Chapter 23 Elanie
As Sem took my hand and led me to our bed, my legs wobbled while my vision went hazy. I’d never wanted like this before. Like I’d crawl on my hands and knees over the icy tundra for years just to feel his lips on my skin, his hands on my body.
Turning toward me, he asked, “Can I take off your shirt?”
I raised my arms, and he took the invitation, sliding my top over my head and letting it fall to the floor.
Before my arms were even back at my sides, he spun me around, his hands sliding up my sides, over my ribs until they covered my breasts.
“The first time I touched you like this, it turned me inside out.” His breath was hot against my neck, his voice low and sweet.
“It was wrong, wanting you the way I did. You were my patient. You’d come to me for help.
But you were so beautiful. And your skin was so soft.
I’ve dreamed about that moment, Elanie. Relived it in my fantasies.
” Pressing my nipples between his thumbs and fingers, he gave me a pinch.
It was so faint, so gentle, barely there.
But when he did it again, a storm brewed inside my body.
“Saints save me, but the reality of you is so much better.”
He rolled my nipples back and forth, and the storm built, swelled, roaring through me until I collapsed against him from the sheer force of it.
Hoisting me into his arms, he placed me gently on the bed and instructed, “Close your eyes.”
Since I couldn’t keep them open anyway, I obeyed while he stretched out beside me, his penis hard through his pants against my thigh.
Tracing his fingertips in a line from my chin to my throat, my sternum, belly, he asked, “Do you still trust me?”
“I do,” I said, barely getting the words out when his warm, wet mouth closed around my nipple. And when he sucked, the storm became a tempest, sweeping me up until my back arched off the bed.
“Ah,” I gasped, grasping his head when he sucked again.
“Do you like this?” he asked before kissing my other breast, sucking my other nipple into his mouth. “Do you like being kissed and licked and sucked like this?”
“Yes,” I told him, even though like wasn’t a strong enough word for the torrent of sensation flowing through me.
“I want you to tell me if I do something you don’t like. Can you do that for me?”
I couldn’t imagine what that might be, but I agreed anyway.
“And if you want me to stop”—his tongue flicked over my nipple—“tell me to stop.” His teeth now, gently grazing over peaked, sensitive skin. “But trust that if you don’t, I won’t.”
His hand slipped between my legs, his fingertips pressing, sliding. “Fuck, Elanie. You’re so wet.”
“Is that okay? Am I too wet?”
He groaned, bringing his fingers to his mouth and sucking them clean. “You’re fucking perfect.”
When he slid his fingers through my slickness again, he found my clit, and my skin and muscles and even my bones went slack.
I was still sensitive, still wound up and stretched thin, but this time it was different.
This time he was slow and careful. This time he kissed me deeply, sweetly, sliding his fingers up and down over me in a meticulous glide.
When he kissed my neck again, my breasts, his fingers never losing rhythm, a spark shimmered somewhere deep in my belly.
A spark that flickered, getting brighter, growing into a flame when his fingers pressed down a little harder and started to circle.
“It’s happening again,” I told him, my legs falling open. “It’s…oh, Sem.”
“Don’t be afraid, sweetheart,” he said, his lips forming the words over the skin of my shoulder. “Let it build.”
And it did, a fire burning beneath my ribs, a heart beating inside my cells.
Stars shone behind my closed eyes, tiny swirls of light, fractal shapes expanding and contracting as he kissed my breast. A thread pulled tight between where his fingers moved over my clitoris and his tongue swirled around my nipple, like these parts of me shared the same neurology, the same circuitry.
Like they were connected. Like it was all connected.
“Sem,” I whimpered as that deep, heavy tension swirled through me again. “It’s coming.”
He hummed, raising his head, watching me while his fingers circled faster and faster. While he tore any semblance of control from my grasp.
Flames licked at my belly as pure sensation gripped me.
It built and built, and I gasped and moaned and writhed under his touch.
And just when I thought I couldn’t take another second of the pleasure winding so tightly inside me it felt like it might become pain, it reeled back, stilled, and exploded, shooting light and heat into my chest and my stomach, wrapping electric waves around my spine.
Muscles I didn’t know I had squeezed and released, drumming in time with my heartbeat as ecstasy raced over my skin, up my neck, down my thighs.
And I was no longer myself. I was no longer in our bed, on this planet. I was gone.
Sunny had been right, my clitoris was the center of the universe. And now I drifted through space, free of gravity, free of the confines of my body, of thought or speech or sound. Until I heard him say, with so much tenderness in his voice, “You’re so beautiful when you come.”
As I slowly sank back into myself, I felt his hand splayed on my belly, saw his eyes drink me in. “I am?” I asked, barely feeling my lips moving, barely hearing my own voice.
Rolling on top of me, he nestled between my legs, careful to hold his weight above me. “How did it feel?”
How did it feel? Was there a way to describe what he’d just done to me? A single word that could explain all the ways he’d changed me on a cellular level?
There wasn’t, so I settled on “Amazing.” The smile I gave him was lazy and satisfied and completely novel. “That was amazing. Can we do it again?”
When he chuckled, I felt how hard he was against me, how solid and heavy and hot.
“Of course we can do it again. You can also do it to yourself, whenever you want.”
The realization was a floodlight flicking on, illuminating a world around me that I’d kept in the shadows. “Stars, Sem. I could have been doing that to myself this whole time?”
His laughter was the sound of pure joy, and I rolled him over, propping myself up onto an elbow.
As his expression settled into something hungrier, I took in his clear eyes, his smiling mouth, his strong jaw and broad chest. Then I stared down at his penis pushing against his pants.
