by Amanda Milo
“Ah. Some hobs enjoy embroidery.”
Her smile turns indulgent. “Your society.”
That’s all she says.
She folds the item of clothing and sets it on my lab table. She straightens. “Okay, back to seducing you.”
My wings tense again. She’s exactly like a Gryfala. Tevek, she is magnificent.
Her chuckle is wicked. “Look at you all wing-nervous. You were threatening Angie with those bad boys not too long ago.”
I did do that. Mostly because it amused me. In truth, because it entirely amused me.
Gracie doesn’t reach for my wings though. Instead she traces a path along my throat and my shoulders, saying, “Let’s see… Your trapezoids are the sexy bundles of corded beauty on either side of your neck that I’d be clutching onto if you were, say, pounding me across the floor and our stomachs were sticking together from sweat, right?”
I stare down into her eyes. “Your boldness is beautiful.”
She aims a playfully demure smile in my eyes’ direction before she drops her gaze back to her perusal of my musculature.
Her tongue flicks her bottom lip. She circles me.
I swallow. Lessons from the earliest days of the Academy’s Methodology of Attracting a Gryfala plays through my mind. Let her believe she has control. Don’t let her immediately take control.
“And when I hitch my legs higher around your hips and wrap my arms around you, I’d be digging my fingers into your rhomboid muscles, wouldn’t I?”
She makes no secret of ogling my body as she finishes her lap around me, moving to my front once more. She does however, feign a coy tone as she reaches out with a fingertip to tap my arm. “And is this monster gun a bicep? Damn, I’m afraid I’m just not as familiar as I want to be with your muscle groups. I need to remedy this by getting better acquainted.” She tips her head back to meet my gaze. “How do you feel about,” she bounces her brows, “live demonstrations?”
CHAPTER 3
GRACIE
I’m caught off guard.
Dohrein is smiling. This isn’t like his other smiles he’s given me so far.
This a weaponized, brain cell-melting, slow-and-crooked grin that should be illegal.
Its power is so strong that I feel like I just agreed to go skydiving, but while I was preparing to jump, the instructor shoved me right out of the plane.
My stomach’s doing the happy dive even as I’m wondering if I might be in over my head with this hob after all.
Wait, how’d that happen?
One second ago, he was dead serious about this lab partner business.
Not that there’s anything wrong with us being lab partners who have business. In fact, he’s got me going full steam ahead on this scenario. I wonder if he has a lab coat. Maybe a clipboard. I can so get under this fantasy. Or on top of. I’m really flexible about this.
Really, really flexible.
Dohrein takes one step forward, a clear advance on me.
“Wait, wait—I’m stalking you.”
He tilts his head. “Are you? I’ve been employing the ensnare method on you from the moment you sent away the Aneark.”
“You mean Flipper? And ‘the ensnare method?’” I bark a laugh. “Let me guess. Ensnaring is some alien strategy for landing one of your batfairies? Please.”
He sends me a patiently amused—and pointed—look. “I had my doubts too, and at first, I felt ridiculous keeping my instruments halfway across the lab table. But each and every time I had to stretch to reach for one, the theory proved sound because your scent intensified.”
“You’re devious,” I utter.
“A quality which, from your tone, you clearly admire.”
“Oh, I do. I thought I was going crazy and you were oblivious to your hotpowers.”
“I was well aware of my effect on you.”
I look towards heaven. “God? Why is it so attractive when a man gets cocky? I don’t understand why it works this way.”
Dohrein pretends to nod sympathetically. It’s the smirk he’s wearing that spoils the sympathetic part. “You would if you’d studied the Ensnaring course.”
I fight a snort even as I blink at him in amazed consternation. “I could jump you right now.”
He looks like he wants to say something—actually, with the way he sets his shoulders (and his wings behind those shoulders), he looks like he’s ready to go to battle over something. I ignore it and continue, hoping to distract him from whatever he’s got planned by thoroughly sexing him up. “But,” I glance around, “I don’t want my arse down on the floor getting all sweaty and slippery—”
He drops to floor.
