His fingers stroke against my belly. “You are allowed to touch me, as well, Sad Eyes,” he says in a low, amused voice.
Oh. I blink my eyes open and realize my hands are fists curled up against his chest, unmoving. Of course he’d like to be touched, too. I’m such an idiot. I flatten my palms and grasp at his tunic. There are laces at the collar and I fumble with them, ever conscious of his gaze on my face and his hand stroking the soft skin of my lower stomach.
I don’t know how I’m expected to concentrate with all this going on. So I focus, trying to drown out everything but the task at hand. Operation: Touch Aehako. I pull at the laces of his collar, loosening them until they gape open and reveal an expanse of blue, muscled chest. My hand slides under the fabric and I touch him, surprised to feel the rough texture of more ridges over his heart. I always forget that these aliens have tougher, ridged skin over sensitive parts of the body. “You’re rough here,” I murmur to him, gliding my fingers over the strange patch of skin.
“And you are so smooth everywhere, are you not? I find it fascinating.” His fingers dip lower and brush against the curls of my pubic hair. “Ah…and this. I forgot about this.”
My legs automatically squeeze together and I reach to pull his hand away in humiliation. That’s right. The aliens don’t have body hair like humans do. We must be gross to them. “I-I-I…”
I can’t think of a thing to say. Sorry about the bush? There’s no razor here?
He ignores my pressure on his wrist and drags a finger through my curls, exploring them. “It’s different than the hair on your head, is it not?” He rubs his mouth over my long bangs, testing them with his lips. “So interesting.”
“Aehako, please,” I whisper, my face burning. “I just…”
“Do not be ashamed. I am learning your differences. I like them.” He leans down and kisses my mouth again, then gently tugs on my lower lip and sucks on it. That distracts me and turns me into mush again, and when he releases it, he whispers, “I will add it to my list of sensations to think about when I rub my cock.”
My eyes widen. He’s going to think about my pubic hair when he jerks off? Why is that so…filthily arousing? I inhale deeply and stare at his big, broad chest again. I could stop him, but…I don’t want to. Despite my embarrassment, I want his exploring hand to go further down, for him to get even more fodder for his spank bank.
Which is terrible and naughty of me, but I can’t seem to care at the moment.
I slide my hand sideways into his collar, feeling along one thick pectoral. God, it’s like a slab of rock. I brush against something hard and realize it’s his nipple. Curious, I drag my fingers over it, exploring. I never thought of my own nipples as soft until I feel his. It’s as rough as the plate-y skin over his heart. So odd.
“And now you are adding to your sensations, are you not, Kira?” He breathes, his eyes glowing hot. “So you can think of me when you touch yourself in your bunk late at night.”
I can feel my face growing hot at the thought of doing such a thing. I want to protest that I wouldn’t, but…I’m afraid that’d be a lie. And he’s arrogant enough to assume that I’d be thinking of him.
Which is also not a lie.
I bite my lip and pull my hands from his collar, then move to his waistline. I want to keep touching him, but the moment my hands leave the warmth of his clothing, the chill of the outdoors creeps in again. I move under the skirt of his short tunic and brush my fingers over his strong thighs. He wears knee-high boots but there’s bare skin under there that shocks me. It’s like a Scotsman with a kilt, and I wonder if he’s wearing anything under that kilt.
And I wonder if I’m brave enough to find out.
His breath hisses out when my fingers drag up one corded thigh muscle. “Keep exploring me, Kira. I don’t intend on stopping with you.” And his mouth captures mine again just as his fingers move lower and touch my folds.
He groans into my mouth and swallows my gasp of surprise at the touch. With his fingers there, I can feel so many things. I can feel how big his hand is, how thick and blunt his fingers are. How warm his skin is.
How very, very wet I am between my legs.
I have no panties on. There’s no leather that makes a good alien panty, and so I’ve learned to go without even though it feels shockingly bare. Right now, though, I’m glad for the lack of panties, because his fingers stroke through my wetness and he groans again. “I bet this tastes like the sweetest nectar.”
I moan again, my fingers digging into his thigh at the thought of him tasting my juices.