Ayel forced himself to hold still, not to move against swift strong pressure, to go slack under the contact. His hand was starting to tremble where their fingers joined, where they touched--confusion and hungry reaction looped back to him, flooded down his backbone in a hot rush, pinched closer by Kirk's hip.

The floor of his spine ached with the urge to move.

He lashed out with his free arm instead--shoved upward with bone-jarring force, snared dark uniform seams in his grasp and pulled down hard. Stunned his prey and held fast, arms and legs wrapping tight.

Mine.

He just managed not to growl.