I lick dry lips, noting how his eyes rivet to the action. Wherever he looks at me, I can feel a burning response in my own body. I can’t help but wonder: what would his own lips feel like against mine?
I take a deep breath and walk up to him. A hopeful hip-sway in my step. The desire to groan out my frustration building up. Why does this feel like my first time? I’m not in high school anymore!
I stop only inches away from him. I can feel the heat radiating from his body. This close, I can see the rapid rise and fall of his chest, his breath heaving from his lungs. It matches my own.
Between us, his hand lifts… and hesitates.
Is he just as nervous?
“Can I… kiss you?” he asks.
I nod, because I can’t find the words to respond. I’m not sure I could even croak out a response that would be intelligible right now. Not because I’m scared, but because my body is a live wire, taut and ready to snap. Or combust. Something like that. I just know that whatever happens next is going to be explosive.
His hand ghosts over my jaw. Red skin and black nails feather lightly across my skin. Goosebumps erupt all over, sensitive nerves flaring at his soft touch.
He has the power to destroy me, but given the slight tremble in his own touch… I have that power too.
He kisses me slowly at first, tentatively. I surrender to it, encircling his neck with my arms and drawing him nearer until our forms align, his solid build pressing into my softer lines in a way that ignites me. Needing more, I press close.
Not close enough. I want more. His muscles are hard against me, and it feels so good. Solid, supportive. Like I could fall, my knees could buckle, and yet his strong arms will keep me up and never let me fall.
His tongue brushes my lips, and I welcome him, a quiet moan rising as the kiss intensifies. I savor the taste of spice and apples. I don’t know if he’s been drinking our Halloweenrefreshments, or if this is all him… but it’s addictive. I moan as his tongue slides along mine, brushing teeth.
We edge toward the bed together, my hands working the fastenings of his shirt in my eagerness to feel him bare.
“Take it off,” I gasp, already tugging at the fabric. Without preamble, he yanks his shirt off, somehow effortlessly clearing the horns peeking out from his head. Despite his fumbling, hesitant nature, I’m reminded that there is a gracefulness to Khatak that lingers beneath the surface. I am left wondering if anyone else ever truly sees this side of him. He doesn’t hide it, but does anyone take the time to actually see him?
I’m left gazing down at a toned chest. Hard pecs. I slide my hands down the smooth surface. Taut muscles jump to attention, his abs defined and bunching.
His hands grip my own clothing, fingers lingering on heated skin as he slides it from me, leaving me exposed. The chill of the room contrasts with the fire in his stare as he takes me in completely.
Vulnerability threatens to overwhelm me as I stand in my stark nudity before him, but I shove it down. Instead, I embrace the strength in his evident longing.
I draw him down onto the mattress, where we sink amid the rumpled fabrics. His weight settles over me, comforting and insistent, his arousal evident against my thigh despite the remaining barrier of his trousers.
My nails press into his shoulders to encourage him. He trails kisses along my throat, grazing the tender area near my ear with his sharp teeth. A moan escapes in a shuddered breath, but I can scarcely tell if it’s his or mine.
His palms envelop my breasts, his thumbs teasing the peaks until they stiffen beneath his attention.
“You’re stunning,” he whispers, before lowering his head to draw one into his mouth, applying suction that sends electricpulses racing downwards. I shift restlessly, my hips seeking contact instinctively.
“Khatak,” I murmur with raw urgency, my grip in his hair keeping him close. He shifts to the other side, his tongue delivering precise strokes that leave me breathless, moisture gathering at my core.
Driven by impulse, I slide my hand lower to grasp him through the fabric, sensing his immediate response. A guttural noise rumbles from him as he aids in removing the last obstacle, his erection emerging firm and imposing. I encircle it with my fingers, moving steadily along its length, appreciating the smooth texture over rigid form and the way his respiration falters.
It’s not at all like a human’s, I realize, gripping him harder.
His answering moan gives me the confidence to peel those pants off of him. Dark red skin, black hair, revealed inch by inch. And another thing, though counting by inches almost doesn’t do it justice.
His penis is large. So much larger than anything I’ve ever dealt with before. Even my BOBs. He’s got two large bumps along the turgid flesh. Knots. He’s completely foreign. Alien.
Heaven help me. I realize I don’t want human right now. I want him. Everything that makes him unique. Everything that’s going to make him feel so much better than everything I’ve ever had before.
“Selene... damn,” he mutters, his movements syncing with my rhythm.
He positions himself between my thighs, his digits exploring my slickness with care.
“You’re drenched,” he observes, his touch encircling my sensitive nub in ways that draw a muffled gasp from me as I lift off the bed. He introduces two fingers, easing them in to prepare me, bending them to stimulate hidden places that amplify mypleasure. I tighten around him, but he retreats, heightening my ache.
