Page 70 of Alien Wants A Wife

Peeling off the last of her clothes, she slips and slides over my body, skin to scales. I never realized how sensitive my scales could be. I had thought them tough—armor, protecting my body. Lying under Harlee, I am rewarded with all new sensations. There is no space separating us, yet I long to be closer.

Harlee runs her hands down my chest, shifting her weight so her knees are resting on the bed on either side of my thighs. I bite my bottom lip in a frantic attempt to keep still, as she traces the tips of her fingers tranquilizingly softly down my scales towards my sheath.

“Like this?” she asks, as she applies pressure to my crotch, releasing the seal of my slit and freeing my cock. It arches up toward my belly, a bead of precum already leaking from the tip.

“Exactly like that,” I manage to say between gritted teeth, my hips involuntarily thrusting.

She giggles, the most beautiful of all sounds, and snatches her hands back so that my cock touches nothing but air.

I’m groaning her name in frustration, but she shakes her head.

“I told you not to move. You’ll tip the clothes off us, and then everyone will see.”

“See how frenzied I am for your touch.”

“Frenzied?” She studies me with wide eyes.

“Frenzied,” I confirm. And I cannot stop myself reaching for my cock.

My hand is nothing in comparison with the tantalizing idea of Harlee touching me, but another bead of precum pools at the tip, nonetheless, and I arch my back, pressing harder into my hold.

“I wanted to do that,” she pouts, her gaze locked on my hand as I stroke myself. I am so close to coming I would be embarrassed—if I could conjure up the energy to care about anything but how wonderful I feel, being watched by Harlee.

I hear her breath catch in her throat, and then she is daringly pushing my hand away and taking hold of my cock herself.

There is a moment of complete silence as we both stare at her hand on me. Her skin is so pale compared to the flush of deep green spreading across my stomach and to the angry redness of my aching cock.

Her hand looks so small too, her fingers long and thin and elegant.

Then she strokes me, just the once, and I swear my vision blacks out for a second, as pleasure rushes through me.

She strokes me again, and it is nearly more than I can bear. I am trying so hard not to spurt that my entire body is taut, every muscle straining against the inevitable. I want this moment tolast as long as possible. I want my time with Harlee to extend into eternity.

Attempting to distract her, I slide my lower hands down the curve of her waist and hips, grasping the generous globes of her ass. She hisses, snapping her eyes closed, and her grip on my cock loosens ever so slightly.

Pleased, I continue my exploration, dipping lower, through her coarse hairs to her swollen core. She is so wet that I can actually hear my fingers dipping between her folds.

She drops her head, resting her forehead on my chest. The clothes threaten to slip, but I catch them with my upper hands, holding them in position over us. There is no way I am letting the cameras film Harlee like this. Me seeing her naked and writhing is her gift to me, and I will not share it with anyone.

Possessiveness stronger than I have ever felt before rockets through me, and I am growling before I can stop myself. My chest vibrates with the force of it, and Harlee looks up, surprised.

“You okay?” she asks in a whisper.

In answer, I dip my fingers lower, finding the bud that she craves being touched, and her expression instantly changes. Her cheeks flush pink. Her mouth opens in a silent gasp. And she spreads her legs further, granting me greater access.

I take full advantage of the situation, exploring her, testing a light tough against a firmer touch, seeing which pleases her more. When I take my fingers away entirely, she grips my forearms, her fingers digging into my biceps.

“Don’t—” she pleads, and I cannot deny her anything, so I hasten to bestow all my attention back upon her sensitive bud.

“Yes,” she pants. “Yes, yes. Oh, Roan.” Her back arches. Her cry splits the otherwise silent air.

I make a grab for the clothes, keeping them steady, as she undulates against me, chasing her pleasure. I chase it too,applying a fraction more pressure, and she nods her head vigorously as her arms and legs give way, and she falls on top of me again.

“Yes?” I ask, remembering how she asked me the same question when I spilt my milt over her stomach, hiding in the hollow tree.

“Oh, God yes.” She presses a sloppy kiss to my shoulder, her chest rising and falling with her rapid breaths.

It takes all my self-restraint not to arch up against her there and then, her quim tantalizingly close.

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