“What the fuck do you mean we have to wait until tomorrow to get her nanoflex,” Conor groaned, gesturing behind Fae and Eiviliay at the stacks of hundreds of unused Nanoflex armor sets.
“None of them that are working fit her. Those that could need some work,” Fae lied, knowing that genuine NanoFlex is one size fits all—save for a few extreme niche cases. All you did was fit the bracelet to your arm and activate it, and semi-solid nanofiber would form a vest around your vitals.
Hopefully, Conor does not know that. He tends to be more of a big-picture guy, so Fae and Eivilays' plan hinged on his ignorance.
Conor looked over the area suspiciously, scanning for any lurking threat, likely having assumed someone had put them up to causing the delay.
Fae and Eivilay watched Conor's eyes shift in colors from green to glowing red as he cycled through his different vision types. He sighed and looked back at the waiting women, having not found anyone lurking in the area.
“At least we went out and got proper clothes while you were out,” Evillay added, excitedly shaking the paper bags clutched in her claws.
Conor could not deny that having done that was a blessing. He had dreaded spending any more time with Eivilay while shopping. Not that he minded the eye candy, but shopping was worse than torture. He would rather chew on glass than go on extended shopping trips—something the affluent were known for, even here in the COS.
“Fine, we will be back in the morning,” Conor sighed, turning around and accepting the situation change. He extended a hand as he did. “Come on, Eivilay. I have an extra cot at my place you can use.”
Eivilay resisted the urge to cling to the Human and wrap her tail around his waist; instead, the ruby-scaled alien grabbed her champion's hand and looked back to Fae, an infectious smile filling the gap.
Fae had done Eivilay right. She knew precisely what humans would do. In this case, because Conor tried to limit his time out and about, he would take Eivilay somewhere closer—his safe house.
Conor was as predictable as Fae conveyed. Eivilay thought about that idea and started to grasp that she would have to treat him a bit more basely, perhaps like caring for an animal. They would have no reason to attack you if you kept them comfortable, happy, and well-fed.
Her beast just happened to be sapient, filled to the brim with wiring. And could rip anything he touched in half.
“Have a fun night, you two,” Fae waved, a gesture Eivilay returned.
“Yeah, I’m certain it will be,” Conor rolled his eyes.
—--
Menageries of thoughts screamed in Eivilays mind as she looked around Conor's home—if one could even call it that.
Why is it so small? What are those stains on the wall and floor? Why did Conor have more locks on his door than the royal vault? Why did the only clean item seem to be his bed? Why was his dining room and bed in the foyer? But most of all, was this all there was?
There must be something else to this place. Nothing outside was lavish or offered the amenities that a man of Conor's caliber deserved, and the inside was just as—-spartan. There were prisons back home that were more plush than this.
The entire place was pathetic.
“So remind me again, what about being my champion would be so bad?” Eivilay questioned, peaking down the short hall and spotting two closed doors beside a filthy kitchenette and minifridge.
“I never said it sounded bad,” Conor said, passing her and walking to the storage room. “It is just too good to be true. Life ain’t that nice.”
“I said that I am not deceiving you,” Eivilay pouted, stamping her foot on the hard ground.
“Whatever you say, babe.” Conor laughed before closing the door to keep the clingy lizard out while he changed.
Eivilay huffed, turned about, and plopped onto Conor's bed, lying back and soaking in his scent—gun-oil, smoke, and sweat, just like a man should. The odor was titillating, reminding her of the smell lingering around the guard barracks right after they finished training.
Conor returned and had dressed down in a set of ludicrously short shorts and a tight black tank top. Eivilay could not help but stare slightly. This was the first time she had seen Conor out of full battle fatigues, and it made her mouth water.
Half of his upper chest was shining chrome. Spattered lights and pistons moved at the joints in well-timed order. The mechanical parts were built to match his bulging musculature perfectly, giving his upper torso a wonderful V-taper.
Conor looked at Eivilay, peering up at him, and shook his head, knowing her plan. “You know you aren’t sleeping there. I have a cot for you.”
She looked away and did not acknowledge his weak-willed request, remembering Fae’s guidance to challenge the Human and make him feel like he had won. Just giving in would not do any of that. She had to be stubborn, put her foot down when it mattered, and get under his skin.
