Craved by an Alien

by Amanda Milo

  This looks like a fancy fuck hole.

  Dohrein must think so too. With sure movements, he hulks out of his trousers.

  His grip on me turns rough when I do us both a favor and yank my shirt up so it rides above my breasts.

  He hooks my knee over his arm.

  His cock glides along my slit, not pushing in, just a tease, ramping us both up until I’m licking his ear, nipping at his ear lobe, feeling his snarl emanate from his chest and vibrate into mine, making my nipples feel like they’re forming into fucking diamonds.

  I rub them against him, my arms going around him, my fingers digging into his... shirt? “Why are your muscles still dressed?”

  He huffs his dry laugh, except he’s so turned on, it’s a husky rasp that makes wet heat pool between my legs.

  I know when he smells me. His lips lift to reveal his fangs and he sucks air past them and growls, “Lie back,” before he crushes his mouth over mine.

  When he lets me breathe, I do as my alien says, only bitching a little when cold tabletop meets my spine.

  He tugs on the leg he’s controlling. “Allow me to reclaim my words: sit up.” He’s almost chuckling, and the repressed sound warms me all the way down to my single human heart.

  But I pretend to flick my ear. “Did my translator get switched with Angie’s? All I’m hearing are commands.”

  His wings slap around me and my laugh rings out, echoing off the walls. I love it when he gets commanding. I also enjoy pointing out when he’s getting commanding, because he’ll attempt to refute my claim and we’re both happiest when we have a point to bicker over.

  Supported in his wings, I’m cocooned, no longer feeling any chill at all because—and if you’ve ever held a gosling’s foot, the webbing is much the same—the stretchy, silky membrane that cups me is hot. It’s strong—I can rest my elbows on it and feel it molding to my skin as it supports my weight. I poke a finger into the sparkly inside and twist his wing so I can see the other side; his wing is alllmost thin enough to see through, and lightens where I’m pressing. I drag my fingernail across a swirl of blue.

  He shivers.

  I lean in and exhale softly on his pattern before giving it a kiss. A soft kiss. A featherlight kiss.

  That’s not what he wants.

  I’m teasing the hell out of him.

  He knows it.

  I toss back my hair so I can watch him from under my lashes as I innocently flick my tongue out and tap his wingsurface.

  Dohrein uses the arm that’s got my thigh prisoner to cup my butt and yank me to the edge, making me tumble back against his wing. I’m so pleased with myself I’m cackling.

  His eyes are laser focused on mine, the muscle in his jaw jumps—but his lips twitch, and it only makes me laugh harder.

  My hilarity dies when he drops his arse into his chair, shoves my skirt further up my thighs, and buries his face between my legs.

  He snarls a little and tugs the ruffles using his teeth. He pulls hard enough that my body rocks and my temperature reaches volcanic.

  He explores the lace embellishment with his tongue.

  He gets creative with that tongue.

  My bucking rucks my skirt over his head, cutting off the sight of him, and this won’t do.

  I daintily pinch the hem and lift it up to meet my hob’s scorching gaze as he drags his brilliant tongue right where I need it. Then he adds one of those immaculately maintained fingers.

  When I’m writhing on his face, begging for the rest of him, he moves to his feet, and he must be feeling quite the caveman because when he grabs my legs, he bypasses setting them over his arms and opts to lift one to rest on his shoulder.

  He presses a kiss to my ankle. “I love to watch your breasts bounce.”

  I sigh and settle back deeper in his wing hug. He likes the control, I get off on him taking it—and he looks so very, very beautiful from this vantage. I fold my arms under my head. “Mmm, I love how hard you fuck me when you’re watching my breasts bounce.”

  His smile lights up my insides. “Then veetling, you’ll adore this.”

  His cock slides along my slit, and he isn’t using his hands to guide himself in, content to tease me—tease us both—until he finds the sweet spot angle and glides past my lips.

  “Yesssss,” I hiss, and with my freed leg, I press my heel down, raising my hips enough to ride him a little from below.

  He goes still, watching me with eyes almost gone black care of his dilated pupils, completely absorbed by my movements and our connection.

