by Ava Argent
I hook a finger over one strap and then the other, sitting up to drag them off of my shoulders, watching through my lashes. I reach behind to unclasp the bra, and moments later it was gone, dangling from my thumb before I let it drop.
B-cups are not going to impress anybody for size, but a boob is a boob is a boob, and M'anu's appreciative gaze proves that yet again. They're called fun bags for a reason.
I thrust out my chest so he can get a better look, loving the way he takes me in. “Like what you see?”
“To speak the plain truth, female,” he replies in a gravelly voice, “like is too mild a word for it.”
He puts a hand square on my shoulder and pushes me to the table. Two seconds later he swoops down and sucks one nipple into his mouth.
I arch, one big shiver shaking my frame. I grab the back of his head and hold him where he is. He sucks hard, which is just how I like it, and his tongue swirls. Instant flooding of my pussy, which was already pretty wet. His other hand palms my cheek while he humps into the cradle of my legs. The friction, licking, and touching are amazing, but it's not enough. “M'anu,” I demand. “Fuck me.”
He breaks suction—then moves to the other nipple, totally ignoring me.
The table is cold but he's sunshine and animal focus. He thrusts against me stronger, a growl building in the back of his throat. My skin is trying to stick to the table, resisting the upward motion almost painfully. I scatter desperate kisses against his crown and forehead, any part of him I can reach. My legs unlock and I spread them wide, balanced on the table, trying to provoke him into taking this to the next level. I run my hands up and down his chest, his shoulders, his arms, everywhere. I can't reach his pants, damnit. He's too tall and my wingspan isn't long enough.
So I reach for the button of my jeans.
Blue eyes flash up at me an instant before he seizes my wrists and pins them to the table, one on each side of us. He swirls the tongue, raising up so I can see what he's doing. “No.”
“M'anu!” I thrust my hips to meet him. “I want you.”
“I know.”
“I want to feel you.”
“And I you.” He doesn't let me go, letting his sharp teeth gently tug at my distended bud.
I still, my breath catching. Lethal teeth are very close to a sensitive part of me. I don't why I didn't consider that before. Lust clouds the brain.
But he's careful, watching me for every reaction. I get the impression he's just as concerned as I am. His lashes lower to half moons on his cheeks. He moves to the other breast, nibbling along the way. Cautious. So cautious.
He's not going to hurt me. Part of me is sad that he has to hold himself back even a little, but part of me is also grateful I won't have a few extra puncture marks in the morning. I have to reward his ginger handling of me.
If he would just let my wrists go. “Let me touch you.”
He ignores me, still faux fucking me through our clothes.
My patience snaps. “Dammit, M'anu, if you don't get these pants off of me right now and let me see that beautiful cock, I will never forgive you.” I whack him on the ass with my heel.
His head jerks up, eyes blazing. Jumping Jehosephat. “That was ill advised, Agmoiria.”
Oh god.
He flips me onto my stomach with no effort at all, dragging me to the edge of the table until my bottom half is hanging over. He reaches under me and yanks the button from its hole. Finally.
The granny panties and the jeans are pulled down to my ankles in three seconds flat. I'm naked and exposed.
But I don't see his cock, and he's still half-dressed. This is not the way I wanted this to go.
He palms both cheeks in a grip that can only be described as possessive, squeezing and rubbing everywhere. I try to raise up on my hands and elbows, but he nixes that in a heartbeat, pushing me back down firmly. He's not letting me up, even when I push.
His remaining hand dances over the line of my exposed rear, making me freeze. His fingers trail down, coming oh so close to my aching core. I hold my breath, hoping and praying.
His fingers go even further down, just barely touching the wet heat of my pussy from behind. “M'anu,” I half whisper, half moan. “M'anu.”
“I will not stop, female,” he promises in a dark voice. “This is mine now.”