Conor tossed a small cube into the center of the room and watched as it gradually unfolded. He enjoyed setting up the Carian manufacturing cot; the shimmering lights and dull hum interested him. Conor had no idea how it went from a 15mm cube to a bed large enough for him, but it worked.
Once the short spectacle was over, Conor sat at the table and texted Brakul to explain where they were. His Jurintik partner would be worried if they did not return eventually.
“So when are you going to join me,” Eivilay purred.
Connor peaked up at her and almost laughed. This brat was exceptionally persistent. Instead of lounging there and not talking, she was already making moves to emphasize her desires. Eivilays' long claws plucked at her shirt button methodically, plucking at them like a guitar string. Each time her fatty chest bounced, it was as if she begged Conor to rip it off.
“I told you you were sleeping on the cot,” Conor replied.
Eivilay rolled her eyes and was about to mope and pout as she had with her temporary champion, but she knew that would not work with Conor. Instead, she decided to play one of the cards Fae had told her to after hearing about Brakul's orders to the Human.
Be unignorable.
“Come on, Conor. Brakul did tell you to keep me happy,” Evilay whispered into his ear, having gotten up and shoved her cream-colored cleavage between him and the datapad.
The Human sighed and looked up at her. A massive, almost pleading frown was across her face. He was about to argue and tell her to sit down, but then a thought crossed his mind. He could have some fun here.
It would not be hard to put this brat in her place and still get his rocks off. Eivilay certainly was not shy about wanting him. But if this were happening, it would be on his terms.
“He did mention that,” Conor replied, wrapping an arm around Eivilays waist and pulling her into his lap. Eivilay quickly picked up the change in atmosphere from the human and draped her arms over his muscular shoulders as his following words stole her breath away. “So—your highness, what would make you happy?”
“Just be my Champion,” Eivilay replied, pressing her fatty chest against his rippling muscles and smirking. “And I always get what I want.”
There was that hoity-toity royal attitude Conor expected from her. Something about that mentality dug under Conor's skin like knives. He did not hate it; he wanted nothing more than to break it and make someone showing that off know they were still mortal.
Conor had a similar reason for liking Fae. She was strong and thought that made her in charge. Well, he had proved that beast of a woman wrong. Now, it was Eivilays' turn to be put in her place.
“Let’s see how that works out for you,” Conor replied, grabbing Eivilays plump rump with both hands and moving so she landed back blat on the tabletop.
You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.
Evilay gasped as Conor let almost all of his 300-kilo frame push her into the could surface. The table top arched down at their combined mass, threatening to snap any moment.
“Now you are getting it,” Eivilay moaned, Conor's hard cock rubbing against her wetting cunt through her thin spandex.
By all that was holy, the intense owning glower pouring off Conor was to die for and was just the attitude any champion should have of their lady—a man ready to slay anyone who looked at her wrong.
“You are already acting like you're mine,” She purred, running her tail up his shirt and caressing his spine. Evilay knew he must like that a bit; each twitch of his muscles was as apparent as daylight.
Accepting the challenge, Conor grabbed her head with his metal hand, leaned in, and whispered words that made her heart flutter in anticipation of what he was about to do. “I know I can’t fuck that bratty attitude from you. But Urla knows it will be a blast to try.”
“Come on, wild man, Show me what I’m paying for,” Eivilay Impugned, wrapping her tail around his throat, tugging him back like a leash.
Eivilys's quip about Conor being a wildman was not too inaccurate. The man was an attack dog for half the city, a true force of nature that nothing under Urla’s skies could stop.
“Now you are just begging to be spanked,” Conor snarled.
Eivilay lustfully quavered as Conor effortlessly flipped her over, roughly grabbing the back of her head and forcing it against the table, emphasizing to his charge who was commanding who here.
At the same time, the Human used his metal hand and snatched the waistline of her black leggings. The malleable material gave way, ripping off her body. Conor looked down to inspect the ass he was about to welt but paused when he spotted one of the gifts Fae and Eivilay bought for him.
Running up the canyon of her asscrack was a black silky thong. Just under her tail, it split and wrapped around it before tightly traversing her hips. On the opposite end of the skimpy black thread, the delicate folds of her throbbing pussy, soaked the small see through patch.