  When he leans over me to nuzzle and suck on my breasts, I sift my fingers through his hair, tugging him closer until I can nose his head affectionately, his hairs tickling my face.

  And I don’t know what it is—sometimes I never know—but one second, I’m having a great time, and the next second, I remember someone else pinning me to my back, someone else thrusting—something else thrusting into my body.

  Our bodies go still. Against my boob, Dohrein growls, “Gracie.”

  He can smell my emotions.

  I nip his ear, knowing how much he loves to feel teeth. “Your voice, always trying to ruin the moment.” Ruining the grip of my memories, more like it.

  He grunts and slams into me so hard the desk shrieks and stutters forward.

  I lock my arms around his neck, enjoying how he buries his nose between my breasts, his forehead pillowed against the bunched fabric of my shirt, and I cheer him on. “I love it when we rearrange the furniture.”

  “Same,” he grunts before he open-mouth kisses my nipple and bangs me again.

  I run my hands along his back, up and down, using my nails on the fabric, pondering exactly how he missed the step where he was supposed to strip this shirt off—shame on him for keeping any part of this body hidden when I want to grope it—and I listen to him purr for me, revving him up until I’m gripping the thick muscle-wrapped bones that extend out from each shoulder blade. His wings are so powerful—and they love to be touched.

  The colors intensify, the blue streaking after me and following everywhere my fingers trace.

  I tug on his shirt collar. “Think you can move this desk to the wall, babe?”

  He can. And he does.

  “I feel like we should test the boundaries of this,” I breathe. “Distance, weight, velocity, location. All the factors really.”

  Hearing the awe in my voice, he grins down at me, smug satisfaction shining in his eyes. “You’ve only to tell me when and where. I’ll… come for you.”

  “Nice,” I say, grinning. “And speaking of.” I clench around him, making his hips punch forward in reflex—he’s still hard, and he could go again, and again. Or I could finish him. “Pull out, love,” I tell him and we change position, me dropping down to my knees on the floor to suck him off.

  I do this for many reasons, one of which being the fact that Dohrein makes fun noises; he’s got a ragged, rattling purr that starts up when I’m polishing his knob. Fuck, I love the sound.

  But it’s the easier cleanup. Everything wipes up nicely if he comes down my throat and not inside me—and these aren’t complaints out of Dohrein’s mouth.

  Even if they sound like it.

  “Tevek!” he grinds out, and I feel his cock stiffen harder and throb a beat before come floods my tongue. I feel it a moment later; the small beads on the side of his dick leak the last of their love juice. I collect every sweetened drop.

  Dohrein’s breaths are almost pained sounding wheezes. Sweat soaks his shirt.

  Yet I can already see him pulling himself together: his mind’s back online, and he’s thinking things.

  I’m not even up off the floor and he’s already thinking things? Now, if he’s going over one of his lessons (he’s got all these sex algorithms memorized, something like a thousand best plays from a student hob carnality playbook, it’s a beautiful thing) and he’s crossing off all his steps—‘Did this, then did that until she screamed: making mental note to repeat’—then that
’s okay.

  But if he’s thinking, “Ah, that felt great. But beaker sixteen had acid burned to the bottom of it, what solution would best remove this substance?”

  No, no, we can’t have this.

  I gaze up at him under my lashes. I gently paw at his leg, like a kitten.

  His chin drops, his eyes meet mine—then he takes me in.

  He stares down at me so long, his expression so inscrutable I’m starting to question my appeal—until my gaze leaves his face and I see his wings are neon.

  Jackpot.

  I show him the cum on my tongue.

  His methodical control snaps and the articulated thumb and fingers of his wing slap around my buttcheek and squeeze.

  Fuck, I love to shake him up.

  Chortling as I swallow, I pat his thigh, but his wing doesn’t ease its grip as he stares down at me with narrowed eyes. He curves it so that I’m resting on it like a crescent moon, lifting me right up, my back supported, with my legs relaxed on either side.

  I gasp when he dips a finger inside me, and collects my wetness.