His fingers plunge in without a by-your-leave, and I gasp at the wonderful invasion. He starts this punishing pace that's obscene and sexy all at once, no pretty words, no pretending—just a good old fashioned fuck by fingers. In out inoutinoutinout. My juices make a rude noise trying to pull his digits in further. My palms slap at the table, my chest cold and hot at the same time. My mouth is open and there's this long, continuous sound that's almost a wail that keeps building. There aren't even words.
He's taking me. Taking me rough like he has every right to use my pussy the way he wants, even if it's to wring out the mother of all orgasms in punishment.
Oh baby, punish me.
I will not say that out loud, but I want to. I really really do.
I can't describe how mindless he's making me. I want more. I want just this. I want everything and things that I can't put a voice to. I try to slap my cunt back onto his hand but he won't let me, trapping on my legs between his to anchor me in place.
Oh my god, there's an orgasm building. I've never—not this fast—not brought on by someone else.
The wave crashes over me. My mouth opens up but no sound comes out. Oh my god! I writhe on the surface, clawing for purchase, lost as I clench around his long thick fingers.
Thank goodness he's Ferissian, or I might have broken something. I came that hard.
And it isn't over yet.
The last ripple isn't done yet and he's spreading my ass cheeks wide, hauling my hips up just enough before he buries his face in my pussy. His tongue runs wild, lapping and tracing the edge of everything he can reach. And the noise. Normally noises turn me off, but this is something else. This is wild and uninhibited. He sounds like he's enjoying himself, frolicking in a wet wonderland. “Good.”
I feel more than hear the word.
He goes after my clit, but I can't take it. His hot breath against my already sensitized skin is too much to bear. I wriggle under his attention. “M'anu, I want you,” I protest. “Let me have you. Let me have you!”
He's got me begging. It should be humiliating. I'm too far gone to care.
He grunts, but suddenly I'm on my back again. I reach for him. I even get to touch him a second while he undoes his pants and pushes them down. His cock springs free, hard and looking to get to know my pussy all night long. He gets the fabric down just far enough that I can see his balls, and then he pushes my hands away. He grabs my legs and lifts them straight up in the air, my underwear and jeans still tangled around my feet.
His face an intense mask of lust and determination, he tears off my shoes and all the fabric. He wraps one arm around both legs and holds them tight against his shoulder. I can't see what he's doing, but I know he's gripping himself in his hand. Next thing I know I feel the heavy bulb of his dick kissing my folds. It lasts all of two seconds before, with a grunt, he plants himself in me.
That's what he does. He doesn't thrust, piston, or surge. He shoves in like he owns the joint and he fills me up so well I almost believe he does.
I can't even cry out. I stare at his face, totally speechless. He grinds down, making sure there's no space left inside that he hasn't touched. My eyes almost roll back in my head.
He separates my legs, holding the ankles, and that's when the fucking really begins.
This isn't making love. This isn't even regular sex. This is the kind of physical act that feels like you're being touched in every part of you, from your womb to your mind to the tips of your toes. He's not gentle. His balls slap my cheeks as part of the long rhythm he sets. I look down and see the slick glide of his dick in and out of my core. He surges through my soaking wet folds hard, his face stony. Unreadable.
I want to move with him, but I can't. He's taken over and all I can do is hang on to the edge of the table for the duration of the ride. It's intense. It's wonderful, like nothing I've ever felt, but the longer I look at his face the more distant I feel.
He looks up, catching my eye. Something flickers in his expression. Without breaking rhythm, he reaches down and peels my hand from the table, threading our fingers together purposefully.
It's incredible what a difference that makes. He bridged a gap I didn't realize was growing until he closed it. When he turns his face and kisses my calf, almost making love to it with his mouth, I want him even more than before. I want his lips. I want his kiss. I want his tongue and more of his cock and his arms—
Another orgasm blindsides me. This time I do cry out. Holy shit! Two in a row? That has never happened.
“Agmoiria.” His agonized whisper breaks through my fog. He looks down at me, part desperate, part possessive, like he can't wait to come but doesn't want to end the moment.