Just like that.
It surprises a snicker right out of me.
His lips curve as he says low, “For you, I’ll go down anytime you wish.”
“Niiiiice.” I clap twice to reward this line.
“But I make no promises not to make you slippery. Not when I’m so looking forward to it.”
“Also nice,” I inform him so he knows to keep dropping these on me. They’re working.
He taps his chest, and my eyes watch him like a dog watches her master sear a steak. “Wouldn’t you like to continue your myology lesson?
I nod vigorously. “I would. I can’t tell you how much I’m enjoying this interactive session. Lose the trousers.” I wave a hand to indicate he should get naked poste-haste.
Smirking, he grabs the sides of his pants and shoves them down, performing something lovely; his hips jut up in an arch and it makes the muscles of his thighs and stomach stand out.
I sigh at the sight. “You are so pretty. The floor has to be uncomfortable as hell though.”
His laugh escapes as a dry croak. “My cock is like stone—that is uncomfortable. My wings act as a suitable cushioned layer. They’re more pleasant to lie on than they look.”
“Actually, I do know that. You invited us to lie on the backs of them, remember? They’re so big, they fit everybody.”
His smile is bad—very, very deliciously bad. “I’m overjoyed I was big enough to please everybody.”
Snickering, I drop over him, straddling his abdomen and I reach out—but stop and think to ask first. “May I stroke your wings?”
His voice is guttural and makes all my parts light up. “Stroke anything you like, veetling.”
He’s got them pinned closed with the way he’s lying on them, but that’s fine for now. He still gave me permission to have my way with him. “I get to ride cowgirl, I get to touch anything I like—oooh, the look on your face. What’d I say? Cowgirl?”
He’s looking excited in a different, brainiac cerebral way. It’s ridiculously endearing.
So is the way he’s absently patting his sides for a pocket that’s not there. He manages to surprise me a little when he sits up, bringing our faces close—but not to flirt or even kiss—he’s reaching for his discarded shirt.
I molest his chest. “To have this moving under me, mmmm.”
His eyes flick to mine, holding promise even as he removes his tablet from one of his pockets. “More of that in just a click.”
Inexplicably, I feel my lips stretch into a smile as his face transforms into a scowl of concentration. He firmly strokes his forefinger over the screen—yesss, I’m thinking all the dirty thoughts too—
“I’m assembling a proper manual. It will only take me a click to add the term cowgirl. You sitting like this astride me is the definition of this sexual position, yes?”
“You’re writing a sex manual?” I want to help him. I really want to help him define and gain a good, hard, in-depth understanding of all the positions for his manual.
His forehead shows deep wrinkles when his thoughts are occupied and he’s engrossed in his work. It’s just as effective as his cockiness at making me want to snog him. “Attempting to. I’ve not experienced an abundance of success obtaining information from bonded pairs.”
I don’t even try to hide the chortle in my voice. “They didn’t respo
nd too well when you asked questions about the way they have sex?”
He doesn’t look up, still entering his notes. “If by ‘well,’ you mean did females threaten to plant their fists in my face and have their males disembowel me? Then yes, it went soaringly well.”
“You’re so sarcastic. I like you,” I tell him.
This gets his eyes back on mine.
It also makes his cheeks darken at the tops. Not a blush, just streaks of discomfited pleasure.
I need to distract him off work mode and turn him back on sexing mode. First, I squeeze my knees over his ribs, and then I work his brain. “Since we’re covering word definitions, what’s veetling mean? I heard you call Angie veetling and she looked like she wanted to spit on you.”
He chuckles and it vibrates and I feel this right between my legs. “Traditionally, it’s a complicated little confection. It goes through stages of soaking in a tangy sour syrup to build up layers over its soft, sweet center. Sweeteners are a controlled substance on our planet—”
“Oh?”
He gives me a strained nod, adjusting himself under me.
