Chapter 8
Lacey
When Ellis lands on my balcony, a wave of heat rolls through my body. I almost whimper aloud with need.
The chilly reality of the situation sweeps through when he opens the door. It’s just the two of us alone again, and all I’m wearing is a flimsy old T-shirt.
I’ve teased him too much about this, dangled myself in front of him—I don’t know who this girl is. I used to be the sort of girl who insisted on waiting a few dates before letting a guy kiss me, but here I am.
I push off my bed, but before I can reach the sliding glass door, Ellis is there, taking up the entire frame, wings folding in behind him.
His hair, shoulders and wings are all speckled with snowflakes.
They stand out particularly against the black of his suit.
It clings to every detail of his shoulders, the shape of his arms, the taper of his hips.
His chest rises and falls heavily with every breath, and his gaze dips from my face, snags on my tits. He rasps, “Have . . . have you always had a thing for little blue guys?”
I blink, glance down, and realize he’s talking about the faded Smurfs on my T-shirt.
“I can . . . put something on,” I say, hesitantly. I don’t want to. I half expect him to tell me that we can’t do this again, that I have to stop teasing him, but he doesn’t.
He makes a distracted effort to re-establish eye contact. “No, no. I wouldn’t dream of it.”
Neither of us says anything for several seconds, the only sound between us is the wind blowing and distant traffic.
I wonder how many times he had flown through this way, up here in the dark of the night.
My nipples draw tight in the cold. My pussy aches to be touched, to be filled, but this moment feels like walking on a tightrope.
He crossed over here, but now he’s holding himself back. Every reason we can’t do this feels like a physical barrier, a sheet of glass standing between us.
I haven’t slept with anyone yet after Clayton. Not for lack of wanting to; mostly because I haven’t had time. Or the space to, really. I imagine there’s some part of my psyche that is unconsciously rebelling against the idea of my ex, and that’s why I’m so horny over this guy specifically.
Not that there are other blue, fuzzy guys out there in Goethal that have wings and a tail. It’s hard not to be fascinated by the idea of touching him at all. Perhaps it’s just an unfortunate coincidence that this fixation is just also linked directly to my clit.
We both keep inching toward this boundary line, daring the other to be the first to cross it. We both know we can’t, but how close are we willing to get?
My eyes dip and find the shape of his hardened cock, trapped in his suit against his hip, the outline of it thick and long.
I might just start licking the glass.
My hand grips the bedframe foot beside me for emotional and physical support. My knees press together in a fruitless attempt to feel some kind of relief from the wanton ache between them.
“Are you . . . going to come in?”
He swallows, his throat bobbing, his chest heaving as he draws in a careful breath. Then he surges forward, his cold hands cupping my face, seconds before his mouth is on mine.
His kiss is firm and unwavering. I feel so sure from the way he moves his mouth so purposefully against mine, he simply must have been daydreaming about this as much as I have when his tongue snags just the inside of my upper lip, tugging it between his teeth to worry them against it.
The moment he scoops me off the ground and crosses to my bed to drop the both of us unceremoniously onto it is so brief it barely registers until the mattress is bouncing beneath us.
Our bodies settle together in the dark, laying diagonally on my bed.
He pushes up on an elbow, sliding the other hand up my leg.
His fingers dig into the softer, jigglier part of my inner thigh.
The moment I can draw breath again I can’t help but laugh in astonishment at how right it feels to just fall into his arms. I thought it might have felt like an instant mistake. I grin, running a hand up the side of his face, raking my fingers into his hair. “What happened to dinner first?”
His eyes close as he lets out a needy groan, leaning his head into my hand. “Fuck, just open your legs.”
He sits up on his knees, feeling up my legs. His tail curls around my shin, tugging my legs apart. A little squirm of a sensation flits through my stomach as his stare becomes rapt between my thighs. “Let me taste you.”
At first I don’t know how to respond, except to blink.
“Taste me,” I repeat for clarity, because it’s honestly been a while since that’s been offered. I swear his golden eyes flash with wild wonder; I barely have time to glimpse his wicked smile before he dips his head.
I can’t contain the gasp of surprise as a surge of pleasure wrecks me, as his tongue drags through my folds.
I brazenly cry out as his tongue lashes, hot and textured, against my pussy.