“It’s gotten so hard,” I said. “Does it hurt?”
He ran his fingers through a strand of my hair. “No, it doesn’t hurt.”
Underneath the post-orgasm ecstasy, the hormones surging through my bloodstream, a new sensation sank into me, warming my bones until they glowed.
It wasn’t happiness. It went deeper than that.
It wasn’t longing or desire either, because I’d never felt so satisfied.
It was affection. I felt a profound affection for him.
An intense desire to know every part of him—his mind, his body, even his penis—intimately. “Can I see it?”
“Are you sure?” His smile was adorably apologetic. “It’s probably got veins the size of a Kuiper worm right now. I don’t want to freak you out.”
I laughed softly. “I’m sure.”
“Then yes.” He folded his hands behind his head. “You can see it. Touch it. Study it. Whatever you want.”
Biting my lower lip, I reached for the drawstring of his pants and pulled it loose. He raised his hips, and my hands were surprisingly steady as I slid his pants down. But then his erection sprang free, and I sucked in a breath.
“Stars above, Sem. It’s practically purple.”
His stomach muscles rippled with laughter. “It turns purple when it’s hard.”
“I can touch it?”
His eyes closed, and he said, “Yes.”
Gently, I ran the tip of my finger up the side of his penis, drawing back when it twitched away from me. “Did you not like that?”
“I liked it.” He made a low, throaty noise that heated my blood by at least two degrees. “Very much.”
Since he liked it, and I wanted him to like the way I touched him, I did it again, skating my fingertip all the way up to the wide crown at the top. “It’s slick up here,” I said, sliding my finger over the slit at his tip. “Does your penis like it when its wet too?”
“Mm-hmm,” he grunted, his voice rumbling.
I circled his base with my finger and thumb, barely touching. “Can I do to you what you just did to me? Can I give you an orgasm?”
Rubbing his right heel against the sheet when I gave him a gentle squeeze, he said, “Yes. If you want to. But it’s not necessary.”
I stared back down at his penis, sliding my fingers up to his tip again. “I want to give you an orgasm. I want you to feel as good as I feel. But I don’t know how. Can you show me?”
He answered by taking my hand in his. I loved the way his skin looked against mine, the contrast, the shock of color, like the horizon where the snow met the sky. But when he told me to spit into my palm, I balked. “Huh?”
“Wet is better,” he reminded me. “You’ll slide.”
Believing him, trusting him, the man who’d already risked his life for me more than once, I brought my hand to my mouth and spit.
I wrapped my fingers around his shaft, and he showed me the pressure he liked, how to grip and glide, moving from the base up to the tip. “Just like that,” he said, letting me take over. “It feels so good.”
“Should I go faster?”
“Not yet,” he said, a little breathless. “Tonight, it will be very easy for you to make me come.”
Finding a steady rhythm, I watched the tiny drop of liquid gathering at his tip swell and glisten.
“Elanie, it’s different when males have an orgasm. I need to prepare you.”
“Does it feel good to have this part of your body touched too?” I slid the fingers of my other hand over the tight, round sacks below his penis. “These are your testicles, right?”
“Yes. Saints, yes,” he hissed, his hips bucking. “It feels very good to have those touched. But you should slow down. When a male has an orgasm—”
“Yes?” I said, tightening my grip as he thrust up into my hand, hard and hot and so strangely beautiful.
“Stuff comes out.”
I loosened my grip, slowed my pace. “Stuff?”
“Semen.”
“Cement? Cement comes out of your penis? What in the worlds?”
He barked a laugh, grasping my hand and tightening it around him again. “Not cement. Semen, seminal fluid. Baby-making stuff. Just…” He groaned, his head falling back onto the pillow, his teeth clenching, those delicious little muscles flickering in his jaw while I squeezed him again. “You’ll see.”
I settled in, holding him tight, pumping slowly, then a little faster. Waiting expectantly for this semen to make an appearance.
His abs tensed, his chest heaving as his hand came down to make a shield over the head of his penis. “You’re too good,” he said, his voice gruff and strained and indescribably sexy. “It feels too good. I’m gonna come.”
I rose to my knees, pumping even faster, carefully approaching bionic speed as his groans became moans, as he writhed and his muscles flexed.
And then it happened. He jerked. His back bowed off the bed.
His entire body strained as a stream of bright blue liquid erupted out of him.
It hit his hand and dripped down onto his stomach, settling into the ridges between his abs as it kept coming, pulsing in time with each thrust of his hips.
Eventually, it stopped, his breathing evening out, his hips stilling. When he raised his head, his expression was dazed and sated and so handsome I could barely look at him without my heart feeling like it might burst or melt and I wouldn’t survive either.
Focusing on his stomach instead, I said, “So this is semen.” I ran a finger through the liquid and brought it to my nose, sniffing. Then I brought it to my lips. “Hmm,” I murmured, sucking my finger into my mouth, taking a taste.
Sem’s head hit the pillow again, a whimper rising from his throat.
“Your semen,” I said, drawing my finger through the fluid on his belly again, “is fairly nutritional. Vitamin C, calcium, potassium, fat, lots of protein.”
“Saints have mercy on my soul,” he wheezed, smiling up at the ceiling. “This cannot be happening.”
“You could have sustained me in that cave for weeks with this semen of yours.”
He burst into laughter, wiping his eyes as his life-sustaining semen ran over his sides and onto the bed.
“Stop it,” I scolded. “You’re making a mess.”
Sitting up, he reached for me and pulled me down for a very deep and very slippery kiss. “You can’t learn about sex without making a mess. Or”—he flipped me over, making me squeal—“without having to sleep in the wet spot at least once.”