My lips curl into a wicked smile and I revel in the feel of his muscles rippling under my hands and thighs and butt—and his cock is hard and thick and poking my ass.
“Gryfala can become obsessively addicted. Sweets are an indulgence with grave consequences our kind don’t take lightly. Thus, this particular item, a veetling, it can only be made for a Gryfala once a solar.”
“And if she wants more? Don’t you boys give your girls anything they want?”
His eyes glow with a depraved heat. “Hobs are taught to make females want something other than sweetness.”
My pussy was happily sitting back and waiting for the fun to start. At his words, at this look in his eyes—my pussy gets downright demanding. Let’s have him NOW NOW NOW!
I fan my throat. “What would you do to get your little veetling’s mind off of sweets?”
His hands come up, and I expect him to snatch my wrists—not that I’d be opposed, but I prepare myself so I don’t do something embarrassing like flinch. I’m not afraid of men—or most aliens, for that matter. I’ve seen the worst they can do. But the flinching thing recently started for me.
Though, I will say this: halfway through the Aneark’s heat, I stopped flinching with him.
All I can figure is the Aneark wasn’t out to hurt me, so whatever little damaged process is responsible for making me do it wasn’t getting tripped.
If all it takes is a little decent fucking to deactivate it, then I’m going to have some fantastic fucking and I’ll fix this flinching bitch business once and for all.
Instead of reaching for me though, Dohrein keeps his eyes steady on mine and he gallantly asks, “May I have your hands?”
“My hands?” Unsure how this could turn sexy, because honestly the wrist pinning was sounding really good, I set my hands on top of his, palm to palm.
He threads our fingers.
Our hands are now locked together. Just like our gazes.
Um… This is a little more intimate than I expected. Than I was prepared for.
“Ready?” he whispers.
“I’ve been ready to fuck since I asked you to come with me. Remember when I said it just like that? ‘Want to come with me?’ I was offering—”
He undulates under me, his hips lifting off the floor.
I don’t topple because he’s got me by the hands. He’s giving me a ride.
Cowgirl up!
“Sit back,” he coaches.
I’m careful: I make sure not to do something awful like knee him in the junk before the party really gets started—and I get seated where he indicates.
“Comfortable?” His voice is all tight and hot and dark.
“I’m willing to bet I’m more comfortable than you’ll be,” and I perform a belly dance-worthy maneuver that has his eyes rolling back in his head.
Fun!
When his eyes meet mine again, he locks his jaw—not angry: he’s concentrating, and we begin to move together, with me giving him a sort of pussy job that feels so good I’m wondering if I can get off doing it.
His voice emanates from deep within his chest. “Can I interest you in the activity of kissing?”
“You robot,” I laugh. “Yeah, let’s do this.”
I’m not against kissing. This here isn’t like my nonconsensual stint as a sea hooker where I was pinned and the kisses were as forced as the penetration.
His lips are as fantastic as the rest of him.
Of course.
They’re firm, silky smooth, and when I taste his mouth and suck his tongue and feel his groan, I actually think I hear angels singing.
“We’ve got the chemistry,” I inform him when we break to breathe.
He pulls back and gives the laboratory we’re making out in a slow blink. “That’s ironic.”
Then he really grins, a full-out one, a sweet, goofy one—it’s the first time I’ve seen it like this, and…
He’s got a dimple.
A fucking hunk dimple.
I damn near come spontaneously.
As I stare down at him, trapped by the power of his mouth (and this is all without it physically touching me!), he reaches our joined hands over his head and stretches me flush over him.
He just… he just performed a power shift. “Are you dominating me from the bottom?” My voice is breathy and shocked and may as well be shouting, You’re so hot!
Because he so is.
I’m leaned over him, my breasts pressing against his chest, our fingers laced, feeling his heartbeats in my hands, and his breath hits my face and it smells good, and it’s hot, just like his skin, just like my body, and his eyes are so close, and so intense—
Dohrein’s eyes go hooded, and he raises his head enough I expect him to touch his lips to mine.
I really, really want him to touch his lips to mine.
