Chapter 23
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Did I expect this hulking pink alien to fly across the room and practically tackle me onto the bed when I sniffled his name?
No.
Do I regret it…?
God, I want to. I really do.
But as the slippery fabric of my not-robe pools between my spread legs, and the insides of my thighs meet the scales on his hips…
No. I don’t regret it.
Because he’s perfect. Illogically, impossibly. The rasp of his textured skin. The strength gripping my sides. His crushingly solid weight pressed directly over the pulse at my core.
He snaps one hand out at the last second, catching his torso before it slams into me like his groin did. His wings flare, obscuring the room from my view. Our gazes meet, both of us clearly shocked by what he’s done. And how it feels.
There’s no word for it. Heat sweeps over my skin, lapping at a thousand buzzing nerves. Lighting every bridge in my brain. Shooting sparks into each corner of my body.
Silver eyes snap to mine. They’re mesmerizing, shifting and shining. Beaming straight into a place I didn’t know I had. A secret alcove buried under my diaphragm. Where a small voice whispers, It’s really him.
I have no idea what that’s supposed to mean. I only know the wrenching ache in my chest releases at the thought—just as the one between my thighs twinges tighter.
He must be able to scent how slick my pussy suddenly feels, because his nostrils flare. Desperation spins through his irises. The weighty heft sealed tight to my center gives a distinct, meaningful twitch.
His chiseled lips part, but no words come out. I sense that, like me, Rask is beyond them. Perhaps he can’t muster a coherent thought, either.
A deep rumble resonates in his chest. It vibrates against my nearly exposed breasts. A dizzy headrush silences what little logic I have left.
My hand floats up of its own volition. I trace the heavy ledge of his forehead—so much smoother than Cylus’s, and less prominent than the king’s. Well-balanced with his slanting cheekbones and pointed chin. Combined with molten quicksilver eyes and metallic, pearly hair…
Oh, I realize, oddly surprised. He’s handsome.
Fangs and all.
My touch brushes the bow of his top lip. His fingers flex, claws shredding the sheets beside my head. The sonorous echo behind his sternum kicks higher, stimulating my hard nipples and the pulse beating in my pussy.
I should be screaming. Or, at the very least, demanding to know what the hell is wrong with me.
I don’t want to do either of those things. The new voice hums again, assuring me this is what I need.
Him.
But it makes no sense. Why?
And how is this so intense?
Rask seems to know I’m questioning my sanity. His silver eyes flit across my features, softening by the second. “If you need me to tend to you, it’s okay. Natural. It doesn’t have to mean anything.”
As he exhales, shaking, I feel the last of my sorrow slip. Painful loneliness fades into a fond sort of wistfulness. Something that seems remarkably manageable with this big, strong male here with me.
It doesn’t have to mean anything.
I’m not sure I believe him. Not with those burning silver irises locked onto mine. But the words give me exactly what I didn’t know I needed—permission. An excuse.
It’s fine if I suddenly want this alien man more than I want to breathe. It doesn’t have to mean anything…
My curious fingers quest higher, to his horns. They’re surprisingly warm, made of an iridescent pink material that reminds me of abalone shells. When I touch the underside of one, following its smooth curve to the tip, Rask groans.
His hips kick, pressing what can only be a massive erection right over my panty-less pussy. I gasp, my own body jumping in reply. The strange silk fabric between my legs glides over his leathery kilt.
Until suddenly, it doesn’t.
I guess that’s the thing about short not-bottoms on a man. One slide of our bodies, and his only covering flips up. Revealing—
Oh.
My.
God.
Are—Is that—
Two cocks?
As in, not one?
Two?!
TWO. COCKS.
For a moment, as they both bob from under the hem of Rask’s kilt, I think I’m seeing double.
But, no—they’re different. The top one is distinctly thicker than the bottom one, which is adorned by what I can only describe as a swollen mass at the base.
And another, slightly smaller bulge halfway up the shaft.
That word, smaller, nearly makes me laugh. Because both of his cocks—TWO OF THEM, OKAY?? THERE ARE TWO COCKS—easily outsize any human man’s. Hell, they nearly outsize my forearm.
Girthmaster, who?
If I wasn’t already sure I’d lost my mind, this would confirm it. Because instead of scrambling backward or fearing for my life, I—
I have to touch them.
