I reach up, cup his broad cheek, my thumb brushing the edge of his jaw. “Neither do I. But we’ll figure it out.”
Something in his eyes softens. Breaks open.
He lowers himself over me, slow and deliberate, like every second is sacred. His weight settles carefully between my thighs, supported by his arms so he doesn’t crush me. His mouth meets mine again, and this time it’s different—deeper. More certain. I feel him learning me. Listening to every sound I make, every shift of my hips, every tremble of my fingers.
Clothes come off piece by piece.
My coat first, shrugged from my shoulders, then my shirt, his massive hands swallowing fabric as he peels it away. My skin prickles as cool air hits it, my nipples tightening instantly. His breath catches when he sees me, really sees me, bare from the waist up.
“Beautiful,” he murmurs, reverent.
I laugh softly, breathless. “You should see yourself.”
His belt comes next, then the loose wrap he wears across his waist. When it falls away, my breath stutters.
He’s unmistakably alien. His body is massive, thickly muscled, furred along his shoulders and thighs, his cock heavy and long, darker than human skin and already hard, flushed deep with arousal. There’s a faint ridge along its length, a subtle flare at the head that makes my mouth go dry just looking at it.
He sees my stare and stiffens. “If this is wrong?—”
“It’s not,” I interrupt, reaching between us, wrapping my fingers around him.
He gasps.
The sound is raw, unfiltered, and it sends a pulse straight through my pussy. He’s hot in my hand, impossibly solid, and when I stroke him, his hips jerk forward with a strangled groan.
“Jillian—gods?—”
I smile, slow and wicked. “Feels good?”
“Yes,” he grits out. “Too good.”
I slide my hand back to his chest, guiding him down. “Then touch me.”
He does.
His fingers brush over my stomach, my ribs, my breasts, mapping me like he’s committing every inch to memory. When his thumb finally drags over my nipple, I cry out, arching into his touch. He watches my reaction closely, fascinated, and does it again, firmer this time.
“Like this?” he asks.
“Yes. Don’t stop.”
His confidence grows with every sound I make. His hand slips lower, over my hip, down between my thighs. When his fingers find my pussy, already slick and aching, he sucks in a sharp breath.
“So wet,” he murmurs, awed.
“For you,” I whisper.
When he enters me, it’s like being split open and made whole in the same breath.
We both gasp. My fingers clutch at his back, nails digging into the fur along his shoulders. He shudders against me, holding perfectly still, his cock buried deep, his breath coming in harsh bursts.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he says, strained.
I wrap my arms tighter around him. “You’re not. Move. Please.”
He does as I ask.
Slow at first. Careful. Every thrust measured, every roll of his hips controlled. The stretch is intense, delicious, and I meet him instinctively, my body welcoming his like it was built for this. Heat coils low in my belly, building fast.
