Page 7 of Chosen By the Alien
I should be disgusted. Or at least confused. Instead, my body is answering him, like there’s no room left for thought.
I yank my zipper down and shove my boxers low, letting my cock spring free. It’s thick, flushed, already weeping. Goddamn it. I’m notthiskind of desperate. I don’t even know why I’m doing this, but my dick doesn’t want to listen to reason.
I try to think of something else. Someone else.
Emily.
Her lips. Her legs around me. Her soft little moans in my ear. That summer, when we couldn’t keep our hands off each other. Her blonde hair fanned out on my chest, her breath hot on my neck.
My hand wraps around my cock, slow and tentative. I stroke once. Twice. The pressure is there, the need, but it's mechanical. Empty.
I close my eyes tighter and try harder. I remember the way she used to look up at me from her knees, lips glossy with spit and need. The slick slide of her mouth, the wet heat…
But the image shifts. Morphs. And suddenly it’shim.
Not Emily.
Tahl.
Those golden, strange eyes locked on mine. The amused curl of his mouth. The way his black lips parted when he said, “And because if I kiss you, I will want more.”
Thewayhe said it.
My breath stutters.
My cock twitches in my grip, harder now. Needier.
I groan and jerk faster, fist tightening. My hips rock into my hand, legs braced wide in front of the mirror. I can’t stop thinking about his voice. The rasp of it. The way he towered over me. The way it made my stomach twist and my cock ache.
What the hell am Idoing?
My hand slows. I should stop. I should stop.
But I don’t.
Because stopping would mean admitting this is fucked up. That something about that guy lit me up in a way I can’t explain. Can’tundo.
I pump again, faster this time, thighs trembling. My balls draw up, full and tight. I picture his mouth. His hands. His heat. His chest painted in shimmering glowing veins, like somethingnot real, except he was.
Fuck.
I choke out a broken sound and spill into the sink. My cum hits porcelain with hot, humiliating finality.
I sag forward, one hand braced against the counter, the other limp at my side.
Shit.
I feel the shame crawl in a beat later. Cold and wet, like guilt made flesh. I stare at the mess I just made, like it’ll explain something.
It doesn’t.
Emily flashes in my mind again. Her laughing face. The way she used to snuggle in after sex, like we fit. Like we made sense.
And then the way sheleft. No warning. Just a two-line message and a half-assed excuse about giving me the “space” I needed.
Is this what space does to a guy? Turns him into someone who jerks off in a party bathroom over a stranger with a monster cosplay?
I grab my phone. Open her contact.
