Barbarian Alien(32)

I’m wet. I’m so wet.

And I moan, unable to resist.

“You see,” he murmurs, his tongue brushing against my ear. Oh, it’s ridged. I keep forgetting it’s ridged, too, and the rasp of it against my flesh makes me wild. “I am learning how to court you, my Liz.” His fingers glide through my folds, and then dip, seeking my slick heat. One caresses the opening to my core, and I arch against him, wishing for more than just a finger. I feel the hard, impossible length of his cock against my back, and I want to be filled with it.

“No sex,” I breathe out. Truth be told, if he rolled me onto my stomach and pushed into me from behind, I’d probably be just fine and dandy with it. But a girl’s got to hold on to her standards.

“I am still courting you, my mate,” he says in a low voice, his throat humming with the ferocity of the cootie resonating in his chest to match mine. “Allow me to lick and pleasure you for tonight, as we promised.”

Well, that doesn’t sound so bad.

Oh, who am I kidding? I want his touch yesterday. I need his hands all over me. I need him to keep exploring my body and stop with soft touches and get down to some dirty, dirty business. “Raahosh,” I moan, reaching back to touch him. My hand slides into the thick mane of his dark hair and I find a horn. I clutch at it, happy for the handlebar as he strums my body with his fingers, his chest purring hard against my own.

“Your nectar fills your cunt for me,” he murmurs into my ear, and then tenderly licks the shell. “Shall I sip it and taste of my mate?”

“That is so corny of you,” I breathe, but damn, his corny lines are getting me all squirmy with need. His finger keeps circling my aching core, and I want nothing more than for him to push it deep and start fucking me with his big fingers instead of just teasing me.

“Corny?”

“Just another saying,” I tell him, and then make a weird mewing noise when he dips his finger inside me. “Oh God, keep touching me like that.”

“Do you want my fingers?” He buries his face against my neck, and I feel the rasp of the hard ridges on his brow against my chin as he nuzzles my throat. My breasts ache for his touch, and I begin to play with my nipples, rocking my hips against his finger that feels just barely inside me. “Or do you want me to lick the nipple between your legs until you scream my name?”

A horrified giggle escapes my throat. “Did you just say n-nipple? Between my legs?”

That gets his attention. He sits up and frowns down at me. “Is that not what it is?”

“No! Nipples are on breasts!”

His hand leaves my pussy and slides to my breasts, and I moan when his wet fingers begin to trace a circle around one areola. “These are nipples, yes?”

I nod, unable to speak. His touch feels too good.

“Humans are so soft,” he comments, flicking his big thumb over my taut nipple and then rolling it between his fingers, fascinated by the hard nub of it. “We are not built like this.”

“No?” I shift until I’m on my back instead of my side, and I’m gazing up at him. I reach up and boldly caress one of his pectorals, sliding my hand over his nipple and feeling it. Sure enough, it feels like a rock. My fingers flick over it, and I’m surprised. “Wow. That’s…different.”

The breath hisses from his throat at my touch. Encouraged, I keep rubbing my thumb over his nipple – even though it’s already hard, I can tell he’s enjoying my touch.

He caresses my breast a moment longer, and then his mouth dips toward mine. I meet it, even though I tell myself that kissing him is not smart. That it’s going to lead to nothing but false expectations. I can’t help myself, though. The moment that velvety skin brushes against mine and his lips meet my lips, I’m a goner. I kiss him back, reveling in the feel of his hard mouth. He licks at my tongue, even as his hand caresses my breast, and I push against him. My arms twine around his neck and I pull him down against me, feeling his big, heavy chest against my breasts. The ridges along his skin – rough, hard patches on his arms and the center of his chest – feel odd mixed in with the plush suede of the rest of his skin, but when I rub my nipples up against him, the dichotomy feels incredible. I moan again, lost in the sensation.

His cock prods my abdomen, and I feel the hot beads of pre-cum drag against my skin, leaving wet trails. He continues to kiss me, his tongue dancing against mine, and his hand moves down my side and rests on my hip. “If it is not a nipple, then what is it?”

I chuckle against his mouth, amused by his alien lack of understanding about female anatomy. Really, I suppose it does make sense to think it’s a nipple. “It’s called a clitoris. Or a clit, for short.”