Page 16 of Topping Off the Alien

“Then what—”

I look up at him, and the complaint dies on my tongue.

“Tonight is our only night. I don’t want it to be over so soon.”

My stomach drops. He’s right, of course. Somewhere in the back of my skull, I’ve been reminding myself that this has an expiration date. He gets his energy, opens his wormhole, and leaves, and that’s the story. A weird Halloween anecdote I can never tell anyone. You hooked up with an alien prince once? Sure, Wes. And then what happened?

The thought of never seeing him again lands heavy under my ribs, which makes no sense. I’ve known him for a few hours, and people don’t get attached that fast. He was a stranger earlier this evening, and tomorrow he’ll be a speck of light in the sky.

But none of that reasoning changes how I feel. So I push it down. I’m very good at pushing things down; it’s one of my core skills. Now isn’t the time to audit my feelings. Now is the time to enjoy this while it lasts.

“Okay,” I say, my voice suddenly raspy. “Okay. Then we take our time.”

He nods once. I reach up and push his hair back from his face, tucking it behind his ear, and let my hand rest against his jaw. He leans into it, and something about that small surrender makes the weight under my ribs press harder.

“So, Your Highness, we’ve got all night. What do you want to do with it?”

Sol’s gaze drops from my eyes to my mouth, and color rises along his cheekbones. Suddenly, he looks shy. A seven-foot alien prince who can open a door in the fabric of space, shy because of me?

“I…” He stops, then starts again, the words coming out plain, the way I’ve learned he says the things that matter most. “I want to feel you inside me.”

8

Solverian

I lie over Wes with my heart hammering and wait. On Prasinus, I spent a lifetime wanting nothing out loud. Now I’ve voiced my deepest desire to a man I met hours ago, and every second he stays silent terrifies me.

Of course he’s going to refuse. He told me he was straight, that he’s never been with a man. Neither have I, but here I am, asking him to do the thing that requires the most trust, the most patience, the most—

“Yeah,” Wes says. “Okay.”

I blink down at him. “Yes?”

“Yeah, Sol. Yes.” His hands come up to my face, and he pulls me down until our foreheads touch. His eyes are dark, and there is nothing in them that looks like reluctance. “You have no idea how much I want to.”

Relief moves through me so fast it nearly buckles my arms. I kiss him because I’m unsure of the protocol in such cases, and he kisses me back, smiling against my mouth.

“But we’re going to do this right. Do you have lube?”

I reach past him to the nightstand drawer and retrieve the bottle I keep there, untouched until tonight. I set it on the bed beside his hip.

Wes props himself up on his elbows and nods at the bed beside him. “Lie down. On your back.”

The command in his voice makes me shiver. I do as he says, rolling off him and settling against the covers, and he climbs over me, straddling my thighs.

Then he bends and puts his mouth on me. He starts at my throat, right over the pulse, and kisses it softly before moving to my jaw and the hollow under my ear. He takes his time, his lips and tongue and the occasional graze of teeth working my skin until it heats under him. He works his way over my chest, my nipples, the ridges of my stomach, his hands following his mouth, mapping the muscles he kisses.

By the time he finishes, I’m trembling, my cock flushed dark and straining against my stomach. He wraps his hand around the base and licks me, root to tip, one long stripe.

My head drops back against the pillow. “Wes.”

He does it again, slower, then again and again, each pass of his tongue drawing out a sound I no longer try to swallow. He moves lower and mouths at my balls, heavy and aching and full again, and he takes his time there too, drawing one gently into his mouth while his hand keeps a slow, maddening pull on my cock. Then his lips close over the head, and he sucks.

My hips come off the bed, and both my hands fist in his hair. “Wes, Wes, please.”

He pulls off with a wet sound, his lips red and shining. “Turn over.”

It takes my brain a moment to parse the words, because every part of me wants him to keep going until I come down his throat. But the look on his face stops me from arguing. He seems drunk on lust, and maybe on telling a prince of Prasinus what to do.