Squishy. Ah, yes, Jaal remembered it now. That was the term that Drack had used to describe the human species during one of the krogan's conversations with the turian Vetra. The angara didn't have a direct translation of the word in Shelesh, but now, as Jaal traced a finger along Sara's bare hip, relishing at how her flesh dipped and molded to his touch, he finally understood what that meant.

Soft. Smooth. Supple. Completely different from him, or from anyone else he had ever known.

"Squishy."

A burst of laughter directed his gaze to his dearest's face.

"Did you really just call me squishy?" Cheeks pink from their recent exertions, she gave him a warm, languorous smile. She was gloriously naked beside him, her head resting on his shoulder, her hair splayed across the pillows like a blanket spun from brown silk.

Jaal was all too aware that she could never be considered beautiful in angaran standards, that she was too different, but his heart saw what the mind, enslaved as it was by the trappings of society, could not—beauty that transcended boundaries. Like a goddess that descended from a distant star.

Goddess. He liked that. Perhaps he should call her that more often.

Smiling, he reached out to brush a few strands from her face. "Yes. It was a term that Drack used before to describe you and your species."

"Ten minutes after having sex and we're talking about Drack? I know I hadn't gotten much practice in this area, but I didn't know I was that bad."

Jaal stilled. "I—No, of course not. You were perfect. Are perfect. I didn't mean to insinuate otherwise, I was merely—"

"Oh, Jaal, relax, I'm just joking." Her eyes shone with mirth. "Although I wouldn't mind getting complimented like that. A girl could get used to it."

"Then I shall say it as often as you desire, dearest. You know I would do anything for you. My heart and soul are yours."

"Be careful, or else I'll end up becoming the spoiled Ryder twin here. I don't think Scott will forgive me for taking the role that he's spent years to master."

She laughed once more, and Jaal let himself appreciate the wanton movements that her bountiful breasts made. They were too entrancing to ignore—and unfailingly arousing, he thought wryly, as he felt himself hardening against his thigh yet again. Were human breasts really supposed to be this erotic?

"So. Aside from me being squishy, what else were you thinking about? You seemed pensive."

"I… was contemplating how different yet familiar your body is. Strange yet beautiful. You are all softness, the opposite of us, and yet not so different so as to prevent me from making love to you as a man would to a woman he adores." Giving into temptation, he loomed over her to descend on one alabaster globe, capturing its dusky nipple in a wet caress. Sara gasped in surprise, but he continued with his ministrations, his tongue sweeping against the bud until it was swollen and pebbled.

Then, he guided his mouth upwards, dropping kisses on her collar bone, her neck, all the way to the base of her ear. "You are the same in all the right places, in all the right way. As if you were some being created for me to love and worship."

"God, the way you talk." Sara exclaimed breathlessly.

Rising on his elbows, Jaal grinned. "As you well know, I am gifted with a talented tongue."

She moaned at that, a sound that caused blood to pool into his manhood.

"Then let's put it to good use," she said, quickly wounding her arms around his shoulders and pulling him for a kiss.

They met in a tangle of tongues, as was always the case with Sara. It was never the simple peck of the mouths that characterized angaran kisses, but something much more forbidden, carnal and incendiary that never failed to leave him throbbing with need. Perhaps it was the way she whimpered in delight whenever he nibbled her lips, or how she would press her body against him in time with the sweep of his tongue—her breasts flat against his chest, her heated core grinding against him, taunting him with the delights of her slick depths.

He could not understand why; all he knew, all that his heart, his body, his soul was telling him was that he needed her. And he needed her now.

Abruptly, he ended the kiss and raised himself so that he was kneeling before her, which was no easy feat given that he was shaking with want and could barely function above pounding of his heart.

"Take me, Jaal. Now." Panting, Sara snaked her hands down towards the center of her open thighs, and—

Stars.

Jaal forgot how to breathe. He could only stare at the wicked sight before him, not fully trusting himself to believe this was really happening—Sara's fingers opening her folds to him, his seed from their previous lovemaking coating her entrance and trickling from her core. On a visceral level, he understood that this was the ultimate act of trust, and he was humble by it.

Stars. He was about to burst. "You're mine, Sara."

"Yes, I'm yours, Jaal."

And then he plunged into her like a beast, making them both gasp at the current of pleasure that shot through them like lightning. He wanted to weep at how effortlessly he slid into her, their combined fluids easing his movements as he glided in and out of her tight heat.

Intense pleasure flooded his senses, overwhelming him with a multitude of sensations. Sara's mewls of ecstasy. The salty taste of her neck on his tongue. The sounds of flesh pounding into flesh. The groans erupting from his chest. Sara's pulsations enveloping him, increasing in tempo with every merciless thrust of his—

She erupted. "Jaaaaal!"

The delicious tightness of her climax brought about his own. Throwing his head back sharply, he drove into her one last time as he poured his seed to her welcoming heat. He collapsed beside her without breaking free of their intimate connection.

"I love you, Sara."

She still throbbed around him even as she burrowed deep into his arms. "I love you, too, Jaal."