"I have a good idea."
Those five words hung in the infinite, suffocating silence of the white void like a promise.
Or perhaps, like a threat. You stood there, that cheap plastic pen still hovering over the open page of the paperback book, a mischievous glint dancing in your golden eyes. You looked like a god who had just decided to rewrite the commandments because he was bored with the original stone tablets.
But then, you stopped.
You slowly lowered the pen. You placed the book down on the pristine white sofa, the only piece of furniture in this endless nothingness… and you looked at me.
Really looked at me.
It wasn't the look of a writer plotting his next twist. It wasn't the look of a Captain assessing his second-in-command. It was the look of a starving man staring at a feast he had been denied for far too long.
"But the idea can wait," you whispered, your voice rough, dropping an octave until it resonated in the hollow of my chest. "The story can wait. The universe, the Krall, the Xeca... let them hang in the margins for a minute."
I swallowed hard, my throat dry. My torn uniform felt heavy on my skin, a reminder of the battle we had just escaped, or perhaps the battle we were still fighting.
"Ragia?" I breathed, taking a tentative step toward you. "What are you talking about? We are trapped in a white void with a dead writer and a pen. We need to leave."
"Time doesn't exist here, Iya," you said, stepping over the corpse of The Writer as if it were nothing more than a discarded rough draft. You closed the distance between us, your presence overwhelming my senses. You smelled of ink, ozone, and that deep, earthy musk that I had missed with an ache that defied logic. "To you, it has been minutes since… since you watched me die."
You reached out, your hand hovering near my face, your thumb tracing the line of my jaw without actually touching the skin. The heat radiating from your fingertips made me shiver.
"But for me?" You tilted your head, your eyes darkening. "I have been here for a month, Iya. A month of white silence. A month of reading that damn book over and over again. A month of watching you through the text, unable to touch you. Unable to hold you."
"A month?" I gasped. My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic rhythm that echoed the sudden, sharp contraction of my womb.
You had been alone in this purgatory for a month? Waiting for me?
"And do you know what the hardest part was?" you asked, your voice dropping to a dangerous growl.
You didn't wait for an answer.
You grabbed my waist, pulling me flush against your hard body. The impact knocked the breath out of me. I felt the solid ridge of your desire pressing against my stomach, a physical confirmation that you were not a ghost, not a memory, but a man. A very aroused man.
"The hardest part," you murmured against my ear, your breath hot and moist, "was reading Chapter Thirty-Eight."
I froze. My blood ran cold, then instantly boiled. Chapter Thirty-Eight. The chapter where Private... where Arala... used the stick. The chapter where I submitted to a toy because I thought it was you.
"Chapter… Chapter Thirty-Eight?" I stammered.
"Oh, I studied it," you whispered, your lips brushing the sensitive skin of my neck. "I sat and read every word. I read how you begged. I read how you cried my name while my little sister used a piece of silicone to break you. I read how you let go of your precious control because you were so desperate for me."
You bit my earlobe, not gently. It was a sharp nip, a punishment.
"Ah!" I cried out, my hands clutching your leather jacket to keep my knees from buckling.
"It made me jealous, Iya," you confessed, your hand sliding down my back to grip my ass through the fabric of my ruined uniform. You squeezed hard, possessing me. "It made me crazy. Knowing she was touching you. Knowing she was making you scream. Knowing that you were squirting for a toy when you should have been squirting for me."
"It... it was for you," I defended myself, my voice trembling. "I was trying to save you. I needed the energy. I had to believe it was you."
"I know," you said, pulling back just enough to look into my eyes.
Your gaze was intense, burning with a fire that threatened to consume me whole. "But you were a bad girl, Vice Captain. You let someone else sit in my chair. You let someone else drive."
"Ragia..." I whimpered, the sound escaping my throat before I could stop it. The way you looked at me... it stripped me bare. It peeled away the layers of the Vice Captain, leaving only the woman who had waited in the dark for her lover to return.
"And bad girls," you growled, "need to be reminded who the King really is."
You didn't give me time to respond. You crashed your mouth onto mine.
It wasn't a kiss.
It was a reclaiming.
You devoured me. Your tongue swept into my mouth, demanding submission, tasting the shock and the desire on my breath. I melted against you, my arms wrapping around your neck, my fingers burying themselves in your messy black hair. I kissed you back with everything I had, pouring a month's worth of grief and longing into the collision of our lips.
You tasted of danger. You tasted of ink and life.
Your hands were everywhere. You tore at my uniform, buttons popping off and vanishing into the white void. You stripped the tunic from my shoulders, leaving me in my torn camisole. You pushed the fabric aside, your rough palm cupping my breast, your thumb flicking over the hardened nipple.
"Mine," you breathed against my mouth. "This is mine."
"Yes," I sobbed, grinding my hips against yours. "Yes, yours. Always yours."
You broke the kiss, trailing wet, hot kisses down my throat, over my collarbone. You dropped to your knees. My hands stayed in your hair, guiding you, needing you. You ripped the remains of my skirt away, leaving me exposed in my underwear.
"Thirty-eight," you muttered against my stomach, your hands gripping my hips to hold me steady. "She used a serum. She used a feedback loop. But I don't need science, do I, Iya? I don't need tricks."
"No," I gasped, my head falling back as I felt your breath through the thin fabric of my panties. "You just need... you."
