Alien Mate

by Gloria Martin

  “There’s no need to be confused,” he stands up, inching after me. The rain outside drums against the window—probably the first time it’s rained here in months. “All I’m asking is for one year of your time at whatever cost you request. Money is no concern to me.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of,” I say. Something grazes my left hip. It’s his fingertips, barely hovering against me. Warm air presses against the back of my neck—his breath, and he’s not breathing—he’s blowing to tickle me on purpose. “Denver, when I met you, I had no idea this would happen.” I refuse to turn around. If I get locked in those eyes one more time I’m a goner. “I can work for you, or I can be with you. But I can’t do both.”

  Both of his hands are at my hips, his waist presses against my backside, and the slow blowing is now centimeters from my neck. “I think you can do both,” he says. My shoulders and neck shiver as his lips lightly brush my skin. “Perhaps you’re having trouble conceptualizing digits. You’re a modest girl, Tara. I like that about you. Let me throw a few numbers out for you. Tell me how they feel.” His words are like poetry, vaporizing in the air. If he could see my face he would find it contorted, conflicted between fight and flight.

  “What do you make at pseudo-chic seasonal place? Fifty thousand a year?” How did he know it was fifty exactly? “I take care of my employees. If you were to cite a figure, say, one million…” The way he trails off disturbs me, and while pausing I hear him inhale through his nose—smelling me. He’s taking in the apricot from my lotion. “A figure like that would surprise me. Do you know why, Tara?”

  “Because it’s astronomically high?” I question, trembling.

  “No, Miss Rogers, because its astronomically low for what I’m asking.” His hands rise from my waist to my shoulders, and as his fingers calmly caress my skin, he reaches into my jacket collar and starts to slide it off me. First the jacket and then his fingers pause at my biceps. “If you were to say fifty million, one hundred million for a year—well, for someone of your caliber I’d be willing to negotiate a little higher.”

  With that amount of money I could retire after the year. I could move anywhere in the world I wanted. I could open my own restaurant.

  Who cares what he does with me for a year?

  If it’s an amplified version of what he’s doing with his fingertips, I don’t know if I’ll be capable of much cooking afterward.

  “I couldn’t accept an offer like that,” I say. Shut up, Tara! “Everyday I would just feel guilty. It’s too much money.” This is a classic case of my brain and my body walking in opposite directions.

  “No amount is too much for you,” he coos.

  Now that the jacket is at my wrists, the moment he removes it completely I feel free—like I’m a kite, drifting. Wearing a sleeveless top feels like a bad idea with my bare brown arms covered in goose bumps.

  “I love your complexion,” Denver says, taking my jacket to the rack and hanging it up.

  “You got a thing for black women?” I ask. Did I really just ask a Caucasian man that question? “That came out wrong, I didn’t mean that.”

  “I have a thing for all women, Tara. Yes, your rich, dark skin and thick, soft lips attract me.” This hotel room feels miniscule with the amount of tension in here, although it’s a luxury suite with plenty of room for us both to walk around. Still, he walks straight toward me.

  “That was a rude question,” I say, trying to make up for my naiveté with honesty. “I find you attractive, too. Like, really very attractive.”

  “Oh, really? What about me do you find attractive?”

  “You want specific details?”

  “Sure.”

  I’m at a standstill—we’re now chest to chest and he has the loose strand of hair flailing from my left temple twisted in his fingers. “You’re just…incredibly handsome. I find you sexy.”

  Did I just tell a billionaire that I find him sexy? In my defense, he did say that he likes my thick lips, so I’d call us even.

  “What about me do you find sexy?” he asks. “Would you like to see more of me so you can decide which part of me you find most sexy?”

  Suddenly he’s navigating me toward the bed, and I take baby steps backward until I feel the mattress against my calves. “I saw you and Jill together in the library the other night,” I say. “If you’re with her, I can’t do this.”

  “I’m not with anyone,” he snaps. His answer sounds bold and planned out. “Right now I am with you, Tara, unless you decide to leave. Are you going to leave?”

