Page 34 of Alien Attachment
I demonstrate by allowing two more tendrils to join the exploration, one tracing the elegant line of her throat while another maps the curve of her shoulder where her jumpsuit has slipped slightly. The bioelectric currents I send through each contact point are carefully modulated—some quick and sharp like lightning strikes, others slow and rolling like waves.
Her response is everything I could have hoped for. She arches against me, her breathing ragged, small sounds of pleasure escaping her lips that go straight through me like fire.
“What would that feel like?” she manages, her voice thick with arousal.
“Like drowning in pleasure,” I say, increasing the intensity of the bioelectric pulses until she’s trembling against me. “I could bring you to the edge again and again until you’re begging me to let you fall. Or I could build the sensation so slowly, so perfectly, that when you finally climax it would shatter you completely.”
The word ‘climax’ makes her gasp, and through our bond I feel the spike of heat it creates. “You can really do that? Just with... touch?”
“Touch, bioelectric stimulation, and the bond between us amplifying every sensation,” I explain, letting my tendrils demonstrate with perfectly timed pulses that make her cry out. “The combination is... potent.”
“Potent,” she repeats weakly. “That’s one word for it.”
I lean closer, my mouth near her ear. “I could map every erogenous zone on your body, learn exactly what pressure and rhythm drive you wild, then use that knowledge to keep you on the edge until you’re sobbing with need.”
Her hands fist in my shirt, pulling me closer. “Jhorn... I want...”
“Tell me,” I demand, letting more tendrils extend to map the curves of her body through her jumpsuit. Each contact point receives its own carefully calibrated pulse, creating a symphony of sensation across her skin. “Tell me what you want.”
“I want to know what it feels like when you stop holding back,” she whispers against my throat. “I want you to touch me like you mean it. Like you need it as much as I do.”
The confession breaks what little control I have left. I wrap my arms around her, pulling her flush against me, and for a momentI just hold her, savoring the feel of her body pressed against mine. She’s so warm, so perfectly soft in all the right places, and the way she melts into my embrace sends heat cascading through every system I possess.
My tendrils begin their exploration slowly, reverently, mapping every accessible inch of exposed skin with the careful attention of a scholar studying ancient texts. One traces the elegant line of her collarbone, another follows the graceful curve of her neck, while a third explores the sensitive hollow behind her ear where her pulse flutters like a trapped bird.
The bioelectric pulses I send through each contact point are stronger than before but carefully controlled—not enough to overwhelm, just enough to make her gasp and arch against me. I want to savor every response, memorize every sound she makes, learn exactly what touch makes her breathing hitch and what caress makes her fingers dig into my shoulders.
Through our bond, I experience everything she feels—the electric heat racing across her skin like liquid lightning, the way her pulse hammers against her throat, the slow, building heat that starts in her core and spreads outward in waves. But I also feel her growing desperation, the way her body begins to crave more pressure, more contact, more everything.
“Jhorn,” she breathes, and my name on her lips is better than any symphony. “Please...”
“Please what?” I murmur against her ear, letting my breath ghost across the sensitive skin there. “Tell me what you need.”
“More,” she gasps, her hands fisting in my shirt. “I need more of you. All of you.”
I demonstrate by allowing more tendrils to join the exploration, each one finding a new patch of skin to worship. One maps the curve of her shoulder where her jumpsuit has slipped, another traces the line of her spine through the fabric,while others explore the soft skin of her wrists and the sensitive inner curve of her elbow.
The sensation of having so many contact points, each one sending perfectly timed bioelectric pulses, makes her cry out and arch against me. But I’m careful to keep the intensity just below the threshold that would push her over the edge. This is about building need, creating hunger, making her understand exactly what she’s choosing when she chooses me.
“Is this what you wanted?” I ask, my voice rough with barely contained desire. “To feel what I can do when I stop holding back?”
“Yes,” she whispers, then louder, more desperate: “Yes, but I need... I need...”
“You need release,” I finish for her, feeling the truth of it through our bond. “You need me to stop teasing and give you what your body is begging for.”
“Please,” she says again, and the naked want in her voice nearly breaks my resolve.
I’m torn between giving her what she’s begging for and continuing this exquisite torture that has her trembling against me. The decision is made for me when she shifts in my arms, pressing closer, and I feel exactly how much she needs this through our bond.
“More,” she gasps, and the word nearly destroys me.
“Careful what you ask for,” I warn, my voice barely recognizable as I let more tendrils join the exploration. “Because I want to give you everything. Every touch you crave, every sensation that makes you tremble, every way of making you mine.”
I demonstrate by sending a coordinated wave of bioelectric pulses through every contact point simultaneously. The sensation is intense enough that she actually lifts off her feet fora moment, supported entirely by my embrace and the network of tendrils surrounding her.
“Oh, gods,” she breathes, her voice breaking. “That’s... I didn’t know anything could feel like that.”
“That’s still just a fraction of what’s possible,” I tell her, my own voice strained with the effort of maintaining even this much control. “With the right stimulation, in the right places, I could make you experience pleasure beyond anything your nervous system was designed to handle.”
