Page 51 of Invasive Species
“Oh yeah, the see-nulg stuff.” Soundslike a sea slug.
Gara pulls the sensor he uses to diagnose things out from his pocket and taps the side. A gummy sweet dispenses into his hand.
I don't see how the boiled sweet which turns into putty can capture anything. “I'd, uh, prefer to use Earth tech. I've seen what your laser does.”
Grabbing my pants, I fish out the condom packets I scooped up last time I was at the supermarket, and fan them out like a deck of cards. “Extra-large, scented, ribbed for her pleasure?—”
“For your pleasure?” He eyes the bright packet. “Then we'll use that.”
What a sweetie.
I trace an invisible line from his cheek, along his rapidly working throat and into the dip between his collarbones. His scales change color in the wake of my finger, a ripple spreading outward, blush pink and pale peach matching the color of my hands, and his hand twitches in my panties.
“I want my conquest naked,” he growls. Another line, this one from book eight, I think. Damn he’s a fast reader.
“...If that’s what you want too,” he adds softly.
The fact that I’d be comfortable if he fucked me against the ceiling by this point is moot. It’s super sweet how much he’s concerned for me.
“I do want,” I purr, and in seconds he’s rolled my pants and panties down, staring like he’s revealing untold riches instead of my recently shaved fun zone.
“See something you like?” I wink at him.
The scales on his cheeks and chest shimmer into russet red. “Yes. Everything.”
I peel off my paint-stained shirt as he watches, but his nostrils flare when I lay back with a slight squelching sound behind me. The paint is warm now, a little slippery and a little sticky, and mingles with a rising musk from us both.
This painting is going to be fantastic.
He unbuckles his pants and peels them off, still watching my face. From his huge bulge he’s packing some serious ordnance, and I can't wait to see it. As he rolls down the fabric, I'm greeted by a thick, straining rod with a ridged head weeping shiny precum, and then…
“Holy shit, you have two dicks?” I sit up, hands reaching.
At the base of his erect penis where a guy's balls would be is a long penis as thick as my wrist. The tip comes to a pyramid, and halfway down is a bulge like it swallowed a rugby ball.
I trace my fingertips over the sparkles stretching over the area, feeling tiny bumps and nodules pulsing, and tracing ridges like a map of a river around the rugby ball. It can’t be. “Is this… a knot?”
His breathing turns ragged as I wrap my fingers around the top dick, and I swipe some of the precum off the lower one to bring it to my mouth.
He grabs my wrist. “Don't ingest that. That is indeed my knotting cock, it and its contents should only go inside your female parts.”
“Okay, fine.” I can ask ethnographic questions later. Right now I have engineering questions: “How will that fit inside me?”
“I’ll prepare you, if you truly want to be knotted.”
“I truly do. I love to read about knots and stuff, they’re really—” Romantic, I nearly say, but guys don’t want too much romance, do they? Instead, I jump back to him. “How does yours work?”
He flushes a dark green. “I don’t know for certain.”
Ah, right. Virgin. “Well, I'm here with you, and we both want this to go well, so it will, okay?”
He nods tightly, like his head might fall off if he waves it around too much. He's stiffening up in the wrong places, and whilehis cocks are clearly up for it, if I don't get him to relax, he might freeze up.
I rip the condom packet and pop the rubber in front of my teeth, then dip my head and engulf his top cock, rolling it down the flared ridges as I go.
Yeah, I have mad skills.
A groan floods out of him, and his fingers tangle in my hair as he automatically tries to hold on for dear life. This condom just barely strains over the head of his cock. If I try to roll it down, I'm scared it'll strangle his dick off.
