asked.

  “Even if we could be together, I won’t live more than ninety more years. Humans generally cap out around a hundred and twenty. And in the next twenty years, I’ll start aging a lot more, and then I’ll start to look truly old. You’ll probably be in your prime for another couple centuries.”

  Asier swallowed the urge to soothe her with promises of longevity. Not until he got a bioscan confirming her pregnancy.

  “It’s just as well, I suppose,” Lyra went on, contemplative. “I have to go home anyway. The university will have informed my sister that our vessel was hijacked and the crew abducted. I’m probably presumed dead. The sooner I can get back to her, the better.”

  Asier’s heart curled in on itself. “Tell me about her,” he said, loathing himself.

  He felt her smile against his skin. “Sofie. She’s the smartest, sweetest, best person in the known universe. I raised her, after my father died. Technically, she’s my half-sister. I didn’t even know she existed until the Gaia Colony Council sent me a summons to collect the remains of my father’s estate. She was ten years old when she came to live with me. I had to resign my military commission. I got a job as a navigator on a research vessel that allowed employees’ families to reside onboard. It was slow, boring work, but it was worth it to be there for Sofie. To watch her grow up.”

  She was silent for a moment, likely pondering on her sister.

  After a moment, she asked, “Do you have siblings?”

  “No. Scaeven reproduction is… complicated. Even with compatible species there’s some biological manipulation that needs to happen. Most Scaevens are only children. Siblings are so rare as to become somewhat famous when they do happen.”

  “You said there are no female Scaevens?”

  Asier nodded.

  “What was your mother like?”

  “She was very gentle, very quiet. She died ten solars ago.”

  Lyra shifted onto her elbow so that she could look him in the eye. “I’m sorry, Asier.”

  He let his head fall back and closed his eyes so she wouldn’t see the faint glow. “She was a good mother,” he said. “But she was… she was very unhappy. The Ravanoth don’t look kindly on mating outside the species—”

  “I know,” Lyra said, with the soft dismay of someone who’d experienced it personally.

  “She was cut off from her people. She lived the rest of her life…” He hesitated, considering his words. “I think she was waiting until I was grown and out of my father’s household before she—”

  He felt Lyra’s body tense.

  He couldn’t say it. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut. He could feel the glow pressing on the back of his eyes. “

  The region of Ravanoth where she’s from observes a spiritual practice called thumatx,” he said quietly. “They believe that, after death, the soul travels to a new universe, different from ours, and lives out a new life. I like to think that she’s in some parallel world, but now she’s happy, and free.”

  Lyra laid her hand
over his heart. The gesture was better than any words she could have spoken. He laid his massive hand over hers.

  They lay in silence together for a long, peaceful moment. Until Lyra shifted, rising up on her elbow again. Asier slotted one eye open and found her staring down at him with a puzzled frown.

  “You said you’re ninety-seven.”

  He nodded.

  “And your mother was Ravanoth.”

  He realized too late that he’d unwittingly left breadcrumbs that her nimble mind had followed to an answer he wasn’t ready to give.

  “But the Ravanoth have lifespans similar to humans—except they don’t reach sexual maturity until their fifties. So, either you can’t be more than seventy years old at the most, or your mother had a very unusual—”

  “Scaeven mates are altered somewhat, by the process of bearing a Scaeven child. My mother’s lifespan extended beyond normal Ravanoth limits.”

  Lyra absorbed this for a moment. “Does this happen to every Scaeven mate?”

  “Well, the Ljark have lifespans similar to ours, so they don’t experience much change,” he hedged.

  “Who are the Ljark?”

  Asier wanted to slap himself. He was revealing too much, partly because she was too clever, and partly because he forgot his normal reserve in her presence.

  In addition to Scaevens, the Ljark had also outlawed human contact—but for entirely different reasons. Human flesh was an exquisite culinary delicacy to the Ljark. But the killing of any sentient being was a capital crime. So the Ljark chose to avoid temptation entirely, and kept their existence hidden from humanity.

  Which wasn’t to say that black markets didn’t exist in their corner of the universe as well. Asier’s Enforcement work on the human trafficking ring often overlapped into Ljarken interests. Over the past few solars, he’d handed several cases over to their authorities.

  He sighed at his own carelessness. “I’m not at liberty to say.”

  She scowled down at him. After a moment, the scowl faded, and she dropped back down to the bed. “I suppose that’s fair. But now that you’ve let their name slip, I’m going to figure it out.”