Page 39 of Return to Sender
“You’re being deliberately obtuse,” I accuse, then lose my train of thought entirely when one of his hands trails down my body to rest just above where I desperately need to be touched.
“I am being thorough,” he corrects. “My species values... comprehensive attention to detail.”
His fingers trace patterns on my inner thighs, coming tantalizingly close to where I’m already wet and ready for him, but never quite making contact. The alien bastard is mapping every sensitive spot, cataloging my responses, learning exactly how to drive me insane.
“God, you’re evil,” I breathe as he continues his methodical torture.
“I prefer ‘strategically thorough,’” he replies, then finally—finally—lets one finger trace along my folds.
The touch is so light it’s barely there, but after all his teasing, it makes me jolt like I’ve been electrified. He makes a pleased sound, as if my reaction has confirmed some hypothesis.
“Fascinating,” he murmurs. “Human sensitivity appears to increase exponentially with... anticipation.”
“If you don’t stop treating this like a science experiment and actually touch me properly, I’m going to—”
My threat dissolves into a moan as he finally gives me what I want, his fingers finding my clit with alien precision. But just as I start to relax into the sensation, he pulls away again.
“You were saying?” he asks innocently.
I glare at him. “I’m starting to understand why someone put a bounty on your head.”
That earns me what might actually be a laugh. “Your feedback is noted and will be incorporated into future... procedures.”
He returns to his exploration, but now I understand the game he’s playing. Every time I get close to any real satisfaction, he backs off, switching to a different area, a different type of touch. His mouth on my neck while his hands tease my breasts. His fingers tracing patterns on my thighs while he kisses my ankle. Always just enough to keep me on edge, never enough to push me over.
It’s methodical. Precise. Absolutely maddening.
“This is revenge, isn’t it?” I gasp as he brings me to the edge for what feels like the hundredth time, only to pull back just before I can fall over. “For disrupting your perfect order.”
“Revenge is an emotional response,” he says, his voice perfectly calm despite the fact that he’s clearly enjoying my predicament. “I am simply... exploring the parameters of human arousal. For diplomatic purposes.”
“Diplomatic purposes my ass,” I manage, then cry out as he finally uses his mouth where I need it most.
But even then, he doesn’t give me what I expect. Instead of the firm, steady pressure that would send me over the edge, he delivers the same teasing, barely-there touches he’s been using everywhere else. His tongue flicks against my clit with scientific precision, applying just enough pressure to make me writhe but not enough to satisfy.
“Please,” I beg, my hands fisting in his hair. “Wi’kar, please, I need—”
“Yes?” he asks against my most sensitive flesh, the vibration of his voice adding another layer to the torment. “What do you need, Princess?”
“You know what I need,” I gasp.
“I require specific instructions,” he replies with mock formality. “Diplomatic protocol demands clear communication of desired outcomes.”
I want to strangle him. I also want to never let him stop doing whatever this is he’s doing to me. The man who can’t handle a wrinkle in his bedsheets has somehow become a master of sexual chaos, and it’s destroying me in the best possible way.
“I need you to stop teasing and make me come,” I finally manage to say.
“An excellent starting point for negotiations,” he agrees. “However, I believe the terms require... refinement.”
Instead of giving me what I asked for, he slides two fingers inside me while his thumb continues that maddening barely-there pressure on my clit. The fullness is wonderful, but he keeps his movements shallow, controlled, designed to tease rather than satisfy.
“More,” I demand.
“More what?”
“More everything! Deeper, faster, harder—I don’t care, just more!”
“Ah,” he says, and I can hear the satisfaction in his voice. “Clear parameters. I appreciate specificity.”
