Page 42 of Alien Wants A Wife

Having changed my mind for the fourth time, I am mid slide over the mattress when Harlee reappears, wearing loose-fitting clothes that cover from her ankles to her wrists—blue pants and a shirt, made from what looks to be impossibly silky fabric. I freeze in the center of the bed, and she climbs up onto one side, pushing against my shoulder with two small hands, trying to move me away from her. I wiggle a few inches farther onto my side, but when she lies down, she sinks toward me, where my greater weight is making a deeper indentation in the mattress than she is.

I hear the hiss of the breath she releases as she comes to rest against the length of my body, her right arm and leg pressed to my left side. We lie like that, completely still for the count of several heartbeats, until she appears to accept the situation and rolls onto her side, facing me.

“No blankets or pillows?” she asks.

The word ‘blankets’I understand, butpill-oodoes not translate.

She slips a hand under her cheek. “You don’t get cold when you’re sleeping?”

“No.”Do Humans? How strange, but I do not say so out loud. “Scales do not need coverings,” I tell her instead.

“I suppose not.” She brushes a hand down my chest, her fingers skating lightly over my scales. She repeats thismovement, this time using the back of her hand, her blunt nails making a softtap, tap, tapsound.

Immediately, my body responds. And I use my datapad to switch off the lights before Harlee can see the impact such a small caress has on me.

My cock strains at my sheath, demanding release, demanding Harlee’s attention. I can think of nothing but how it might feel for her to run her fingers over my cock as she runs them over my chest.

She resettles, getting comfortable, but she does not put space between us, mayhaps understanding how futile such a gesture would be.

I shut my eyes, pretending I am sleeping—anything to keep from pressing more firmly against her body. Anything to keep from guiding her hand lower.

Eyes closed makes it infinitely worse. My imagination presents me with memories of the kiss we shared earlier today, the feel of Harlee’s soft lips against mine. The way she sucked on my tongue. The way she pressed into my hold, molding herself to my chest.

Before I can stop it, a moan escapes my mouth.

Harlee stiffens. I can feel tension radiating off her.

I wince. “Are you asleep?” I ask my question in my quietest whisper, clasping my lower hands together with the strength of my hope that she did not hear my moan and that her stiffness is the natural state of a sleeping Human.

“No,” she answers in her regular voice. Then laughs. “This is awkward, hey?”

“No. I mean, yes. I mean… I am not desperate!”

“I never said you were.” She sits up; I can make out her silhouette against the dark wall behind her. “Why do you keep saying that?”

“No reason.” I clamp my annoying, stupid mouth shut before it can say anything else to embarrass me and roll onto my side, my back to Harlee. “Ouch!” I flinch away from where she poked her finger into my side. It did not hurt so much as startle me.

She pokes again.

And again.

I roll onto my back, glaring at her. “I wish I had never invited you to sleep here,” I grumble, lying. But it only makes her laugh louder.

“Too late, buddy. Spill the beans.”

I frown. “You wish for me to spill food?”

“No. It means tell me everything about why you keep saying you’re not desperate. I never suggested you were.”

“But you are thinking it.” I cross all my arms over my chest, suddenly wishing there was a blanket on the bed under which I could hide from Harlee’s scrutiny. I may not see her narrowed eyes watching me, but I can easily imagine them.

“No, I wasn’t.”

I cannot believe her.

“I told you about my parents.” She pokes me again. “You really can’t tell me about this?”

I sit up, turning more fully to face her, and search for one of her hands. She lets me take it, curling her fingers around mine.

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