Page 41 of Alien Attachment
But he doesn’t stop there. As the first wave recedes, he continues his ministrations, building me toward another peak with relentless focus. The oversensitivity only makes it more intense, each touch almost too much but somehow exactly what I need.
“Again,” he demands, his eyes meeting mine with burning intensity. “I want to watch you break apart again.”
This time when I climax, it’s with his name on my lips and his eyes locked on mine, watching every expression cross my face with fascination and possessive satisfaction. The intimate connection—not just physical but emotional, spiritual—leaves me gasping and trembling in his arms.
“Beautiful,” he breathes, pressing kisses to my face, my throat, anywhere he can reach. “Absolutely beautiful.”
When he finally rises above me, his own need is evident in every line of his body. His arousal presses against my thigh, and through our bond I feel the desperate ache of his desire, held in check only by his determination to ensure my pleasure first.
“I want you,” I tell him, my hands moving to explore the alien beauty of his body. His skin is silk over steel, marked with those luminescent patterns that pulse brighter with his arousal. “All of you.”
His anatomy is both familiar and foreign—recognizably male but with differences that make my pulse race. The bioelectric capability extends here too, I realize as I touch him, feeling the gentle current that flows beneath his skin.
“Kaylee,” he groans, his control fracturing as I explore him. “If you keep touching me like that...”
“Like what?” I ask innocently, stroking along his length with deliberate slowness. “Like this?”
His answer is a sound that’s part growl, part moan, entirely arousing. His tendrils wrap around my wrists—not restraining, but guiding, showing me what he likes, what drives him wild.
“Show me,” I whisper, fascinated by this new aspect of intimacy. “Show me how to touch you.”
What follows is an exploration of mutual discovery. He guides my hands, my mouth, teaching me the sensitive spots that make him gasp, the touches that make his bioluminescence flare brighter. In return, I show him how human lovers touch, kiss, explore each other.
When I take him in my mouth, the taste of him is intoxicating—that same sweet-ozone flavor I’ve come to associate with him, but concentrated, more intense. The bioelectric current that flows through his skin here is gentle but constant, creating a tingling sensation that’s entirely addictive.
“Enough,” he finally growls, pulling me up to kiss me with desperate hunger. “I need to be inside you. Now.”
He positions himself at my entrance, his eyes searching mine for any hesitation. Finding none, he begins to press forward slowly, carefully, stretching me in the most exquisite way. The sensation is incredible—not just the physical joining, but the emotional and psychic connection that accompanies it. Through our bond, I feel his overwhelming pleasure at finally being connected to me this way, his reverence for the gift of my body, his fierce possessive joy at claiming me completely.
“Perfect,” he breathes when he’s fully seated inside me. “You feel perfect.”
The connection is everything I never knew I needed—complete, consuming, transformative. When he begins to move, it’s with exquisite care, watching my face for every reaction, adjusting his angle and rhythm to maximize my pleasure.
His tendrils join in the dance, one wrapping around my waist to lift me slightly with each thrust, changing the angle so he hits that perfect spot inside me. Another circles my throat like a living necklace, pulsing gently against my racing pulse. Two more curl around my breasts, the tips providing constant stimulation that makes every thrust feel electric.
The most incredible sensation comes from the smallest tendril—one so fine I barely notice it until it finds its way between our joined bodies, stroking that bundle of nerves with each movement. The dual stimulation is overwhelming, perfect, building me rapidly toward another peak.
“I can feel everything you feel,” he gasps, his own control beginning to fracture. “Your pleasure, your heat, the way your body responds to mine. It’s incredible.”
The shared sensation through our bond creates a feedback loop that intensifies everything. Each thrust sends waves of pleasure through both of us, building and building until we’re both trembling on the edge of release.
“Together,” I whisper, pulling him down for a desperate kiss. “I want to fall together.”
Our climax, when it comes, is simultaneous and earth-shattering. The pleasure crashes through our bond, each of us feeling the other’s release as intensely as our own. His tendrils flare with light, illuminating the dome around us in pulses of blue and silver that dance across the crystalline walls like captured starlight.
For long moments afterward, we remain joined, trembling with aftershocks, neither willing to break the connection. His tendrils gradually relax their hold but don’t withdraw completely, maintaining points of contact that keep us connected on every level.
“That was...” he begins, then stops, apparently at a loss for words.
“Yeah,” I agree, pressing a kiss to his chest. “It was.”
Through our bond flows something deeper than physical satisfaction—a sense of completion, of finding the missing piece of ourselves we never knew we’d lost. This isn’t just sex, isn’t just physical release. It’s a claiming, a choosing, a transformation that changes us both forever.
“Mine,” he whispers against my throat as we settle into the afterglow, his tendrils creating a protective cocoon around us.
“Yours,” I agree, pressing a kiss to his chest. “Always yours.”
We lie together in peaceful contentment, the living bed adjusting to cradle us both. His heartbeats—faster than human, with that distinctive double-pulse rhythm—gradually slow beneath my ear. Through our bond flows warmth, satisfaction, and something deeper that I’m finally ready to name.
