Chapter 18
LYN
I have never, ever taken off my clothes as quickly as I am right now.
My hoodie comes off first and drops to the ground—then the tanktop underneath it, baring my breasts to him. Kaelion watches the whole time, not touching me—which is good, because it isn’t like I have any motor skills when his touch is making me come.
I move toward the bed, gesturing.
“Um,” I say, suddenly awkward. “Like—all my clothes?”
“Yes,” he says, voice still steady to the point of clinical. “All of them.”
Alright.
Here goes nothing.
My pants come off next...getting stuck on my sneakers because I forgot to take them off. I have to bend to unlace them, yank them off, send them to join my hoodie, and when I stand back up—
Oh my god.
Oh my god.
Kaelion is…he’s undressing, too. He’s got his shirt mostly unbuttoned, and he shrugs it off his shoulders, then folds it neatly and places it on top of a dresser drawer.
His tendrils flick as he continues to undress, as he sheds his pants, and I’m…
oh my god. Oh my god, he’s covered in turquoise muscles that shimmer brighter green in certain places, that fade to blue in others…
and there’s more biotech, too. The mottled spot on his forearm, plus a silver plate over his heart, and golden circuitry lacing up his neck.
He narrows his eyes at me, wearing nothing but a pair of black briefs now, his cock jutting out beneath it.
“I thought I told you to undress,” he murmurs.
“I am,” I say, too fast, already scrambling to tug the rest of my clothes off. Bra gone. Underwear shoved down my legs. I kick them aside and straighten, naked and buzzing and acutely aware of the fact that I am standing in his bedroom with nothing on but need.
I swallow. “I just—got distracted.”
His gaze drags over me like a slow scan, not missing a single inch. Not my breasts, not the damp heat between my thighs, not the way I’m already trembling like my body knows exactly what’s coming and is bracing for impact.
“On the bed,” he says.
I climb back onto the mattress and lie down like he told me to, heart racing, every nerve ending humming. I spread my legs without being asked, because at this point pretending I have dignity feels pointless.
He steps closer.
The bed dips slightly as he braces one knee on the edge, then the other, looming over me without touching. I can feel his heat. Smell him—clean and sharp and electric, like metal and ozone.
“Hands,” he says.
I hesitate.
“On the mattress,” he clarifies. “Above your head.”
I obey immediately, palms flattening into the sheets, fingers curling. My whole body feels exposed, open…like I’ve been unwrapped and set out just for him.
“Good,” he murmurs.
Then he reaches out and just…brushes his fingers against my knee.
Just a single point of contact, light enough that I almost convince myself I imagined it—except my hips jerk up in response and a sound slips out of me before I can stop it.
I clap a hand over my mouth, eyes wide.
He stills instantly.
I freeze, heart pounding.
“That,” he says quietly, “was a test.”
Right. Because we’re doing science.
And what does he do? He stands up.
I rise to protest, wanting him here, now…but he’s leaning over to grab something off the floor. I watch as he comes back with my goddamn underwear in his hand, as he crawls back between my legs and—
“Open,” he orders.
I open my mouth.
And he…he shoves my panties inside.
My eyes go wide.
I don’t even have time to be embarrassed before cotton fills my mouth, muffling every sound to a helpless whine. I taste myself on the fabric, and Kaelion gives me a satisfied smile.
“Good,” he says. “That works.”
Heat floods my face as he tucks the edges of the fabric gently between my teeth, careful not to hurt me, careful not to touch my lips with his fingers long enough to trigger an orgasm. His restraint is maddening—controlled to the point of cruelty.
“Bite down,” he instructs.
I do.
“Now…” he says, “do you have command of your hands while you’re coming?”
I shake my head, every inch of me begging for him and knowing I need to behave.
“In that case, I will take your making too much noise as a sign that I need to stop,” he says. “I don’t want to overwhelm your nervous system; so…if you cause too much of a ruckus, know that I will stop.”
A frantic whimper catches in my throat. I nod—jerky and desperate and full-body. I understand. I understand all of it.
“Good girl,” he says.
The praise sinks deep, molten and instantaneous. My thighs tremble, pussy fluttering even though he hasn’t touched me again, not really, not yet. He just said good girl and my entire system lit up like a live wire.
He notices, of course.
“Fascinating,” he murmurs. “I wonder if I could make you come just from language.”
Then—finally—he moves.
“Earlier,” he says, fingers hovering over my thigh. “You begged me to fuck you. When you’re experiencing this arousal…you desire the sensation of being filled, yes?”
I nod fast, vigorous, frantic.
