When he was done, I looked my fill.
He was beautiful. Lean and muscled and marked with those swirling black patterns. His body told the story of a life spent fighting, surviving, enduring. I wanted to learn every mark. I wanted to know what had made him.
And lower, where my eyes finally traveled, he was different. Alien. His cock was larger than any human’s I’d seen, thick and already hard, with a broad triangular head. And along the shaft, soft ridged flanges that flexed slightly as I watched, rippling with his arousal.
His skin was warmer than a human’s. I had noticed it when I pressed my palm flat against his chest. Not feverish, just more. Like he ran hotter than I did.
“Come here,” I said.
He came.
The first press of his body against mine made me gasp. Heat and skin and the solid weight of him. He was so warm, warmer than any human I’d touched, and where our bodies met, I could feel that heat sinking into me.
I pulled him down onto the bed, arranging us so his wounded side was up, away from pressure.
“Let me lead,” I said.
He hesitated. I could see it in his face, the part of him that wanted to take control. But he nodded.
I kissed his throat. His collarbone. The hollow between his shoulders. I worked my way down his chest, tracing the sigils with my tongue.
And something happened.
A warmth spread through my lips, then my mouth, then deeper. Pleasure, soft and rolling, like being wrapped in something gentle. My head went light for a moment.
“Your saliva,” I managed. “It does something.”
“Vinduthi trait.” His voice was strained. “I should have warned you.”
“Don’t apologize.” The sensation was fading, leaving behind a pleasant buzz that made everything feel sharper. “Do it again.”
He pulled me up, kissed me deeply, and this time I was ready for it. The euphoria spread through me from his mouth, making my limbs heavy, making everything feel soft and good and right. When he pulled back, I was breathing hard.
“That’s cheating,” I said.
“Are you complaining?”
He made a sound low in his throat. His hands fisted in the sheets.
“Anhara.”
“Patience.”
“Patience is overrated.”
“Torek would disagree.”
That made him laugh. A real laugh, soft and surprised, and the sound of it made something loosen in my chest. I wanted to make him laugh again. I wanted to learn all the sounds he could make.
I kept going. Down his stomach, along the V of his hips. He was hard already, straining, and when I wrapped my hand around him, I felt those flanges flex against my palm. He made a sound that went straight through me.
I stroked once, twice, learning the feel of him. The flanges rippled under my touch, soft and responsive. Then I shifted, moving to straddle him.
And froze.
The position. The weight of a body beneath me. For just a moment, I wasn’t here. I was somewhere else, somewhere dark, with hands that weren’t asking permission.
“Anhara.” His voice. Soft. Careful. “Look at me.”
