Page 83 of Shadows of Stardust

He withdraws his hand—so damn close to where I wanted it—and I bite back a moan of frustration.

“What’s wrong? Did I do something you didn’t—”

“Claws,” he says shortly, regarding his own fingers with a glare.

After a few seconds of consideration, he sticks one into his mouth and, with a sharp, feral bite, he severs the claw down to the tip of his finger before discarding it on the floor. He does one more for good measure, leaving the middle two fingers on his right hand clawless.

The bottom of my stomach clenches at the satisfied grin that breaks over his face, obviously pleased with himself for having found such a clever solution.

Zan strokes those two fingers down my cheek, and I shiver.

When he reaches my mouth, he puts a bit of gentle pressure on my bottom lip and I open for him, sucking hard on the tips of his fingers. He growls again, and I bite him.

“Ros,” Zan hisses. “Fates, do that again.”

I have no trouble complying, teeth scraping over his fingers for a few delicious moments before deciding I want a better prize. Gripping his horns tightly, I pull his mouth back to mine, biting at his lower lip until he opens for me.

I devour his moan and give him one of my own as those clawless fingers find my pussy. He pushes my panties aside so he can tease at my soaked entrance, groaning into my mouth as he slides the tips of his fingers inside, the heel of his palm pressed to my clit.

“Fuck,” I breathe into the kiss. “There. Just… god, Zan. There.”

He works me like that for a few delectably torturous minutes, pulling back so he can see my face, watching and listening and adjusting as he finds out just how I like to be touched. Silver stars swirl in the depthless black of his eyes and his mouth falls open on a panted groan as I arch and strain against him. My insides twist in pleasure and anticipation, a decadent, fizzy warmth spreading from my belly outwards, stealing my breath, making me feel half crazed for him as I press closer, tense against him, open my mouth to beg for—

“No.” The desperate protest rips from my throat when he pulls back. “Why did you—”

He kisses me, effectively silencing that protest as a deep chuckle echoes in his chest. “Don’t worry. I’m not done with you yet, Roslyn.”

As he rumbles that sinful promise against my lips, he reaches for my braid and pulls at the hair tie fastening the end. It slides free and the braid springs loose, salt-kissed waves falling around my shoulders.

Keeping his eyes fixed firmly to mine, Zan gathers the messy shag of his hair into a knot at the back of his head, securing it with the tie.

Then he falls to his knees.

With how tall he is, it puts him at level height to the counter, just in the right spot to—

“Look at these,” he murmurs, reaching his other hand—still clawed—up to toy with the edge of the lacy underwear I’m wearing. “It’s like production had some kind of agenda with these.”

A breathless, shattered laugh rasps from my throat. “Oh, yeah? And what agenda would that be?”

He hums, thoughtful and teasing, the vibration of it breaking against my skin as he leans in close. “I’m not sure. But I think I can guess.”

Another laugh, but this one breaks off on a sharp gasp as he lowers his mouth to me, tongue pressed to the seam of my pussy over the lace. He laps at me, keeps teasing me with that wickedly sharp claw dipping beneath the edge of the fabric, over and over until he finally has mercy and slides them off me.

As soon as they’re discarded, he tugs me right back to the edge of the counter, draping my thighs over his shoulders and spreading me wide.

And then he… stops.

Just stops and stares for long enough that the warm, squirmy heat of embarrassment and arousal and a hundred other tangled sensations coils low in my belly.

I shift a little, a futile attempt to close my thighs against that intense, focused scrutiny.

The kitchen lights are on. I’m bare from the waist down, on full display, hot and wet and aching for him, and he’s just… staring.

Maybe he’s disgusted by me.

I don’t have the same access to fancy tech and comms devices to do recognizance on Revexorans the way he apparently made a point to do on humans. I don’t know what kind of anatomy he has, what kind of anatomy females of his species have, and maybe we’re working with parts that are different enough for him to be entirely off-put by what he sees.

I squirm again, attempting to pull my legs from his shoulders, get my dress back down around myself, and put a stop to the deep, dark pit of self-consciousness growing heavier in my gut by the second.

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