Page 17 of Topping Off the Alien

I turn onto my stomach, the sheets cool against my cock. I hiss at the friction and press my forehead into my folded arms. I expect him to go straight to where I need him, because I’m beyond patience.

Instead, his mouth lands on the back of my neck, and he starts over from the top.

I groan into my arms while he kisses down my spine, vertebra by vertebra, his tongue tracing the grooves of muscle, his hands spreading wide across my back. Everywhere he touches, the current follows, heat rolling under my skin. He mouths across my shoulder blades and lower, unhurried and thorough. By the time he reaches the small of my back, I’m pushing my hips into the mattress in slow, helpless rolls, grinding my cock against the sheets because I cannot hold still.

His hands grip my ass and knead the muscle. Then his mouth follows, and he bites me.

My hips buck hard. A broken sound escapes me, and my cock leaks against the sheets, a steady pulse of want.

“Wes.” My voice is wrecked. “I need you. Please.”

“I know,” he says, and I can hear the smile in it. “Be patient.”

“Weston—”

He spreads me open with both hands and licks a long stripe up my crease.

I cry out, and my whole body shoves backward into his face before I can think about dignity. He chuckles against my skin, the vibration of it making me groan again.

“So impatient,” he says, and then his tongue circles my entrance.

He’s teasing me, pressing just firmly enough to promise but never enough to give, while I fist the sheets, push back into his mouth, and beg in a voice I barely recognize as mine. Please. Right there. Wes, please, I need it, I need your tongue, stop teasing me, please.

Finally, he flattens his tongue against my hole and licks, once, twice, three times, and then he pushes inside me.

I growl, low and loud, from somewhere in my chest I didn’t know existed, and for half a second the disciplined part of me notes that the walls of this chamber are not soundproof, that my crew walks these corridors, that they could hear their ranking officer face-down and helpless with a human’s tongue inside him.

The rest of me doesn’t care at all.

I push back into his face, chasing him deeper, and Wes gives me what I need. He works me open with his tongue, steady and relentless, fucking into me with it and sucking at my hole. The pleased sounds he makes while he does it pour through the current between us. The energy comes in waves now, hotter and heavier than anything I took from him earlier, and my head swims with it. I’ve never been this aroused, not once in my life.

“Wes.” I manage to lift my head. “I’m going to—if you keep—I’m going to come.”

He doesn’t stop. He doubles down instead, his tongue pressing deep, his hand wrapping around my hip to hold me against his mouth. The pressure at the base of my spine crests, and I come with a shout, spilling onto the sheets beneath me, my whole body locking and shaking while he works me through it until I sag.

I float there, face down, breathing like I’ve been running. A few seconds later, the bed shifts. I hear the click of the bottle, and then Wes’s finger presses against me, slick and cool, and slides inside.

I groan into the pillow. My body takes him easily, relaxed and open from his mouth, and he moves slowly, in and out, going a little deeper each time.

“That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen, you know that?” He presses deeper, and my breath catches. “Fuck, Sol.”

I should be spent, but the hunger is still there, smoldering, and when he crooks his finger and drags it across a spot inside me that makes white light burst behind my eyes, my hips push back into his hand of their own accord.

A second finger joins the first, stretching me wider, and I hiss at the burn. He works me patiently, scissoring, pressing deep, and I take everything he gives me and want more.

“You’re so starved, aren’t you?” Wes murmurs. “Look at you, pushing back on my fingers like you can’t get enough.”

“It’s never been enough,” I say into the pillow.

“I know.” His free hand smooths up my back. “I’m going to give you what you need. I promise.”

The third finger brings a sharper burn. He takes his time, stretching me slowly, and his care moves through the current and wraps around my ribs alongside the want.

“Wes.” I turn my head. “Please. I’m ready.”

“You sure? You’re tight, Sol. I don’t wanna hurt you.”

“You won’t.” I push back against his hand to prove it. “I need to feel you. Please.”