Page 20 of Crave
The pressure wave of his echolocation breezed along her skin like the caress of satin, shivery but warm. As the sensation sank deeper, reverberating through her, it ratcheted up a tension that could only end one way.
With hands and mouth and that secret pressure, he explored her and shaped her in ways that should’ve scared her—but felt too good. Maybe she shouldn’t have been so dismissive of nerdy types back on Earth.
And his pure curiosity freed her to show him what she truly wanted: those hands in her hair, his mouth mapping her curves while the sleek, dangerous tusks skimmed her skin alongside like an echo, his agile tongue stroking her in places that weren’t just performative and porntastic but pleasurable.
Since he didn’t really know any better, she could do what she wanted with him—and with her own needs.
Not good, not good at all. Doing what she wanted had only ever gotten her in trouble.
But all the while, it felt too good.
As he aroused her toward the edge of release, she tensed against her usual inclination to just grab her own orgasm and run. Not that she was returning the favor, she told herself. She didn’t care about fair, but she didn’t want to be overcome and vulnerable if he would still be watching her with those inquisitive pearly eyes. On the other, other, other hand, it was gonna feel soooo good…
He paused, hanging her on the brink. Aw hell no, if he was going to fuck around by not fucking around, she would take everything she could from this encounter and scram.
Not actually scram, of course, considering the lost in space thing, but still.
“Kinsley,” he murmured.
The sound of her name—not babe or sexy or hey you—sent another strange thrill through her. He’d said he’d wondered about her from the first, but to think he was thinking about her was a sort of intimacy beyond even this moment of nakedness.
“Sil,” she replied with a touch more asperity that he was making her wait.
“I want to use my sonoscry on you.”
“What?” She angled into him, grinding her hips. “If you want to do some finger painting, I have another suggestion…”
“May I sonoscry you?”
“If that’s what you need,” she said half-heartedly. This was what she deserved for having sex with an alien starving artist.
“I think you will like it.”
“Whatever. But I just need—” An intoxicating rush flooded through her veins, hot and heady, and she gasped. “What are you…?”
“Stone singing,” he said. “Not that you are stone, but our bodies are made up of many of the same elements. And I can make them dance for you.”
Another rush zinged around her body, and she moaned from the force of it. “Sil…” His name was barely a hissing sigh, and he smirked at her.
A smirk looked even more smug with tusks.
“Do you like?”
“Do it again.”
Like she was drowning in chocolate lava cake with the best vanilla ice cream, her whole body was suffused in decadent, melting pleasure. She writhed against him, not caring if he was rearranging her atoms or whatever—or if he knew how much she liked it.
The sonoscry was a strum of her nerve endings, as if invisible fingers and tongues caressed her clit and her aching nipples from the inside and all around. But it was more than that too, like the sonoscry had somehow changed her awareness, tuning her senses to frequencies beyond her old human limitations. She’d never felt anything like it, not just because he was an alien or even because he was Sil, but because she’d let him come this close, to offer her his body and his singular focus and the chance to be someone new, someone different…
The orgasm seized her in a powerful wave that carried her along through some timeless cosmic journey and washed her up on his torso, her cheek pressed damply against the empty spot where his glyph would’ve been.
It was a long while before her ragged breathing eased, and she was almost afraid to open her eyes. What if he’d rearranged her atoms wrongly and she had too many arms now or was gluten intolerant or ended up needing him forever to have another orgasm as good? What if she accidentally cried on him a little more?
She swallowed hard when he smoothed a hand over her nape, cradling her. It wasn’t even like she was going to bump her head, not when she was slumped over him, wet blanket style. She racked her brain for something pithy to say, something to prove he hadn’t just blown her mind and her defenses wide open.
“Kinsley,” he said.
Oh, the way he said her name…