“What a slutty princess you are,” Coner rubbed his finger down the canyon before circling her sopping cunny.
“Only for you,” Eivilay writhed against his pressure.
The Human's overbearing command infected her body like a plague, coursing through her veins and growing on her scales. If she had not already wanted him, she did now. At this point, her interest was possessive—-he would be hers, no matter what.
“Naughty,” Coner teased, pulling his hand back, readying to spank her like a five-crit whore.
Eivilay was going to attempt a witty response, but before she could, Conor's heavy metal hand tuned her red ass more so, warping her words into cries of pleasure and ecstasy.
“God’s yes!” Eivilay roared, her entire body clenching to include the tail around her champion's neck.
Conor was glad Eivilay was enjoying this. He might be an ass, but everyone in sex should have fun. Giving the little brat more, Conor continued to rap against her jiggling ass.
Each time his hand smacked Eivilay, a tidal wave of ecstasy surged through her body, crashing into her soul and pushing sensual whimpers from her lips.
Each sharp jolt of pain instilled in Eivilay that Conor was the man she was waiting for. He was strong, intelligent, and capable, yet every one of Conor’s actions was a well-calculated chess move.
He was meticulous, listening to her yelp, moan, and beg, adjusting his force as needed to put as much pressure on her as possible without genuinely harming her. She had to walk in the morning; Eivilay needing to be carried because of her battered ass would not help.
Understanding Eivilay at this point was a fool's errand. When she was not squealing out half a word, the scaled woman was little more than a squirming, moaning mess.
Conor had been around the block enough times and could tell by her rising sharp breaths how close Eivilay was to reaching her erotic crescendo. Because he did not want to break her just yet, he picked up the panting woman and moved her to the bed.
It was cute watching her claw at his metal arm as they moved. For a princess to have fallen so far so fast almost filled him with pride. Be it her, a Farun’se hooker, or Fae Conor could drive them wild.
Eivilays tastes matched his so well this was easy—and mouthwateringly enjoyable.
“Do you want more fun,” Conor questioned, nuzzling her neck while laying her down.
“P-P-Please,” Evilay squeaked as Conor grabbed the tip of her tail and wrenched his neck free from her collaring.
Once the beast was free from what Eivilay saw as her shackles, Conor wasted no time leaning over Eivilay while pressing his leg between hers.
Eivilay drew a sharp breath, looking up at Conor looming over her. His eyes dug through her soul, plucking apart every vulnerability and desire. He smirked and closed the gap between their heads, kissing the spines running along her snout.
The human stopped at each golden ring piercing, twirling them with his tongue. Each lap sent a dull throb through her snout. At the same time, Conor caressed her tail in his palm, treating the tip the way any good lady would her champion’s member.
Like an animal in heat, she rolled her hips forward and back against Conor’s leg. Her aching cunt rubbed against his soft skin with a force he met, soiling his thigh with her nectar. Each meager grind bludgeoned her spirit with a combination of sensations beyond divine.
“How does the lady want it?” Coner mocked, teasing her about the title she uses while licking around the hole for her ear.
Not that Eivilay cared Conor was mocking her. She was on cloud nine, and as far as she understood the words, Conor admitted he wanted to give himself to her as she was to him.
“Take me, you beast,” Eivilay breathed, her long tongue lapping at his jaw. “Ravish me.”
“Say less,” Conor replied, snaking his hand to the color of the button-up she wore. Grasping the cloth, he ripped it open, the buttons flying away with a pop as the thread gave way.
Did he need to rip her shirt open? No. But it technically was his shirt, and the lustful way Eivilay looked between her open chest, and him told Conor she adored it.
Conor admired her fully exposed body. Cream-colored breasts just large enough to overflow from his hands heaved with her breath, capping each was a tantalizingly hard red nipple. Betwixt her plush tits and her leaking womanhood was a valley of smooth flat scales.
Evilay ground her pussy hard against his thigh, making her abs quiver in waves.
“Here we go,” Color said as he started to mouth from her neck to cunt.