  It takes all of my strength to not fall backwards onto the bed. He’s so close to me I inhale the air that escapes him. “I’m not going to leave,” I murmur.

  “Good,” he says, a smile stretching across his face.

  He puts his index finger to my shoulder and I topple over like a domino. The mattress beneath me absorbs my weight without a single bounce. When I look up, Denver is standing over me, unbuttoning his shirt one button at a time. What he reveals is his chiseled chest and then his cut stomach. I’m about to hop up and bite something under that shirt but I stop myself.

  He’s giving me a show. Looking down at me his smile remains wide as the shirt comes off, falling somewhere to the floor. The torso in front of me is the epitome of perfection. Should I take my clothes off or let him do it? I’d rather just watch him. He unfastens his belt and slacks and they drop to the floor without any help. That was fast—now it’s just Denver, his black briefs, and me.

  “I want you to take me in your hands now, Tara,” he says. “I’m going to taste you, but first I want you to taste me.”

  I lean up from the bed with the help of his outstretched hand. Once I’m level, he places his fingers firmly on the back of my head. If I take the next step and unleash him, I will be crossing a line into a new territory. Less than a week ago I had never met this man. This close, I observe every inch of his smooth skin. Do it, Tara. I reach out and place my palm against his skin, running it against the hills of his abs. I’ve never seen my dark hand against pale flesh like this.

  With both hands on him now I bite my lip to suppress my urge to claw him, or press my firm lips to the skin around his nipple before sinking my teeth in. Lowering his briefs, I cup both halves of his backside and squeeze.

  “Yes, that’s good, Tara,” he says. His hand against the back of my head massages in circular patterns. With every circle he pushes me a fraction closer to his hard-on. It’s not bared yet but it’s about to be. I bat my eyelashes and look up at him. This is what I’ve been waiting for. I’ve wanted a taste of this man since his blue eyes first struck me at the restaurant.

  I can tell by the way that he plays with my hair he likes the rough texture. It’s good for him that I’m hungry for his vanilla skin. “Go ahead, baby,” he says. Baby? He hasn’t laid that one on me yet. With his left hand he reaches into my tank and pops my hard nipple out of my bra with one motion. “It’s time for dessert, Tara. You first.”

  Something about the way he speaks to me with force sends a surge of anger through me—but it’s the type of anger that I want in me—the type that’s getting me hot right now. I take the black elastic in my hands and twist while yanking them to his knees. In the power of my thrust, his stiff shaft bounces and nearly hits my lips before I’m ready.

  Denver laughs, pinching my nipple tighter. “I feel something coursing in you,” he says. “Almost smacked in the mouth? I could tell you liked it. That, sweetheart, is Newton’s Third Law.” There is no more subtly in his hands anymore. Both are on my head, pulling me toward him and him into me.

  “Every action has an equal and opposite reaction,” he moans. The first taste I get of him is fresh. I’ve never tasted one so clean—I can’t help but hold my mouth open to take in the air while I suck in the flavor. “And this is the reaction of me needing you since the first time I saw you, Tara.”

  I want to tell him I feel the same, but with my mouth full I just moan in agreement. Suddenly he pulls my he
ad back and a trail of saliva strings from my bottom lip to his dick. “Not too much now, my love,” he says, squeezing my cheeks again. “It was just a taste. You wouldn’t want to be rude and have your fill before I’ve had a taste, would you?”

  I shake my head.

  “Use your words, Tara,” he says, squeezing tighter. In so many ways I’m turned on by the way he controls me, but another part of me is leery to give him full power.

  “No,” I say through my cheeks.

  “Now, is my dessert ready? I hope it has been baking long enough.” The hand on my nipple presses against my chest, his palm guiding me to the mattress. He keeps his place at the foot of the bed, bending to his knees. Once he’s on the floor he takes his time with my body, starting with my shoes.

  “I asked you if my dessert was ready, chef.” With my left shoe off he gives my foot a pinch.

  “Yes,” I say, the tickle running up my leg. “Yes, your dessert is ready.”

