Chapter 12 Complete Surrender #2
My threat dissolves into a moan as he finally gives me what I want, his fingers finding my clit with alien precision. But just as I start to relax into the sensation, he pulls away again.
“You were saying?” he asks innocently.
I glare at him. “I’m starting to understand why someone put a bounty on your head.”
That earns me what might actually be a laugh. “Your feedback is noted and will be incorporated into future... procedures.”
He returns to his exploration, but now I understand the game he’s playing.
Every time I get close to any real satisfaction, he backs off, switching to a different area, a different type of touch.
His mouth on my neck while his hands tease my breasts.
His fingers tracing patterns on my thighs while he kisses my ankle.
Always just enough to keep me on edge, never enough to push me over.
It’s methodical. Precise. Absolutely maddening.
“This is revenge, isn’t it?” I gasp as he brings me to the edge for what feels like the hundredth time, only to pull back just before I can fall over. “For disrupting your perfect order.”
“Revenge is an emotional response,” he says, his voice perfectly calm despite the fact that he’s clearly enjoying my predicament. “I am simply... exploring the parameters of human arousal. For diplomatic purposes.”
“Diplomatic purposes my ass,” I manage, then cry out as he finally uses his mouth where I need it most.
But even then, he doesn’t give me what I expect.
Instead of the firm, steady pressure that would send me over the edge, he delivers the same teasing, barely-there touches he’s been using everywhere else.
His tongue flicks against my clit with scientific precision, applying just enough pressure to make me writhe but not enough to satisfy.
“Please,” I beg, my hands fisting in his hair. “Wi’kar, please, I need—”
“Yes?” he asks against my most sensitive flesh, the vibration of his voice adding another layer to the torment. “What do you need, Princess?”
“You know what I need,” I gasp.
“I require specific instructions,” he replies with mock formality. “Diplomatic protocol demands clear communication of desired outcomes.”
I want to strangle him. I also want to never let him stop doing whatever this is he’s doing to me. The man who can’t handle a wrinkle in his bedsheets has somehow become a master of sexual chaos, and it’s destroying me in the best possible way.
“I need you to stop teasing and make me come,” I finally manage to say.
“An excellent starting point for negotiations,” he agrees. “However, I believe the terms require... refinement.”
Instead of giving me what I asked for, he slides two fingers inside me while his thumb continues that maddening barely-there pressure on my clit. The fullness is wonderful, but he keeps his movements shallow, controlled, designed to tease rather than satisfy.
“More,” I demand.
“More what?”
“More everything! Deeper, faster, harder—I don’t care, just more!”
“Ah,” he says, and I can hear the satisfaction in his voice. “Clear parameters. I appreciate specificity.”
When he finally gives me what I’m begging for—his fingers curling inside me to hit that perfect spot while his mouth works my clit with purpose—the climax hits me like a plasma cannon. I arch off the bed, crying out his name as waves of pleasure crash through me with devastating intensity.
But instead of letting me recover, he continues his ministrations, using his alien precision to extend the peak until I’m shaking beneath him.
“One,” he says when I finally collapse back onto the bed, breathing hard.
“One what?” I pant.
“One peak achieved. However, I believe I mentioned that my species considers three the minimum acceptable standard.”
The predatory smile he gives me should probably be illegal in civilized space.
“You’re going to kill me,” I realize.
“I prefer to think of it as comprehensive quality assurance,” he replies, then sets about proving that his enhanced stamina serves multiple purposes.
True to his word, he doesn’t stop at one. Using everything he’s learned about my responses, he brings me to a second peak that’s even more intense than the first. Then a third that leaves me boneless and shaking.
Only then does he finally position himself at my entrance, and I’m so sensitized that even the first touch of his alien anatomy makes me gasp.
“This may feel... intense,” he warns, the head of his cock pressing against my slick heat.
“After what you just put me through, I think I can handle intense,” I manage, then immediately revise that assessment as he begins to push inside.
The ridges along his shaft create exquisite friction as he fills me, each one sending sparks of sensation through nerve endings that are already oversensitized from his thorough attention.
But it’s when he’s fully seated and those additional appendages begin to move that I truly understand what alien pleasure means.
The smaller extensions curl around to stroke my clit and the sensitive skin around where we’re joined, while others seem to seek out internal spots that make me cry out in surprise and renewed need.
It’s like being touched everywhere at once, inside and out, in ways human anatomy could never achieve.
“Oh god,” I gasp, my back arching as sensations build that I don’t have words for. “Wi’kar—”
“Mine,” he growls against my throat as we move together, his alien anatomy creating friction and fullness that borders on overwhelming.
But even here, even joined completely, he doesn’t give up his newfound love of controlled chaos. He varies his rhythm, his depth, his angle, keeping me constantly on edge, never quite letting me settle into any predictable pattern.
“Please,” I beg, my nails digging into his shoulders. “I need—”
“What do you need?” he asks, his voice strained but still carrying that edge of control that’s driving me insane.
“I need you to stop being so precise and just lose control with me,” I gasp.
Something shifts in his expression at that—some last barrier finally crumbling. When he moves again, it’s with desperate hunger rather than calculated precision. His alien appendages work in perfect coordination, creating a symphony of sensation that builds and builds until I’m sobbing his name.
“Yours,” I gasp as the pressure becomes unbearable. “Always yours.”
The claiming words seem to break the last of his restraint. He drives into me with alien strength and passion, his appendages working my most sensitive spots until I shatter completely, my fourth climax of the night tearing through me with enough force to make me see stars.
I feel him follow me over the edge, his alien anatomy pulsing and moving in ways that extend and intensify both our releases until we’re both left gasping and boneless.
In the aftermath, as we lie entangled and breathless, I trace lazy patterns on his chest while aftershocks of the most incredible sexual experience of my life still ripple through my body.
“So,” I say eventually, my voice hoarse from crying out. “That was... educational.”
“Gluxian anatomy is designed for optimal reproductive success,” he informs me solemnly, but I can hear the smug satisfaction in his voice.
I laugh weakly. “Is that your species’ way of saying you’re built to blow minds?”
“Among other things,” he agrees. “Though I must admit, discovering the appeal of... strategic disorder... has been surprisingly enlightening.”
“Strategic disorder?”
“Creating controlled chaos for optimal outcomes,” he explains, pressing a kiss to my temple. “It appears some protocols benefit from... creative interpretation.”
I snort with exhausted laughter. “You turned teasing me into a mission parameter.”
“I am highly adaptable to changing operational requirements,” he says with dignity, then ruins it by nuzzling into my neck like a contented cat.
He tightens his arms around me, and I feel his reluctance to think about the challenges waiting beyond these walls.
For now, there is only this: Wi’kar’s heartbeat steady beneath my ear, his unique scent surrounding me, and the knowledge that I’ve just experienced something no human woman ever has before.
“What comes next can wait,” he decides, and I smile at his willingness to postpone duty for personal desire. “For now, I am exactly where I need to be.”
“With your feral princess?”
“With my mate,” he corrects, and I feel the rightness of the word settle into my bones.
For the first time in my adult life, I’ve made a choice purely for myself. And lying here in Wi’kar’s arms, thoroughly claimed and completely satisfied by his alien perfection, I know it’s the best decision I’ve ever made.
Even if he did nearly kill me with precision in the process.