With just as much tactical precision as navigating the city streets, Conor licked down Eivilays body. He paused during his travels and tried to tease her hard and surprisingly insensitive nipples. Disappointed by the lack of reaction, Conor nibbled on them. When he did, Eivilay’s hands moved from the bed, and she buried them in his orange hair.
That is more like it. Eivilay dug her claws against his scalp, drawling specks of blood as he licked her quivering abs. By the time he left them behind, Conor had tossed away her thong, clearing away his goal.
Once between her thighs, his scalding breath caressed her soft blossom, and more sickly-sweet nectar leaked out. He held her there, waiting for her to beg more and express how badly she wanted it.
Instead of that, Eivilay’s royal attitude shined when she genuinely shocked Conor with her next move.
Instead of beseeching for more by trying to steer him with her claws, Evilay bucked her hips hard. Additionally, she wrapped her legs around his neck and shoved down on his head—forcing his lips to her succulent pussy.
“I said ravish,” Eivilay panted.
Eivilay’s juice tasted sweeter than candy and was as addictive as any drug. The moment his tongue entered her warm insides, a rush coursed through him, and his eyes rolled back in bliss. The remnants of what part of him was Human screamed at him to eat, taste, and never give up what he was moaning against.
Conor could not not resist. He buried his tongue deep in her convulsing tunnel, lapping at her insides while using both hands to hold her hips up. Conor sped up with each lick, going faster and pressing harder.
“Fu–fu—C–cumming!” Eivilay wailed.
Conor finally giving her tender insides the attention she needed brought her over the edge of true ecstasy. Her warm ambrosia poured out as her collapsing walls crushed Conor's tongue.
Every fiber of muscle in her clenched and held her champion tight to her while she came. Conor never lessened his feverous attention throughout her high, using his monstrous strength to carry her through to heights of orgasm unknown to her.
Once Eivilays orgasm had lessened, he set her down, her succulent cum clinging to his lips. Taking a moment to lick it off, he looked at her, assuming he had won. Eivilay had sprawled out on the bed. Her chest heaved as every muscle seemed to melt.
But apparently, Eivilay still had some fight in her.
The Kurlatra woman wrapped his upper thigh with her tail and groaned. The tip caressed his cock. “We aren’t done. You still haven’t claimed me,” she finished, opening her legs further.
“You are a fun one,” Conor smirked.
“I know,” Eivilay smiled. “Now come here.”
Without thinking, Conor unbuckled his trousers, with Eivilay slipping her tail in and coiling it around his cock, tugging him closer. He could not deny it was sexy that she knew what she wanted; not enough women were this forward.
Repositioning Eivilay on the bed, Conor put his hand against the headboard and readied himself to pound into her, breaking the princess in entirely.
The moment he rubbed his cock tip against her wet, warm folds, she moaned his name in a husky breath. As he pressed the tip of his cock against her sopping pussy, the warm fold welcoming him in, life had other plans.
His arm-mounted datapad erupted in warning—one that Conor was intimately familiar with. Conor glanced at the datapad, ready to silence it. But he paused upon reading the alert. The human had to reread it several times, unable to believe what it said.
In bright, bold letters, it showed that Stitch had sustained several gunshot wounds, there was an explosion at his clinic, and that the good doctor was fading fast.
Then another alert hit—-Stitch’s vital signs had just flatlined.
“Wait here!” Conor yelled as he exploded out of bed and toward the storage room, knowing he had to go to Stitch, getting his dick wet be damned.
“What happened?” Eivilay questioned, incredibly confused that Conor had stopped.
Before Eivilay had even gotten out of bed, Conor was rushing through the apartment. He was a blur of metal and black tactical gear. He carried a rifle in hand, along with a bandolier of grenades.
He had just grabbed his general-purpose kit, but that would do for working as a quick reaction force.
He turned to Eivilay as he threw open the door to the bustling night street. He looked like a hulking premonition of death, only his eyes visible between a black ballistic helmet and the skull-shaped lower mask attached.
“Lock the door, and do not open it no matter what,” He commanded in a heavily synthesized voice.
Eivialy was not going to argue. Conor clearly had something he needed to do, and it was a lady's duty to listen to her champion's guidance. Following a nod of understanding, Conor slammed the door, flicked off his safety, and sprinted full force through the crowds.