I’d be dead without him. The thought pounds in time with my heartbeat as I press my back against the cool stone wall of the cave, struggling to catch my breath.
Not just this time—but every time.
The shadow creatures. The rival clan. The unrelenting heat of this brutal planet.
I’d be dead a dozen times over if it weren’t for Rok.
I can still feel his grip on my arm, the way his claws held me firm but never hurt me as he pulled me through the labyrinth of jagged rock formations. The way his body had shielded me as that thing in the sand chased us, relentless and terrifying.
He saved me. Again.
And now, I watch him as he crouches at the mouth of the cave, his golden eyes scanning, his massive body coiled with tension. He looks like a warrior carved from stone, every muscle prepared to strike, his claws flexing slightly as he listens for any sign of pursuit.
I should be looking out too, but I can’t tear my eyes away from him.
My heart pounds for an entirely different reason now.
The longer I watch him, the more my chest tightens, the more my breath comes faster. Gratitude swells inside me, so big and overwhelming it almost hurts. But it’s not just gratitude. It’s something deeper. Hotter.
He turns to face me, his sharp features softening just slightly as his gaze sweeps over me, checking for injuries.
“Safe,” he projects as he approaches, forehead touching mine. The word sends a shiver through me. His touch sends a shiver through me. My breaths are still coming fast, my chest rising and falling as I stare up at him.
He reaches for me, his hand cupping my jaw, his thumb brushing lightly over my cheek. His touch is so careful, so gentle, it makes my chest ache.
And then I lose it.
Before I can think, before I can stop myself, I grab the back of his neck and pull him down into a kiss.
It’s desperate. Raw.
I pour everything into that kiss—every ounce of fear, gratitude, and need that’s been building inside me since the moment he snatched me on this godforsaken planet.
Rok freezes, his body going rigid beneath my hands. For a split second, I think I’ve made a mistake. But then he growls—a low, deep sound that vibrates through my chest—and kisses me back.
It’s clumsy at first. His lips are rough, his movements hesitant, but the sheer hunger behind them makes my knees weak. His claws slide down to my hips, gripping me tightly, and I gasp into his mouth as he pulls me against him.
“Jus-teen.” Fuck. The way he says my name. Like he’s hungry. Starving. Desperate. Like he can’t believe this is happening.
I pull back, gasping for air, the realization of what I’ve done hitting me like a freight train.
“What am I doing?” I whisper, my fingers pressing into his chest as I keep myself back.
But he’s looking at me with those golden eyes, so full of wonder and longing, and I can’t stop myself.
Before I can think too hard about it, I throw myself against him again, kissing him harder this time.
This time, he doesn’t hesitate.
His hands slide down to my thighs, lifting me off the ground as he presses me back against the cave wall. The heat of his body is overwhelming, his scent surrounding me—earthy, metallic, and entirely him.
When he pulls back, his gaze is dark, his lips parted as he struggles to catch his breath.
“Jus-teen,” he rasps.
I reach for him, sliding my hands down the hard planes of his chest to the knot holding his loincloth in place.
“Let me,” I whisper, my fingers trembling as I untie it.
Rok is forced to set me down as the cloth falls away, and my breath hitches.
He’s so fucking perfect. Thick and long, the darker color of his shaft deepening slightly around the broad head.
He shifts under my gaze, his claws flexing against me. When he leans in, forehead against mine, a rush of images greets me so intensely that my knees almost buckle. Images of me and him.
Images of me underneath him.
Writhing. Pulsing. Needy.
There is no doubt what he wants to do right now. And no doubt I’m too weak to resist it.
“Is…good?” he projects.
I let out a shaky laugh, the sound catching in my throat. “Good doesn’t even begin to cover it,” I murmur, reaching out to wrap my hand around him.
Rok’s entire body jerks at the contact, his head falling back as a strangled growl escapes his throat. His hands fly to the stone walls of the cave, claws flexing as he braces himself against the sensation.
“Jus-teen,” he groans, drawing out my name like it’s the only word he’s ever known. Just hearing him like that—his voice low and guttural, tinged with desperation—sends a thrill racing through me.
I watch him carefully as I stroke him, my fingers sliding up and down his length. Every touch seems to unravel him. His hips jerk slightly, as if his body is moving on instinct, and his breath comes in ragged gasps, his chest heaving.
God, he’s beautiful. The perfect build, the strength in those arms, those legs, every muscle taut and trembling as he struggles to hold himself together.
But it’s not just his body that makes my heart race—it’s the way he looks at me. Like I’m something fragile and precious, something he’s afraid to touch but can’t bear to stay away from.
He’s so careful, so hesitant, and the realization starts to creep in—the way his hands have never wandered too far, the way he’s frozen when I’ve kissed him, the way he’s looking at me now, like he’s never done this before.
My hand pauses on his length, and I meet his gaze, my heart pounding.
“Oh my God,” I whisper, my voice barely audible. “You’re a virgin, aren’t you?”
Rok’s eyes are heavy-lidded, as if he’s in a dream. But he focuses on me. I don’t think he understands what I asked.
I close my eyes, focusing, and bring images to my mind. Images of him, alone. The absence of women in his memories. The way he’s looked at me, touched me, like I’m something new and entirely unknown.
He leans in, pressing his forehead to mine, and I see it—another fleeting glimpse into his world. His clan, all males. Their harsh, barren home. The constant battles for survival, the brutal hunts, the unrelenting heat of the desert.
There are no women. No softness. No love.
“Jus-teen,” he rasps, his breath warm on my face. “First. You…only.”
His words steal the breath from my lungs.
First. Only.
The gravity of it sinks in. I’m the first woman he’s ever touched, ever been close to.
For a moment, I don’t know how to respond. But then a possessiveness I’ve never felt before suddenly flares to life inside my chest. I want to claim him, to teach him, to show him everything. I want to.
I release him, my hands trembling as they reach up to cup his face. He leans into my touch, his eyes never leaving mine, and I see the wonder there—the awe, the hunger, the need.
“I need to show you something,” I say softly, pushing the thought toward him. His brow furrows in concentration as he tries to understand, but I can feel his eagerness, his excitement.
Taking his hand, I guide it to my chest, pressing his palm against my breast. “This,” I murmur, “is a woman’s body. My body.” I guide his fingers down, tracing the curve of my waist, the flare of my hip. His eyes darken, his breath growing ragged as he watches his hand moving over me.
“And this,” I whisper, trailing his hand even lower, until his fingers brush against the fabric of my panties. I guide his fingers beneath the hem, pressing them against my wetness. “This is my pussy.”