Page 11 of Oh No, I Stole An Alien Furball And Kissed A Beastmaster

His lips press to my chin and then trail down my neck. I gasp as his sharp teeth scrape sensitive flesh, just enough sting to remind me that he’s ‘other.’ I’ve never been more turned on in my life. Seriously. I can feel the ache and dripping need between my legs.

Taruk grunts, his hips pressing against me. It just causes his cokas—that’s what these aliens call it—to rub against me in the most delicious of ways. I roll my hips, needing to feel more. I’ve barely touched the guy and I’m already so close… so…

Taruk pulls back, gasping for air. I can’t stop the needy whimper from leaving my lips. He can’t change his mind now, please…

“Zoe, I…”

“Are we doing this?” I ask, my voice breathless. I don’t want to lose my nerve. Not now.

Taruk’s hands unclench from his side and he reaches towards me. He’s no doubt as nervous as I am.

I lick my lips, his eyes riveting on the small move.

“Talk later,” I breathe against his skin. We can’t possibly stop now, so I just have to convince him to continue. I shove against his chest, encouraging him to step backward and give me space. I have no doubt that he moves of his own accord; the guy is strong enough that I wouldn’t be able to budge him if he didn’t want to be.

I drop to my knees before him. Taruk hisses through sharp teeth, his eyes going wide.

My fingers pluck at his zipper… Well, lack of zipper. The weird alien tech here has this sort of Velcro-style invisible seam that somehow intelligently comes apart only when you want it to. Thank God it seems to know I want it off because if I was barred from what I need right now, I might scream…

And I really, really want to find myself doing a different type of screaming, if you get my drift.

Taruk’s claws graze my skin as he strokes my sides, his hands lifting the fabric of my shirt. In moments I’m shimmying out of my bra, tossing it aside. It doesn’t take long for Taruk to strip his shirt off. He pauses before me, standing at attention. My eyes roam over his body and his scars. Across his well-defined pecs look like claw marks, as if some beast attempted to tear him apart. In fact, his entire body is covered in a litany of small and large scars.

My core clenches as I gaze up at him. He’s a warrior, through and through. Pure masculine strength, looking down at me like he’s ready to dominate. I’m entirely aware of how damp my underwear feels. Why am I still wearing pants?

And he’s definitely pitching a tent in his pants… Geez, it’s huge. Is he going to fit?

I tug his pants down, and am nearly knocked out. The guy keeps a damn weapon in here. That thing is as big as a club! And decorated weirdly too.

Is that what an alien peen looks like? I’ve heard the mated girls talk about it in whispers, giggling and saying we are missing out… In all honesty, it looks like the most exotic toy I’ve ever seen. It’s not one long smooth shaft for starters. The first thing I notice is the two large bulges along the length. Then, between those and the head, a series of smaller ridges.

Just looking at it… I press my thighs together tightly. This is something designed for a woman, by a woman. There’s no doubting the kind of pleasure something like this will give.

I glance up at Taruk, whose hands are firmly pressed against the wall behind me. The way he leans over me, having to support himself… It’s heady, being in control like this. I feel powerful, and so very sexy.

Keeping my gaze locked with his dark eyes, my hands slide up his now exposed thighs. I can feel the thick muscles bunching beneath my fingertips, the heat of his skin searing my skin. His whole body jolts as my fingers wrap around his width. Well, attempt to. I can’t touch my fingers together; he has too much girth for that.

This bad boy is going to stretch me to my limit. I’m going to feel each and every one of these… bumps? I stroke his length, my fingers gliding over the bulge. It’s thankfully not as hard as the rest of him. Still, I wouldn’t exactly call it soft either. I squeeze it in my palm, enjoying the involuntary suck of breath Taruk takes. His eyes are molten as they stare back at me, and he pants heavily.

“If you keep playing with my bulge like this, I may do the impossible and find my release,” he tells me.

“Isn’t that the purpose of this?” I smirk at him. As much as I want him inside of me, the idea of him not being able to hold back, of me being the one to pleasure him, is suddenly thrilling. “Why is it impossible?”

Taruk shakes his head, short hair bouncing about his face. “A male cannot release his seed until a female is bearing down on him with her pleasure,” he says.

Huh. So that’s a thing apparently. If it makes the guy extra motivated, who am I to complain?

“Are these your balls?” I ask, staring at the bumps with newfound interest. I’m pretty sure a human male would be screaming if I grabbed his dangling fruit with this sort of pressure. I give another tentative squeeze, and Taruk sure does moan… but his face is one of tortured pleasure rather than pure torture.

Oh jeez, am I only now discovering some BDSM kink I didn’t know I had? Because that face he’s making… my whole body is on the edge just seeing it.

I lick my lips, wondering just how I might get him screaming. There’s no way I can fit all of him in my mouth, but if I use my hands…

“Enough,” Taruk suddenly states. He grabs me by the arms and pulls me to my feet before him. I hate how I suddenly feel bereft. I had wanted to play…

“Tell me you want this,” he demands. “Tell me you want me.”

“Yes,” I reply with just as much force.

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