Page 70 of Reluctantly Abducted
I look up, meeting his golden eyes. "Tell me what you want, Ry."
"I want you inside me," he says, the words coming out in a rush of breath and light.
The directness of his request sends heat coursing through me. "Are you sure?"
"Yes," he says, pulling me up for a kiss. "I've wanted this since I first saw you in my doorway."
I kiss him deeply, my hand sliding down to stroke him, feeling the slick fluid that's already forming there and on his skin. The natural lubricant his body produces coats my fingers as I touch him.
"Turn over," I suggest between kisses.
"No," he says immediately. "I need to see you."
The certainty in his voice, the clear desire in his eyes—it unravels something in me. I position myself between his legs, gathering some of the slick fluid his body is producing. When I press one finger inside him, his eyes widen, and a gasp escapes him.
"Good?" I ask, watching his face.
"More," is all he says, hips shifting to take my finger deeper.
I take my time, adding another finger when his body relaxes, then another. His natural lubricant makes everything easier, his body producing more as his arousal increases. The patterns of light beneath his skin grow more complex and intense, his breathing becoming ragged.
When I finally line myself up, I reach for his hands, interlacing our fingers and pressing them into the bed on either side of his head. The position brings our faces close, creates a connection beyond the physical.
"Look at me," I whisper, and his golden eyes lock on mine as I push in slowly. The sensation is incredible—the cool heat of him, the slight difference in texture from a human, the natural lubricant making the slide smooth and easy.
"Breathe," I remind him, noticing he's holding his breath. "Stay with me."
He exhales, his body relaxing around me as I continue pushing in until I'm fully seated. I hold still, letting him adjust, watching the play of emotions across his face.
"You feel amazing," I tell him, my voice rough with restraint. "How are you doing?"
"Don't stop," he says, his hands gripping my shoulders. "Please, Owen."
I begin to move then, maintaining a slow pace at first, still holding his hands, watching his face for every reaction. His eyes flutter closed at one point, then open again as if he doesn't want to miss seeing me. The bioluminescence continues to build, creating patterns I've never seen before—swirls and eddies of light that seem to flow with each thrust.
"You're so beautiful," I tell him, the words completely inadequate for what I'm seeing. "So perfect."
A particularly bright wave of light pulses through him at the praise. "Harder," he gasps, legs wrapping around my waist. "I need you deeper."
I release his hands, shifting my grip to his hips, my fingers digging into the blue skin there. He immediately reaches for my forearms, holding on as I increase my pace, still watching him carefully. The feeling of his smaller frame beneath me, his hands gripping my arms, the contrast of his blue skin against my tanned forearms—it all adds to the intensity of the moment. The change in angle pulls a groan from me that I don't try to suppress.
"Yes," he says, responding to the sound. "Let me hear you."
It's surprisingly intimate, this request. I don't hold back, letting him hear how he affects me with each movement, each shift of his body beneath mine. His own sounds become less controlled, more instinctive—gasps and moans that I commit to memory.
As his pleasure builds, the bioluminescence increases in intensity, pulsing faster, brighter. I can feel him getting close, his body tightening around me, his breathing becoming more erratic.
"That's it," I encourage him, my own control fraying. "Let go for me."
When he comes, it's with an intensity that takes my breath away. His back arches, his eyes widen, and the bioluminescence beneath his skin explodes in a supernova of blue-white light so bright I have to close my eyes. I feel him pulsing around me, his whole body shuddering with release.
The sight, the sensation, the knowledge that I've brought him to this point—it's too much. I follow him over the edge, my own orgasm hitting with unexpected force. For a moment, everything disappears except the connection between us, physical and something more, something I don't have words for.
As we both come down, I'm careful not to collapse on him, though my arms are shaking with the effort of holding myself up. His eyes open slowly, the golden irises seeming to glow in the aftermath of so much bioluminescence.
"That was..." he begins, then stops, at a loss for words.
"Yeah," I agree, understanding perfectly. "It was."
