“Oh God yes,” I cry.
“That is not my name,” he says in a tight voice. His hand bunches in my hair and he pulls my head back. Not violent, but definitely forceful. It only makes my pussy spasm harder, drawing him deeper inside.
“Yes, Tyrok,” I cry. “I’m yours.”
“You. Are. Mine,” he says, punctuating each word with a thrust of his powerful hips. I come on the second, but he doesn’t stop there. His body presses into me, holding me against the console. I push back into him, grinding my hips as we find a perfect synchronicity.
I scream my throat raw as his efforts elicit another orgasm. This one shudders through me like a nuclear detonation,wracking body and mind alike with pure ecstasy. I lose all ability to control myself and just buck and writhe with pulse after pulse of pleasure.
He leans into the thrusts, getting harder, more primal. I feel his cock stiffen to metal like rigidity before he releases inside of me. Then his spurs shiver and his cock throbs as it empties itself. The vibration sets me off again, and I would fall over if he did not keep me pressed against the console, not to mention the hand in my hair.
I’m a limp, shivering, cumming mess as he lifts my head up and around until he can kiss me.
“Mine,” he growls.
“Yours,” I whisper in a quivering voice. “Always yours.”
CHAPTER 16
TYROK
The room doesn’t settle the way it used to after a command is given, and that difference lingers in the air longer than anything anyone says out loud.
I track it in the small delays, in the way conversations taper instead of cut clean, and in the way movement continues just a fraction too long before snapping back into alignment. The metallic edge of the base hums beneath it all, systems cycling through their routines, but there is something else threaded through the atmosphere now, something quieter and less stable that refuses to dissipate. It sits behind every glance and hesitation, shaping the rhythm of the room in ways that don’t need to be spoken to be understood.
“You’re letting it stretch,” Vihl says from my left, his voice low enough to stay contained within the space between us.
“I’m letting it show,” I reply, keeping my focus on the data running across the console.
“That’s the same thing if it spreads,” he says.
“No,” I answer. “If it spreads, it becomes something I deal with directly instead of guessing at.”
He exhales through his nose, the sound restrained but present. “You always wait for it to get worse before you touch it,” he says.
“I wait for it to become clear,” I reply.
“That’s a risk,” he says.
“So is cutting the wrong thing,” I answer.
The display shifts under my hands as I pull up the next set of operations, three smaller targets layered across different sectors, each one requiring adjustment instead of repetition. Light from the projection spills across the console in shifting bands, reflecting faintly off the metal surface and catching along the edges of my hands as the data reorganizes itself. The information doesn’t present as cleanly as it used to, not because it has degraded, but because I am no longer looking for confirmation of what I already know. I am looking for disruption, for deviation, for the places where the system doesn’t behave the way it should.
“You’ve already assigned her to two of these,” Vihl says, his attention settling on the projections.
“All three,” I reply.
That earns a reaction from him, subtle but immediate, visible in the slight shift of his posture as he recalibrates.
“That’s fast,” he says.
“It’s necessary,” I answer.
“It’s noticeable,” he counters.
“That’s the point,” I say.
He studies me longer this time, weighing whether to push further. “You’re building around her,” he says.