“Come in me.” I want it, I damn well demand it.
I lift my hips as best I can from my position. He's going to do exactly what I said, or so help me, I am going to make his life hell. I grip his hand hard to communicate that.
He buries his face in my calf, tonguing it a little. Sweat has created a sheen on his skin, his eyes are half closed, and he's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.
“M'anu. Come right now!” I command.
He thrusts one more time, still holding my hand tight, and then he freezes, shaking as he orgasms as hard and deep as I did. “Jules.”
I can't believe how my name sounds on his lips, and if I have my way, he'll only ever say it when he's like this, all wrung out and nearly collapsing on me. He pants, leaning into my body.
He turns his face, watchful, tired. Questioning. I squeeze his hand.
He squeezes back.
Chapter Eight
My female lies on the table, her skin pinked by exertion. There is no sight more satisfying.
Except that of my female, exhausted in my bed.
I slide my hand under her back and lift. She comes willingly, but misreads my intentions. When she circles her arms around my neck, it's to kiss me. Slow, lingering, affectionate kisses. She sighs between them. She is boneless against my chest, her lips clinging to mine, and I am content to have her so.
I do not want to disengage our bodies. Her pussy feels like home, holding my flaccid cock close. She apparently feels the same, flexing her thighs around my hips.
Unfortunately it isn't practical, and I am forced to pull out. She moans at the loss. I rub my chin on her crown for comfort as I hitch up my trousers. I do not bother to fasten them. They will come off again soon enough.
“Hold on to me.” Both arms go under her ass and heave her high. She lays her head against my shoulder, tucked up under my chin, her pussy spread wide against my torso.
“Where are we going?”
I do not answer. She will find out momentarily.
She does not say another word, not even to ask for her clothes. It is one of her rare moments of silence. It seems sex depletes her energy. Good to know. She does snuggle closer and shiver at the cool air, however. I wrap her up tighter to ward off the chill.
I enter my quarters moments later, setting her gently on my bed. Here there is climate control, which will help my female considerably.
I kick off my boots and remove the trousers once and for all, tossing them carelessly beside the bed. In the seconds it takes me to do so she manages to burrow herself under my covers, her head the only part of her I can see. She watches me with her unusual brown eyes, gazing at me with feminine approval that causes me to pause. “Do you like what you see?” I ask, echoing her words with a twist of my lips.
“No.”
My brows snapped together.
She giggles. It is a husky sound.
I cluck my tongue in disapproval of her antics. “You play a dangerous game, Agmoiria.”
“Come on, you were totally asking for it. I think you were a few seconds away from flexing for my benefit.”
I rest my hands on my hips, studying her with an tilted head. “Remove your hair band.”
Her brows shoot up at my imperious command, but the twinkle in her gaze betrays her amusement. She sits up in my bed, not sparing a glance at the antique star charts that hang about the room. She does not look at the weaponry I have displayed as she reaches for the bun at her nape. No, she has eyes for only me, and I relish the attention even as I school my face into a stern mask.
She pulls the band from her hair, her breasts high and begging for attention. Her hair spreads, revealing curls that fall down over her shoulders. Not long but not short, the strands beckon me closer. I obey the call, reaching out to pluck a curl from the mass, rubbing it between my thumb and forefinger.
She runs a fingertip over the inside of my wrist. “So strong,” she marvels. “You're a handsome devil, do you know that?”
“My appearance means very little to me,” I reply distractedly, busy in my perusal.
She smiles up at me, her teeth exotic in their bluntness. “I figured as much. That's what I like about you, M'anu. You're just you.”
This little half-human is strange. My vanity or lack of is irrelevant, though I am gratified by her compliment.
I release her hair and pull back the sheet that has pooled at her waist. She has altered her appearance in other places. Now that my frenzy has passed, I wish to discover more about it. I frown at her bare mound and smooth legs. “I was told that humans had hair on their genitals.”
“Now where would you hear a thing like that?”
