“Kelarris,” he growled as he buried himself deep one final time.
Heat flooded her as he came. His cock jerked and pulsed as he bathed her inner walls with his hot seed, filling her until it spilled out around where they joined.
The sensation pushed her over again, a smaller climax that milked him through his own release. She clung to him, nails digging into his shoulders, riding the waves until they both stilled.
Neither of them spoke, but they didn’t need to.
With a soft groan, he turned them again, slipping from her as she nestled against his broad chest. His hand stroked her back in slow circles, and lulled by his warmth and the ship’s gentle hum, she slipped into sleep.
Raaze lay in the narrow bunk, Cait’s soft weight draped across his chest like she belonged there, and stared at the ceiling.
Sleep was impossible, especially after last night. His body buzzed with leftover energy, muscles loose but mind spinning as if he’d just finished a championship match.
Three times. They’d gone three rounds, and each one had been better than the last. His little human was insatiable, and he’d been more than happy to oblige.
She shifted in her sleep, her breath warm against his chest, one small hand curled over his heart. The gesture was unconscious, trusting in a way that made something twist deep in his gut.
He wasn’t an innocent. Nowhere near. Fame had thrown plenty of females at him… groupies from every species, some with skills that could make a male forget his own name. Trained pleasure companions, curious civilians, even a few rivals’ exes looking for revenge between the sheets. But none of them had ever affected him like this.
None of them made him want to stay.
He turned his head slightly, watching her sleep. This tiny human had wrecked him.
Her red hair spilled across the pillow in a tangled mess, and there was a small crease between her brows even as she slept. Like she was solving problems in her dreams. Probably was. His little human never stopped thinking.
His quarters on the warball circuit had been three times this size, with real sheets and climate control that didn’t rattle. But he’d never wanted to linger in any of them. Here, in this cramped bunk that smelled like recycled air and engine grease and her, he couldn’t make himself move.
Kelarris.
The word had slipped out more than once. She didn’t know what it meant. Just as well.
He was only here by invitation. These were her quarters, her territory, her ship. The bunk, the space, the tentative trust.. It could all disappear. One wrong move and she’d boot his ass back to the cargo bay with that sharp tongue of hers.
Don’t get comfortable, he told himself. Don’t get attached.
Too late for that.
The data chip changed everything, though. This wasn’t just about clearing his name now. No, this mess went deeper, far deeper.
Vikrav R’Tev.
His lip curled back from his teeth just thinking the name.
Everyone knew Vikrav. The spoilt little rich kid who’d exploded onto the warball scene four years ago, all flash and no substance. His marketing team had been relentless, plastering his face across every holoscreen from the core worlds to the outer colonies. They’d hailed him as ‘The Next Big Thing’, ‘The Future of Warball’, and ‘A Generational Talent.’
And it was all utter trall.
The R’Tev owned half the colonies… property magnates with fingers in every pie from luxury domes to mining ops. They had credits to burn and connections that reached into every level of Imperial society. So when Vikrav had announced his warball ambitions, they’d just bought him an ‘in’ with a team.
Raaze remembered watching Vikrav’s early matches. The kid had potential, sure. Decent reflexes, reasonable court awareness. But he wasn’t elite. He wasn’t even close to elite. He made positioning errors that would have gotten him benched on any serious team. His shot selection was predictable. His defensive footwork was sloppy.
And yet he kept winning and moving up the rankings.
Raaze had assumed the kid was finally living up to the hype. Late bloomer, maybe. Some players took longer to develop, took longer for things to ‘click’ for them on the pitch. Everyone was different, and he’d been too focused on his own career to pay much attention.
Draanthing fool.
The names Cait had found in the archive told a different story. Matches that should have gone to veterans suddenly flipped. Key players benched with sudden illnesses or “accidents”… career-ending injuries under suspicious circumstances. And players who’d simply disappeared.
