Page 69 of Rescued By the Alien Bull Rider

Even if the crotch of my trousers was tightening at the thought of getting to touch her there.

She hesitated, then threw up her hands.

“Fuck it. Let’s give it a shot. Maybe a doctor will have more luck than I’ve had so far.”

It irked me when she referred to me as a doctor instead of her husband. Which was extremely odd, because for most of my life, my role as a gifted surgeon had been the very core of my identity.

But I would not dwell on such things now. I rose, went to the kitchen to wash my hands, then returned with a small bowlto catch any milk. I handed her the bowl to hold in her lap as I descended to my knees before her.

I paused, assessing. I knew the basics of human lactation thanks to everything I’d read. I knew that the hormone oxytocin was essential. Sometimes referred to as the love hormone, it was at its highest in human females during childbirth, during breastfeeding, and…

During orgasm.

I cleared my throat.

Jolene stared down at me, her lips caught between her teeth.

There were other ways to stimulate oxytocin that did not involve her writhing helplessly against my hand, as I was now envisioning with scalding, cock-swelling clarity. I cast about for some of those other techniques, now entirely unable to recall them.

But then, one came back to me. With a restrained grunt, I leaned forward on my knees and caught Jolene in the tight circle of my arms.

“Um. Zohro?” she asked against the crook of my neck. “I think you’re going to have to actually touch my boobs for this to work.”

“I am doing skin-to-skin,” I growled against her hair. Her soft, warm, fragrant hair… “If you stop complaining and relax, it will help release oxytocin, a necessary part of the process.”

“Oh,” she peeped. Slowly, the muscles of her back began to relax beneath my hands. I rubbed there gently, encouraging her first with touch, then with words. “Good,” I said gruffly. “Very good.”

A moment later, her own arms slithered shyly around my waist. I felt her calm exhale against the side of my throat.

Which did nothing to calmme, unfortunately. This simple embrace, which I knew the humans had a name for and which Zabrians did not, was as intimate as it was intoxicating. She wassowarmwithin my arms. So plush and pretty and she smelled like soap and smooth human skin and her…

Thank the empire my groin was pressed against the side of the mattress and not against her. Otherwise, I’d practically be impaling her upon the needy spear of my cock right now.

“I actually think this is doing something,” she breathed. “I feel kind of… tingly.”

I was also feeling tingly. Though in a far less appropriate place.

I reluctantly pulled away, loathe to break the embrace but knowing that I had to. I turned my attention to her breasts, taut and round with engorgement, the nipples a dark contrast to the rest of her pale, freckled skin.

For a slicing moment, I imagined bringing my mouth to one of them.

Which would surely have earned me a swift kick to the head for the impertinence.

Keep it professional, Zohro. Strictly medical!

With what I hoped passed for a look of serene detachment despite my very white eyes, I reached up with both hands and slowly circled the dark borders of Jolene’s areolas. I kept my touch gentle, knowing how sensitive she would be right now. I brushed the calloused pads of my fingers around and around until the little buds of her nipples tightened. Stiffened. For me.

No, not for you. Her body thinks that you’re a hungry baby, you dolt.

I slid my touch inward, probing the taut shapes of her nipples directly, trying and mostly failing to ignore the way the little gasp she let out went straight to my cock.

Great. Now I was thinking about rubbing my cock on her breasts, and using my cock tail to express the milk instead.

Being exiled all the way out here has turned my brain into obscene mush.

Refocusing and clenching my jaw, I began a softly massaging motion that I hoped would be sufficiently stimulating. I knew from my reading that it was not just the tips of the nipples that needed attention, but that tissue deeper in the breast had to be expressed, too.

Jolene had been right. It was not at all like milking cattle, with their long teats protruding from their udders. This required more finesse, a gentle exertion of pressure. As a surgeon, I relished the challenge.

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