“Feruz.”
“How does he—Never mind. I don't want to know.” She reclines on her back, letting me look my fill while she studies me from the pillow. “Humans do have body hair, but mine was green. As soon as I was old enough to have an interest in sex, I started shaving, then waxing. It's a pain, but at least I don't have to worry about anybody finding out who Mom is for a while.”
My frown intensifies. “You mentioned that waxing is agony to Feruz.”
“Well, okay, agony is a bit of an exaggeration, but it's definitely unpleasant. All your hair is ripped out at once.”
I wince. “And how often must this be done?”
“Depends on the person. Every few months or so.”
Voluntarily? I shake my head. “I do not like the idea of you doing so. It is unnecessary to remove your hair in such a way.”
She lifts her head. “You don't like it?”
Is that worry I detect? “It does not matter to me. I only object to the method.”
“Oh.” She relaxes. “That's sweet.” She thinks for a moment. “I wouldn't mind letting it grow back. Trimmed and contained, of course, but if I never wax again it'll be too soon. I don't like looking like an adolescent girl down there. Puberty was hard enough.”
I grunt, not entirely certain what she is talking about, but again pleased by her apparent contentment. My exploration invites hers, however, and it is not long before her own questions emerge. “Don't you have...any body hair?” Her eyes are firmly trained on my groin, which is bare.
“Some,”I dismiss. “Beneath my arms. A light fuzz on my legs.” I shrug.
“So nothing grows here?” She reaches up and traces a finger around the edge of my cock, which twitches at her attention. “None at all?”
“No,” I say, the word a bit harder to speak than before.
She tips her head. “No happy trails. Shame.”
I do not like the suggestion of disappointment. “Ferissians do not need a 'happy trail',” I declare. I smooth my hand over the length of my cock and cup my balls. She follows the movement, her cheeks flushing and her lips parting oh so slightly. “Would you not agree, female?” I lift my sac for her inspection.
My cock is stirring, lifting for attention. She slowly sits up. I pet her hair, drawing her face ever closer. “Why don't you look for your
self?” I suggest, my voice roughened.
Her tongue darts out, running over her bottom lip. The sight brings me to life, the blood centering in my groin, my cock hardening instantly. “Give me your mouth.”
The demand leaves my throat before the thought has a chance to fully form. It is firm and unyielding. No negotiation.
And she, fierce female that she is, does not hesitate.
Her hand grips me tight, brushing my fingers away completely. She sends me one last long look before she opens her mouth and sticks out her tongue, swiping it over the cockhead. I suck in a breath through my teeth, but I do not look away or shut my eyes. I want to see every movement, watch every erotic sweep and dally. “Lovely human,” I intone.
I furrow my fingers through her hair, pulling it back so that I may have a better view. Laughter wars with the lust on her face, an enticing picture that tightens the pit of my stomach. She licks the tip again, her rough tongue pointed and lingering. She makes a sound of delight, one that echos silently in my mind.
She is seductive in the best way possible, stealing my thoughts with each tease and parry.
She ups the game without warning, her lips closing over the very edge of my dick, her tongue stroking the underside.
Yes.
Her free hand cups my balls and massages, finding a rhythm with little thought. Her other hand runs up and down my length, twisting and turning in congruence with her mouth. She works me expertly. I can do nothing but prop my hand on my hip, back arching now and again, staring down at the Agmoiria as she pleasures me.
When her head starts to bob and she moans, the muscles in my legs begin to bunch in tandem with each suck. My mouth is open; I am aware of my panting.
She stops her uptake and pulls away, teasing me with a coy glance. I growl, my grip flexing in her hair, which bothers her not at all. She laughs, in fact, running her cheek lovingly along my aching flesh. “Do you like that, M'anu?”
I bare my teeth. Words are beyond me.
“Oh, somebody wants me to keep going.” She nuzzles. “Remember when I asked you to fuck me and you ignored me? How does it feel, big boy?”