The terror in Elara's eyes is a physical thing, a cold splash of reality against the feverish heat of our bodies.
"It's not dead. It was only sleeping."
My own dread is a cold knot in my gut, but it's instantly met by a surge of raw, protective instinct. This woman, this legend, just came undone in my arms, and some ancient nightmare isn't going to take her. Not now.
Diana's voice crackles again, tinny and sharp. "The energy spike is fucking massive, Steele. It's emanating from a facility about twenty klicks from your position. Readings are… shit, I don't even know what these readings are. It's like nothing I've ever seen."
Elara's grip on my shoulders tightens, her nails biting into my skin. The fear is there, a primal, deeply-ingrained terror, but it's already being subsumed by a fierce, commanding resolve I recognize. She's a starship captain, not a victim. She shakes her head, a sharp, decisive motion. "We cannot be here when it achieves full sentience. The protocols… the countermeasures… they will scour this entire planet clean."
The logical part of my brain, the survivor, knows she's right. We need to run. Now. But the larger part of me, the part that is still buried deep inside her, throbbing and intimately connected to every one of her shudders, refuses to move. The sheer animal magnetism of her, the slick heat still clenched around my cock, holds me prisoner.
Her brilliant green eyes lock onto mine, and I see the same war raging within her. Duty versus desire. Ancient fear versus newborn need. The fear loses.
A slow, dangerous smile touches her lips, a complete transformation from the terror of a moment ago. It's the smile of a woman who has stared into the abyss and decided to fuck it. "It will take time for its systems to come fully online," she murmurs, her voice dropping back to that husky, intimate whisper. Her hips give a tiny, involuntary rock against mine, and we both gasp at the fresh jolt of sensation. "Time we can use."
"Time for what?" I ask, my voice rough, my hands sliding from her hips up the tense, smooth plane of her back.
"For this," she breathes, and lowers her mouth to mine.
This kiss is different. It's not the desperate, claiming kiss from before. This is slower, deeper, more deliberate. A tasting. An exploration. It's a captain assessing her new territory, and finding it very much to her liking. Her tongue sweeps into my mouth with a lazy confidence that makes my head spin.
The cold dread, the warning from Diana, it all fades into a dull hum at the edge of my consciousness. There is only her. The scent of her sweat and something else, something electric and ancient, fills my lungs. The feel of her sweat-slicked skin under my palms. The incredible, tight warmth of her surrounding me.
I groan into her mouth, my hands gripping her ass, pulling her down onto me harder, deeper. She moans in response, the sound vibrating through both of us. She breaks the kiss, her forehead resting against mine, her breath hot on my face.
"Again," she commands, her voice a low thrum of pure need. "I need to feel you again. I need to remember what it is to be alive."
She doesn't wait for my answer. Her hands brace on my chest, her powerful thighs flex, and she begins to move. This isn't the slow, exploratory rhythm from before. This is a relentless, driving pace. A race against the waking nightmare twenty klicks away.
Her body rises and falls, taking me with a fierce, hungry grace. Each downward plunge is a masterclass in friction and heat, each upward drag a exquisite torture. I can feel every inch of her, every flutter and clench of her inner muscles as she milks me, demanding everything I have.
"Gods," I grit out, my own hips meeting her thrust for thrust, driving up into her welcoming heat. My hands roam her body, memorizing the curve of her spine, the perfect, firm globes of her ass, the way her abdominal muscles tighten with each movement.
Her head falls back, her brilliant red hair whipping with the force of our motion. A string of curses and pleas in a language I don't understand falls from her lips, a beautiful, ancient litany of pleasure. Her breasts, pale and perfect, bounce with our rhythm, her hard nipples begging for attention.
I lean forward, my mouth closing over one taut peak, and she cries out, her hands flying to my head to hold me there. I suckle her, my tongue lashing the hardened bud, and I can feel the corresponding squeeze deep inside her core. She is so responsive, every touch, every kiss, sending shockwaves through her entire being.
"Yes… right there… don't stop…" she pleads, her voice cracking.
The world has narrowed to this: the slap of skin on skin, our ragged, synchronized breathing, the intoxicating scent of our joining. The hum of the awakening AI is just background noise to the symphony she's drawing from my body. I can feel my release building, a tight, coiling pressure in my gut, amplified by the frantic, desperate energy of her movements. She's chasing her own climax, chasing a feeling she hasn't known for a hundred thousand years, using my body as her anchor to the present.
One of my hands slips between us, my fingers finding her swollen clit. I press down in a firm, circular motion, matching the rhythm of our fucking.
Her entire body goes taut. Her inner muscles clamp down on me like a vise, a silken, scorching-hot fist. Her scream is raw, unfiltered, and utterly breathtaking. It's the sound of a chainsaw cutting through silence, a star going supernova. Her climax rips through her, violent and all-consuming, and it triggers my own.
I explode inside her with a guttural roar, my vision whiting out at the edges. It feels like my very soul is being pulled from my body and poured into hers. Wave after wave of blinding pleasure crashes over me, and I hold her hips locked to mine, pumping my release deep into her clutching depths until I'm spent, shaking, hollowed out.
We collapse together onto the cold floor, a tangled, sweating heap of limbs. For a long moment, there is only the sound of our heaving chests and the distant, ominous hum that is growing steadily louder.
Elara is the first to move. She pushes herself up on trembling arms, her green eyes, now clear and fiercely focused, staring down at me. The pleasure is still there, a warm glow on her skin, but it's banked now, replaced by the steel of command.
"We need to go," she says, her voice already all business. But her hand, as she pushes a strand of hair from my forehead, is surprisingly gentle.
A sharp, panicked crackle erupts from my comm. Diana's voice is stripped of all its usual sarcasm, sharp with a fear I've never heard from her before. "Steele! Get your ass back to the ship! Now! It's not just awake… it's looking right at us."