Chapter 11 #2
“I should go,” I said. “Let you deal with council politics. Figure out damage control.”
“Cleo—” His hand closed around my arm, spinning me to face him, and then his mouth was on mine.
Hard. Desperate. More intense than the kiss in the tech chamber.
This was raw need, frustration and desire all tangled together.
His other hand fisted in my hair, angling my head.
I let out a gasp that devolved into a groan of need.
My head spun. My bones just dissolved, and I clung to him like some damsel because I was sure I’d plop to the floor in a pile of goo if I didn’t.
Pathetic, but that was reality. That was what this male did to me, damn him.
Then he released me. Stepped back. His chest heaved. His eyes blazed fuchsia. His marks glowed bright enough to see through his shirt.
“You should go,” he said, his voice rough. “Now.”
I stared at him. At the tension in every line of his body. At the way his hands flexed at his sides like he was physically restraining himself from reaching for me again.
The smart thing would be to leave. To walk out that door and let him deal with his council and his politics and his complicated feelings about alien mates.
But when had I ever done the smart thing?
“Fuck it,” I said. “I want to know what you’re like.”
I closed the distance between us, and we came together in a crash of heat and hunger.
His hands were everywhere, pulling me closer, sliding into my hair, gripping my waist. I grabbed the front of his shirt, feeling the blazing warmth beneath the fabric, and kissed him like I was drowning and he was air.
He groaned against my mouth, walking me backward until my back hit the wall. His body pressed against mine, solid and warm and right in a way that should have terrified me but didn’t.
Then he pulled back, just enough to look at me. His pupils were blown wide, his breathing ragged.
“Say it,” he demanded. “Tell me what you want.”
“You know what I want.”
“I need to hear it.” His hand cupped my face, not gently. His thumb pressed past my kiss-swollen lips. “I need to know you’re choosing this. Choosing me.”
I held his gaze, saw the vulnerability beneath the command. He needed to know I wasn’t just swept up in the moment, that I was making a conscious choice.
“I want you,” I said clearly. “I want to fuck you right here, right now.”
His eyes flared even brighter. “Are you certain?”
“Yes.”
“Very well,” he said gravely, as if I’d made a choice I’d come to regret. And maybe I would, but not today. My body wanted to know what all the fuss was about with this guy, and so did the rest of me.
For a moment, he didn’t move. Those fuchsia eyes searched my face, looking for…what? Hesitation? Doubt? A low growl rumbled from his chest, vibrating against my palm still pressed there. The sound went straight through me, settling low in my belly.
His hands came up slowly, reverently, sliding along my waist. His fingers spread wide, spanning the curve of my waist. Even through a layer of fabric, I could feel the heat of him, the barely restrained strength in those hands.
His hands slid to my hips, those fingers digging in just a little harder.
“These garments,” he growled. “Remove them.”
My fingers trembled as I fumbled with the fastenings at my waist. The small clasps suddenly seemed impossibly complex under his intense gaze. I fumbled with the first one, my fingers clumsy with need and nervousness. Finally, it released. Then the second.
His fingers went to work on my tunic, gathering the material and peeling it up, over my head. I had to lift my arms for him, but he didn’t rush me, just watched, those fuchsia eyes tracking every inch of exposed skin. I shimmied the pants down past my hips, letting them pool at my feet.
The air felt cool against my suddenly bare chest, my nipples tightening into hard peaks.
His jaw clenched, and a muscle ticked there as his gaze raked over me, hot and heavy, lingering on my breasts, the curve of my waist, the junction of my thighs.
I felt exposed, vulnerable, but the raw desire in his expression sent a thrill through me.
He reached out slowly, giving me time to pull away if I wanted.
I didn’t. His finger traced along my collarbone, the touch light, exploratory.
His touch was surprisingly smooth despite the thick texture of his bronze skin.
His chest rose and fell with increasingly heavy breaths, the intricate bronze patterns on his skin seeming to shimmer in the low light.
“Beautiful,” he murmured, the word thick with his accent, and reverent. “So soft. So different from my kind.”
That single finger trailed lower, down between my breasts, circling one nipple without quite touching it. I arched toward him, seeking more contact.