  “And what are we having for dessert tonight, chef?” My other shoe comes off, then simultaneously both socks. I can’t remember how long it’s been since a man has touched my feet.

  “We’re having…” I am in no state to role-play right now. “…Chocolate?”

  He smiles. “Of course we are.” His hands are under my navel and once the latch of my pants is open he has them off in one tug. “Just chocolate? Or anything more specific?”

  I don’t know how much longer I can play this game. I’m about to wrap my thighs around his head and drag him into my flower. With my legs bare he rubs his hands up and down them. “Tiramisu?” I suggest.

  The hair from his beard scrapes my inner thigh, just next to my crevice. He breathes in deep. “That sounds delicious, Tara.”

  “I’ll be your Taramisu,” I joke, knowing it’s the worst possible time for one—but as his lips widen with his smile, they also stretch against the surface of my labia. Pun accepted. What I don’t expect is the quick plunge of his tongue onto my clit. Good thing he can’t see me because in the rush of his hot mouth against me I go cross-eyed for a millisecond. My hands shoot to his hair and I grab as much as I can. It’s so soft between my fingers; I could comb it with them all day.

  I need to see this billionaire God with my own eyes, so I lever up using my shoulders and find him staring up at my body, right at me. As sexy as I find him, his stare is intimidating—I didn’t expect to make eye contact, and now that I have I can’t get away.

  I take the blankets tightly between my scrunched fingers. It’s all I have to hold onto while Denver’s tongue makes its final lap around my clit and enters me. He’s not playing—his hands are having a field day with my ass cheeks, using them to get his tongue deeper and deeper inside. His blue eyes remain fixed—he’s determined to make me come. It’s the pride in him. He won’t make love to me until I orgasm first.

  And I’m ready to give it to him. All I need is a little longer. That’s right, Billionaire Blue Eyes, get a good taste. I can’t believe what is happening to me right now. This is the one threshold I didn’t want to cross, but Denver’s hand reaches up to my right breast, and now with his left thumb joining his tongue inside my pussy, takes my bosom and engulfs the nipple within his index finger and thumb.

  “Denver, goddamnit, that’s what I needed,” I yell, smacking the bed fast like a bongo drum. He’s not stopping even though the orgasm has begun—thank you, Denver D. Phillips. I feel the flood starting in my head, and when it’s this good I stop giving a fuck. I let my legs writhe as he pins me to the bed, his head latched onto my center. I know I sound foolish screaming like this, but with his tongue this deep he knows what he’s doing.

  As he rises up from the floor I’m still coming, unable to move, with nothing other than his pinky on my clit trying to release the last of the secretions. Denver grabs my wrist. “Stop that, Tara,” he says. “There’s more.” He slides up to me, torso to torso, both of his legs between mine. I hate waiting, so I try to wrap my legs around his solid backside and pump him into me.

  Failed attempt. He is really taking his time with me— “No, no, no, Tara. You need a moment before you take this inside you, because once it begins you’re going to be different.”

  With his hand around his cock, he rubs it up and down against my clit. Up…down…UP…down…

  “Denver, just do it, give it to me, please,” I beg, popping my butt in humping motions to try to get it in the basket. So close, so wet, just slide inside, Denver.

  While the ups and downs continue, he kisses my neck and lifts my right leg into the air from under my knee. He’s opening me wide, preparing to glide into me.

  Tara, you’re about to be fucked by a billionaire, I think. I can’t help it that I need to take mental note of the occasion. It’s not every day that I sleep with a billionaire, or a white guy, or my boss, or a billionaire white guy who is my boss. For all I know, this could be a once in a lifetime opportunity.

  Wanting Denver for three days straight has not prepared me for the burst of heat that tears through me—the heat that is his dick, pounding. He couldn’t wait, I knew he needed it. There’s no slow beginning with him—he’s scanning every inch of my body. I want this to be his first time with a black woman, just like it’s my first time with a white man. His eyes look like he’s opening a gift he’s always wanted and never got. It only makes me more wet. I let him take my ankles and open me wide. I throw my hands against the smooth bedpost behind me to give me something to increase this unbelievable pleasure.