You hooked your fingers into the waistband of my panties and yanked them down. I kicked them away, stepping out of them, standing naked and trembling in the white room.
You looked at me. You stared at my center, at the slick, wet heat that was already weeping for you.
"Beautiful," you whispered. "Look at you. Soaking wet. Was Arala this wet? Did she make you drip like this?"
"Stop it," I moaned, my legs shaking. "Don't talk about her."
"I have to," you grinned, looking up at me with devilish delight. "I have to beat her score, don't I? Ten times, Iya? She made you squirt ten times? That's the record I have to break."
You leaned forward. You didn't use your tongue yet. You used your nose, nuzzling against my clitoris, inhaling my scent.
"Ragia... please..." I begged, my hips bucking involuntarily.
"Begging already?" you teased. "We haven't even started the rewrite."
You extended your tongue. You didn't lick. You pressed the flat of your tongue against my clit and vibrated it.
"Oh, God!" I screamed, my fingers digging into your shoulders.
It was electric. It was sharper, hotter, more real than any toy. You used your hands to spread me wider, your thumbs pressing into my inner thighs, opening me up for your feast. You began to lick, long, broad strokes that started from my entrance and dragged up over my sensitive nub.
"You taste like trouble," you mumbled against me. "You taste like my Iya."
You slipped two fingers inside me.
"Tight," you noted, twisting your fingers. "So tight. Did the toy stretch you out? Or did you tighten up just for me?"
"For you," I panted, throwing my head back, staring at the white emptiness above. "Only for you."
You curled your fingers, hitting that spot deep inside that made my vision blur. At the same time, your mouth latched onto my clit, sucking hard.
"Come on," you demanded, your voice vibrating against my wetness. "Show me. Show me what you gave her. Give it to me."
The pressure built instantly. It wasn't a slow climb. It was a rocket launch. My body, starved for your touch, reacted violently. The sensation was too much, too intense.
"I'm... I'm close!" I wailed. "Ragia! I can't hold it!"
"Don't you dare hold it," you growled. "Let go. Squirt for me, Vice Captain. That's an order."
I shattered.
My knees gave out, and you caught me, holding me up as my body convulsed. I clamped down on your fingers, and I felt the release rip through me.
"Ah! Ragia!"
I squirted.
A powerful jet of fluid erupted from me, coating your face, your chin, dripping down onto your leather jacket. I shook violently, crying out your name, lost in the first wave of pleasure.
You drank it. You licked your lips, savoring it, not pulling away until the last tremor had passed.
You stood up, wiping your face with the back of your hand, looking like a predator who had just tasted the first blood of the hunt. You were covered in me. You shone with me.
"One," you counted, your voice husky.
You didn't give me time to recover. You picked me up again, walking over to the white sofa. You sat down, pulling me onto your lap so I was straddling you, facing you.
"You think that was enough?" you asked, your hands roaming over my naked back, pressing my breasts against your chest.
"I... I don't know," I stammered, my brain still foggy with endorphins.
"It wasn't," you said. "I am jealous, remember? I need to erase her. I need to erase every touch that wasn't mine."
You reached between our bodies. You weren't reaching for your zipper yet. You found my clit again with your thumb. It was swollen, hypersensitive.
"Ragia, it's too sensitive," I whispered, burying my face in your neck.
"Good," you said. "I want it raw."
You started to grind your thigh up against me while your thumb circled my nub. You kissed me again, deep and hard, swallowing my moans. You used your other hand to tease my entrance, slipping in and out, mimicking the rhythm of intercourse without giving me the fullness I craved.
"Please," I sobbed against your mouth. "Put it inside. I need you inside."
"Not yet," you whispered. "You need to learn patience. You were too eager with Arala. You just laid there and took it. With me... you have to earn it."
You increased the speed of your hand. You pinched my nipple with your teeth through the kiss.
The sensory overload was blinding. The friction of your denim jeans against my inner thighs, the heat of your hand, the taste of you... it was overwhelming.
"I'm going to... again..." I gasped, pulling back to look at you. "Ragia, stop! It's too fast!"
"Cum," you commanded. "Do it on my lap. Soak me, Iya."
You rubbed harder. You pressed your thumb down, pinning my clit against your pubic bone.
"Yes!" I screamed.
The second climax hit me harder than the first.
It was a jagged, desperate thing. My hips bucked wildly against you. I felt the wetness gush out of me again, soaking your jeans, pooling between us. I cried out, a long, high-pitched wail that vanished into the silence of the white room.
I collapsed against your chest, panting, my heart feeling like it was going to explode.
"Two," you whispered in my ear.
You pushed me back slightly, looking at the mess we had made. You looked down at your soaked pants.
"Well," you grinned, that wicked, arrogant grin returning. "Now that we're both wet... I think it's time to write the real scene."
You reached for your belt buckle. The sound of metal on metal was the loudest thing in the universe.
"You wanted the King?" you asked, unzipping your pants. "You wanted the real thing?"
You freed yourself.
I stared. It was magnificent. Angry. Veiny. Harder than any silicone, warmer than any serum. It twitched, eager, leaking a clear drop of pre-cum that promised to fill the void inside me.
"Here is your King," you growled. "Now, get on your back, Iya. We have a lot of catching up to do."