  When he pulls out, he reminds me of the first time we were together—he’d done exactly this.

  He’d held up his fingers, peering at them, parting them, running his thumb over them to test and study my slickness. “Both opaque and clear. Viscous.”

  Then he’d popped them in his mouth.

  Now, his eyes meet mine, and he flattens his tongue against his fingers, giving them a slow, thorough lick.

  My mouth goes dry.

  That’s the only part of me remotely dry at the moment.

  I wipe drool from my chin and turn my hand, only to see sparkles glimmer on my fingers.

  I smirk and wiggle them at Dohrein, giving him a wink.

  D’s heated groan might as well be saying, “Veetling, you win.”

  CHAPTER 21

  DOHREIN

  “I enjoy this part too,” I tell Gracie.

  “What part? Cuddling?”

  I use my wing to sweep her hair back. “Mm. The companionable togetherness as we revel in the waves of pleasant post-coital hormones coursing through our bodies.”

  “Could your pillow talk get any sexier?” she asks me as she fondles my face. When her gaze locks on mine, my wings tense—she may sound like she’s teasing, but her eyes communicate she means every word.

  My reaction makes her lips curve up—but she doesn’t break our stare. She pets along my throat, and my wings relax, curling around her in unconscious reaction. Smirking lightly now, she imitates the sound of meat on a fiery hot skillet. “This fucking jawline!” She hooks me behind my reportedly-sexy-fucking jawline, hauling me in for a kiss.

  “I’m beginning to feel like a fish,” I tell her.

  She rears back. “Huh?”

  I realize too late that my thoughtless comparison might make her emotions plummet if memories manage to assail her. She’s gotten quite good at denying them access, but then again, she avoids every mention of anything remotely related to water let alone the creatures that inhabit it. “Nothing,” I murmur and move my lips over hers to distract her.

  I either haven’t had enough practice at distracting her, or her curiosity is set high, because she fits a finger between our lip-connection and escapes from under me. “Nope. Explain, please.”

  Sincerely hoping this won’t negatively affect her wellbeing, I mimic her grip on me, fingers catching her behind the jaw. “Like you grasp a fish—right behind the gills.” I try to smile to take any sting out of the tightly stored unwilling past experiences she might be recalling just now. Unfortunately, my concern turns my attempt into a glaring scowl; I can feel it.

  Tevek. I am terrible at this.

  Relief strong enough to make my wingtips tingle hits me full on when her eyes smile. “You’re not terrible.”

  “Hm. I didn’t intend to share that thought aloud.”

  When my grip loosens, she reaches up and closes her hand over mine, making me keep her caught at the jaw. “Well aren’t you glad you did so that I could tell you that you were wrong?”

  “I can see where that would make you glad,” I glare down at her—but it’s not authentic: only an imitation.

  She enjoys my scowls just as I enjoy her sass.

  She brings me back to where we were, positioning me over her again, grabbing me behind the jaw with both her hands, our eyes crossing to focus on each other as we hover this close, our chests brushing as we inhale, “Just so you know, you’re quite a catch.”

  Pleasure is a sharp punch; the only punch I’ve ever welcomed, in fact. I can feel blood course through my wings, and when her eyes leave mine to focus on them, I know their color is intensifying. It’s a simple thing, what she’s telling me—but to me, knowing she means her words and believes them to be true: it means the galaxy.

  Her hands glide down my sides, catching my shirt, tugging it, and I’m surprised it took her this long to undress me. Is it possible my female is developing patience?

  I hope not. I reach for her shirt, intent on revealing her breasts to me again. I know she covers them for the express purpose of having me strip her naked again and again.

  I have no complaints about this either.

  A sharp scream has us freezing.

  “Was that Cricket?” Gracie’s eyes are stricken.

  A horror-filled alarm bellow makes the walls shiver.

  Gracie tugs down her shirt and we’re out the door, through the viewing room, and into the playyard just in time for Hotahn to reach us carrying Levi, his arm cradled to his chest.

  Cricket is weeping and Doc’s eyes look red-rimmed and anxious.

