His delicate touches soon progress to languished strokes with more attention given to the areas that make me emit noises from the back of my throat. It’s the most anguished kind of torture because it feels so good even though I know I shouldn’t enjoy it. The backs of my knees, the curve of my neck, the inside of my thighs. There is no place on me he doesn’t explore.
When he finds me still wet from his release, he retrieves a wet cloth from the bathing area attached to the sleeping quarters and wipes me clean, his face rapt with attentiveness. My cheeks burn even though I’m not the shy type. Clearly not, since I basically threw myself at him, but there’s something even more intimate about having a man clean you up after sex than it is to actually have sex with them.
Theron sets the cloth aside when he’s done, but his eyes are on his hands, which linger between my legs. He has to hold them open as I’m still mostly unable to move. Unfortunately, I’m not completely numb any longer and I can feel every single touch.
“What are you doing?” is what I want to say when I feel his thumb glide over my clit and trace my opening. All that comes out is a barely audible “Unnngg.”
His eyes flick up to me as he settles himself on the bed and my own widen when I realize what he’s about to do and I’ll be powerless to stop him. “You smell so sweet. Do you taste that way, too? Breccan has told me the human mates enjoy kisses here almost as much as mating itself.” He gives me a tentative lick and fury and pleasure have me groaning in frustration. I can’t believe this is happening. My body, torn between anger and disbelief, only knows that it has just been wildly pleasured, and it wants more, craves more. Theron seems to take my response as an indication to keep going. “Does my shooting star like it, too?”
He licks at me like I’m an ice cream cone and he’s having an exploratory taste. Then something seems to short circuit in his brain, which is the only explanation I have for the way his mouth fuses to my pussy, his tongue thrusting inside of me as though he’s never sampled anything so good.
It’s an assault. I don’t want it. I wish I could move away and protect myself, but the majority of my body is still frozen against my will. There’s nowhere for me to go to get away from the riot of sensation he unleashes. All I can do is weather the storm. The conflicting responses war inside of me, which only makes the resulting orgasm stronger from the tumult.
When I come to, my legs are viced around his head, keeping his mouth pinned. My hands are fisted in the spare sheets on the bed and my chest is heaving. I manage to push myself to a half sitting position, looking down at Theron, who laps at my clit as though he can’t pull himself away.
He looks up and his lips and chin are smeared with the undeniable fruits of his labor. His eyes burn into mine for one long, fierce moment.
My leg twitches and I realize I can move. The orgasm must have washed away the remaining dregs of the paralytic. Without another moment’s hesitation, I release him, digging my heels into the bed and pushing myself away.
He reaches for me, but I roll clumsily off the bed, my muscles twitching underneath my weight. I snatch the sheet off the bed and wrap it around my body. “Don’t touch me,” I hiss, my voice hoarse.
“What is wrong? Are you injured?” he asks.
“I’m not injured, you idiot. Didn’t you hear me before we had sex? I said don’t come inside me!”
“Come where?” he repeats.
“Ejaculate! Put your spunk in my junk! I didn’t want to procreate with you!”
“Then why else did we mate?”
God help me. “To feel good, but don’t worry. We won’t ever, ever be having sex again. You will stay far, far away from me. From this point forward, the only thing between us will be getting to the Facility and nothing more. Are we clear?”
2
Theron
The book says that some aliens need space after initial mating to sort out their emotions. My alien’s emotions are volatile at the moment. I’ll let her sort it out.
“Dress and we’ll eat,” I grit out after I throw my clothes back on, turning my back on her.
She growls out a few words, but I ignore them to make it to the small area where we store our travel rations. I’m preparing something for the both of us when she returns. Ignoring my efforts, she sets to making something else.
Something wretched.
She’s lost her rekking mind.