His cock juts from his body, flushed darker than the rest of him, so hard it curves toward his stomach. It hardens under my gaze, a bead of slick pre-cum welling at the tapered tip and sliding down the first of five raised ridges that spiral the shaft. He's thick enough that my fingers wouldn't meet around him. Long enough that I swallow against the sudden dryness in my throat.
At the base, his knot has already swollen, a thick bulge that pulses with each beat of his hearts.
Then there's nothing between us but skin and heat and the hard length of him pressing against my thigh, and the only thought left in my head is more.
He's watching me look at him. “Second thoughts?”
“First thoughts about how any of that is supposed to fit.”
His mouth curves, the barest hint of a smile, and the expression transforms his face into something approaching human. Then he moves.
One knee lands on the mattress, then the other, and the bed dips under his weight as he prowls toward me. The motion is pure predator. Shoulders rolling, muscles flexing beneath charcoal skin, his cock swaying heavy between his thighs with each movement. He holds my gaze the entire way, silver eyes gone dark with want, and I can't look away. Don't want to look away.
He pauses when he reaches my ankles. His hands close around them, warm and rough, and he parts my legs. I let him arrange me, let him open me, let him look his fill at what he's uncovered. His nostrils flare as my scent reaches him, and the growl that rumbles from his chest vibrates through the mattress and into my bones.
He lowers himself between my thighs, his body covering mine by inches. His mouth grazes my knee. The inside of my thigh. The crease where my leg meets my hip. Each kiss deliberate. Each one a promise. His shoulders spread my legs wider as he settles into the cradle of my hips, and the hard length of him drags through my slick folds, not entering, not yet. Teasing. Learning me.
When he braces himself above me, his forearms framing my face and his hips aligned with mine, I'm shaking with need.
“Your human body is beautiful.” He notches the tapered head against my entrance. He’s hotter than the rest of his body, slick with pre-cum that smears against my swollen flesh. “And my body will make me fit. My pre-cum will relax you. Open you.”
He rolls his hips, and the length of him slides through my folds. The impossible heat of him drags through my wetness, the ridges catching against my clit one after another. He groans above me, low and rumbling, and repeats the motion. Again. Again. Coating himself in my arousal until he's slick with it.
“You're soaked.” The words come out reverent, wrecked. “All of this for me?”
I can't answer. Can only whimper as he drags the flared head through my seam once more, pressing harder against my clit before sliding lower. Lower. Until the tapered tip notches against my entrance and holds there, a pressure that makes my hips cant toward him.
He meets my eyes. Waits.
“Please.” The word scrapes out of me. “I need you.”
He pushes forward.
So slow my nails score his shoulders. The tapered head parts me by millimeters, stretching me wide, and the burn hovers between pain and pleasure until his pre-cum does what he promised. My muscles soften around the intrusion, yield to the width of him, open for him. He sinks another inch, tracking every twitch of my expression.
The first ridge breaches me, dragging across nerves that have never been touched.
I make a sound I don't recognize, broken and begging and beyond language. He freezes, his forehead dropping to mine, his breath sawing in and out. “Too much?”
“More.” I dig my nails into his back. “Don't you dare stop.”
He gives me another inch. The second ridge catches and drags, and I keen against his throat. The third. Each one pulls sounds from me I've never made, sparks sensation that compounds until I'm drowning in it. The texture of him, the heat, the stretch that should hurt but doesn't because his body has prepared mine to take him.
When he seats himself fully, his hips flush against mine and every thick inch of him buried so deep I swear I can taste him in my throat, I understand the word claiming.
I’m claimed. He's so deep inside me that I've forgotten where I end, and the pressure of his knot against my entrance promises more to come.
“Look at me.” His voice has gone to gravel. “I want your eyes when I take you.”
I meet his gaze as he moves.
The ridges. God, the ridges. They catch and drag with every thrust, stroking places inside me that no one has ever reached. He starts slow, letting me adjust to the size of him, the alien texture lights up every nerve he passes. Then his control cracks.
His thrusts deepen. Quicken. Each one drives the head of him against the spot that fractures my vision while the ridges work the sensitive walls around them. His mouth finds my throat and his fangs scrape my pulse point, not breaking skin, and the threat alone floods me with fresh arousal.
His jaw drags across my shoulder, my collarbone, the curve of my breast. Leaving his scent. Marking every inch of skin he can reach so that anyone who comes near me will recognize who I belong to.
“Close.” The word barely forms. “I'm going to...”
