"Please."
He lifted it over my head with the same care he'd use handling something fragile and precious. His eyes tracked over my exposed skin—the curves and planes and angles that probably seemed so foreign to him. I fought the urge to cover myself, to hide the softness of my human body next to his streamlined alien strength.
"Beautiful," he murmured, and the word sounded like fact, like mathematical certainty. His hands spanned my waist, thumbs brushing the undersides of my breasts. "Perfect proportions."
"That's such an architect thing to say."
"It's accurate." He bent, pressing kisses along my collarbone, down to the valley between my breasts. "Optimal curves. Ideal ratios. Structurally sound and aesthetically exceptional."
I laughed, breathless. "Are you analyzing my body or designing a building?"
"Both." His mouth found my nipple through the fabric of my bra, and I stopped laughing. "Multitasking is a valuable skill."
"Zor'go—"
He straightened, reaching behind me to unfasten my bra with surprising dexterity. The garment fell away, and his markings flared brighter, pulsing with obvious desire. "I've been thinking about this," he admitted. "Extensively. Perhaps obsessively."
"How extensively?"
"I may have researched human anatomy. And reviewed xenobiological compatibility studies. And consulted with Zorn about?—"
I pressed my fingers to his lips. "You asked your brother about having sex with me?"
His markings flickered with what might have been embarrassment. "In purely clinical terms. He's a doctor. He provided useful information about human physiology and recommended approaches for size-differential intimacy."
Despite everything, I started laughing. "That's the most Zor'go thing I've ever heard."
"Research is important." He lifted me again, carrying me toward his sleeping platform. "I wanted to ensure your safety and pleasure."
"And what did Zorn's research tell you?"
"That human females are surprisingly resilient." He laid me on the platform with exquisite care. "That patience and attention are more important than size. That communication is essential." He knelt beside the platform, his height putting us at eye level even with me lying down. "And that I should start slow."
His hands found the fastenings of my pants, and he looked up at me, waiting. I lifted my hips in answer. He pulled the fabric away, leaving me in just my underwear, and I watched his eyes darken, his markings pulse faster.
"Still with me?" I asked.
"Completely." He hooked his fingers in my underwear, pulled it down and away. "And grateful beyond words."
Then he bent his head, and I forgot how to think.
His mouth was careful at first—exploratory, testing what made me gasp and what made me arch. His long fingers spread my thighs wider, giving him better access, and when his tongue found the right spot, I cried out.
He learned fast. Adjusted his approach based on my responses, added pressure here, softened there, building sensation with the same methodical precision he applied to architectural challenges. Except this time, the structure he was building was my pleasure, and he approached it with single-minded devotion.
"Zor'go—" My hands fisted in his hair. "I'm going to?—"
"Yes." The word vibrated against sensitive flesh. "Let me taste you."
The orgasm hit like structural failure—sudden, overwhelming, reducing me to sensation and sound. He worked me through it, gentling as I came down, pressing soft kisses to my inner thighs.
When I could breathe again, I found him watching me with an expression of profound satisfaction.
"Proud of yourself?" I managed.
"Extremely." He stood, and I realized he was still mostly clothed while I was completely naked. "Though I should note that was merely the preliminary research phase."
"There's more research?"