  He was right—that first orgasm was nothing. How could his tongue give me the pleasure that most men give me with their entire rod? Dominic is pretty hung and even he’s never hit it like this.

  “Denver, I’m trying to come, you’d better not bust it yet,” I yell, one hand on the best post, the other clawing into his back. It’s a reaction to say this because I’m used to finishing myself off.

  From scanning my body and running his lips all over it, he averts his attention to my eyes. “What did you say, Tara?” Oh no, did I say something wrong? “Did you just say ‘I’d better not bust yet’?”

  The pounding doesn’t stop, but he slides me down the bed so that his feet are on the floor and my ass is hanging off the bed. I don’t know what to say, I’m not about to open my mouth and ruin the orgasm, so I just bite down on my lip and pivot, hoping he gets the hint.

  “I’ll bust whenever I want, wherever I want,” he says. Now his left hand is under the small of my back, the other loosely around my neck. “Do you understand, Tara?”

  “I understand, Denver!” I cry out, on the brink of explosion.

  “So when I bust, you’ll be ready to receive it wherever I desire,” he says, the bed squeaking loudly from his strength. “Do you understand, Miss Rogers?”

  His thirst for power is borderline on my nerves—but then I look at the perfect curvature of his shoulder and neck muscles and decide that I would swallow every drop right now.

  “I understand, baby,” I say, responding to his endearing term from earlier. Fuck it—take me how you want, Denver. Is this how every billionaire makes love?

  He knows that I’m about to pour out onto him, and he rubs my clit wildly. I know my face matches how I feel—like one big, sopping, hot mess—but the ecstasy is pure bliss. His face shows it too, only his eyebrows cut deep in a V-shape while he stares back at me.

  “I’m coming, Denver,” I whimper. Do not cry, Tara! I can’t help it—it’s too good. As the orgasm consumes me, Denver continues to thrust into my body. There is something conflicting buried within those eyes, but I know he loves what he’s doing to me.

  As the last of me spills out, he ejects himself and pulls me to the foot of the bed by my neck. His dick is in my face while he strokes it. Is he about to shoot it all over my face? Into my mouth? I’ve never done this before.

  “Tara, oh God, you’re so good,” he moans, holding my head in place by one lock of my hair. Denver then takes a sideways step with each foot, bringing his rod lo
wer, down to my breasts. I see—he’s going to cover them in his milky cum.

  “All over these titties, Denver,” I beg, lifting them higher from underneath so that they’re also suppler for his ejaculate.

  The hot liquid shoots out from his cock and becomes a paper-white pool against my dark brown skin. There is so much—has he been building it up, saving it? The warmth of his cum against me is mesmerizing. I would get off on taking a small taste, but Denver is very particular and I don’t know enough about what turns him off yet—and sex with him is something I am going to need for a long, long time.

  *****

  The next morning, I wake up to an empty bed. No sign of Denver—not even a note. Am I mistaken or last night did he propose a salary of one hundred million dollars before giving me the ride of my life? Even though there is a high probability of this being a dream—the throbbing in my core is proof that what happened was real. Denver D. Phillips made love to me and potentially turned me into a millionaire overnight.

  On the way out of the room I take one look back and soak in the rose hue, the smell of our sweat still wafting in the air with the faint hint of my apricot lotion, and notes of bergamot with mandarin from his Christian Clive No. 1. I’ve never had the luxury of being with a man who has such expensive taste, so I try to take in this memory for all its worth.

  On the way back to the car, I feel even more deflowered than when I lost my virginity. I don’t know how many times in life you wake up after the first time hooking up with a billionaire. That’s right, Tara, say it:

  “Billionaire,” I whisper aloud so that only I can hear. When I reach the car, everything feels different. My car feels brand new even though it’s a dented blue 2007 Outlander. The interior feels like something from someone else’s life—not the sticky and ripped surfaces that I’m used to feeling every day. On the drive back from Malibu, the Pacific Ocean on my right looks different even though I’ve spent countless hours staring at it—all because of what happened last night with Denver D. Phillips.