“Sensitive,” he observed, his voice a low rumble. His eyes flicked up to my face, watching my reactions. “Tell me what you like, Cleo. I want to learn every part of you.”
“Touch me,” I said, the words coming out more plea than command. “Really touch me.”
His large hand cupped my breast, engulfing it entirely.
The sight of his bronze skin against my flesh was striking.
He squeezed gently, testing, learning. His thumb brushed over my nipple and I gasped, the sensation sharp and sweet.
He did it again, this time with more pressure, rolling the peaked flesh between his thumb and forefinger.
“Like that?” he asked, watching my face intently.
“Yes,” I breathed. “Yes, exactly like that.”
His other hand slid up my side, fingers splaying across my ribs, spanning so much of my torso.
He could probably break me in half without effort, yet his touch remained careful, controlled.
He bent his head, and I thought he might kiss me, but instead his mouth found my other breast. His tongue, slightly rougher than a human’s, flicked over my nipple.
I cried out, my hands flying to his shoulders for support.
He explored me thoroughly, his mouth alternating between gentle licks and harder suction, his hand still working my other breast. Each pull of his mouth sent a direct line of pleasure straight to my core. I could feel wetness gathering between my thighs, my body preparing itself for him.
My hands roamed over his shoulders, feeling the hard muscle beneath that bronze skin. His skin was surprisingly smooth despite the thick texture, and warm like sun-heated bronze.
“You’re still wearing too much,” I managed to say, my voice breathless.
He pulled back, his eyes nearly glowing now. “Then undress me.”
My hands went first to his loose shirt, then to the waistband of his fitted trousers, fingers trembling with anticipation. The clasp was unfamiliar, alien in design that had some kind of interlocking mechanism I’d never seen before. I struggled with it for a moment, frustration building.
He covered my hands with his, dwarfing them entirely. “Here,” he murmured. He guided my fingers, showing me how the pieces fit together. “Press here, then slide.”
The clasp released with a soft click. I felt a surge of accomplishment, quickly followed by a rush of nervousness and anticipation. I hooked my fingers in the waistband and slowly pushed the trousers down over his hips. He helped, stepping out of them and kicking them aside.
For a moment, I could only stare.
He was magnificent. Huge everywhere. Thick muscle corded his thighs, each clearly defined.
His abdomen was ridged with what would be a six-pack on a human but was even more pronounced on his alien physiology—eight distinct sections of pure muscle.
The patterns continued down his body, across his chest, his arms, even marking his powerful thighs.
And his cock…
I could plainly see that D’tran males were proportionally larger than humans. But seeing his erect dick was a sight to behold. It was thick and long. The head was flushed dark and glistened with a bead of moisture. He made my mouth go dry and my core clench with a mixture of desire and trepidation.
“Will it…” I hesitated, then made myself say it. “Will it fit?”
His hand came up to cup my neck, his thumb brushing my lower jaw. It was an act of pure possession. “Your body was made for mine, Cleo. We will fit. But we will go slow. I will make sure you are ready.”
He pulled me flush against him, and I gasped at the full-body contact.
His skin was hot, radiating warmth like a furnace, the heat seeping into me.
I could feel every contour of him pressed against my softer skin.
His cock was an insistent rod against my belly, a brand of heat.
His heart thundered beneath my palm, as fast as my own.
His hands slid down my back, following every curve, every ridge of my spine.
When he reached the curve of my ass, he squeezed, kneading the flesh.
One hand stayed there while the other continued lower, fingers dipping between my cheeks in a touch that was intimate and possessive.
I gasped at the sensation, my body pressing harder against him.
“I want to taste every part of you,” he murmured against my hair. “Learn what makes you gasp, what makes you moan my name.”
He bent his head, his mouth finding the pulse point at the base of my throat.
His lips were soft against my skin, a contrast to the hardness of his body.
His tongue flicked out, tasting, and then his teeth grazed the sensitive flesh.
Not hard enough to hurt, but enough to send a jolt of pleasure-pain straight to my core.
I moaned, my head falling back to give him better access. He took advantage and his mouth worked along my throat, my collarbone, the curve of my shoulder. Each touch of lips, tongue, teeth left me trembling. His hands roamed constantly, learning my body, finding every sensitive spot.