Page 52 of Alien Wants A Wife

“Harlee!” Roan looks horrified. He’s got two hands pressed to his cheeks, hiding his face, and with his other hands he wipes at my stomach, cleaning me. All he manages to do is spread the mess further.

Considering we don’t even have a towel or a tissue between us, I pick my tank top off the ground and use that, wiping his hand and then pretending to polish the head of his dick, like I’m shining shoes.

His eyes widen even further, and he opens and closes his mouth, trying and failing to think of something to say.

“Did that feel good?” I ask, barely recognizing my own voice. I sound so confident.

Roan nods.

“I’m glad.” I press a kiss to the highest point of him I can reach, which happens to be his shoulder. I love how much taller than me he is. It wasn’t often back home that I met men significantly taller than me. And the few times I’d tried internet dating, everyone I’d met up with had been surprised I wasn’t a petite, short Asian.

“You…” Roan clears his throat. He’s got his back pressed to the inside of the tree, and I think he might have been shrunk a few inches, like his legs are having a hard time keeping him upright. I wish we could lie down, but there’s something special and unique about hiding inside a partially hollow tree, nonetheless.

I love knowing that Roan grew up in this forest as the forest itself grew up. He must know all its secrets. Mr. Smith never stands a chance of finding us here.

“Thank you.”

I blink up at him. “For what?”

“For… for…” He gestures between us. “Everything!”

I laugh. “Don’t thank me. I’m pretty sure you knew exactly what you were planning when you suggested we play Catch and Kiss.”

He drops to his knees. For a second I think his legs finally did give way, but then his hands are at the clasp of my jeans, and he’s fumbling with the button like a man who’s never had to undo one before.

“You don’t have to reciprocate,” I tell him, my heart racing. Not that there was anything to reciprocate; we only kissed. The easiest hand job I’ve ever given! And the most satisfying. “This isn’t a tit-for-tat relationSHIP!” I yell the end of the word as Roan finally gets my jeans undone, yanking them and my panties down to my knees. With my legs spread, that’s as far as the fabric will stretch, and I feel instantly trapped—trapped by Roan’s arms around my waist. Trapped by my own jeans locking my legs.

He glances up at me then, licking his lips and looking entirely decadent. Suddenly, my legs are the ones threatening to give away. I grab at the tree behind me, searching for a handhold, and instead I’ve got to hold on to Roan’s shoulders to keep myself upright.

“You don’t need to—” I begin again, feeling my confidence seeping away. Water through a sieve. Easily gained; easily lost, apparently.

My pulse is thumping. Sweat prickles at my back. I’ve never had a guy go down on me before. What if he doesn’t like my smell? What if I look too different from Ril’os women? What if?—

He cards a hand through my pubic hair, leaning closer for a better look at my pussy. I freeze, my breath catching in my lungs. Trapped by my two colliding emotions of anticipation and fear.

Roan doesn’t have a single hair on his entire body—he’s all scales. He doesn’t even have eyelashes.

“Okay!” The last of my confidence drips away, and I try covering myself with my hands. Roan doesn’t stop me from doing so, but he catches my wrists, holding onto me lightly.

“Harlee,” he whispers, my name, a prayer. Then he leans even closer, and I let him draw my hands away.

Roan

I tip my head to one side, all the better to examine my Harlee. She has hairs between her legs and the most decadent scent I have ever smelled. I lean closer, drawing in a deep breath, trying to memorize the scent of her desire.

She squirms under my hold, and I release her hands so I can grasp her waist with my upper hands, keeping her steady. With my lower hands, I examine her hairs. They are coarser than the hairs elsewhere on her body, extremely dark, and they guard the most delicious scent.

I move my examination downward, slipping my fingers between her folds. Moisture wets my fingers, and I experimentally lick my hand clean.

The taste is exquisite. Mouthwatering. Moaning, my eyes flicker closed, but I force them open again, not wanting to miss seeing a moment of our secret time together.

“Did you just—?” Harlee’s exclamation is shocked, and I glance up at her face to find her eyes wide and her lips slightly parted.

“No?”

“No… Umm… Yes?”

“Akh—”

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