Page 18 of Aliens Love Curves
"Sorry, I just..." I shake my head, trying to focus. "If I can convince the shareholders—"
"You could get yourself killed," he interrupts, shifting closer. "These people, whatever they're involved in... it's dangerous. I think I should get in touch with Zara...tell her there’s definitely something going on but it’s too dangerous to proceed undercover. "
"Life is dangerous," I counter, tilting my face up to his. "You can't protect me from everything."
"No," he agrees, his voice rough. "But I can try."
The air between us feels charged, electric. A bead of moisture from the waterfall lands on his shoulder, and I watch, mesmerized, as it trails down his pink skin.
What happens next feels both inevitable and shocking. Stryker's hands cup my face, and then his mouth is on mine. The kiss is fierce, desperate, full of all the tension that's beenbuilding between us. His tail wraps around my waist, pulling me closer as his hands roam my curves.
I respond with equal fervour, tangling my fingers in his hair, pressing myself against the hard planes of his body. He tastes like starlight and danger, and I never want it to end.
When we finally break apart, we're both breathing hard. Horror dawns in Stryker's eyes.
"Casey, I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have—" He steps back, running a hand through his dishevelled hair. "That was completely inappropriate."
"Stryker—"
"We're on a mission," he continues, his voice strained. "I'm supposed to be professional, supposed to be watching your back, not..." He gestures helplessly between us.
My lips still tingle from his kiss, my body humming with unfulfilled desire—my pussy moist. But beneath the physical attraction, confusion reigns. This is my first real mission as an enforcer. I should be focused on gathering intelligence, on uncovering whatever secrets Quickening Gliders is hiding.
Instead, I'm juggling the rush of Harlan's attention, the possibility of achieving my racing dreams, and now this electric thing with Stryker. My partner. My protector. My... what?
"We should head back," Stryker says, his professional mask sliding back into place. But I notice his tail is still twitching, betraying his agitation.
The ride back is silent, charged with unspoken words and suppressed desires. I'm acutely aware of every point where our bodies touch, every shared breath in the confined space of the glider as my chest welds itself to his back.
As we approach the landing pad, reality starts to reassert itself. In a few days, I'll attend a ball where I need to convince wealthy shareholders to trust me with their prototype. Somewhere in this gleaming complex, suspicious shipments arebeing made under cover of darkness. And the man behind it all, Harlan Mertok, is offering me everything I've ever dreamed of.
So why can't I stop thinking about the feel of Stryker's lips on mine?
We dock at the rental station, and Stryker helps me off the glider with careful politeness. His touch is professional now, controlled, but I remember how those same hands felt roaming my body moments ago.
"Casey," he starts, then stops, seeming to struggle with his words.
"It's okay," I say quickly, though I'm not sure what I'm reassuring him about. "We should focus on the mission. On the ball. On..."
"Right," he agrees, but his eyes tell a different story. "The mission."
As we walk to the training quarters, I try to sort through my jumbled emotions. The thrill of potentially racing in the Annual Sky Race wars with my duty as an enforcer. The memory of Stryker's kiss tangles with Harlan's charming attention.
I've never felt more alive – or more confused.
This mission just got a lot more complicated. And somehow, I don't think that kiss made anything clearer.
Chapter 10 - Stryker
Three days of exquisite torture. Seventy-two hours of carefully measured words and calculated distances since that moment in the botanical gardens when I let my control slip. Our once-easy partnership has transformed into a delicate dance of avoidance – quick glances when the other isn't looking, subtle shifts to maintain proper distance, conversations that stay firmly in safe territory. Our easy banter has been replaced by stilted conversation, our casual touches now calculated and rare. I've replayed that moment a thousand times, wondering if I should regret it.
In quiet moments, I catch myself reliving that kiss. The way Casey's body melted into mine, how her fingers sent electricity through my scalp, the soft sound she made when our lips met. The memory haunts me during briefings, distracts me during training sessions, and makes those nights on the couch a special kind of hell.
I don't.
My reflection stares back at me as I adjust my formal uniform, smoothing nonexistent wrinkles. The shareholders' ball demands perfection, and the midnight blue fabric with silver trim suits my pink skin well enough. But it's not my appearance that has my tail twitching with nervous energy.
The memory of her lips against mine, her body pressed close, the way her fingers tangled in my hair – no, I can't regret that. Even if it's made our shared apartment feel like an airless chamber, tension thick enough to cut with a blade.