Page 56 of Married to the Alien Mountain Man

“There,” I whispered when I was finished.

Lying down like he had been, it was easy to forget how fucking big he was. I was taller than average for a human woman, but he made me feel tiny so tiny when he sat up.

“Is it allowed… for me to touch you too? Is that part of the movie date?” he asked.

“Do you want to?”

“Empire,yes.”

So straightforward. So earnest. So able to knock down every defence with nothing but his sweetness.

“It’s allowed,” I breathed.

“Thank the blazes,” he groaned roughly. “I want to use my mouth on you.”

He wanted to…

Use hismouth…

“If you say cunni-linguine,” I squeaked, my brain melting into soup, “I am going to lose my mind.”

“Oh. Sorry.” His face crumpled with concentration. “Cunni…”

“Oaken-”

“Cunni-lingonberries.”

“Oh, God, please stop,” I moaned. “Just say, ‘go down on you.’”

“Alright,” he panted. “Jaya… Can I…” A heated hunger entered his gaze. Desperate. Demanding. “Let me go down on you.”

My mouth went bone dry.

Between my legs?

Complete opposite.

I licked my lips. “OK,” I whispered. I hooked my thumbs into the waistband of my pyjama shorts and shimmied them down my legs. Succumbing to a sudden and uncharacteristic bout of shyness, I pressed my legs together.

Oaken’s hands rose so slowly, the motion smooth and careful. Like I was an animal he didn’t want to frighten. I gasped, nipples puckering, when the warm, rough surface of his calloused palms and fingers came to my knees, sliding up my thighs, exerting soft-yet-demanding pressure.

“Open up for me,” he rasped.

Who the hell was I to deny him?

Fighting a moan, I let my legs fall open.

Oaken’s eyes zeroed in on my pussy. His breath punched out of him. His fingers tightened on my thighs, a reaction that seemed involuntary. Just like the vigorous jerking of his cock.

Scrambling to stitch the last bits of my sense back together, I tried to make this a teachable moment.

“So, um, this is-”

“I know,” Oaken groaned, his thumb going to my clit and rubbing mind-numbingly slowly. “The clitorolla.”

I was too far-gone to bother correcting him. My legs were already trembling. His touch was so eager, so unschooled, raw and experimental and hungry. His calloused skin dragged across my swollen flesh, and ecstasy speared through me.

“Oh!” I gasped, leaning back on my elbows. Then, I gave up entirely, falling flat on my back as Oaken bent over my body. My whooshed out when his hot, open mouth met my inner thigh.

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