Page 38 of Technically Abducted
His hands move to the fastening of my jeans, and I lift my hips to help him remove them along with my underwear. The cool air of his quarters against my heated skin makes me shiver, but his hands are warm as they map the newly exposed areas of my body.
"You're perfect," he murmurs, fingers tracing along my hip bones, down my thighs, everywhere except where I'm starting to ache for his touch.
"I'm really not," I say, because I've seen myself in mirrors and I know I'm nothing special—too thin, too pale, too angular.
"You are to me," he says simply, and the sincerity in his voice makes groan.
When his hand finally wraps around my cock, I cry out at the intensity of sensation doubled through our empathic link. I can feel my own pleasure amplified by experiencing his satisfaction at touching me, at the way I respond to him.
But there's something else—his palm is slick against my skin, providing lubrication that makes every stroke feel electric.
"What is that?" I gasp, looking down at his hand.
"Natural secretions," Tev'ra explains, though his clinical tone is somewhat undermined by the way his voice breaks when I thrust into his grip. "Nereidan physiology produces lubricants to enhance intimate contact."
"That's incredibly convenient," I manage to say, though coherent thought is becoming increasingly difficult as his slick fingers explore every inch of my length, learning exactly how to touch me.
"Evolutionary adaptation," he agrees, then leans down to take my cock into his mouth.
The sensation is overwhelming—the wet heat of his mouth, the way his tongue works against the sensitive head, the slickness that seems to increase the intensity of every touch. Through our empathic connection, I can feel his pleasure at tasting me, at the way I arch beneath him, at the sounds I can't control.
"Fuck, Tev'ra," I pant, hands fisting in his hair. "That feels incredible."
He hums around me, the vibration sending shockwaves through our connection, and I know I'm not going to last much longer. The combination of physical sensation and empathic feedback is too intense, too perfect.
"I'm going to—" I try to warn him, but he doesn't pull away. Instead, he takes me deeper, and the empathic connection flares as I feel his desire to taste my release, to bring me this pleasure.
When my orgasm hits, it's with the doubled intensity of feeling it through his awareness as well as my own. I come hard down his throat, my vision whiting out as pleasure crashes through both of us. Through the connection, I can feel his satisfaction at my response, the way my climax affects him almost as much as it does me.
Afterward, I lie boneless and breathing hard, feeling more relaxed than I have in years. The empathic connection has settled to a warm hum, and everything feels soft around the edges, peaceful in a way I've never experienced.
"You're beautiful when you let go."
I turn to look at him, noting the way his bioluminescence is still bright with arousal, his hard cock still pressing against my hip.
"What about you?" I ask, reaching for him.
He catches my hand gently. "There's no rush. I want to make sure you're ready for me."
"I'm ready," I say, though even as the words leave my mouth, I can feel how much more relaxed my body is now, how the earlier tension has completely dissolved.
"Let me take care of you," he says, pressing gentle kisses to my neck, my collarbone. "Let me make this good for you."
His fingers are already slick with natural lubrication, and when he traces around my entrance, the sensation is gentle and electric. The post-orgasmic haze makes everything feel heightened but peaceful, like I'm floating in warm honey.
"You're so relaxed now," he murmurs, pressing one finger inside easily. "This is much better."
He's right—where before I might have tensed up, now my body welcomes the intrusion. The first finger slides in smoothly, and when he finds my prostate, the pleasure is intense but manageable, building slowly rather than overwhelming me.
"More," I hear myself say, pushing back against his hand.
The second finger goes in just as easily, and by the time he adds the third, I'm loose and eager, the careful preparation feeling more like extended foreplay than necessity. The hazy contentment from my orgasm makes everything feel safe and perfect.
"I think you're ready," he says finally, and I can hear the strain in his voice.
"More than ready," I confirm, pulling him up for a kiss. "I want to feel you inside me."
When he positions himself at my entrance, I'm completely relaxed and open for him. The stretch as he begins to push inside is intense but comfortable, my body welcoming him without resistance. The post-orgasmic state has left me pliant and receptive, and I can take him more easily than I ever thought possible.