  “He fell,” Hotahn reports hollowly, voice hoarse. “His limb is broken.”

  I know better than to attempt to separate him from his adopted son—even if Hotahn was in his mind enough to willingly relinquish Levi, Creator help me if the child cried out as he was jostled. As Gracie has said; I’d be a sparkly smear on the walls and ceiling and anywhere else my remains landed before Hotahn would return to himself.

  Bearing that in mind, I motion him ahead of me. “Medbay. I’ll Comm ahead for them to prep.”

  ***

  There is a saying, a compliment, among many peoples over many planets, ours included: “You have a set of iron hearts.”

  To have a set of iron hearts is to have the hearts of a Rakhii.

  Rakhii are calm personified during war, and when dealing with their wounds and their wounded. A good portion of their society regularly takes part in games of public battle, oftentimes with the goal of death for their contender, but always aware of the same risk to themselves.

  Yet you wouldn’t know of his kind’s hearts of iron if you were overhearing Hotahn’s lowing just now.

  “That sounds so unbelievably sad.” Gracie pauses her pacing, thank Creator. She’s been uncharacteristically anxious.

  “He is sad,” I confirm.

  “He does know that Levi’s arm will heal, right?” Her head swivels to me. “It will, won't it? The Medbay can fix human broken bones?”

  My wings find their way to her hips, tugging her body against mine, forcing her to tilt her head back to maintain our eye contact. “They’ve already healed him. He’ll wake up with discomfort, but he’ll be able to use his arm again soon. This vocalization is a somewhat rare Rakhii expression of suffering.”

  “Have you heard it before?”

  I contemplate Hotahn. “I have.”

  I’m deeply affected by this display of heartsache, because I’ve never forgotten this wordless song of sorrow. Mabahote, the Rakhii that raised me, lowed like this when he had to relinquish me to the Academy.

  Father Nine had been the one to tug me free. It’d been the last time I’d seen the Rakhii who’d been more of a father to me than any of my own sires.

  My gaze fixes on Doc as she approaches Hotahn, and hesitantly places her hand on his back.

  “Cricket,” Gracie coaxes, crooking her finger, her tone almost restoring to
her true, customary frolicsome one. I glance at her to see she’s watching Doc and Hotahn’s interaction with the closest thing to delight she’s expressed since Levi’s injury occurred.

  Dragging her eyes from the couple, Gracie works to occupy Cricket with—well, something or other: I wouldn’t know, because I refuse to take my stare off of Hotahn and Doc.

  The minutia of their expression, their stances, the way he allows her touch, the way his lowing slowly trails off—I examine it all raptly.

  “When did you hear a Rakhii making whale-calls?”

  “Eh?”

  “You said you’d heard the sad-Rakhii music before. Tell me about that.”

  “Are you attempting to distract me?” I ask Gracie distractedly.

  She tugs my wing. “Yes, now give them some privacy.”

  “Female,” I think I mean for the words to come out exasperated, but even to my ears they sound preoccupied, “the very purpose of corralling this pair has been study—

  Her front molds to my back, her arms coming around my hips.

  Her hand lands on my cock.

  I growl, “Unfair advantage.”

  “All’s fair in love and war,” she volleys.

  “Which one are we amid? I’m confused.” My hand fits itself over hers, trapping her against me.

  “Are you going to give Doc and Akita privacy?” Her fingers feel their way around my dimensions, and she settles a squeeze on my cock’s head.

  “Who?” I rasp.

  “Good boy,” she teases.

  “Who’s a good boy?” Cricket asks in confusion behind us.

  I experience instantaneous shriveling.

  Neither Gracie nor I are breathing when I murmur, “There is a child in the room. What’s wrong with you?”

  Gracie retracts her hand as if my member were on fire. “I can’t even laugh, but points for getting to toss those words back at me.”

  “I’ll take the points and you’ll be happy to learn your mission was successful. My body is in such a confused state, I’m willing to do anything you ask now.”

  “Excellent,” she chirps, and presses her hair behind her ear. “Have a seat and tell me everything you know.”