Page 38 of Return to Sender
I set my hands on his chest and push him back toward the bed, my eyes never leaving his face as I watch his pupils dilate with want. When the backs of his knees hit the sleeping platform,he sits heavily, looking up at me with an expression caught between anticipation and that careful control he’s always trying to maintain.
“Let me see you,” I breathe, my hands moving to the fastenings of his regulation trousers. “All of you.”
His breathing becomes audibly irregular as I work the clasps open, each one revealing more of what he’s been hiding beneath all that diplomatic perfection. When I peel the fabric away completely, my breath catches in my throat.
Oh. Oh my.
His alien anatomy is... impressive doesn’t begin to cover it. Larger than human average, with subtle ridges along the shaft that promise entirely new sensations. And at the base, I can see additional appendages—smaller, more flexible extensions that twitch slightly under my fascinated gaze.
“The additional anatomy serves specific purposes during mating,” he explains, his voice strained as he watches my reaction. “For enhanced pleasure and... connection.”
“Show me,” I breathe, reaching out to trace one finger along his length. He jerks at the contact, a sharp intake of breath hissing between his teeth.
I take my time learning him, mapping every ridge and sensitive spot with my hands and mouth. The additional appendages respond to my touch, extending and retracting in ways that make him groan and writhe beneath me. When I take him in my mouth, his alien anatomy adds new dimensions to the experience—textures and responses entirely unlike anything human.
“These,” I murmur between kisses, stroking the flexible extensions at his base, “what do they do?”
“They...” His voice breaks as I continue my exploration. “During coupling, they provide additional stimulation. Internal and external. For both partners.”
The promise in those words makes liquid heat flood through me. “I want to feel them.”
I work him with dedicated enthusiasm, using everything I’ve learned about his unique anatomy. The ridges respond to different pressures, the appendages seem to have minds of their own, and the sounds he makes—desperate, primal, nothing like his usual controlled speech—drive me to push him further.
When I finally drive him over the edge with my mouth and hands, he comes with a roar that definitely tests AXIS’s sound dampening, his entire body arching as those alien appendages writhe with his release.
In the aftermath, as his breathing slowly returns to normal, I feel a surge of feminine triumph. This is what I wanted—to see him undone, uncontrolled, utterly mine.
But when he looks up at me, there’s something new in his alien eyes. Something that makes my breath catch and my pulse spike.
“My turn,” he says, and his voice carries a note I’ve never heard before—dark promise mixed with barely leashed control.
Before I can process what that means, he’s moving with alien speed and strength, flipping our positions so I’m beneath him on the bed. His hands find the fastenings of my shipsuit, but instead of the reverent care I expected, there’s something almost predatory in his movements.
“Wi’kar?” I breathe, confused by this sudden shift in his demeanor.
“You have spent days disrupting my carefully ordered existence,” he says, his voice low and hypnotic as he slowly peels away my clothing. “Creating chaos in my perfectly regulated world. Perhaps it is time I returned the favor.”
The shipsuit falls away piece by piece, but he doesn’t rush. Each article of clothing is removed with deliberate slowness, his hands skimming over newly revealed skin without quite giving me the pressure I crave. When his fingertips trace the curve ofmy breast, barely grazing the nipple, I arch toward him seeking more contact.
He pulls away with what I swear is a smile.
“Patience, Princess,” he murmurs, his breath hot against my throat. “I am discovering that I quite enjoy... disorder. In certain contexts.”
His mouth follows the path his hands have taken, pressing soft kisses to my collarbone, the valley between my breasts, the sensitive skin of my inner wrist. Each touch is feather-light, designed to inflame rather than satisfy.
“This is torture,” I gasp as his lips trail along my ribcage, deliberately avoiding anywhere I actually want to be touched.
“Is it?” His voice carries genuine curiosity, as if he’s conducting some fascinating experiment. “AXIS did mention that variety in approach can optimize outcomes.”
“Did you just quote your AI during foreplay?”
“I am adaptable to situational requirements,” he replies solemnly, then ruins the effect by using his tongue to trace a pattern around my navel that makes me squirm beneath him.
When his mouth finally finds my breast, I nearly sob with relief. But instead of the firm pressure I expect, he delivers the lightest possible touch—barely there flicks of his tongue that make me want to grab his head and demand more.
“Wi’kar, please—”
“Please what?” he asks against my skin, and I can feel his smile. “You must be specific in your requests. I am merely following proper diplomatic protocol for... negotiations.”
