Page 95 of Rizzed Up By My Alien Neighbor
CHAPTER 31
VANESSA
The world narrows to skin, warmth, and soft whispers as Rychne and I find our way back upstairs. The hallway light casts long, honeyed shadows, and the echo of our feet feels intimate, deliberate. It’s been a long journey to this moment—courtrooms, custody fights, alien revelations, and cosmic chaos—but now, it’s just us: two people, connected, vulnerable, ready.
He stops by the bedroom door, fingers trembling like he's anchoring himself. I lean in, pressing my forehead to his. His image inducer flickers with soft blue light, mirroring the trust and fear in his golden eyes. He breathes me in—my hair, my scent, that lingering perfume. I want this. Iknowhe wants this too.
I guide him across the room, and when the door clicks closed, the night swells around us—thick, velvety, perfect.
He starts undressing me slowly, reverently. His hands trace the seams of my shirt, fingertips ghosting over my collarbone. My pulse hammers in my throat as he peers at me, as though memorizing every curve, every freckle. He whispers my name, and it tastes like honey on my lips.
We undress them together, inch by inch. His clothes fall away until he stands before me, not in alien armor or elaborate disguise, but entirely himself—towering, real, vulnerable. The image inducer hums softly behind his ear, but I know the truth of the ridges beneath. I know the ridged planes of his chest, the ridged texture that simplyis. I want to memorize him, to draw him into every sense.
He brushes a finger along my jaw, then down my neck, as though testing the fabric of this intimacy. My skin prickles. It’s tactile. It’s soft fire. He leans in, and our mouths meet—gentle at first, a cautious exploration of trust. Then when our breaths sync, it spirals into something richer: feral longing bonded by respect.
His lips seek mine with growing urgency. I respond with the same need. He tastes like ozone and strawberries—like the storm before dawn and the promise of the morning. I trace a line along his chest, feeling every ridge, every beat of his impossible, inhuman heart that’s become somehow mine.
The moment the sheets settle over our tangled legs, everything slows—like the world holds its breath and waits for us to exhale. His body is a wall of heat beside mine, red-scaled and powerful. The faint gleam of moonlight catches the ridges of his chest, and I run my fingers down the groove between them. It’s not a line of defense anymore—it’s a confession. I press my palm flat against his sternum, feel the steady drumbeat beneath. It's wild but grounding. He's here. I'm here.
“You okay?” I murmur, my voice low, barely a breath.
His eyes search mine in the dim light, and he nods. “Better than I thought possible.”
I turn toward him fully, pressing my chest to his side, the slickness of my skin catching against his texture. His scales are cool to the touch, but beneath them—under that eternal warrior armor—he’s burning. I can feel the way his cock twitches againstmy thigh, feel the sharp inhale he takes as I shift my hips just slightly. He’s still hard. Still wanting.
“I’m not done,” I whisper, lips brushing the space between his jaw and shoulder. I press a kiss there, then another, then lower, trailing heat across his neck with every breath.
Rychne’s breath shudders. “Nessa…”
“Let me,” I breathe. “Let me show you what it feels like… to be chosen.”
He doesn’t stop me. He never does. And that’s the thing—his restraint. That huge body, all power and precision, but never once pushing me. Never demanding. I guide him onto his back, sliding over him, thighs straddling his hips. My pussy slicks against his stomach as I grind low and slow, not rushing, not claiming—just exploring. Just feeling.
He groans, deep and guttural, like the earth splitting open. My nipples graze his chest, hard and aching, and his hands find my ass, squeezing, encouraging. But still… he lets me lead.
I reach back, guide his cock with practiced, reverent fingers. He’s thick, hot, and the weight of him in my hand makes me bite my lip. I sink down slowly, feel the stretch, the push, the impossibly sweet invasion of him filling me. It’s not just penetration—it’s affirmation. He’s inside, and I wrap around him like a memory I’ll never let go of.
“Fuck,” I whisper, forehead dropping to his. “You feel like fire.”
“You’re… everything,” he growls. His hands are on my hips now, anchoring us both.
I roll my hips, slow circles that make him curse in Vakutan, words that vibrate up my spine like music. Our eyes stay locked—his wide and hungry, mine desperate to hold every flicker of him.
The friction builds. Each grind against his cock sends jolts through my belly, coils tighter around my clit. My hands are onhis chest, fingernails digging slightly as I ride him. “Tell me,” I pant. “Tell me what this means to you.”
He grabs my face, holding me still. “It means I am no longer alone. It means my life is more than survival.”
I shudder. “Yeah,” I whisper. “Yeah.”
The orgasm builds like thunder in my bones, trembling through every nerve. I arch, moan, cry out—my body shakes above his as the climax rips through me. He holds me tight, cock still buried deep inside, his body trembling with restraint.
Then he flips us.
One motion, fluid and easy, and now he’s above me—cock still inside, my legs over his shoulders. He doesn’t thrust. He *grinds.*
I scream.
The stretch is deeper now, unbearable in the best way. My pussy clamps around him, sucking him deeper, and he leans down, kisses my throat, my jaw, my lips.
