Page 97 of Enslak

Enslak had been quiet for a moment. Then he nodded. "Do it."

George built the device in under three hours and came back carrying what looked like a modified medical scanner.

"This will sting," he'd warned.

Enslak had pulled off his shirt and turned around. I'd moved to stand in front of him, taking his hands in mine as George positioned the device.

The pulse had been brief. Intense. Enslak's whole body had gone rigid for the span of a deep breath.

Then it was over.

He'd sagged forward, breathing hard.

"Done," George had said quietly. "The tracker's dead. Completely fried."

I'd pulled Enslak against me, felt him shaking. Relief or residual pain. Maybe both.

"You're free," I'd whispered against his neck. "They can't find you anymore."

"We're free," he'd corrected, his arms coming around me.

George cleared his throat, his light gray cheeks darkening. He was such a skilled healer, I sometimes forgot how young he was. "I'll just leave you two alone."

"Thank you," I said. "For this."

He ducked his head, embarrassed. "Just doing my job."

After he left, Enslak shoved me against the wall. His mouth crashed into mine—all teeth and raw desperation. I tasted the adrenaline on him, felt the tremor running through his body.

"Need you," he said against my lips. His hands were already moving, pulling at my shirt, yanking it over my head. "Need this. Need to know you're real."

"I'm here," I gasped, fumbling with his uniform fastenings. My fingers wouldn't cooperate. "Right here."

He helped, tearing the fabric. His chest heaved, the scars catching the light. I ran my hands over him, feeling the heat radiating from his skin, the rapid hammer of his heartbeat under my palms.

His cock was already hard, straining against his pants. I could see the thick outline pressing against the fabric. I reached down and grabbed him through the material, and he groaned—a raw, guttural sound that shot straight through me.

"Fuck," he breathed, his hips jerking forward. "Niki—"

"I want you inside me," I told him. My voice sounded strange—rough, needy. "Now."

His claws made quick work of what remained. My pants, then my underwear, and then he was lifting me, my legs wrapping around his waist as he carried me to the bed. He laid me down and stood there for a moment, just looking. His eyes were dark, pupils blown wide.

Then he stripped off his pants and I got the full view—his cock thick and hard, the head flushed dark. He was shaking slightly as he crawled over me, settling between my thighs.

I felt him against my entrance, hot and heavy. I reached down and guided him, and he pushed inside in one smooth motion. We both gasped.

"Fuck, you're tight," he muttered, his forehead dropping to my shoulder. "So tight."

He started moving, his hips rolling in a rhythm that had me gasping and digging my nails into his back. Each thrust was deep, hitting something inside me that made my vision blur. His breathing came ragged against my neck, his whole body tense with the effort of control.

"Don't hold back," I told him, pulling his face up to mine. "I don't want you to hold back."

Something shifted in his expression. He nodded once, and then he was fucking me harder, his hips snapping against mine with more force. The bed creaked beneath us. My breath came in short, sharp gasps.

One of his hands gripped my hip, holding me steady. The other slid between us, his thumb finding my clit and rubbing in rough circles. It wasn't gentle or practiced—it was urgent and a little clumsy, but it worked. The pressure built fast, coiling tight in my core.

"Yeah," he growled against my collarbone. "Come for me. I want to feel it."