Rask’s musk smolders in my lungs. Blood burns through my body, each heartbeat urging me to reach between us and grasp a dusky-pink dick.
But which one?
They’re both so hard—straining toward me like they’re trying to knock one another out of the way.
The bottom member is a bit longer and darker, its head smeared with shimmery white pre-cum.
The top one has a larger dome, proportionate to its thickness.
The sheen glossing it is thicker, but perfectly clear.
I should have questions, at the very least, damn it.
I don’t.
All I have are tingles in my fingertips. Trembles that transform into a shudder of pleasure when I graze the underside of the top cock.
It jerks, more colorless liquid seeping from the tip. Dribbling down the side. Slipping over my hand.
Rask growls, his touch snapping between us to grip my wrist. Guiding my wet fingers away from his groin and up to—
My mouth.
Feral intensity gleams in his eyes. “Taste this.”
The command barely registers before I find myself obeying. Sucking my own digits past my lips, licking up the spicy musk.
His flavor slides across my tongue. Hot bliss floods my veins, spreading like a drug. Snapping hot and electric—ten thousand volts straight to my core. An orgasm swallows me instantly, my pussy clenching in frantic spasms as I cry out.
Awed disbelief leaves my lashes fluttering wildly. Rask watches, never breaking his stare, even when my eyes roll back. His silver gaze is molten when I manage to refocus.
I expect a rush of relief. Or panic.
Instead, the need only kicks higher. Until my insides feel like they’re on fire.
His face is uncharacteristically grim—and totally at odds with his leaking erections—as he asks, “More?”
I don’t understand how he knows.
Or why I like it.
I can’t answer honestly, so I whimper, bucking into him again. He glances between us, at the streaks of his pre-cum smearing into my robe. A low, pained snarl vibrates under his purr-like rumbles.
For a moment, I’m afraid I’ve angered him. But his eyes practically melt when they return to mine. “I suspect you will always be able to get more from me,” he murmurs, as if the words are a damning confession on his part. “Always, little one.”
Rask repositions the fit of our bodies, fully flipping his leather kilt up and realigning his solid cocks with my covered core. He pauses to negotiate with himself, muttering, “I won’t spill on you.” His focus bores back into me. “But I will spill this time.”
The sound that rips out of me, quite simply, isn’t human. I can only describe it as a whine—high-pitched and urgent. A reflection of the scalding need razing my insides to ash.
Rask’s purr melds into a bone-shaking growl. His pupils blow, control visibly fraying. Without warning, he moves his body in a smooth roll. Both straining shafts rub over my pussy, grinding into the soaked white silk.
I shriek and moan, one hand scrabbling at his shoulder where it nearly brushes against his wing. The other flails for a moment before wrapping around his left horn.
I don’t know what I’m doing right, but Rask groans again. The deep sound pricks my nipples as soft fabric slips over them. The gaping neckline starts to lose its battle with gravity, falling aside to reveal my breasts while I heave for breath.
Rask drinks them in, his mouth dropping open again. His thrusts come quicker, along with his panted exhales. Spice swells off his bare chest.
His lower cock finally finds my soaked slit. The tip nearly pushes into me, notching against my opening. Fucking me through the sheet-like barrier of my ruined robe while the top cock glides across my covered clit.
Its girthy underside has a ridge I didn’t notice before. My nub throbs from the contact. Inner muscles scream and squeeze, demanding more of him than the clothed tip. Begging for something thick and heavy and hard.
Oh—OH!
Rask husks something in Roktusian. Some of it must be curses because I only catch, “—pop you on my knot—fill you so deep,” but the rest doesn’t matter. His rasp infuses the foreign words with thick need, sending me over the edge. I arch and keen, my second climax dragging me under.
The room—the whole damn galaxy—disappears. Glittering white blinds me as I come, the tension in my middle finally shattering as molten relief rushes into my limbs.
Rask roars in reply, bucking faster. His wings suddenly snap back as both cocks swell. They each spray out: the top one in clear pulses, and the lower with a steady stream of milky white.
I can’t keep my eyes open long enough to see whether he kept his word not to get any on my skin. And I don’t care.
As his scent fills the room and his warm weight presses further into me, nothing else matters. Not even which planet I’m on.