He keeps that clinical tone, and god it makes this all so much better.
“I want to test if you find relief faster with penetration,” he explains. God, okay. Fuck yes. My legs fall open, aching for him. “I’m going to penetrate you digitally; I anticipate you’ll come almost right away. If it gets to be too much…remember to let me know. I’ll be listening.”
I nod again, breath coming hard and fast now.
And then—
He moves so close to my pussy that I can feel the heat of his hand…
…and two fingers slide in to the second knuckle.
I almost scream into the gag, but I know that will make him stop—so I don’t. I clench around him once, twice, three times. I ramp up fast, just like he said, and then—
I’m coming. Oh god, oh god, fuck, fuck—
He starts to slowly fuck his fingers into me as I come around them, gushing arousal onto his smooth, neat bedspread.
He watches it happen like it confirms a theory, my body locking up around his fingers, every muscle pulling tight as pleasure detonates.
I shake, and still don’t make a sound loud enough to stop him.
The gag does its job. My hands stay where he put them.
I obey, even as my vision fractures into whiteout.
“Good,” he purrs, lips parting slightly. “Lie back. I want to see how many we can get…and if your refractory period lengthens with satisfied desire.”
He keeps his fingers inside me and I fall back to the mattress, rocking into his touch.
My head presses back into the pillows, throat working around the fabric as another orgasm tears through me—shorter, sharper, almost painful in its intensity.
Tears spill sideways into my hair, my thighs shaking so hard they bump against his shoulders.
He still doesn’t stop.
“Interesting,” he murmurs, tendrils flicking. “You’re responsive even during refractory overlap.”
He finally pulls his fingers out, watching me clench around empty air. I sob silently at the loss, every nerve ending screaming for him to put them back.
He lifts his hand between us.
His fingers shine.
My arousal coats them, strings of it stretching as he separates them slightly. He studies it like data, like evidence—and then, without breaking eye contact, he brings them to his mouth.
And licks.
My eyes go so wide it hurts.
His pupils flare. His head tips just slightly, nostrils flaring like he’s chasing the scent up into his skull, trying to taste it with more than just his tongue. And then he licks again, like he’s savoring it—coating his taste buds in me. His eyelids flicker once. Twice.
Then his gaze drops to my dripping cunt and he speaks in a voice that’s no longer steady. “Trace dopamine, adrenaline, oxytocin. Fluid density suggests high-volume lubrication. Salinity confirms ovulatory window.” His voice dips lower. Rougher. “Fertile.”
Oh my god.
My brain shatters.
It isn’t just that he’s tasting me—it’s that he’s analyzing me while he does it.
Diagnosing me like a wet, trembling little test subject laid out under a microscope.
He’s hardwired for this, has never seemed more alien than he does right now.
His body, his senses, his instincts…they were designed to interpret a lover’s chemistry with surgical accuracy.
And mine?
Mine is apparently screaming breed me at full fucking volume.
“I’m curious,” he says, “if this is connected to the neurological symptoms. Some kind of…hormonal surge caused by the limbic system, perhaps.”
Normally, I’d be hella turned on by the chemical analysis and theorizing, but I’m currently a twitching mess beneath him, legs still spread, chest rising in frantic little stutters.
He keeps going though—maybe out of real interest, maybe because he’s having second thoughts.
“Possibly hormonal priming,” he adds. “The repeated orgasms may be creating a feedback loop—cortisol levels low, which rules out traditional stress fatigue, but elevated oxytocin suggests strong bonding imprint. I wonder if—”
With a growl of frustration, I suddenly sit up, yanking the panties out of my mouth.
He fixes his eyes on me, narrows them. “I thought I told you to—”
I don’t let him finish.
I haul him in for a kiss.
…which might be a mistake, because it triggers an instant orgasm.
I moan into his mouth, wrapping my legs around him, hooking my ankles behind his back. I cling to him and grind my pussy against his hard cock through his briefs, letting his tongue in to plunge past my lips.
Then his hands…his hands are on me.
And rather than making the orgasms more powerful, worse…it’s more like they relieve the surface area.
It becomes a full body high, unlike anything I’ve ever felt before.
And now…now I’m theorizing too.
“That’s better,” I breathe into his mouth. “More touch…good. More touch is good.”
“What?”
“One touch, one place—” I gasp, grinding harder, clinging to his shoulders. “One spot is too much, like…like a pinprick or stab wound. Distributed, the sensation is…is dispersed…”
Kaelion lets out this choked, pleasured sound, then cups the back of my head as I pant into his mouth. And yeah…yeah, his hands aren’t overwhelming now.