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 mynipple. 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 musclecorded 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.
When his hand slid between my legs, I was wet and aching. His fingers found my clit with unerring accuracy, and I whimpered at the contact. He circled it slowly, deliberately, the pressure perfect. Not too light, not too hard. Just enough to make my hips rock against his hand, seeking more.
“Rezor…” I breathed, my fingers digging into his shoulders.
“Say it again,” he commanded, his voice rough. “Say my name.”
