Page 18 of Topping Off the Alien

He’s quiet for a breath, and then his fingers slide out of me. I hear him moving behind me, the click of the bottle again, the slick sound of him spreading lube over his cock. I rise onto my hands and knees and arch my back, pushing toward him. I know exactly how I look right now, presenting myself like I’m in heat, but I cannot find a shred of shame in me. The energy is roaring, and all I want is him.

His hands settle on my hips, and the blunt head of his cock presses against my entrance. “Ready?”

“Yes. Please, Wes.”

He pushes in.

The stretch is considerable. He’s not a small man, and I have never taken anyone. For one blinding moment, my body resists. Then it opens, the head slides inside, and we both groan.

“Oh, fuck,” Wes breathes behind me. “Oh, fuck, Sol.”

He feeds it to me slowly, an inch at a time, pulling back a little and pressing deeper with each small thrust. The burn gives way to fullness, and the fullness gives way to pleasure. Every inch carries heat with it, pouring into me, up my spine, through my belly, until I feel lit from within like a lantern. Then his hips press flush against my ass. He’s buried to the root, and we’re both shaking.

“Holy shit, Sol, you’re so—I can’t—you feel unbelievable. Give me a second.”

I give him exactly one second before I can’t wait any longer. “Move. Please, move, Wes.”

He pulls back and thrusts in, slow and deep, and the drag of him inside me punches the air out of my lungs. He does it again and again, finding a rhythm, and every thrust grinds across that spot inside me and sends light crawling up the backs of my eyes.

“Look at you.” His grip on my hips tightens, fingers digging into bone. “So hungry for it. You’ve been starving for this, haven’t you? For someone to fuck you properly.”

“Yes.”

“Don’t worry.” He pulls almost all the way out and slams back in, and I cry out. “I’m going to give you what you need.”

And he does. He fucks me hard and deep, pulling out to the head and driving back in until his hips slap against me. The chamber fills with the sound of skin against skin, my groans, his curses, the wet slide of him moving inside me. I drop to my forearms and push back into every thrust, the bed rocking beneath us.

“Harder,” I demand, my princely voice gone, raw lust in its place. “Harder, Wes, don’t hold back.”

He complies and drives into me with abandon, one hand fisted in my hair now, pulling my head back. I let him have all of me, and the filthy words keep pouring out of him.

“So good. You feel so fucking good, Sol. Your hole’s sucking me in. It doesn’t want to let me go.”

No one has ever spoken to me like this. On Prasinus, if any of my partners had called me what Weston is calling me now, they would’ve been executed.

But when Wes says it, when his voice goes low and wrecked and he tells me what a slut I am for his cock, how perfectly I take him, how he wants to come inside me and fill me to the brim, something in my chest cracks open and lets all of it in. I want it, every word. I never want him to stop.

“Tell me,” I gasp. “Keep talking.”

He leans over my back, his chest pressed to my spine, his mouth at my ear. “You like that? You like hearing what you do to me?” His hand slides over my hip and wraps around my cock, and he starts to stroke me, rough and fast, in time with his thrusts. “Look how huge you are. I can’t even get my hand around you properly. I fucking love it.”

“Wes—”

“Next time,” he says, his thrusts going deeper, “I want you to fuck me with it. I want you to hold me down and give me every inch. Think you can do that for me, Your Highness?”

My orgasm hits before I can warn him, ripping through me so hard my vision whites out. My cock pulses in his fist, spilling across the sheets in long streaks. Wes swears, a strangled sound, and then he drives into me one last time and freezes.

He spills inside me, flood after flood of heat, his arms wrapped tight around my chest and his face pressed into the back of my neck, both of us shaking and gasping.

We stay joined like that for a long moment. Then Wes eases out of me, slow and careful, and I shiver at the loss. We collapse onto our sides together, and he pulls me back against his chest, his nose buried in my hair, and I let myself be held.

The current between us hums, low and contented. My reserves are full, fuller than I knew they could be. The power sits in me like a banked star, enough to open a door in the fabric of space and take my crew home.

I lie in the dimmed lights and replay what just happened.

The way Wes talked to me, filthy and fearless, like I was his to ruin. No one has ever dared.

Next time, I want you to fuck me with it.