Page 97 of Alien God

She was bared to me, strange and human, small and lovely. New colour flushed along her chest and up her neck into her cheeks, a heated redness. Her breath was as quick as my own, her breasts rising and falling, her nipples pretty little pink-brown circles. I brushed one of them with my fingers and it went taut. As did Torrance’s spine as she arched into the touch.

“Tell me to stop,” I groaned, pressing my hand down until I kneaded her breast. I knew that I was begging, not commanding. She had to tell me, and tell me now, before I looked lower, touched lower.

She made a choked whimpering sound as my palm dragged roughly across her nipple.

“Don’t,” she said softly, and I froze.

Good. Good, someone needs to end this madness, someone needs to-

“Don’t stop.”

My heartbeat got so loud and fast inside my own head it became a buzzing. I began to move again, slowly, as if in some sort of trance. My hand caressed her breast, rolling the nipple until Torrance moaned. That sound was a bolt of pure power to my cock, lightning in the dark. It snapped some cord inside me, made my movements quick and jerky and...

Shaky.

Shaky!

I was Wylfrael. An immortal stone sky god. I’d lain down with females from across the cosmos. And never once had I shaken.

I shook now. I shook when I took in the dark, erotic thatch of curling hair between her legs. When I brushed my fingers there, then lower, to a swollen nub at the top of her folds, she jerked, her hips rising to meet me.

“Right here, little bride?” I asked, dark fire burning through me, taking away the shakiness until there was nothing left but possessive, all-consuming hunger. Torrance watched me through heavy-lidded eyes, as if in a fever, in a dream. As if this were not quite real.

I stroked the swollen spot again, and the sound that came out of her throat was one I knew I would not forget until the endless end of my immortal days.

Having been with females of different species with varying anatomy, I’d grown used to watching closely and learning quickly about which places were sensitive, which places brought pleasure. Undoubtedly, this was one of Torrance’s. I touched the nub experimentally, blood heating when I found a circling rhythm that made her eyes fall shut and her head roll back against the headboard. I moved, putting both my knees between her thighs, forcing her legs wider.

The need to be inside her was vicious. Bludgeoning. Like someone had hit me over the head and the only way I’d survive the blow was to rut her. But even in the haze of that feeling, I knew I could not. Not yet. I had no knot, but still, she was small. Some females took time and preparation for my cock, and I had no doubt that Torrance would be one of them.

I slid my fingers away from the swollen place that made Torrance whimper and moan, then pressed down, down, down. Down through hot wetness that made my balls ache and my fangs clench. I thanked my past self for trimming my claws this morning. I normally kept them short and blunt – it was only because I’d been asleep for so long that they’d gotten so sharp. I’d cut and filed them all before leaving for the village. I’d told myself as I did it that I was just getting things back in order. Restoring things to how they’d always been, as if thoughts of accidentally cutting Torrance’s delicate skin had not plagued me into picking up the blade and file.

I had not been picturing this skin, though. This slick, soft, hot skin, shimmering and sucking my middle finger inside. Tight. The word was a hiss inside my skull.

Some cunts were smooth all the way inside. Not Torrance’s. I stroked deeper, exploring every shallow notch and fluttering ruffle of flesh, groaning when I thought of what her softly textured channel would feel like gripping my cock.

I got my finger far enough inside that I could angle my palm against her, grinding the little nub that made her jump and moan. Her eyes flew open as I pressed my palm there, hard, and began to slide my finger in and out.

A new tension entered her body, something different from before. Something lithe and luscious that made her hips flex against me.

My other hand left the safe anchor of the headboard. I buried my fingers in her hair and fisted it until her throat was bared to me just like the rest of her body.

“See this, little bride?” I demanded gutturally, my mouth against that pulsing column. “Feel this? Feel how much you need me now?”

She mewled in response.

Skies of stone, she smelled so good, felt so good, her frantic heartbeat against my lips, her hips rocking helplessly, her cunt swollen and throbbing as I stroked her from the inside.

“Only me, little bride,” I hissed. I drew my tongue along her pulse between the words. “Only this.” My mouth found the impossibly soft slip of skin at her ear, and she shuddered, wet walls tightening around my finger, when I sucked it. I released her ear with a rasping, splintered breath, then gritted out, “I don’t care if you hate me. As long as you want me.”

Blast it all. I’d meant to say, “As long as you want this.”

But I could not deny it. Not now. I could not flee from it the way I’d fled from her tears. I wanted her to want me, even if she detested the wanting, detested me.

I worked my finger faster until Torrance made desperate little sounds. Her hands rose to my shoulders, wide red silk sleeves sliding down past her elbows to pool around her upper arms. She clutched at me, holding tightly, as if she needed to tether herself to something and that something was me. My pleasure at that was instant and foolish. Satisfaction at being the one she sought instead of fought.

“When you wept in my arms, you turned towards me, not away,” I whispered. At some point, I’d stopped gripping her hair. I drew back slightly to gaze down at the flushed face I cradled. “Is it because there was no one else? Or because it was me who held you?”

Torrance’s eyes fluttered open, finding mine in a daze.

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