Chapter 6
Chapter
Six
EDEN
“We should stop.”
He stands, voice tight with something that sounds suspiciously like regret.
“Stop now? I’m naked in the middle of the forest,” I scold.
“And?”
My eyes drop to his tenting Wranglers. “And we’ve come too far for me not to find out whether it glows.”
A bittersweet smile broadens his pulsating, bearded face. “I like you, my little Earthling. So much fire.” His voice trembles.
He shrugs out of his flannel, then drops his pants in one fluid motion. Two things hit me at once: alien men go commando, and the sight before me looks like something out of a very expensive toy catalog.
My eyes round. “That … is new.” A throbbing, glowing joystick with another organ above that looks like it could tie my clit in knots.
He laughs, and I realize he’s still inside my head.
“Oh,” I murmur, hand flying to my mouth.
“Too late to get timid. Come here and let me show you how it works.” His confidence falters—just slightly—the telltale quiver of someone who’s never done this either.
Still, his movements don’t betray it. He gathers me into his arms, lifting me as if I weigh nothing. My legs lock around his waist, my arms around his neck. I moan as he slides into me, slowly and carefully.
My mind fractures around the feel of my own heat and silk, too much to bear. He stops, pulls his mind back slightly. So odd—and intimate—to have him inside my brain, every thought tangled with heat.
“Let me know when it’s too much,” he whispers against my ear, voice rough with restraint.
The words hum through my skin like electricity.
He flicks his tongue against my earlobe, sucks it between his lips.
Licking. Despite the new psychic distance, it comes through clearly. This man really likes licking.
He turns his head to the side, eyes closed, visibly fighting himself—self-control incarnate—while I fight coming apart all over again around the pulse of him. Not yet. I need more of this extraterrestrial pleasure.
He pulls back, then thrusts a little deeper, moving incrementally, accustoming himself to me. Guarding his thoughts, too. A heavy weight suddenly on him.
“You don’t have to,” I gasp.
He shakes his head. “Too much for my mate. I can bear it for you.”
My mate? What the—?
Before I can speak, he fills me again, more fully, edging me toward another orgasm. His hands angle my hips so that the head of his cock slides over my pleasure zone as the air swirls around us. And then, I realize we’re levitating off the ground. Not far, just enough for my feet to hang mid-air.
“Oh God,” I rasp.
Of all that’s happened between us, this is what you find strange? His chuckle fills my head, soft, affectionate, as pleasure hums through him. This is the resonance, my little Earthling.
Light encircles us like a jealous lover as I surrender to the otherworldly strangeness.
His cock has an extra ridge of texture that I couldn’t see in his glow.
Just like his tongue. But I feel it now, hugging him more tightly as we move as one.
The extra part of him, the one made for pleasure, sucks and pulsates against my clit, dragging me closer to pleasure so pure I’m afraid I’ll fly away to the moon. Literally.
Won’t let you, he chuckles.
We should use condoms, right? But this has to be a dream. We should discuss our health and if we’re clean. Eden, you’re floating off the ground. This is not real.
Instead, I give myself over completely to him, let him wreck me with each thrust of his hips, each suck and swirl of the other thing-y.
My body floats away, resonance humming through me just like he said. The rhythm of our bodies feels older than language. The tree beside us glows and throbs, light responding to every surge of pleasure.
The orbs drift, I pant and scream, riding my alien mountain man until I feel like I’ll burst. “God, Everett, I’m about to—”
The world blurs into brightness until everything collapses into one final cry and a flood of warmth.
My eyes drop to my belly. I catch a flicker under my skin—a pulse of light that mirrors his. He staggers back to the ground, pressing his forehead to mine.
“Need to keep you,” he rasps.
An angry hiss breaks the silence. I touch his neck; a spark bites my fingertip. “Ow!”
Leaning forward, I see metallic filigree along his spine sizzling and smoking.
“Regulator,” he mutters, voice strained.
Something in his tone chills me, the way people sound when they’ve already decided to protect you by disappearing.
“Does it hurt?”
He forces a smile. “Nothing hurts now that I have you. But—”
My brow furrows. Before I can ask, his hand cups my face, fingers pressing against my temple. The world folds in on itself. Darkness rushes up. His voice follows me down:
“They’ll come for you before they come for me.”
I snuggle deeper beneath my pink sheets, lost in the haze of warmth and memory.
“Best dream ever,” I yawn, rolling toward the alarm’s shrill beeping. Just a dream.
The scent of yeast and sugar should fill my little apartment above Eden’s Bakery, but it’s Sunday—my one day off.
“Star-honey,” I chuckle, touching my lips. “How do I get more dreams like that?”
I shift, savoring the delicious soreness from—
I freeze.
“Oh, God.” I sit up. Soreness from what?
The name surfaces like a spark: Everett.
Heat floods me. It was a dream. It had to be. But my body aches like proof.
In the mirror, faint silvery bruises mark my hips—too large, too glittery for an easy explanation. But I can’t. I just can’t go there. “No, Eden. Stop this. Marks from a tight costume, that’s all.”
I gather clothes, refusing to look again. No to the faint shimmer under my fingernails—probably cookie glitter from the bakery. No to the swollen lips, the beard-burned cheeks.
No to the hum still vibrating under my skin.
I shower, blow-dry, dress in my pink jogging suit and fluffy socks, trying to drown the memory in caffeine and Top 40. But every swirl of coffee reminds me of his glowing skin.
I put yogurt in a bowl, top it with fresh strawberries, and head into the living room to sit at the dining room table. I slide up my phone screen, checking the latest news, absolutely refusing to think about anything related to the dream.
Not the faint metallic smell in the air. Not the ozone signature of his regulator.
The local newspaper and TV station are buzzing with something that happened last night. “A localized magnetic disturbance in the Sierra Nevada,” I read aloud. “Whatever that means.”
I frown, take a sip of coffee. Everett. If only.
“I wish I had something sweet,” I say restlessly, looking around. But what I really want is about six-foot-five, bearded, and glowing.
I tell myself again it was a dream. I almost believe it—until I see the plate.
A plate of Star-honey, sticky and rich, tempting and emitting the faintest glow.