“No,” I say, stepping further into the room. “But it is with you..”
He turns then, slow, deliberate, his gaze settling on me in a way that feels less like observation and more like assessment.
“You walked in here like you belong,” he says.
“Is there some debate about that?” I match his gaze spark for spark. His expression tightens slightly, not in anger, but in recognition.
“Why are you here?” he asks.
“I’m not sure,” I reply, closing the distance between us just enough to make the space intentional.
His eyes narrow slightly. I shake my head slowly, feeling the frustration sharpen into something. The air between us changes, not heavier, but sharper, like the edges of the moment have become more defined.
“You don’t get to change me,” he says.
“I already have,” I reply.
I take another step forward, closing the last of the distance, close enough now that I can feel the heat of him, steady, not overwhelming but impossible to ignore.
His hand moves before I fully register it, not fast, but precise, fingers catching the collar at my throat and tightening just enough to anchor me in place.
“You dance with fire, Anastasia,” he says.
I return his stare without wavering. His gaze sharpens, something flickering beneath the surface that feels closer to desire than mere interest.
“You’re not afraid,” he says.
“I am,” I reply. “But I no longer fear you.”
The air between us tightens again, but this time it pulls instead of resists, the tension folding inward into something that feels less like conflict and more like alignment.
His hand moves from the collar to my jaw, deliberate. He pulls me into his kiss, his sharp nails scraping along my chin and cheek. I kiss him back, our tongues lashing in a dance of dominance and submission. I let him lead, surrendering to his kiss, his touch, and this curious warmth in my breast that grows stronger day by day.
Tyrok pulls away from me, biting my lower lip a touch before releasing me from his kiss. Our gazes lock for a moment, and then my hands move to his belt. He doesn’t stop me this time as I disrobe him. The sight of his throbbing weapon pointed my way sends my pulse racing.
I go down to my knees and take his shaft in both hands. He looks on with curiosity at first, until I begin to reveal my Companion secrets to him. My mind maps his reactions, correlating to when and where I touch him.
His eyes narrow, and a gasp escapes from behind his tightly clenched teeth. I unveil my secrets a bit slower, wanting to prolong this dance. My hand cups his leather coinpurse, and even here I find spurs. His entire body, his entire being is about trying to hurt the galaxy before it has a chance to hurt him.
I feel along the underside of his shaft, then stroke my fingers across his crown. The spurs flex and shiver, and his crown leaks a bit of fluid. I don’t let a drop hit the floor, enveloping his crown with my mouth.
“Yes,” he growls. “Good girl, Anastasia.”
His praise makes the warmth blossom in my chest, and my clit shiver with anticipation. I take more of him inside of my mouth, my hands working his purse and the base of his shaft. Tyrok’s hands go to the back of my head, pulling my hair, but allowing me to move where I will.
I take his entire length, feeling his pulse throb in my mouth and throat, and then slowly pull off of him. When I reach the crown I suckle with intense, varied strength. He loses control, crying out and releasing into my mouth.
He stares down at me, eyes filled with wonder. I feel a smile creep over my face.
“Am I still your good girl, Tyrok?” I ask sweetly.
Tyrok’s eyes narrow, but not with anger. Not really. Intensity, yes, passion, for sure, but not anger. There is, however, a spark of urge to reclaim his lost dominance.
“Here’s a hint,” he growls.
I’m expecting his lunge, but I squeal anyway as he grabs me and spins me around in the air like a toy. Tyrok plants me belly first across the console, and his clawed fingers flip up my skirt with impunity.
Tyrok spreads my legs widely and I feel the head of his cock pressing against my pussy from behind. I arch my back as he enters me, filling me with his throbbing, spurred hardness. My mouth flies open of its own volition, releasing a deep guttural moan born from the depths of my soul.
