Chapter 9 #2
Not that I know what that’s like, I lie to myself primly.
His dick is straight up pulsing. In an obscene way. An obscene way that somehow still manages to make my mouth water.
Really, this heat is turning me into an absolute horn dog.
“Huh,” I say, aiming for disinterest but somehow managing to convey a completely different world of meaning with the one syllable. I wrench my hand away and glare at him. “All right, that’s enough of that. Now you can wash me.”
I lay back in the chair again, all too aware of the goosebumps that are all over my body, the way the heat is making me feel out of control. Feverish. And that the only thing that can make me feel better is the alien who’s chuckling softly to himself.
“You need to get out of those clothes,” he says. “I can only do so much while those ratty things are still on your body.”
“I’m not taking off my pajam—”
He cuts off the word by snagging a fingernail—excuse me, talon—on the top of my favorite green spaghetti strap pajama set, ripping it open all the way.
The chilly air hits my sensitive skin immediately, and I suck in a breath, torn between outrage and sheer need.
“Oh, you want me to just be naked on camera now, I guess, for everybody to see, huh? Is that why you tore my clothes off?”
I sit up abruptly, wrapping the cami back around my body.
Zan just stares, that deep purple blush coloring his cheeks again. “Of course not. I want you to be clean. I’m pretty sure you have animal shit all over those." He picks at the hem of the shirt that I used to reverently fold away in my drawer. "They’re rags now,” he says dismissively.
“All the gall and gumption,” I mutter, then cringe, because he’s not wrong now that my hand is also touching the green cami I’ve worn for the last week or so.
What is time anyway when you’re in a reality competition after being abducted from your friend’s house drunk? Non-existent, that’s what time is here. Long enough to feel like an eternity and for your favorite (only) silk pajama set to get completely caked in mud and shit.
And yet, not long enough for you to have died or otherwise been put out of your misery.
Joyous.
I’m not sure where I am on a scale of Maslow’s hierarchy or whatever of need I am, but maybe they should make a new one to account for alien abduction and being thrown into heat on a fucking intergalactic reality show.
Zan’s eyebrows arch, and he stands back, still holding the shower wand, waiting for me to say something.
“Fine,” I grind out. “They are disgusting.”
I make the mistake of looking into his eyes. His pupils are dilated, his breath coming faster than ever, as if he’s just been carrying me through the jungle again or fighting off a giant rooster.
Well, I think to myself smugly, two can play this game.
With that, I make a slow, elaborate show of slowly unveiling my body to him, watching the way his eyes devour my chest.
My boobs are small. They’re nothing to write home about. In fact, I’ve had more than one boyfriend complain. But hey, when you like to work out and your body just decides that burning calories is way more fun than storing them, tiny tits are what you end up with.
But by the way Zan is looking at them, he doesn’t seem disappointed at all. He looks hungrier than I felt when we were finally eating. He looks like he could devour me, starting at my tits and never stop.
I shiver, and somehow his pupils manage to dilate further. His cock vibrating even harder now.
I’m not wearing underwear, something I’ve been all too aware of this entire time. Because, well, being in heat and being constantly wet down there means thinking a whole lot about the fact that I decided not to wear underwear to sleep when I was wasted on margaritas at Ellison’s.
But now, now I’m grateful for it.
I stand up slowly, and though I’m no dancer, I’m pretty sure there’s nothing even close to elegant about the way I’m moving.
I’m hyper-aware of the way Zan watches me slowly tug the shorts down, revealing my sex to him. I make a show of slowly bending over to pull them the rest of the way off, stepping carefully out of the disgusting, formerly favorite pair of pajama shorts before kicking them off to the side.
He steps closer behind me, his breath ragged. Or maybe it’s mine. His huge hands at my hips as he closes the distance between our bodies and turns me around.
I moan in spite of myself because oh my god, it feels so fucking good to have this huge, vibrating cock against my back.
It’s not where I want it, not exactly, I want it deep inside me. Pulsing. While I writhe on top of him. Until we’re both coming so hard that we see stars.
“If you’re trying to tease me, Lily—”
He grinds against me just enough to make me even wetter, fluid starting to drip down my inner thigh, my entire world spinning, hinged on what he’ll do next.
“It’s working.”
He runs the hand holding the water up my chest until the tips of his thumb and forefinger brush my hard nipple, water gently trickling out.
The contrast between his hard, scaly thumbs and the warm wash of water makes me moan again, and I take a shaky breath, trying to regain control of myself, of him, of this moment, and very unsure if I’m going to be able to.
“You like that, don’t you?” he says.
He must have leaned over me, his big body fully flushed against mine, his head dipped, his silver hair draping over my shoulder.
I feel the warmth of his breath on the goosebumps across my shoulder, and I groan as the tips of his fangs brush against the sensitive skin between my shoulder and my neck.
“You smell so fucking good, Lily.” He growls. “You’re going to smell so fucking good for me when I make you come. Isn’t that what you want?”
“Yes,” I manage, even though I didn’t want to. “It’s all I can think about.” I shudder. “I want you so much.” A moan escapes me. “I need you.”
“I know you do, my little human,” he says, and it’s smug, controlled, like a fucking slap to the face. Because suddenly I’m the one that’s out of control and he’s the one in charge, and I don’t like that at all.
I start to pull away, but he tugs again, this time he pinching my nipple hard, and I groan as pleasure ripples through me. Somehow, he’s already brought me to the start of an orgasm. I can feel the need going through me.
“You are so fucking wet for me, aren’t you? You’re so ready to take my big cock deep inside you and milk it until it comes.”
“I want that,” I say again, wanton, burning for him.
He drops the shower head and it immediately turns off, and I arch my back, trying to find some kind of relief. But he’s too tall and my legs are too short, and all I manage to do is increase the vibration on my lower back, too far away from where I want it.
“Oh, my sweet Lily. I know that you want it, but until you beg, you’re not going to get anything, because I need to know that it’s you that wants it.
And not just the heat. Because I know you well enough now to know that if I take you right here, if I shove my cock into you, deep home where it should be—”
I moan, completely out of my mind, arching against him with all my might. And still he holds me, nipple clamped between his fingers, his other hand clutching my hip bone so tight there’s nowhere else for me to go.
“If I do that, Lily, I’ll lose you. Until you’re ready to beg for my cock, for this, for me. Not to sate your heat, that’s not gonna happen,” he says with a dark chuckle.
“Fuck you, Zan,” I say, turning, picking up the hose—shower head, whatever. I can’t even think of words right now other than “fuck you, Zan.”
“See,” he says, arching an eyebrow as he lets me go, just watching me, naked, undisguised desire in his eyes. “There’s my little fighter.”
“You don’t have to admit that I’m right. We both know it."
I glare at him, now fully understanding what it means to stare daggers. If I could actually produce daggers from eyeballs, I would. Gross though that would be, he deserves it.
“We both know it’ll be the best sex that you’ve ever had. And the next time you say ‘fuck you, Zan,’ I’ll make you remember that.”
He says it matter-of-fact, and I’m furious with him, furious with myself, because he was playing with me, and this whole time I thought I was the one in control, that I had controlled my heat, my body, and I hadn’t. He had. And I hate that I’m still turned on.
And maybe not even in spite of it.
Maybe because of it.