Page 25 of Alien Desire
I lean in and kiss him with more passion this time, showing him kisses can be soft and hard, slow and frantic. I kiss him with my whole mouth, thrusting my tongue deep inside his and then biting down on his fat bottom lip. He groans and responds, his own tongue gliding over my lips and into my mouth, brushing against mine.
It’s like being pulled under the water again, suspended in time, lost to the feel of our lips against one another, floating in his arms, weightless as if I am back in space. Everything is this. Just this.
I kiss him and kiss him and kiss him again.
Chapter twelve - Tor
We are kissing, a pastime that seems to have no purpose other than pleasure. It will not lead to the Omega’s impregnation. It will not breed us children. It will not sustain or refuel us. It will not secure us lands or wealth. It will not expand our minds or our knowledge.
Yet, I want to do this and only this for the rest of my days.
Kissing Emma is dizzying and thrilling. Electricity spirals up and down my spine, racing through my abdomen and along my limbs. My skin buzzes and heats.
Her lips are soft and hot, her tongue wet and tactile, her teeth smooth and sharp.
How is it that this act has no equivalent in my world? How is it that the Gryton have not discovered the pure, basal pleasure that comes from pressing one’s mouth against another’s?
Although, I know this kissing would not be the same with any other being. It is Emma’s mouth, Emma’s taste, Emma’s scent. It is kissing Emma that has my heart fluttering in my chest.
Time is lost to kissing Emma. I forget about the need to mate her. I forget about the necessary upgrade to the computer. I forget about our predicament.
Who cares if no one comes for us? Who cares if we are trapped here forever? I will happily kiss Emma until I have no breath left to do so.
Minutes and hours must pass. The windows darken and the lights flick on. We continue kissing.
She teaches me how to do it. And I kiss her in all sorts of ways.
Finally, my lips leave hers and travel to the hollow of her neck, where she smells particularly sweet. I trail kisses down her throat over the delicate bone that sweeps across her shoulders and down towards the swell I am so eager to explore.
But she stops me, her stomach growling loudly like an angry Wyger.
“Come on,” she says, standing up. “Let’s get some food.”
I stare at her. “What?” I whisper, my mind reaching for this word and spilling it from my lips before I’ve had time to think about it. It is a word that belongs to her, of her language.
She tilts her head. “Let’s eat.”
I understand her. It is like something has slotted into place in my mind, a button pressed, a switch flicked, and now I understand her. Was it the kissing? Is the kissing some kind of magic? Did she pass her language from her mouth to mine? Did she teach me how to speak with the sweep of her tongue?
No, I am not a being who believes in such nonsense. I am not a child. It must be the translation device finally kicking in and doing its job.
“I am not hungry,” I tell her, grabbing her wrist and tugging her back down. “I want to kiss you some more.”
Her jaw drops open and I lean in, meaning to thrust my tongue into her waiting mouth, but she pushes me away. “You can speak,” she gasps.
“Yes. This translation device has taught me your language.”
Her eyes flip up to the little disc pinned to my right forehead.
“How? That’s … That’s … how?”
I don’t think she really wants me to explain the intricate details of the technology involved so I simply say. “I can understand you now, Emma.”
She nods, still staring at the device, then shakes her head like I’ve seen her do several times now when she becomes entangled in her thoughts, and stands again. “I really need to eat.”
I would much rather continue with the kissing, but a good Alpha ensures his Omega is well fed, and besides this break from the dream-like state that is kissing reminds me that I need to mate her. Maybe, now that we understand each other, she will instruct me to mount her after our meal.
She fetches food from the store and I find a few more delicacies my mother snuck into my trunk. Bless my mother; I wonder if she foresaw the need for sweet things to tempt my Omega when I found her. My mother, unlike myself, had been sure I would be successful. She has always had this unwavering belief in me, even the times when I have had very little.