I don’t know how I’m going to come back from how good it feels; every ridge down the split of his tongue brings another layer of intensity.
“Ellis, w-wait,” I whimper, reaching wildly for any possible line to draw between us. “We can’t get involved.”
He pauses, halfway through an obscenely thorough lick, when his brows draw together. He frowns at me like crossing the line is definitely his tongue in my vagina.
“You should have thought of that before,” he mutters, and flicks his tongue against me.
I cry out at the fleeting sensation, how scalding his tongue is, how good it feels against me.
“Tell me to stop,” he breathes hot against my skin. “Tell me to leave.”
I can’t. I want him here too much. My breath catches in my throat. “Promise me, it’s just this one time.”
“Lacey,” he groans, leaning his head against my thigh for a moment. “Fine. Just this once.”
Then he puts his mouth to me with a vicious determination. I whimper and nearly lose my whole sense of self. I could melt into my sheets and just let him take me right over the edge.
I’ve officially given in. I need to do this and get it out of my system. I can’t stop thinking about this guy and staring out windows wondering if he’ll fly by at any moment, wishing I could ask him questions and thinking about all the things I could say to him to make him laugh.
It ends fucking now, honestly. I can’t keep feeling like this about him.
Even as I try to make myself believe it, one of the many flicks of his tongue across my clit drags just so completely right I can feel it nudging me closer to orgasm. I inhale sharply, and all it does is spur him on to lick me just like that again, over and over.
With a few more, I am bucking against him as he holds my hips down. A strangled noise escapes me, a choked back moan as my insides flutter and heat rushes through me, a blooming sensation that layers over itself a dozen times pulsing throughout my core.
My hands fist in his hair and my thighs lock around his head, begging him to stop. He slows and presses one final kiss to the soft inside of my thigh, nipping his teeth at my skin.
I release him from my thighs, and he grins at me, crawling further onto my bed to lay down with me. I squeeze my eyes shut and drag my hands over my face.
It feels too good. I’m mad that this feels as good as I wanted it to be. What if I just keep wanting to see him after this? What if every next moment spent with him is as electric as those wobbly, anticipation-butterflies hoped it would be?
And this guy has the gall to grin like he won a prize after that, as he fits his body alongside mine in the bed. Ellis props his head up in his palm, his body a wall of heat. “If I’d have known to, I would’ve stopped at a pharmacy beforehand.”
For a moment, I’m lost in the little aftershock twitches of my orgasm, imagining what that is like, how he’d do that. Maybe he uses the self-checkout lane.
He’s asking if I have condoms, I realize a beat later. Oh God, he’s going to dick me down. I’m still practically boneless from my climax.
“Oh, um. That’s fine, I’m on birth control, if that’s ok with you—”
He nods, tracing a clawed finger down between the valley of my breasts, his path curving idly down my stomach. “However you prefer we do this.”
I swallow, taking in his lean, strong body.
Up close like this, and after every time he’s picked me up like I’m nothing, I’m realizing that I definitely don’t have the core strength to keep up with him.
I think it might just leave a tidy little imprint on my psyche if he gives me an orgasm, cuddles me, and then pounds me into the mattress.
Not to mention everything Adrianna had speculated about before.
The snow has melted off his sleek black bodysuit. It doesn’t leave a lot to the imagination; the clear shape of his hardened cock is trapped between us. He catches me eyeing him, and I can’t help but blush a little.
“I want a chance to touch you too,” I admit sheepishly. After every moment we’ve shared, it still feels too secret to share, to voice my attraction to him.
“Yeah, I . . . could be into that,” he says slowly, a rumbly little breath of a sentence, his eyes tracing over me again. His expression goes soft as he leans back, and I push up onto an elbow.
There’s a zipper tag dangling from the high collar of his suit. My knuckle grazes his chin as I reach for it, and after a gentle tug, it slides down his neck, his chest, all the way to his naval, as if the fabric had been just barely containing him.
He stills as I lean closer, inspecting.
Unlike when he was utterly naked in the dim hideout, his markings are much more visible under the soft light of my bedside table lamp. They glint in the light in a way the rest of him doesn’t. It’s a lot easier to see the way they raise up, wrinkled and slightly off-color.
I run a finger over one of the strange markings, feeling how different the texture of it is from the rest of his soft, downy skin. They’re all skin, no fuzz.