Page 37 of Technically Abducted
His exploration becomes more purposeful, hands mapping my chest and shoulders with the same careful precision he brings to everything else, but his touch lingers on my skin in ways that suggest appreciation rather than simple efficiency. When his palms press flat against my chest, the bioluminescence in his hands brightens, creating patterns of light across my skin that pulse in rhythm with both our heartbeats.
"You're beautiful," he says, and the wonder in his voice makes me believe it might actually be true.
"So are you," I tell him, reaching for his shirt. "Can I?"
He nods, and I fumble slightly with the unfamiliar fastenings, my hands shaking with nerves and anticipation. When I finally get the shirt open, the sight of his bare chest takes my breath away. The bioluminescent patterns I've only glimpsed through clothing are intricate works of art, flowing lines and spirals that seem to map every muscle, every curve of his torso.
I trace one of the patterns with my fingertip, watching the way it flares brighter at my touch. "Does it feel different when I touch you there?"
"Everything feels different when you touch me," Tev'ra says, his voice strained. "The bioluminescent pathways are more sensitive than regular skin."
"More sensitive how?"
Instead of answering with words, he guides my hand to a particularly bright spiral just over his heart. The moment my palm makes contact, the empathic connection explodes between us, and suddenly I can feel exactly how my touch affects him—the way sensation radiates outward from the point of contact, how it sends heat racing through his nervous system, the way it makes his cock twitch with arousal.
"Oh fuck," I gasp, overwhelmed by the intensity of feeling both his response and my own reaction to causing it.
"Too much?" he asks, concern threading through his voice.
"No," I say quickly. "Not too much. Just... intense."
"It will be," he says gently. "The empathic connection amplifies everything. Physical sensation, emotional response, pleasure..." He pauses, studying my face. "If you want to stop—"
"I don't want to stop," I interrupt, then force myself to be completely honest. "I'm scared, but I don't want to stop."
"What frightens you?"
I consider how to explain the tangle of fears without sounding completely pathetic. "I've never been good at this. At being close to someone, at letting them see me like this. And I've definitely never done anything like... whatever this empathic thing is." I pause, heat flooding my cheeks. "Plus you're... you're a lot bigger than anyone I've been with before."
Tev'ra's expression grows tender, and he leans forward to press his forehead against mine. "We'll take everything slowly. I'll make sure you're ready for me."
The promise, spoken with absolute certainty, helps ease some of the tension within me.
"Okay," I say. "I trust you."
This time when he kisses me, I let myself sink into it completely. Let myself feel the way our connection deepens with every touch, every shared breath. When his hands begin to explore my body—careful, attentive, learning what makes me gasp and arch against him—I try to do the same for him.
His skin is incredible under my hands, warm and smooth with subtle textures I couldn't see. The bioluminescent pathways seem to guide my touch, brightening when I find spots that make him shudder, dimming when I move away. It's like having a roadmap to his pleasure, and I find myself growing bolder as I watch his responses.
"Finn," he breathes when I trace a particularly bright line along his ribs, and the way he says my name is like a prayer.
"Is this good?" I ask, pressing my palm flat against the spiraling pattern just below his collarbone.
The answer comes through our connection before he can speak—a rush of pleasure and want so intense it makes me dizzy. But he answers anyway, voice rough with need.
"Very good. You're learning quickly."
"I'm just following the lights," I tell him, which makes him laugh softly even as his breath catches when I find another sensitive spot.
"The lights respond to neural activity," he explains. "They're showing you what I feel."
"So you literally light up with arousal?"
"Among other things," he says, and there's something in his tone that suggests I haven't discovered all the things yet.
The thought sends a thrill through me that has nothing to do with the empathic connection. I want to learn all of it—every response, every sound I can pull from him, every way I can make those beautiful patterns dance across his skin.
"Show me," I say against his throat, tasting the salt-sweet flavor of his skin. "Show me what you like."