Instead he says, “I want to be more than an outlet for your sexual frustrations. I want you to classify me as more than just your sex tool.”
“You… fried my fucking brain with your weaponized dimple and now you want to talk? Are you saying you don’t want to be… sex tool zoned?”
He dips his chin towards his neck. “Sounds right. Hobs are taught to have a care when servicing a Gryfala who hasn’t Chosen him—because after she gets what she needs, if she hasn’t committed to Choosing him for her guard, she’ll leave him. I want your commitment. I like you. You are a breath of—”
“Fresh air,” I finish. “Ditto. You too.”
He nods. “We will do well together. Choose me.”
“What, like right now?”
He plants his heels and rolls his hips again. His gaze drops to my lips and I think he knows his thrust-magic is working by the way I sink my teeth into my bottom lip and my neck goes slack on me. He’s making my body forget that I have bones to support myself.
Basically, my body just wants to get boned by him.
Crafty bastard.
He waits until my eyes uncross and I’m able to focus on him again before he bites out, “Teveking yes.”
He powerfully humps me from below and when I lean forward to ride his hard abs, I get just a taste of scrumptious FRICTION. I’m starving for more. One look into his determined eyes and I know he’ll give us what we both want.
All I need to do is agree. “I cannot believe I’m letting my pussy call the shots, but—all right, consider yourself ‘chosen’ by this human.”
He stops thrusting up against me and I groan in frustration.
“I want to be your only hob.”
“Deal!”
“Your only male. I don’t want to share you.”
“FINE. I’m cured of any multiple partners fantasies anyway, trust me. And wow, this got deep into heart-to-hearts for a first bout of sex. The only thing I like deep is dick—can we be done talking like a pair of needy chicks now?”
His eyes squint and he blin
ks a few times and I nearly laugh. “Translation trouble?”
“‘Needy chicks?’ My translator supplies infant birds and from this I gather what you mean is we are like two orphaned souls cheeping sadly at each other.”
Half laughing, half growling, I rock on top of him. “Close enough.”
Strain makes his voice even sexier. “Then you have my agreement: no more glum talk. Let’s couple.”
“‘Couple!’” I pant out a soft snicker. “I’m starting to like nerdspeak. It’s got its own sex appeal, who knew? I survived a lot of science classes to earn my biology degree, but I'd have had way more fun if you’d been my lab partner.”
His eyes gleam like we’re talking about two very different things. “Biology?”
I could have just shouted the word ‘Orgasm!’ for as eager as he looks to hear more about this topic. What. A. Cute. Geek.
He’s absolutely serious and not trying to seduce me further when he vows, “I’ll be your lab partner any time you like. In fact, this would be quite—”
“Rein?”
“Hmm?”
I bounce on him.
His throat muscles spasm and ah, they’re beautiful too. “Right. Sex first. My cock would have stopped me from going to work,” he assures me.
“Hold up.” I just enjoy teasing this alien. “You don’t think what we’re about to do will be work? I know I’m on top, sir, but you can’t possibly intend to be a lazy fuck—”
He lets one of my hands go in favor of catching me and dragging me down for a silencing kiss.
Effective, yes. Pleasurable, definitely. Welcome, oh yeah! But he’s delusional if he thinks this will keep me quiet for long. When I start to pull away, I’m intending to tell him just that—until I feel his fangs graze my lip.
I jump.
He chuckles against my mouth.
Whoa, do that again.
Not to be outdone, I smooth my hand over his hard pectoral, leave his mouth, and I bite his flat nipple.
I’m flipped on my back so fast I nearly choke on my whoops of laughter.
Dohrein’s pinning my wrists, his rippling, muscled body braced over me, eyes wild, breathing hard as I crow, “You’ve only being PLAYING at letting me be on top! Foxy hotwings,” I pretend to chastise. “Speaking of: hit me with those, please. I want to know what I’ve bought into—sight unseen, or sensation unfelt as it were—with this relationship investment I was ensnared into making here.”